Okay, so I've had this fanfic idea ticking around in my head ever since I saw Casanova with David Tennant and I just couldn't resist. You, you don't need to have seen Casanova for you to be able to read the fanfic - but if you have, I recommend a game of spot-the-reference. There are a few in this chapter alone. XD

A small warning, though, Uni is currently keeping me insanely occupied, so I can't promise regular updates. However, I have given my lovely beta hermitinthetardis the right to kick my sorry behind whenever she thinks I've gone far too long without sending her something. So there's that. :P

This fanfic is dedicated to The Untempered Prism for giving me the nudge I needed to actually start this fanfic...and for actually replying to my messages. XD

Hope you all enjoy!

The Wooing of Rose Tyler

"Get down!"

Mickey dove, attempting a clumsy roll to avoid the blasts erupting behind him, only to land hard on his shoulder. "So much for that calm trip, eh, boss?"

"Not now, Mickey!" the Doctor shot back, allowing the door to slam shut behind Rose before leaping towards the console, attacking the buttons and levers with a level of desperation Mickey had never seen before.

Rose's sneakers skidded into view in front of him, squeaking against the grating. A second later, she was on her knees, searching his face. "You all right there, Micks?"

He grunted. "Yeah, no thanks to himself."

"Mickey!" the Doctor repeated, grounding out the words. "Not now!"

"Yeah, no need to worry about us, or anything. We were just being shot at!" Rose rolled her eyes, her arms reaching out to help Mickey to his feet again. "What was that all about anyway?"

"We should be safe in the time vortex – I just need to get us there." The Doctor let out a shout of triumph an instant later when the TARDIS shuddered to life. He rushed towards the small monitor. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…"

"What's going on? Answer us properly. Doctor!"

A warning noise blared through TARDIS and the Doctor swore. "They're following us."

"What? Those nutters with the guns?" A small shiver of fear began to run through Mickey's body.

Eyes never leaving the screen, the Doctor nodded.

"But how? I thought this was a time machine. How can they follow us in a time machine?"

"Stolen technology," he replied, fingers continued to rap against the keyboard as he talked. "They've got a vortex manipulator, like the one Jack had, remember? They can follow us wherever we go, right across the universe. They're never going to stop, unless…"

"I like 'unless'," Mickey said, eyes darting to where Rose stood in silence, jaw clenched. "Tell, 'im, Rose! Let's go for 'unless'."

"I'll have to do it. I have to hide." He pulled an agitated hand through his hair before straightening. "Mickey! Rose! Everything will depend on you – my life will be in your hands."

Rose snorted. "Yeah, 'course. Now you remember we exist when you need our help."

The Doctor froze, mouth falling open as his eyes filled with disbelief. "What? Rose—"

Mickey gripped his shoulder. "Boss! Focus!" His empty hand waved up and down as he spoke. "Crazy aliens with space guns chasing us through time or whatever!"

He nodded, diving down behind the console before reemerging with an old fob watch in his hands. "They've smelled me, but they haven't seen us, so hiding shouldn't be a problem."

"And by 'hiding' you mean…?"

"The aliens hunting us are very short lived – two months generally, three tops. I'll turn myself into a human for a few months. I have this…well, simply put, it's a machine that can change my species. I'll set it to human, land on Earth and let the TARDIS hide away."

"You—" Rose started, her voice cracking, "—you have a machine that can turn you into a human and you never even said?"

"It's not that easy," the Doctor replied, a desperate note tinted his voice, and Mickey couldn't help but suspect this was a topic the Doctor had spent more time pondering than he'd ever admit. "It doesn't just turn me human, it removes all my memories, gives me a new identity. I'll believe whatever the chameleon arch programs me to believe." His hands grasped after hers, only to meet with empty air as she backed out of his reach.

"So, we'll just…what?" Mickey asked. "Go back home for three months? Visit Jackie?"

The Doctor swallowed, his gaze falling away from Rose's blank face. "No. I don't know how much they saw of us. They might have recognized the time period your clothes come from. I'm setting the TARDIS to random instead." He turned back towards the screen, rapping out a new set of commands with the keyboard. "Now, the TARDIS will take care of everything. Invent a life story for me, find us a setting and integrate me. It can't do the same for you, however, so you'll have to improvise. I should have just enough residual awareness to accept whatever story you tell me."

"And the fob watch?"

"That's where I'll be stored. The real me, that is. Keep track of it – lose that watch and you lose me. Open it up and I'll be restored – ba-ba-boom! – so don't go opening that watch before those three months are up, or the aliens will be able to sense me again."

"Gotcha, boss."

The Doctor turned his attention back to Rose, his whole body seeming almost to shrink upon itself as she refused to meet his eyes. "Rose, I—"

She shook her head, eyes flickering towards Mickey instead. "I'll go and pack, yeah?" she announced, voice almost painfully cheerful as she left.

Mickey couldn't help the small twinge of glee thrumming through his body as he took in the Doctor's flabbergasted face. "Smooth."

The Doctor ignored him, just as Mickey suspected he would, turning his attention back to the screen instead. "I'll make a movie with instructions," he said, at length. "You go and help Rose pack. By the time you return, I'll have everything set up."

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one – he'd be lying if he said it was the first time the smug alien git had used that particular tone with him – he moved back into the corridor without a word. By the time Mickey managed to locate Rose in the wardrobe room, three bags full of clothing were waiting by her feet. "Already done packing, babe?"

Rose spun around in surprise. "Mickey! You scared me," she croaked, drying her eyes with the edge of her sleeves. "I didn't have to."

"Babe…"

"Pack, that is. I didn't have to pack. The bags were already done when I came in here. One each – they've got tags and everything. The TARDIS does that sometimes."

"Rose, babe…"

A lone tear trickled down her cheek, lips trembling. "It's just…I thought I was special. Even after Sarah-Jane, you know? I thought he wouldn't—well, shows what I know, doesn't it? He left us on that ship, Mickey. Left us so he could play knight with a queen, and I just sat there and waited and waited. For five-and-a-half hours I waited. And what does he do when he finally gets back? Bit of a hug and then he runs back to her."

He wrapped her up in his arms, tucking her head underneath his chin like he'd done so often before – before the Doctor had run into their life, taking Rose with him. Having her back in his embrace was an odd, bittersweet feeling – he knew their relationship hadn't been enough, not for either of them, if he was being honest, but he loved her and he probably always would in a way. "You're special, babe. We're just a bit thick, us guys. Don't you remember? Jackie always said so. And the Doctor's an alien so he's extra thick. Probably why his head's so big – thought it was his ego, but now I know it's 'cause he wouldn't have a brain otherwise."

Rose sniffed and he could feel a patch of damp from where she pressed her face into his shirt. "You always were too good for me, Micks."

"That's not how it works – we were both good, just not good with each other."

She stared up at him in surprise. "And when did you become so wise, Mickey Smith?"

Mickey grinned. "Watched a lot of TV. Had to do something during that year when you went missing!"

Her eyes grew wide before she laughed. "Mickey!"

"Well, it's all true! Especially the part I said about the Doctor. Babe, listen – the Doctor's a thick idiot, but he's your thick idiot. Reckon that's why he's such a mess today. He knows you're mad at him, but he can't figure out why, so he's just making a mess out of everything because he doesn't know how to fix it."

Rose snorted. "I reckon it's more because he lost Madame de Pompadour yesterday. He really loved her, Micks. He did. And now she's gone."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his tongue as the screams began, echoing loud through the room.

Rose froze. "That's the Doctor," she whispered.

The shared a quick look before dashing back into the corridors. The maze of hallways was longer than Mickey had ever experienced before, and he couldn't help but wonder if the TARDIS had been told to keep them away for as long as possible. Heck, if the Doctor had been aware of how painful his transformation to human would be, it wouldn't surprise him – he'd want to keep Rose from seeing it, no matter what.

By the time they burst into the console room, the lights had flickered down, leaving the eerie glow from the console as their only source of light, and the Doctor's screams had already ceased. Instead, they found the Doctor's unconscious body lying prone on the grating, the sound of audio from the video playing on the console screen echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

Rose stepped forward, steps hesitant, and placed a hand on his chest. "One heart," she murmured before glancing up sharply. "Tell you what else, though, the TARDIS is all quiet – we must've landed."

Mickey nodded before pausing and rewinding the video – some of the few things he actually knew how to do on the console. "We better watch this, babe."

"Yeah, 'course. But first…" She bobbed her head towards the door. "Better check where we are. We probably need to change before we head out."

Together they made their way towards the doors, nudging it open just enough to peek out.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

It wasn't a sight Mickey ever would have dreamed about seeing in that moment – ladies in large dresses and men in breeches were walking down the street in front of him. A street which a proud little sign announced to be Avenue des Thuilerie.

"Is that…?"

"France," she whispered. Slamming the door shut, a choked sob slipped through her lips as she turned to leave. "All of time and space and he manages to hit 18th century France!"

"Babe…"

She took a deep breath, as though to steel herself, before dashing back to the console. "The Doctor isn't himself and the TARDIS is down, so translational circuit isn't working and we're France." She dove down to where the Doctor had found his fob watch, only to re-emerge a few seconds later with a small box clutched between her hands. Hands still shaking, she opened the box to reveal a set of small trinkets – a set of cufflinks, a small bronze pin, a pair of pearl earrings, a tie pin, an ornate brooch, a necklace… "The Doctor showed me these after the whole mess with the Sycorax. Here." She handed him the bronze pin.

"What's this?"

"These are from the 25th century – translational accessories. Wear that, and you'll hear English and they'll hear French or whatever. It'll be easier to blend in this way. They're not as good as the TARDIS, the Doctor said, but they should be good enough for French, I think."

Mickey nodded, glancing back at the Doctor's still form. "What about the Doctor? Doesn't he need one, then?"

Rose shook her head. "Don't think so. He said he'd be sort of integrated, right? Reckon he'll probably know French. Otherwise, you'll just have to translate for him. And you have to keep 'im away from Versailles. I don't know if Madame de Pompadour is alive, but we can't take any chances. You just can't take him there, no matter how much he begs for it, okay?"

"Me? What about you?"

"I just…I can't, Mickey. I can't even look at him right now." Her voice wavered as she gazed up at him with wide eyes. "Please. You can't ask me to do watch over him while he moons over her again."

He nodded. "Fine. I'll take care of him. But, babe, what about you? You can't stay in here for three months."

"'Course not. You keep himself safe; I'll keep my eyes peeled for those aliens chasing us."

"And how are you going to do that with the TARDIS powered down?"

She grinned, wiping at her face with her still damp sleeve. "Easy. I do what mum has trained me to do since I was little – gossip."

A beam of sunlight flickered over his eyelids and his head throbbed in response.

Whatever he'd ended up doing last night must have been one hell of a party.

A groan escaped through his lips.

"Oh, you're awake. Good to see you alive, boss."

He managed to crack an eye open, and a dark skinned man with a small tray of food swam into view before him. "Wha—?"

The man grinned. "It's me – Mickey, your mate and right hand, remember?"

Mickey. Yes. Of course he remembered –right hand man and friend, although it would probably take a substantial amount of alcohol for either of them to admit to the latter. "What happened?"

The other man snorted. "You got sloshed, of course. Banged your head on your way out and I dragged you to this place – managed to convince the innkeeper to give you a room for the night for free."

"Really?" His head began to clear, its throbbing receding back to a dull ache instead and he grinned. "Do you think you could do it again for tonight?"

"No."

"Why not? We're a bit strapped for cash, I think. Aren't we? Pretty sure we are. So if you could—"

"Look, I was a bit worried about you, boss – you hit your head pretty badly. Can you tell me your name? Do you remember that?"

"Of course I do, Ricky!"

"Mickey."

"Close enough. 'What's in a name' and all that." He climbed out of bed, stretching. "I feel fine. Fit as a fiddle! No need to worry."

"Boss…"

"Very well." Rolling his eyes, he gave an exaggerated bow. "Giacomo Casanova, at your service."

While Giacomo Casanova had a definite reason for having picked Paris as his next stop (an important one, too – he was there to beg forgiveness…no, he corrected himself, become pardoned. He was there to become pardoned for Versailles. No, not for Versailles. He'd never been to Versailles before. Had he? No, of course he hadn't. He was Italian. He'd never before been outside of Italy, which meant he couldn't possibly be there to ask someone to forgive him for Versailles… Right? Right. He had been erroneously arrested in Venice, escaped and was there to be pardoned at Versailles by the Italian ambassador. Yes. That was it), it came with several extra perks – it was beautiful, the art, history, culture…always a good party waiting to be crashed somewhere. And the women…

Giac grinned, straightening his cravat as he took note of a particularly stunning brunette sending him a heated look from across the road. He winked back only to hear Ricky groan loudly beside him.

"He's a flirt. Of course he's a flirt."

His grin shifted into a frown. "What?"

"Nothin'. Just...we need to find somewhere to stay."

"Yep."

"And neither of us have money."

"Not that I know of, no."

"Great. Well, one of us better start looking for some kind of job."

Stopping in the middle of the street, causing the other man to almost walk into his back in the process, Giac gaped at him in mock outrage. "Where did you learn such a filthy word? Never say it again, Rocco—"

The other man spluttered. "'Rocco'?! How the hell did you even manage—no, you know what? I don't even want to know. It's Mickey. M-I-C-K-E-Y."

"Right. Yes, of course it is. Point still stands, though. A job – urgh!"

"Yeah? So's my point! No money – nowhere to sleep."

Giac sighed. The man had a point, of course, no matter how little he cared to admit it. "Fine, fine. Off you pop, then. Find us a place to stay – townhouse; furnished. Rent? Say…" He sniffed sharply. "…About ten sous a week."

"And where are we supposed to get ten sous, then? 'm thinking they'll want the rent up front."

"No need worrying your pretty little head about that. Well, I say 'pretty'..."

"Oi!"

He winked. "Off you go. I'll meet you back here with the money." He watched as Mickey walked off grumbling to himself before straightening his back with a deep breath. Sliding his hands into his hair, he gave it a good ruffle and tug as he thought, various ideas running through his head almost faster than he could identify them. "Right. Assets, assets… What do we have? Oh, I have a fob watch. It's a good fob watch. Made out of silver. Sell the watch, and what do I have? About two weeks rent. Two weeks to turn my luck around."

Finding a pawnshop willing to purchase his watch took him no more than ten minutes, although it was hardly surprising – the watch, while impossible to open, was made out of solid silver and quite heavy. The merchant even give him a respectable sum of eight-and-twenty sous in exchange for it.

Hiding the small pouch as far into his coat as he could, he exited the shop, whistling a happy little tune as he went.

To be continued...