AN: I confess to this idea not being entirely mine. It's based off a gifset on Tumblr I have saved in my likes called something like Rose and the Doctor in an indie film. So, I got inspired to write this after looking at it many a time and wanting to read the actual fic or watch a video or something. Enjoy?

Chapter 1- The Website

Rose Tyler had had enough. Her life wasn't going anywhere if she stayed on the path she was on now. She knew what the problem was: her boyfriend.

Before she had started dating Mickey Smith, there had been Jimmy Stone, an abusive good-for-nothing musician. After that, she had sought mundane normalcy, and had found it in her childhood friend from the Estates.

Now, however, the only thing she could show for the three years she'd been with him is her own flat outside of the Estate and a decent job temping at the local secondary school. She was bored, and if she continued on this way, she was sure she'd end up like Sylvia Plath.

Mickey meant well. He was a nice, sweet, and funny man. She loved him in his own way, but she wasn't in love with him. Just the idea of what he represented when she had been thrust into the cold, harsh waves of reality at sixteen. The thing is: it was fine when she was seventeen, but now she was twenty, nearing twenty-one. This was the point in her life, as her mother kept nagging her, where she was meant to make a decision forever. Did she want to stay here, with Mickey Smith, or did she want to find another option?

The other option kept looking more and more handsome as days went by.

Rose sighed, looking around the room at her art club students that had stayed behind to work on their current pieces. They were so young, vibrant, full of life. She missed those carefree, innocent days.

She sank down into her roller chair at the computer, browsing for an idea, anything. She found herself staring dreamily at the New York City travel websites, but she definitely didn't have that kind of money.

One of her students, Emily, moved to the side of her desk.

"Ms. Tyler? I finished my piece. What are you looking at?"

Rose sighed. "It's nothin', Emily, just lookin' at somewhere I'd like to travel. Now, then, let's take a look at your piece."

It was meant to be a Van Gogh inspired piece, Emily had told her a few weeks back when she had started. It was based upon his Starry Night, only hers had more swirls of blue and yellow, and something that looked vaguely like a police box window woven throughout.

"This is rather interesting, Emily," Rose praised honestly. "I love the colors, but what are you tryin' to showcase?"

"To be completely honest, Ms. Tyler," Emily began, "this came to me last night. I was a bit stuck, as you know, and I had a dream about an exploding box."

I love it!" Rose pronounced. "You get full marks!"

Emily smiled. "Thanks, Ms. Tyler."

Rose was still thinking about Emily's interesting art piece on her way to meet Mickey at the pub for their usual Friday Fish Fry.

She was starting to wonder if it was destiny for her to choose a new path, first with looking at New York travel sites, and then Emily's art piece which had given her a severe case of wanderlust, for reasons she couldn't exactly describe.

She wasn't all there when they sat down at their usual table, munching on chips.

"Babe?" Mickey asked, waving a hand in front of Rose's face.

She shook herself back to the present. "Yeah?"

"How was your day? Are you okay? I've asked you that same question twice now,"Mickey said, concerned.

"Sorry,"Rose apologized. "Just been out of it all day.

What d'you mean?" Mickey asked, taking her hand.

"Just...I don't know, Micks. Do you ever feel like your life is safe? Normal? Boring?"she prompted.

He let go of her hand and recoiled. "What's that supposed to mean then? Are we breakin'up?"

"Micks,"Rose said defensively. Ï just don't know what to do or say anymore. I do the same thing, every day. Get up go to work, get chips, watch telly. I just want something new!"

"You mean someone new,"he spat. "Who is he then?

It's no one, Micks!"she pleaded. Ï don't even know if I want a relationship, I'm just not satisfied with the ways things are now. I need... a fresh breath of air, a change of pace."

Mickey sat back in his seat, sulking. "What did you tell me when we first got together, Rose? You said you wanted safe and normal and boring. So, tell me what I'm supposed to do."

"Nothing,"she insisted. "You haven't done anything, you've been perfect, and you were just what I needed. But that's it, Micks. Past tense, I'm not sure what I need anymore."

He sighed. "But I love you."

"Love you too,"she replied, "just not the way you want me to be, and you deserve so much more than that."

Mickey slammed his fist on the table and shook his head. "You're gonna realize tomorrow, babe, that this was all a mistake."

"I don't think I will, Mickey, sorry." Rose stood up, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks," she murmured.

"For what?"he asked.

"Exactly,"she replied before turning on her heel and exiting the pub.

..

John Smith sighed, chewing on the end of his pen cap for what seemed like the hundredth time. He just couldn't get out of this writer's block, and he had a feeling it had to do with hating this place. He had an okay flat (studio, it was called here in America) in Downtown New York City, which was supposed to give him a new lease on the novel he was writing.

It was supposed to be a modern drama set in the city, a regale of a businessman coming to America and finding a new...something. He hadn't quite figured out yet what that should be and that was the problem. His editor had been after him for three months now, and he had just gotten to the point of ignoring him whenever he called or emailed.

He thought moving himself halfway across the world into the environment he was suddenly supposed to be writing about would help, but it just bloody sucked bullocks.

No one in America knew what he was saying half the time, because the lingo was different. He asked for chips one time, not thinking about it, and received an order of very thin crisps. There was nowhere to order a hot tea without looking like a twat, and he missed the rush, smell, and sights of London; as loathe he was to say it.

He tossed the pen carelessly into the dark room behind him. The shades were still drawn even though it was half past two, and quite sunny outside. He hated the Sun, and the dark reminded him of the dreary London afternoons.

Realizing he was never going to get anything done in this state of mind, John sprang up from his desk chair and went into his kitchenette, putting the kettle on to boil a fresh mug of tea. He rubbed the bridge o his nose in frustration.

He wanted to go back to London, but he had already sublet his flat for another three months, and his editor would kill him if he went with no results. His mobile buzzed in his sweatpants pocket, and he sighed. If that was his editor again, he might just die.

Thankfully, it was Jack.

John half smiled, opening the mobile to answer his only friend he'd made on his stint over here so far.

"Hello," he greeted in his deep, smooth Scottish burr, "How's it goin'?"

"Fine," Jack acknowledged. "Listen, I was wondering if you're not too busy with that novel of yours-"

It was here John Smith rolled his eyes. "I was thinking you might accompany me down at the bar?"

"At half past two?"he asked, frowning. "Why?"

"Because we're young, and the day is young, and life is short,"Jack huffed, "Shall I continue, or are you coming?"

John groaned. "As if you'd let me say no to you anyhow."

He could hear the smugness in Jack's voice, even through the receiver. "Now you're getting the idea, doc. See you in about an hour, eh? And please, no sweatpants."

John sighed. "Fine." The kettle whistled behind him. "See you then, Jack."

"Later, doc,"Jack signed off.

"Don't call me that!"John exclaimed, but was only answered by the click of a dead line.

He snapped the cover down, and placed it back into his pocket.

Right then, tea, then changing into 'Jack appropriate' clothes.

An hour and a half later, John sat next to Jack at their favorite bar, the Bad Wolf. He had a tumbler of scotch in front of him, scowling at the swirling contents below.

"What has the scotch done to offend you, pal?"Jack teased, his hand clapping John on the back. "Loosen up, okay? You'll find inspiration soon."

John sighed. "I dont know about that, Jack. I can't seem to find anything, and I've been here seven months. This is the most severe case of writer's block I've had in bloody years!"

Jack looked at him sympathetically. "Maybe you need a change of pace. A new place? A new girl?"

At the look on John's face, he relented. "No girl then. I still don't understand why."

"If I find the one, I find her, but it's just not the same since Reinette."

Jack sneered at her name. "From what I understand, doc, she was a bitch that was just using you for the fame. Just like she's doing to the french president I hear. Poor bastard."

"I'll drink to that," he said, raising his glass to his lips and taking a long dreg of the liquid inside.

"It's like I said earlier, though, doc. Life is short. Don't let one bitch ruin you, okay? There are plenty of women out there who like the artsy, writer types."

John snorted. "Cause there's such a huge line now, eh?"

Jack smiled sadly. "Why don't you try moving back, buddy? It might help. I know how much you miss it."

"I already told you why I can't,"John lamented.

"What if I told you I know a way?"John asked. "Really simple, and confidential."

"Not the whole witness protection plan again, okay? I get that you're good at erasing identities, but I'm not that desperate. Yet."

"No, no."Jack assured, "this is something different. Although, I have used it before. It's a site called wanderlust. It matches you with someone in sort of a similar situation. Wants to leave, go to another place. Plus, it lets you switch places with them for however long you're looking for. If you decide you like it, you could always use it again. If you don't, you can end early, and they'll get someone else to take your spot."

"What about my furniture?" John asked.

"The person you switch with uses it,"Jack explained. "You only bring the essentials. Clothes, things you can't live without for the duration of your stay."

"Hmm,"John said, scratching his scruff. "I might look into it."

"Do it!"Jack encouraged. "I will miss you, doc, but. This is more important. This is about getting back in the game, and hopefully coming up with something for your editor."

John laughed. "Yeah, I suppose."

….

Rose Tyler felt elated for the first time in a long time. She felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she couldn't wait to continue on the path she had started herself on.

She hung her keys on their hook and took of her pumps, sighing at the relief she felt being out of them. That was the one thing she could never get used to as a teacher was wearing uncomfortable heels every day.

She went straight to her answering machine to check her voicemails. A little red three blinked up at her, and she groaned. She hit the play button and waited for the inevitable backlash of breaking up with Mickey Smith.

"Rose, it's your mum," Jackie started, "Mickey says you've broken up, sweetheart. Now, I'll reserve my opinion until I hear your side of it, but if it's like he says...oh. Sweetheart, Mickey's a good boy. You should give him another chance. Love you, call me back."

Rose rolled her eyes. Of course he had gotten to her mum first, probably with some sob story of leaving him for another Jimmy Stone or something of the like.

"Babe!" shrieked Shareen, her best friend. "How could you break up with Micks, and not tell me? I thought we were best mates! Call me back ASAP and give me the details, will ya? Oh, and also tell me if we're still on for Saturday, yeah? Love you."

She smiled at that. She'd call and explain everything to Shareen over a pint of ice cream and a bottle of wine in their sweatpants most likely.

"Babe…"the message that Rose had been dreading the most had come. "If it's something I've done...well. I'm sorry. Please call me back, will you?"

She sighed, and hit delete on all of her messages, resolving to come back to them. Instead, she sat down at her desk to check her emails. Sifting through her usual spam and school emails, she found something that caught her attention.

On the left hand side with all the other ads, a website was advertised called Wanderlust. It was supposedly for strangers that wanted to trade places.

She couldn't say she wasn't at least intrigued by that tagline, so Rose clicked on the ad, and it took her to a very official, posh looking website. She read the description given by the website, which stated she would matched with her ideal candidate based upon all the information she filled out in their online form. They assured the customer that everyone would go through a preliminary background check before any official keys or paperwork were given over to their match.

Rose thought it over. There was really no harm in just checking it out, was there? There probably wasn't even a match that she would like. With that settled, she clicked the enter site button, and was taken to a long form.

It asked for the basics: name, age, profession, address; then it went on into more detail, such as: did she have any preference over countries, age of candidates, professions of candidates, even? Then it wanted her to write a short description of her interests, and her daily routine , in order to better match her to a perfect candidate.

She dutifully filled in the information needed, and sent it with a satisfied nod. There. Now she could at least say she had tried. To be completely honest, Rose Tyler wasn't expecting anything to come of it. Oh, how wrong she was.