[The tears shock the Doctor in black. Even when it's hurt him most, the life he's led, when he's walked the streets of London and known exactly, precisely the moment when the world around him ends, because he ends it, he's never cried. The grief sits in his chest, twists around his hearts, strikes him dumb or makes him talk too much, too fast. He chokes it back, and runs.]
[He meets his other's eyes, when the other Doctor looks up, because...if he didn't, what would that mean? He's as much the Doctor as this other Time Lord, this other one who saved the Earth. They're not the same man, but they're equals.]
[His universe was not a mistake. He wasn't dealt a bad hand. It was the only hand, and he made his choices in full knowledge, picking them out of the warp and weft of time, taking the paths he felt were right.]
[Except...]
[He did cry once.]
[Before he'd come to himself, before he'd remembered, as he'd walked through the Game Station. He'd been crying, and he hadn't known why.]
[That was how he'd first seen his face. His new face. In the reflection on a picture window, as he looked down at the gray Earth. Tear-streaked, a grieving man, even though he hadn't felt any grief, hadn't understood the tears.]
[A mirror image, mourning. Just like his other is now. The same face.]
[He looks away, quickly, because with the memory of the moment comes the memory of the sensation, and he can feel the old regret burn at the corners of his eyes. He isn't going to cry. He isn't.]
[His throat works, tight, and he rubs the back of his neck with one hand.]
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[He meets his other's eyes, when the other Doctor looks up, because...if he didn't, what would that mean? He's as much the Doctor as this other Time Lord, this other one who saved the Earth. They're not the same man, but they're equals.]
[His universe was not a mistake. He wasn't dealt a bad hand. It was the only hand, and he made his choices in full knowledge, picking them out of the warp and weft of time, taking the paths he felt were right.]
[Except...]
[He did cry once.]
[Before he'd come to himself, before he'd remembered, as he'd walked through the Game Station. He'd been crying, and he hadn't known why.]
[That was how he'd first seen his face. His new face. In the reflection on a picture window, as he looked down at the gray Earth. Tear-streaked, a grieving man, even though he hadn't felt any grief, hadn't understood the tears.]
[A mirror image, mourning. Just like his other is now. The same face.]
[He looks away, quickly, because with the memory of the moment comes the memory of the sensation, and he can feel the old regret burn at the corners of his eyes. He isn't going to cry. He isn't.]
[His throat works, tight, and he rubs the back of his neck with one hand.]