Prologue
When she tells me I make her happy, I believe her. Her eyes betray no hidden doubt, her posture is relaxed and at ease in my arms.
When she tells me she loves me, I know it to be true. Logic points to it as the only possible solution. Better yet, I can hear it in the way she says my name. "Doctor." There is no question there.
Here is what she doesn't say:
I know you are not Him. I know you never will be Him. You are a carbon copy, down to the strands of membrane that hold your beating heart together, but you don't hold the memories of the first time He saw me. And I have chosen to love you instead, because that is the tragedy of our love.
Somewhere, between the fabric of space and time, a TARDIS weeps.
Chapter 1: Assisi, Italy
"Look Jack, look at that sunset," I croon in the baby's ear. "Back in London it's more reddish, due to smog levels and certain chemical compounds in the Earth's atmosphere. But here there's little to no air pollution at any given time, and it's a radiant orange. Beautiful. Like your mother."
Rose tilts her head onto my shoulder, and a blonde strand of hair tickles my chin. "Happy one year anniversary," she breathes.
It's strange, having human anatomy that influences my thoughts and actions. My brain is wired to Gallifreyan, but my body responds to the toils of mankind. Maybe that is why, when I lay Jack in his crib, I feel an ache in my arms, and it isn't from anything in particular, it's just… an ache.
I am somewhere in my early forties, we believe. It says forty-two on my fake birth certificate.
I can hear the sound of her footsteps on the landing behind me: soft, like her, but carrying an urgency she injects into everything she does.
Turning to greet her, I say, "Jack's asleep for the night. Shall we get into some trouble?"
The grin lights up her face like the shimmer of a ring of Akhaten.
"That's why I love you," she whispers, standing on tiptoe to kiss me. I twine our fingertips together, leaning into the embrace, only breaking for air.
"Come on, Rose! You only get to eat your first slice of Italian pizza once!" I say, dragging her along beside me as I make a break for the door. We're staying at a little condominium outside of Assisi, thanks to Rose's latest paycheck from UNIT.
"Don't be ridiculous," she responds, once she gets her breath back. "It's nine o'clock."
"Don't let time restrict you," I respond. "Restrict time, instead."
"But do you think Jack will be okay?" she muses.
"Ah, yes." I skid to a stop next to our rental car. "That's why I hired- a babysitter!"
"In Italy?" she asks, looking skeptical. "Don't they all speak Italian?"
"I speak Italian, Rose! I speak over 40 languages!"
"You use a translator." I finger the device in my pocket ruefully. "Couldn't you let me pretend?"
"No," she says with a smirk. "And I'm driving."
"Well, fine," I say, tugging open the door and sliding into the seat. "Can I at least direct you? I have a natural sense of direction, you know."
She really laughs this time, nearly knocking into the dashboard. "I really hope you're being sarcastic, Doctor. Especially after the Paris incident."
Hmph, I think, sliding down in my seat. That wasn't my fault. Catacombs are confusing, and I hadn't been there since the nineteenth century.
"Rose, look at that."
"Look at what?"
"That man there, with the turned up collar and the funny hat," I explain, pointing him out through the binoculars. Rose lifts them up to her face.
"What about him? Besides his poor taste in spring clothing."
"He's got an air of skullduggery around him. Look at how he keeps fidgeting and looking around at nothing in particular, like someone's watching him."
"There is someone watching him, Doctor. It's us."
"Oh, besides that, Rose, can't you see!" I gesticulate wildly, catching the attention of several passerby. "He's plotting something!"
"Like a pickpocket? Oo, he does look like a pickpocket. Like the ones in movies, y'know? Except I would expect a mustache…" I cut her off.
"He's not just any pickpocket, he's an inexperienced one. Probably his first job. And in such a crowded place…" I trail off, tugging at an imaginary beard. "He's waiting for something. A signal, maybe."
That signal has apparently just been given, as the man suddenly appears to be holding a purse, one that decidedly doesn't belong to him. But he couldn't have conjured it out of thin air… There. An elderly woman sitting at an outdoor cafe table. Approximately three feet behind him. Drat. I should have anticipated that move.
"Doctor, he's leaving. He's leaving very quickly. He's going toward that apartment over there. Doctor?!"
Rose's voice jerks me out of my thoughts and into action. She's really quite wonderful at doing that, I should inform her sometime. Although now is not a very good time.
"Off we go, Rose!" I take her hand in mine and she squeezes it, perhaps in reflex.
"Thank God," she replies. "I'm bored to death of looking at frescoes."
In retrospect, I should have realized that whoever gave the pickpocket the signal was probably waiting for him at the apartment, which in retrospect was obviously a rendezvous point. But that's the thing about me and the past. I've learned to forget the past, and that means I realize a lot of things in retrospect.
Rose usually doesn't appreciate that, especially at times like these, when we've been crudely bound together on a loveseat with zipties.
"Don't worry love, I'll get us out of this," I promise unconvincingly. She groans.
"Whenever you say 'love,' I know we're in trouble."
"A couple of Earthlings are no match for The Doctor, Rose."
Just then, our captors enter the room, and I realize I was wrong in my statement. Not the one about Earthlings being no match for The Doctor- that is obviously true, absolutely no doubt about it. I was wrong about it being a couple of Earthlings. The two stocky ones are definitely Earth born, as well as the pickpocket we saw earlier- what was his name? Alfredo?- but the tall one in the middle, no, he's-
"Haven't we met?" asks Rose, her brow furrowing deeply in confusion.
"Rose Tyler and The Doctor," says the man, who is apparently no longer a stranger, in a deep, familiar voice. Then it hits me.
"Centurion!" I exclaim. "Doctor Daherty! But what are you doing running an illegal crime ring in Assisi? And in the twenty-first century, no less?"
I haven't seen the good doctor for quite a while, but I'm certain that the last time I saw him, it was in Centuria, in the forty-first century. Well, technically that's the future. I haven't seen him since the future. And when I did see him, he was running a perfectly legal sun tan salon. Well, not perfectly legal. And I seem to recall getting him out of a bit of trouble with the police!
Rose interrupts before Doctor Daherty can respond. "Doctor, I know we ended our last visit with you on good terms. So maybe you can excuse our, um, intrusion."
"Ms. Tyler," he says, in a gravelly voice.
"Mrs, actually," she replies, holding up her ring finger. I hide my smile.
"Mrs. Tyler," he concedes. "Favors between business men are never forgotten." And with a nod at his associates, they step forward and cut apart our restraints. I rub my sore wrists and wince.
"Doctor," I begin. "What, exactly…?"
"Doctor," he repeats, forcefully. "Favors between business men are never forgotten, if you please." He completes his sentence with a small shake of the head.
That sly dog! It seems he's been doing some investigative work of his own. Why, I never. Doctor Daherty, a do-gooder. Well, I suppose we all have the power to change for the better.
"Let's go, Rose," I say, offering her a hand. "Time to relieve that babysitter of her duties."
Daherty raises an eyebrow. "Best wishes to you and your family," he concludes.
Oh, Doctor. If only that were true.
"Doctor, you must have known how that was going to turn out. There's no way we weren't going to be caught sneaking around that place. Why didn't you tell me?"
She's mumbling in her sleepiness. I almost can't hear her.
"I"m sorry, Rose. I was so caught up in it all that I forgot to tell you," I whisper back. Across the room, Jack coos in his sleep.
"Communication, Doctor. Please," she says, and turns away from me. But she doesn't fidget when I cross my arm over her stomach and pull her tightly into me, or when I press my lips against the back of her neck. Communication, yes, from me, I'll try. But why do I bother, Rose, when I hear you in your sleep, saying I'm not the real one? Why don't you communicate that to me? I know why. It's what I have to live with, because I love you.
I hear Jack cooing again in his sleep. He is not of my flesh, but I love him all the same.