John pushed the heels of his hands into the dough, putting all his strength behind it as he worked to get it to the right consistency. Kneading bread dough was therapeutic in the way he could focus on doing just this one single thing, putting mind and body both towards a single goal and shutting out the rest of the world for a bit.

He was starting to get a reputation for his breads in the neighborhood, was starting to get people coming into the shop specifically looking for certain ones. No one had to know that the days he had the most variety were products of nights spent avoiding the nightmares that lived in his head.

Today there would be a lot of bread. Probably would be quite a few of the fussy little miniature cakes that sold well when he could find the time to make them. Detail work would be a good follow up to making bread.

He'd been working for a couple hours and his kitchen was covered in various breads and cakes and sweets in varying stages of baking, cooling, and being decorated when a sharp knocking cut through the quiet. John's head whipped up, brows drawing together as he glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning on a Wednesday, not there weren't usually many people wandering about looking for a bakery at this time.

John grabbed a towel to wipe his hands with and headed out into the bakery proper to see what the fuss was about. He had the lights in the shop low but it was just enough to make the glass cases shine and still leave the corners shadowed.

He turned his gaze to the front windows. A blonde woman was at the door, arms wrapped round her middle as she glanced up and down the dark, empty street. John frowned as he took in the fact that she was only wearing a vest top and jeans even though it was the middle of winter and the middle of the night on top of that.

His decision to let her in was made the second he laid eyes on her. At the very least, he could offer her a spot to sit in the warmth of the bakery for a bit. Maybe some food as well.

He strode over to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open and letting in a blast of cold air.

The woman hesitated as she looked up at John, fear apparent in her eyes.

John didn't think he looked all that intimidating with an apron on and flour all over him but he was bigger than her. Years of working doughs and hauling sacks of flour and sugar and trays of food had maintained and built muscle that he belatedly realized was on display with the sleeves of his jumper pushed up. He offered her a disarming smile, trying to convey that he was not a threat.

He stepped back, pulling the door open wider and gesturing into the shop with one hand. "Come on, it's a lot warmer in here and I've got a few croissants that should be about warm that I can share."

She took a small step forward then stopped. "I don't have any money." Her voice was hoarse like she hadn't spoken in a while or had spoken too much and too loud recently.

He shrugged. "Don't need money to help someone out. Please come in."

She pressed her lips together and then nodded stepping inside Blue Box Bakery.

John shut the door behind her and locked it back. She jumped at the sound of the lock.

"You can unlock and leave at anytime you want," he reassured her. "It's a deadbolt operated from the inside, no need for a key if you're going out."

"Thank you," she said, quiet voice perfectly audible in the almost silence of the bakery. "You didn't have to let me in."

He snorted. "Wasn't going to leave you out in the cold. Come on back to the kitchen, I think I promised you croissants."

He led the way back behind the counter and then into the kitchen, pretending not to notice the way she stole a few glances back out the windows or the way some of her tension dissipated the moment the kitchen door swung shut.

"Oh my god, it smells amazing in here," she said, inhaling deeply. "Is that cinnamon I smell?"

"Good nose. There's cinnamon swirl bread in the oven."

He opened one of the ovens and used the towel he'd slung over his shoulder to pull out a tray with three croissants on it. They were leftover from yesterday and he'd been warming them back up to eat but he thought she needed them more.

He slid the tray onto a clear spot on the counter before turning to grab a plate from a cabinet. John plucked the croissants off the baking tray and dropped them onto the plate, muttering as he burned his fingertips on the hot pastry. He shook his hand out as he set the plate down near the blonde, giving her a sheepish grin.

"You'd think after a year or so of baking professionally I'd have built up more heat tolerance," he quipped.

The smile that broke over her face was wonderful to behold. "Might should invest in some tongs so you keep the feeling in your fingers."

"Got some, just never remember to use the damn things," he said easily, turning back to check on the breads and pull a sponge out of the oven that was probably already overbaked.

"I'm John Smith by the way." He didn't look behind him to see if her silence was due to a return of her hesitance or because she was in the middle of a bite. "I own this place."

"Are most bakers already up and baking at three in the morning?" the blonde asked, ignoring the opportunity to share her own name.

John turned to face her, eyes flicking down to the crumbs on her plate, all that was left of the croissants. "Nah, I'm just an insomniac who lives above his shop so when I can't sleep, I come get started on the day's baking. No one's complained about the extra pastries yet."

"I certainly wouldn't," she said, another smile blooming. "Those were delicious."

"You should try a fresh one when I get them going."

"Might just do that."

"I could get you a cuppa, if you'd like," he offered.

"If you show me where the kettle and tea are, I can make us both one. Least I can do when you let me in from the cold and fed me the best croissants I've ever had."

John showed her where the kettle had a tiny corner of counter space with tea and mugs in the cabinet above it and then left her to it. He pulled the cinnamon swirl bread and set it on a cooling rack before going to check on the doughs that were still rising. None of them looked ready yet so he turned his attention back to the blonde who was pouring boiling water into the mugs.

"You any good at baking?" he asked.

She snorted. "Pretty much anything I touch in a kitchen ends up burnt so…"

He raised his eyebrows. "Gonna have to ask you to stay away from the bread dough then."

The blonde laughed and his heart tripped over itself. "Not a problem."

John grabbed milk out of the fridge as she brought mugs over to a clear spot on the counter. He poured a splash in his before offering it to her. She added a dash of milk and then took the spoon he was using for sugar to add a spoonful and a half to her cup.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she took her first sip. "Mmm, s'been awhile since I had a proper cuppa."

John mulled over his words for a moment before opening his mouth. "Look, I'm not going to ask why you were out on the street in the middle of the winter in a vest top and no jacket. Not any of my business. But like I told you earlier, I live above the shop. So if you need a place to sleep and take a shower, make a few more cuppas, you're welcome to use my flat."

She froze, mug halfway to her lips. "I don't want to put you out."

He shrugged. "I'm going to be down here baking and then running the shop. I can give you the key and then you can lock the door behind you and have full run of the place for the day and I won't bother you. Might even have some frozen dinners you can microwave without burning the place down."

She set her mug down with a quiet thunk, keeping her hands wrapped around it. "Why are you being so nice? You don't even know me."

"Because it seems like you need help. Know what it's like to be looking for a hand to help you get on your feet, me. Nice to be able to try and do the helping this time."

"The world doesn't work this way," she argued. "It's not this kind."

"Not saying that it is. I'm just saying you knocked on the right bakery door on the right night and sometimes, luck works that way."

She was opening her mouth to say something else when a banging sound cut through the quiet. The blonde jumped, almost spilling her tea as her face drained of color. Her eyes - more gold than brown now - were wild with fear when they met his. "They found me. Oh god, I didn't think they'd find me this fast."

"Calm down. I'm not letting anyone else into this shop, you got that?" John dug in his pocket and pulled out a key, pressed it into her hand. "Go through the door in the back of the kitchen and straight up the stairs. My flat is the door on the left. I'll let you know when we're clear down here."

She nodded and took off, mug of tea still in one hand, the key in the other.

John took a deep breath, counted to ten and then walked back out into the shop for his second late night visitor.

There were two men at the door. They were dressed in black and had military-straight posture. John felt his own spine straighten instinctively, old habits reasserting themselves.

The men stood with a tilt to their stance that, to John's trained eye, said they were carrying weapons of some sort under their jackets on their left hip. One of the men was sweeping the street with his eyes, searching for any signs of movement while the other locked his gaze on John.

He took his time getting to the door. He flipped the lock and opened the door just enough to accommodate his shoulders, making it very clear that they were not welcome to enter. "We're not open," John said shortly.

"Have you seen a woman around here tonight? About five foot five, blonde?" The man in front and the shorter of the two asked.

"No. I've been in the kitchen for the last couple hours and you're the only people I've seen."

"What are you doing up at this hour, anyways?" The other man asked, turning narrowed eyes on John.

"Insomniac, me. Good quality for a baker."

"Mind if we have a look around?"

John crossed his arms over his chest. "I do actually. Pretty sure you can see the whole shop from where you're standing and I don't let people back into my kitchen, especially not when I have things baking."

"You're certain no one else has been around here tonight?"

"Nobody in the shop but me. If someone was lingering about outside I wouldn't know about it. Barely heard your knocking over the ruckus I was making back there."

The men were still suspicious, he could see it in their eyes, but he knew they didn't have any proof that he was lying. "If you see a blonde woman wandering around tonight, don't let her in. She's dangerous."

John raised his eyebrows. The blonde had seemed more scared than anything but he knew well enough that scared could make you feral, make you dangerous. "Got a number I can call if I catch sight of this dangerous fugitive?"

The man in the back reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. John took it and put it into his apron pocket without reading it. He kept his gaze locked on the two men memorizing their faces in case they decided to come back. The taller one had a permanent pinched expression and a narrow face with slicked back dark hair. The shorter one had a muscled build that John didn't particularly want to test himself against and a blonde buzzcut.

"Bread's going to burn if I don't get back to it. Night gentlemen," he said, moving back so he could shut the door.

The blonde man stopped him, slamming his palm against the glass. "I think you need to rethink letting us see the kitchen."

"I think you need to get your hand off my glass or I'm going to make you clean it yourself," John shot back. "I have no reason to let you on my property."

"I think avoiding trouble should be incentive enough," he said with a sneer, not moving his hand.

"Seems to me that letting you in would be inviting the trouble in."

"If you've got nothing to hide, let us look around," the taller man said.

John's mouth quirked up into a smile that had no warmth to it, only warning. "No, thanks. Goodnight."

He reached out and knocked the blonde's hand down with a quick motion and closed the door, locking it up once more. John waved at the men still standing outside of his bakery and then headed back into the kitchen.

John pulled his bread out of the oven and set it to cool and then finished his already cold tea sitting on the counter. When about ten minutes had passed, he poked his head back out to see if the men were still out front. Deciding it was all clear, he ducked back into the kitchen, made sure everything was out of the ovens, then walked out the back door.

John checked the back alley to make sure they weren't lurking back there and then mounted the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He knocked on the door to his flat softly. "It's me," he called out. "They're gone, no sign of them still hanging about."

He heard her moving on the other side of the door and stepped back so that she could see through the peephole that he was alone.

The deadbolt moved with a soft snick and the door swung open, revealing the blonde mystery woman. Her face was still pale, eyes still wide.

John stepped inside and closed and locked the door behind him, flipping on the lights as well.

"You got rid of them?" she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

"Yup. Told them I hadn't seen anyone of your description, refused to let them into my shop, generally didn't make any new friends in the process."

She wrapped her arms around her middle like she needed the extra support to stay upright. "Were they only looking for me?"

He nodded. "Did you have someone with you earlier?"

She looked away. "Yeah, couple people. We split up so it wouldn't be as easy to track us but I guess they didn't find a bakery to hide in."

"Maybe they found somewhere else to lay low."

"If Torchwood didn't ask about them, they've already found 'em."

"Torchwood?"

She looked back up, brow furrowed in confusion. "That's who came around looking for me, yeah?"

John dug in the pocket of his apron and pulled out the card he'd asked for. One side had a honeycomb T, the other side read "Torchwood: Scientific research for the betterment of Britain" along with a phone number.

"That's cryptic," he muttered. He looked back at the blonde. "You were right. Torchwood."

"They gave you a card?" she asked.

John shrugged. "I asked for a way to contact them so that I knew who they were."

"Clever."

"Not just a pretty face," he joked, mouth quirking into a half-smile. "Why don't we move in to the couch? Could do with getting off my feet for a bit."

He eased past her and walked towards his sofa. It was battered and a rather offensive shade of yellow but it was the comfiest thing he'd ever sat on and he was attached to it. John plopped down with a sigh and propped his feet up on the coffee table after tossing his apron on it.

"They don't tell you when you decide to open a bakery that it's hell on your feet," he said.

The blonde carefully lowered herself down on the other end of the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest and leaning back against the arm. "I would think it would be obvious. Gotta stand in the kitchen and then in the shop. Can't sit when you're in customer service."

"Sounds like you know the drill."

"Might've worked in a shop once upon a time," she admitted. "Splurged on those gel inserts for my shoes and never regretted a single penny."

"I'll have to look into that."

"You should."

John let the silence stretch until some of the tension drained from the blonde's shoulders.

"You know they tried to tell me that you're dangerous," he said.

"They would say that," she scoffed. She propped her chin up on a fist, met his eyes. "I'm not dangerous to you."

"I know." He paused, trying to decide if he should say the rest of what was in his head. He'd promised not to press for her story but that was before a couple of military grunts from a research facility he'd never heard of had come knocking on his door. "But you might be dangerous for them."

"Yes."

"Why are they looking for you?"

"Because I escaped their lab and they hate losing a test subject." Her gaze was unflinching and her voice was steady. "Usually when they lose one, it's because they went to far and killed them or sent them into a nervous breakdown or a coma. We were the first ones that escaped, I think."

"These people are experimenting on humans? Government approved?" John asked, a crease forming in his brow.

She laughed, harsh and bitter. "The government knows, they just don't care. Not officially sanctioned, I don't think, but they and Torchwood don't exactly consider us human so it doesn't matter."

John outright frowned. "Not human?"

She bit down on her bottom lip. "So, um, but there's a certain percentage of people that seems to be growing that can do what most consider… magic. I'm one of those people."

John blinked. "Alright."

"You're… okay with that? Just like that?" she asked, incredulous.

"Would you like me to freak out a bit more?"

"Not particularly, but I was expecting you to."

"I heard some rumblings, rumors, about magic right before I left the army. It was something more than just the usual soldier superstition so, not surprised that there's something to it. The world's a strange enough place for it to be true," John said.

"You were in the military?"

"Once upon a time," he said, echoing her words from earlier. "I was a doctor."

"Not anymore?"

He shook his head, mouth thinning into a hard, straight line. There were things he didn't want to talk about either. "I'm a baker now."

"Quite the shift in profession."

"Needed a change."

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. Before she could put voice to more words, she interrupted herself with a yawn.

John smiled. "Think you could use some sleep."

"I think so too." She uncurled herself, putting her feet on the floor. "Could I sleep here tonight?"

"Of course. Already said you could."

"That was before you knew about the magic," she wiggled her fingers at the word, "and before Torchwood came knocking."

"Neither of those things changed my mind."

She reached over and put a hand on his knee. "Thank you. I mean it. Not many people would be this kind."

John put his hand over hers and squeezed gently before letting go. "Let's get you set up for the night."

"I promise I'll tell you the rest of my story tomorrow, once my head's not so fuzzy," she said. She got to her feet and stretched, the crack of her spine audible to John.

"You don't have to."

"I want to. I owe you that much for saving me."

John didn't argue. He didn't think she owed him anything but he was keen to know what had happened to her before she showed up at his door.

He led her to his bedroom and got out an old tee shirt and a pair of flannel bottoms. "These will probably drown you but should do for the night. Sheets were washed a few days ago and I haven't slept much lately so, should be serviceable enough."

"It's perfect, thank you."

"The bedroom door has a lock, loo is just here in the hall. You're free to poke around and help yourself to any food you find. I'll be down in the shop if you need me. If you decide to slip out, I'd appreciate you leaving a note so I know you left on your own," he rattled off, uncharacteristically verbose. Her own reluctance to talk seemed to make him want to fill some of the silence.

"I'm not going to do a runner. At least not today," she said with a smile.

John nodded. "Alright. I should get back to work then. Cakes are waiting and they aren't patient things."

He turned and walked towards the doorway, trying to figure out how he was going to focus on his baking when he knew she was up here sleeping in his bed, when he was busy wondering about her history with Torchwood. Already he could feel the urge to turn back around and continue their conversation, to give into whatever magnetic pull emanated from her.

He kept walking until her voice broke the quiet, just as he reached the door of his flat.

"Rose," she said, and he turned around to look at her. She was leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, the stack of clothes he'd given her clutched to her chest. "My name's Rose Tyler."

She flashed him a small smile before closing the bedroom door and engaging the lock.

Rose Tyler. John mouthed the name, liking the way it rolled off his tongue.

There was no one to see his smile as he walked back to his kitchen so he didn't bother trying to dim it one single iota.