A/N: Doomsday? What Doomsday? This goes up to Fear Her, then goes AU. Also, I had the idea for this long before season three (I actually posted this to my LJ months ago and forgot to post it here as well), so any similarities with Human Nature are just creepy coincidences.

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Rose walked along the river, scanning the faces of the people she passed. They'd stopped in 43rd century London because the TARDIS could use a few new parts, the Doctor had said, and he knew a place here where he could get them. He'd known that she'd rather go shopping than searching for spanners and the like, and had told her to enjoy the day before disappearing into the crowded street.

That had been a month ago.

She'd been slightly worried when she'd returned to the TARDIS, arms full of packages, to find the ship empty. Concern had turned to panic when she fell asleep on the jump seat and awoke the next day to find him still not there. And by the end of the day, having scoured the city and finding no trace of him, desperate, she'd contacted the police.

They'd been nothing but helpful, instantly starting an investigation. But as the days stretched by, she noticed more and more the strain on their faces, the sentences they'd start and then not finish. Something was wrong, horribly wrong, and finally, frustrated with the lack of progress, Rose had confronted the detective assigned to the case, demanding the truth.

It wasn't what she'd been expecting.

For a little over a year, people had been disappearing from London. Some were never seen again, and those that were found…weren't the same. They came back insisting they were different people, not recognizing parents, children, spouses, friends. Scientists, psychotherapists, behavioralists—all of them and more had been called into service, but none of the victims had yet to regain their memories. A few had even gone insane in the process. And Rose knew what the sympathetic expression on the detective's face meant.

He thought the Doctor had been the latest victim.

Well, the police could believe that, but Rose wasn't going to give up hope. Even when two weeks had gone by, and the police had reluctantly informed her that they needed to focus their main attention on more current cases, she'd stubbornly insisted on continuing to search, traversing the city every day and peering at face after face after face, hoping against hope for a miracle.

Which brought her back to the river.

The wind blew her hair into her face and she pushed the strands aside, eyes flitting from face to face. There was a man five or so meters away from her, walking slowly towards her, and she'd been doing this for so long that her gaze glanced over him before she froze and turned back.

He was wearing jeans, a bright blue t-shirt, and a leather jacket, not the pinstriped suit and overcoat she'd been looking for, but that face…

There was no mistaking that face.

She quickly covered the distance between them and launched herself at him, engulfing him in a hug. She pressed her face into the leather, taking in the smell of him and the comforting double thump of his hearts. "Oh, God, Doctor," she said. "Thank God. I was beginning to think that I was never going to find you!"

There was silence, and then strong hands gently pulling her away. She looked up at him, ready to speak again—

Her words died on her lips as her blood ran cold.

There wasn't an ounce of recognition on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I've never seen you before in my life. You must have me confused with someone else." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Jacob Bennett. And you are?"