A/N: I have a million and one things to do, so of course this is the perfect time to write fic! I fail, obviously. Hope you enjoy the product of my severe procrastination.

The quotes at the beginning and end are from, obviously, the Rolling Stones. But sometimes I can try to be a little too artsy, so I'm not sure how well they fit. Feel free to let me know. Also feel free to point out any mistakes, as this has not been beta'd. Constructive criticism is welcome!

You can't always get what you want…
He'd done it.

That's all he could think of, standing in the darkness, gazing up at the zeppelins of Pete's World. He'd finally done it. After countless hours of thinking and researching, and pages and pages of equations that filled the TARDIS, he'd finally found a way across the Void, to Rose.

But still, as he stood in the door of his ship, doubts lingered. He may have gotten to the right place, but was it the right time? How long had it been for Rose since Norway? Had she moved on with her life by now? Or maybe it had been even longer than that, and he'd come all this way just to find out that she was—

The Doctor shook his head, clearing it of his morbid thoughts. He'd never know until he found out for himself, and that was better than carrying the "what if?" around with him for the rest of his life. He straightened his coat and looked around him, taking in the few people still out on the streets. It had to be near midnight, and while he wished he could just take the TARDIS directly to Rose's door, he couldn't risk moving her after all the trouble he'd gone through to get here. Besides, he'd made his way to Pete's mansion once before—it couldn't be that hard to find again.

And with that thought, he stepped out of the TARDIS into the London night.

Apparently, it was that hard to find Pete's mansion again. As brilliant as he was, it was nearly impossible to get his bearings in the alternate London, and the darkness wasn't making it any easier. Hours had passed and all he'd accomplished was walking a huge circle around the now deserted city streets, all sane people long since home and in bed. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed in frustration. He didn't want to waste another minute, but there was no one around to ask for directions. But…he brightened. This London would still have taxis, wouldn't it?

He walked aimlessly for a few minutes, squinting into the darkness, until finally a familiar automobile came into view. Elated, he strode to the street corner, just about to hail it—

—when he stumbled, having managed to run into the only other person on the sidewalk.

He reached out to steady her. "Sorry!" they both exclaimed, and then he looked down, and everything came to a grinding halt.

It was Rose.

Rose, who looked exactly as he remembered. They both stood there in shock, mouths hanging open, hands on each other's arms, as the taxi drove by unnoticed. So many things that he wanted to say to her, tell her, and yet the first thing that came out of his mouth was, "Why would you need a taxi?"

The fact that Rose answered him immediately, without laughing at him for asking such a stupid question, only proved how shocked she was. "Was working late. Car's at the garage," she said succinctly, still staring at him as if he was going to disappear at any moment. "And you…?"

"I finally found a way here," he answered, "and then I got lost." Rose let out a short burst of laughter, and he smiled back at her. "So I was hoping a taxi driver might know where the famous Pete Tyler lived."

They stood there for another moment, and then the enormity of the situation caught up with them and Rose was in his arms, shrieking with joy as he lifted her off her feet and swung her around. When he finally set her down he tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, savoring the feel of the golden strands against his cheek. He opened his eyes, about to speak again, when a clock in a nearby darkened shop caught his eye.

He froze. And then he started laughing, getting louder and more hysterical until he was crying, he who never cried, because he was a real boy now, she'd made him into one, real feelings and all, and even though they were good they hurt, it was just too much, and now he couldn't stop.

"Doctor!" Rose cried, concerned, and pulled away to face him, cradling his face in her hands. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Rose," he said, smiling at her through a film of tears, "it's two in the morning."

But if you try sometimes, you might find

You get what you need.