Not two hours in and he was already coming face-to-face with himself. Well. His old self—younger self, that is. Unexpected, would be a word, and a little disappointing if he were quite honest. The Doctor hadn't known what awaited him in the center of town, but it certainly hadn't been himself. Still, he supposed it could be worse, it could always be worse. He imagined it might be, at least for Rose, if the increase in pressure around the hand she still held was any indication. The Doctor offered a reassuring squeeze, not quite ready to let go, lest she fainted. Understandable, considering his previous self was busy drinking her in with his eyes like a man starved for water in the desert. Depressing, he thought. The man had no idea what sort of damage a silly little ape could cause—would cause, if he ever returned to his proper time line.
He didn't bother with the neck craning, as everyone else seemed convinced a paradox would see reapers tearing the town to shreds at any moment. “No paradox, not here, at least. There would have been pandemonium in the streets by now if our presence had tampered with anything,” he murmured thoughtfully. Odd, indeed. It was almost as if they were caught in some sort of Nexus, a dead zone in time and space that carried on without change, no matter who or what ventured inside its barriers. Though, why there was one situated in a sleepy little town in Canada was anyone's guess.
“Oi! Do not,” he protested, insulted by his own mouth! Rooster! Honestly, had he really just called himself a farm animal? That was . . . well, rude, which wasn't surprising in the least. The Doctor rather thought he had lovely hair, fantastic even. Rose liked his hair, didn't she? . . Didn't she? The fleeting insecurity had brown eyes cast toward Rose for reassurance. After all, it was better than having none at all. “And what's wrong with my suit?” he asked, clearly affronted with narrowed eyes on the younger Doctor. “I love this suit, been with me through thick and thin, it has. Comfortable material, easy to run for your life in, has plenty of pockets and doesn't require dry cleaning.” Most importantly, no chaffing denim between his legs.
Really, at least he wasn't wearing that rubbish clown suit with question marks any longer.
He shook his head, shoving away the useless banter, and musing on the memory his other self brought to mind. “We played cricket then, do you remember? We were quite good,” he mused aloud, then thought better of it and corrected. “Oh, who am I kidding, we were brilliant,” he boasted, a bright grin stretched from ear-to-ear as he swayed back and forth on white sneakers. It was always such a strange experience, reminiscing with yourself.
The smile remained intact on his face, but his eyes seemed to sober the longer he watched the blue eyed man assess the Rose Tyler attached to his hand. Different Rose, but still the same overwhelming affection for the girl, as he should. The observation was unsettling, though, and not for the first time since seeing his leather clad predecessor did he feel the stab of remorse. Despite the hyper-active and childlike exuberance of his current incarnation, he almost thought he seemed happier when he'd still had the big ears and shark like grin. Cruel mistress, time.
The Doctor cleared his throat, landing solid on his heels when he addressed the other two gentlemen in their company. “Jack Harkness, we should schedule tea for once, preferably when the universe isn't determined to implode,” he greeted, a wry expression on his face. “I see you've brought a friend. Mr. Jones, is it? Good name, Jones,” he smiled warmly at the manicured fellow, and wondered briefly whether or not Martha might be popping out of the woodwork anytime soon.
( Sorry if I left anything out, I was trying to squeeze it all in one post. S'what I get for slacking! <3 )