Once upon a time, there was a little plot bunny that was spawned from pictures of two spectacular ballgowns on omgthatdress. Then that bunny met another bunny spawned by CE's comment about how the Doctor loved Rose from pretty much the first moment. Then this.
Clara Oswald stepped out onto the balcony, fanning herself with rather more vigor than the setting - or, in fact, the delicate ostrich plume fan - called for. She stopped immediately when she noticed that the balcony already had an occupant, but the other young lady just smiled, not seeming to notice anything amiss.
"Excuse me," Clara mumbled. "It was a bit stuffy in there."
"Plenty of room," the other girl replied in a friendly voice.
"Nice dress," Clara offered.
"Thanks!" the blonde replied brightly. "I like yours, too," she added, openly admiring the dainty confection of aquamarine satin embroidered with butterflies. She wriggled a bit. "Could do with a bit more breathing room, if you know what I mean. Blimey! I don't know how women managed in all this…" her voice trailed off and her cheeks turned pink as she fumbled to recover. "Er, that is…you know, being all dressed up like this. For the ball, I mean."
"Oh, yes," Clara agreed, hurriedly. "I'm not used to this either. Balls, I mean. I'm Clara, by the way."
"Nice to meet you. I'm -"
The tall, silver-haired man stepped out onto the balcony, irritably wondering what part of 'don't wander off' his human companions always seemed to have such trouble comprehending. And then he saw her, and eleven hundred years of his own personal timeline faded away in an instant. She was a vision in a stunning pale pink satin gown, embroidered with sprays of golden wheat. Her blonde curls were piled artfully on top of her head, but the smile and sparkling brown eyes were the same. His precious pink and yellow girl, the one who'd taken his hand and healed his hearts, all those many years ago.
"Rose," he gasped.
"How'd you know?" she asked in pretty confusion.
"Forgive me," he stammered, the needs of a Time Lord to preserve the timelines warring with the need of this Time Lord to reach out and touch the girl he thought he'd never see again. "You, ah…you look like an old friend of mine…someone who was…very dear to me."
The deep sadness in his eyes brought all of Rose's compassion to the forefront. She smiled at him, the same flash of brightness and warmth that had won his bitter hearts so very long ago.
"Fancy a dance, then? For old times sake?"
"I…I think I'd like that, very much. D'you mind, Clara?" he asked, suddenly recalling the presence of his current companion.
"Of course not," Clara replied, her smile a bit fixed as she watched them depart. She remembered now, the TARDIS had shown her a picture of Rose that night she was being so bi - obstreperous - and there'd been glimpses of her during Clara's foray through the Doctor's timeline.
"Rose?"
Clara turned to look at the handsome bloke who'd just stepped out onto the balcony. This face, she did recall. They'd all been trouble magnets, but this one! Sometimes it amazed her that he'd managed to regenerate into the Doctor that she met.
"Your friend has gone dancing with my friend," she informed him, trying to keep the overly bright smile in place. "He wouldn't dance with me," she added quietly, "but she reminded him of someone he used to know…"
"Speaking of which," the Doctor in the pinstriped suit continued, eyes alight with curiosity, "Have we met?"
"No, I don't think so," she fibbed. "I've just got one of those faces."
"Too pretty a face to be out here moping. What say we take a turn around the dance floor? We'll find our friends, and I'll ask to cut in. Middle of the dance floor like that, he won't have any choice but to dance with you. What do you say?" he asked, holding out his hand with a manic grin plastered on his face. He wiggled his fingers. "May I have this dance?"
"All right!" Clara giggled, with genuine delight.
"Come on, then!" he crowed as he led the pretty brunette out onto the dance floor at a pace better suited for his converse-clad feet than her formal attire.
The Doctor whirled them about the dance floor exuberantly, garnering more than a few raised eyebrows. He wondered idly what sort of stupid git his dance partner had arrived with. And then he saw her across the room, in a flash of pink satin and golden hair, and he saw, or rather felt, the shadow of her partner's mind. Oh. He didn't recognize this one…must be a future him. And now he surely couldn't blame the man for wanting to steal a moment with Rose. Future him smiled beatifically, holding Rose as if she was the most precious thing in his existence. The pinstriped Doctor wondered vaguely just how far into his future he was seeing, and why he wasn't traveling with Rose anymore…then tamped down that train of thought ruthlessly.
"She must be very special," Clara whispered.
"She is," the Doctor replied, "but so are you. I wouldn't be traveling with you, otherwise. I only take the best. Just you make sure to remind him of that every now and again, all right?"
"All right," Clara agreed, smiling.
The Doctor wove through the crowd with rather more enthusiasm than grace. "Hello there," he said brightly to his counterpart. "Mind if I cut in?"
"Yes, of course," the other him acquiesced, a touch reluctantly. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Rose's forehead. "Thank you, my dear." He set her hand carefully in his former self's. "Take good care of her, won't you?"
"We take care of each other," Rose replied.
"Indeed," the silver-haired man replied reminiscently.
The Doctor gently pushed Clara into the other's arms. "I believe your friend would like a dance. Still got the moves?"
Rose's eyes widened at his choice of words. "Who are you?" she stammered, glancing from one man to the other.
There was a tenderness in the future Doctor's face as he smiled at her. "Just…a very old man, who once met a very lovely young woman in a dingy shop basement, in London."