A/N: So, last night, I was watching Doctor Who (S6 E11 – The God Complex), and …

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

OK. And when the Doctor looks into his room, you don't see what it is, but he says 'of course'.

That got me thinking. And with a little prompting from DW answers, this was born.

My fiction usually remains with Glee and Klaine, but I really couldn't resist. :)

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing you recognise.

The gold '11' stood on the brown plate. He reached for the handle, curiosity and the knowledge that it was wrong fighting inside him.

But curiosity won. Curiosity had always won. Even when he knew he had to go, like on Mars, when he knew he couldn't save each one, it was a fixed event in time, that they all had to die, he still stayed. He couldn't bear to go, because the alternative was so much worse.

What if he didn't listen to curiosity? What if he decided that he needed to do the right thing, and it meant somebody died? What then?

That was the real reason he never paid anyone any heed – there was always that 'what if' burning in the back of his mind. He couldn't make it go away, and he couldn't ignore it.

The Doctor pulled the door open, and there it was. There he was, standing right behind the door, ready. Always ready, for anything. Green screwdriver in hand, there he stood himself.

"Of course," he murmured to himself. The ultimate paradox. Two versions of the same Time Lord in the same place. If a human touched a past version of him or herself, the universe tried to put it right, no matter how disastrous the consequences of that were.

When it happened to a Time Lord, it tore the universe apart, stitch by stitch by stitch. And his TARDIS, if it ever happened, would be trying to fix it, but she couldn't. The Cloister Bell was struggling in the background, and he wanted to rush over, calm her down, but he couldn't.

Because his past self was blocking the doorway. If he tried to even sneak past, his arm, his leg, something, would brush himself. The universe would unpick itself.

This was horrible. It was worse than his nightmares, because it was happening. He couldn't wake up, even though he knew it was only a few seconds. Only a few seconds of staring at another version of himself, and he slammed the door.

It wasn't happening. It was something invented by whatever was killing these people.

And he needed to focus. He couldn't concentrate on the vision, when Amy and Rory and Rita and Howie still were in danger.

And so he ran down the corridor. Trying to stop the quiet whisper in his head.

Praise him.

A/N: I really have no idea. I just felt like writing this. Win? Hopefully.

I know the title was uninventive, but I couldn't come up with anything else. If you come up with something better, please tell me. ;)

G-B-C xx