A/N Thank you to those who have reviewed so far! I'd nearly forgotten how these chapters could take such a ridiculous chunk of my time, so it's always good to hear if it's being enjoyed…or even if you simply want to scream at the Doctor. ;)


Chapter 1

The Doctor had set the first foot on a slippery slope, and he was about to take that initial perilous step. Having made up his mind to step back into Rose Tyler's life and catch one final glimpse of the woman for whom he had long since abandoned sensibility, the only other choice to make was when. In reality, if the rules were being swept aside, then her entire past timeline in this universe was laid open to him, presenting ample possibilities. Considering the risks, he could only dare attempt this once, so what point in her life should he choose? Before they met? Before he changed? Before they bonded?

No.

He wanted to see her when she had been fully and unequivocally his. Such a period had come, tragically, just before she had been lost to him. They had experienced several precious months together exploring their new relationship before it had been taken away. That had not been enough time by any stretch of the imagination, but it was enough to pinpoint a timeframe when he would have the opportunity to see Rose while posing the least amount of risk by doing so.

This would involve finding a period of time when he had been out of the way. The Doctor needed to locate a suitable moment when his past self had not been on hand, or had at least been preoccupied and would not be in a position to stumble upon…himself. Crossing his own timeline was not only a forbidden act, it was highly dangerous. The Doctor knew what he was doing was reckless, but that didn't mean he had to be an utter fool in the matter. With sufficient precautions taken, he reasoned to himself that there should be no tremendous danger to the timelines or established events by taking this calculated risk.

The Doctor recalled a period just shortly before their separation – one that might prove to be his best opportunity for this. He had begun instructing Rose on how to pilot the TARDIS, forging an even deeper relationship between his bond mate and his ship. For Rose's maiden flight, they had synchronistically navigated the stars to finally arrive upon the planet Barcelona, not realizing at the time that it had been under attack.

A rogue group of Sontarans had been responsible for the unrest. The small but deadly band of clone warriors consisted of genetically flawed representations of the race, reduced to a life of menial labor rather than battle. Upon escape from the scorn of their own kind, they were bent on waging war with any world they encountered. Unfortunately for the planet Barcelona, it had found itself in this deadly path. The Sontarans possessed primitive time travel technology by utilizing Osmic Projections. This had limited temporal range, but it allowed them to venture further into the planet's future with the hope of encountering an even more advanced race and greater challenge in battle.

Their challenge and subsequent downfall, however, had come in the form of the Doctor and Rose. He had given them a choice: leave the planet in peace or suffer the cost. For a race who considered it the highest honor to die in battle, their choice had not been a surprising one.

It had not been pleasant. Being forced to take mortal action when an enemy chose the destructive path never was. Yet Rose had been there to ground him yet again, helping the Doctor to see the preservation that came from his hand, and not solely the destruction.

In the end, he and Rose had helped to end the conflict and had been given a place of honor at the celebratory banquet which followed. They rarely stayed to receive accolades in the aftermath of such events, but the Doctor had reached a place of determining that he and Rose would miss nothing, but rather would embrace every possible experience during their time together, so the exception had been made. The celebration had also served to reaffirm life, diverting from the unpleasant conflict that had taken place.

In casting his mind back to the event, the Doctor recalled how Rose had taken his breath away that night in the traditional Barcelonan gown she had worn. The halter-style bodice provided a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage, tied alluringly behind her neck, and cut low in the rear to expose the smooth expanse of her back, while the wispy asymmetrical skirt dipped below her left knee and sliced a high path up her right thigh, amplifying her long, toned legs. The fabric, which molded to her body like silken skin, was deep red but iridescent, shimmering like a solar flare.

The sight of her alone had aroused every atom of his being and progressively stripped away every ounce of his control. And later that night, when they were once again alone on the TARDIS and feeble resistance was no longer possible, he had demonstrated to Rose just how affected he was by her life and vibrancy and very essence – how intoxicated and wholly consumed.

The Doctor wanted that night back. He wanted Rose back. Since he could not have either, he could at least lay eyes upon her at a time when their future still existed, if only in their hopes and dreams; a time when she had been smiling and not weeping; a time when she had been whole, and not in as broken a state as him.

The Doctor thirsted for this sight of Rose, but he was still mindful of the danger and would take precautions so that Time would not be damaged in the process. During that night's celebrations, he remembered being called away to assist with a minor glitch in Barcelona's new security system which he had helped to put in place. And at the time, Rose had been engaged in conversation with Barcelona's chief ambassador, and so had stayed behind to await his soon return to the banquet.

Those vital moments when his past self had not been present would give him the gap he needed to slip in unnoticed. The plan was no longer a wild possibility in his mind. He was doing this. One glimpse. That was all. Just one.

-:-:-:-

The journey to the prohibited destination was not an easy one. The TARDIS fought against the unlawful coordinates tooth and nail, the crossing of timelines going against her core nature. There were protocols the Doctor had to circumvent and a few navigational components he had to take off-line altogether in order to make the trip. He mentally tried to assure the TARDIS that this was not an extreme risk; he intended to take precautions. The response he received was a violent shower of sparks from the console that nearly disabled the ship. He got the message. But he still was not backing down.

Once he finally managed to arrive, rather roughly, at the selected location and time, the Doctor altered the TARDIS' timestream by placing her one second out of sync. In that way, this act would cause one less disturbance by eliminating the problematic factor of having a past and present TARDIS co-existing simultaneously. It would help ease the ship's discomfort while also making his presence less detectable.

With that protective measure taken upon exiting, the Doctor left the troubled TARDIS behind and moved through the streets of Barcelona, following the ghostly path of his past footsteps.

The night air was sultry, but a steady breeze tempered the receding heat of day. Above, sporadic fireworks lit the sky as celebrations continued throughout the region. It felt like walking through a former dream, and a hot thrill ran up his spine as the familiar sights, sounds and scents of this night were relived – the quaint stone architecture and tight-knit alleyways, the sounds far and near of lively festivities taking place, and the cleansing aroma of fresh rain that had fallen in the heat of late afternoon – the revived sensory experience made him feel alive again; made him recall what it felt like to have truly lived.

He wasn't far from the Regal Manor of the region's Governor. The festivities were being held within the primary banquet hall. He could hear the growing sound of assembled revelers as he neared the location. The Doctor made his way from the darkness of the streets, sonicked the iron gate at the rear garden and crossed into the warm glow emanating from within the manor as it washed across the outside terrace. The rear glass doors were open, festivities taking place within and spilling over to the outside as pockets of guests reveled outdoors. The thrum of music and laughter seasoned the air, growing louder as he drew closer to the rear entrance where the majority was congregated within.

Effortlessly, the Doctor slipped inside, surrounded by a mass of joyful guests. His eyes barely even took notice of the crowd. The lavishly adorned banquet hall with its floor-to-ceiling arched windows, opulent cut-glass tiles, and ceiling graced with a mural depicting the open heavens were trivial details overlooked by him as well. His vision blocked out his surroundings and cut through the crowd, searching for just one.

It didn't take long for his gaze to find what he was seeking. When his eyes settled on the object of his quest, Time stopped for him in those precious few seconds.

Rose.

His Rose.

She stood a mere thirty or so feet away on the opposite side of the room. His dreams of her that had both soothed and haunted him since their separation had been astonishingly vivid, but no memory or figment of his mind could ever compare to seeing her again in the flesh, living and breathing and real.

Just as he had planned, he'd arrived while she was speaking with Barcelona's chief ambassador. The man was a rather boring and stuffy old official, but Rose was an effervescent participant in the conversation none the less, smiling and chatting amiably.

The Doctor devoured her appearance with famished eyes. Her crimson gown shimmered and seemed to form a radiating glow around her, like vapors of heat emanating from a sweltering surface on a summer day. The halter cut showcased her creamy shoulders which shone like porcelain. Her pinned-up golden tresses bared the long column of her neck, her pulse point exposed, the steady thrum of her life's force resounding in his own chest. His fingers curled into his empty palms, imagining what it would feel like just to touch her again. Then there was her smile, and words of comparison failed him. All he knew was that he could lose himself in such a smile and never wish to be found. But most magnetic were her eyes. He had once confessed that all of Time seemed to stand still when those eyes looked into his. It wasn't just Time. It was also the beats of his hearts and the breath in his lungs over which her eyes held control.

This one despairing man continued watching this one enrapturing woman, unnoticed from afar, straining to hear every lilting sound of her voice as it drifted through the air. A group milling by temporarily obstructed his view, and the Doctor shifted around them, desperate to keep sight of her for a few more forbidden seconds.

As much as he yearned to live in this moment, he could not risk staying here much longer. This was dangerous. So very dangerous. Not only because of the potential danger to the timelines in doing something like this, but because of the extreme danger to his hearts. How could he be here, this close, then turn and somehow survive the agonizing journey as he walked away? Yet that was what he now had to do. Seeing Rose again had further torn open the still-gaping wound in his soul – a wound that had not even begun to heal, and maybe never would. This…oh this had been worth it, though. Just setting his burning eyes on Rose again was a precious treasure. A treasure that was worth the cost of knowing it was the last time. He would slip out into the night and no one would ever know, but he would have this one final memory locked securely inside – this final taste of life for a dying man.

Couples twirled and stepped and swayed to the elaborate and complex drum patterns of the exotic music which infused the atmosphere. Groups laughed and friends mingled. The night was in its prime with much more pleasure to be had. But not for him. Any minute, Rose would no longer be engaged in conversation and thus distracted. A few short minutes more, and his past self would return. And worse, at any moment his current self could be discovered.

The Doctor remained at a distance for just a few final seconds, obscured from sight through the concealment provided by the crowd.

Or so he thought.

He could never hide from Rose Tyler. He had never been able to accomplish it even when he tried, be it his hearts or his mere presence. He should have learned that by now.

In one breath-snatching second, Rose's eyes seemed to cut straight through the assembly surrounding them as if no one else were even present. Her gaze fixed directly to his, and for a few moments he couldn't even breathe.

Rose had seen him. This was not supposed to happen. This hadn't happened previously. In a distant part of his awareness, the Doctor felt the first thread of Time's fabric give way and snap.

He had to leave. Now. Hearts thudding in his chest, he turned on his scuffed Converse heel and wove in and out of the crowd, heading back towards the terrace and rear exit. He nearly knocked over a young couple who cut into his path. He sidestepped, veering to the right, then swerved back on a straight course toward the open rear doors.

He was nearly there. Just a few more steps and he would be clear, a phantom safely shrouded in the cloak of night.

Three steps…

Two…

"Doctor?"

Time halted.

He was a hair's breadth from the outer passage when the voice from behind stopped him cold.

Rose. Oh, Rose…

In that split second, he could feel the nauseating sensation known only to a Time Lord when established timelines became unnaturally misshapen and twisted upon themselves.

His next move could either restore events to their rightful state or shatter them into fragments, scattered throughout the wounded expanse of Time.