Once again, please let me assure you: this story IS going somewhere. It's not going to be a series of journal entries over stuff we already know forever! This chapter and the next two are just... adding to the fire.

Rose

All right, cards on the table: I hadn't had sex in over four hundred years, and I largely hadn't cared. For probably too long, I had thought that that part of my life was over. I left that to the young, the stupid. Those who visited the planet Battulashank, where the standard greeting upon arrival is copulation. Shagging meant drama, and I had enough drama in my life to sink the Titanic. And to bring it back up again, as it happens.

But since I've been in this body, I've felt the drama might be worth it. And disastrously, women like me. And not just women, if I'm honest, but I'm not really interested in taking on Captain Jack as anything other than a travelling partner, so we'll just move on from there…

Of course, when I opened those doors, there were ten thousand Sycorax and four humans staring at me. But whose was the only face I saw? Ah, the lovely, lovely Rose. Lovely and hot. Blimey, how had I been able to sleep down the hall from that for an entire year without going completely sack o' hammers?

I began messing with her head straight away. I asked her how I looked, she answered reluctantly. I could tell by the hesitation in her voice that she liked what she saw. I winked at her later, suggesting she might think I was sexy. She blushed. This did not help to abate my ego.

I suppose it stood to reason that I woke that day feeling truly horny for the first time in several centuries and as my first act in my tenth body, I engaged in a sword fight. And won. I wondered that day what kind of man I was going to be. I guess it was the kind of man who waves his weapon around a lot. While Rose holds my bathrobe, apparently.

It's interesting to think that in a new regeneration, my first day might set the tone for my new life. Sometimes I reflect upon what would have happened if the Sycorax had demanded that I play Dance Dance Revolution for the Earth's salvation that day, rather than fence for it.

Go ahead – picture it. I'll wait.

Anyway, back to Rose. It was horrible – I started to really, really want her, and she started to really, really want me. We could both tell. Everyone could tell! Poor old Mickey, Jackie, Lady Cassandra (eugh!)…

And Sarah Jane.

Just when I thought I might crumble, I run into her. Oh, and what a whole mess of new issues she brought into our lives. I loved seeing her, running with her again… she smelled the same as ever, though it had an entirely different effect on me than it had back then. She assumed that Rose and I were... well, you get the picture, and I didn't correct her. I liked having her think it. I liked being thought of as a sexual being, someone who lived like others lived. (There's that word again.)

But Sarah, she'd got older. Not that she wasn't still absolutely lovely, but I was reminded of why Time Lords and humans can't be in long-term relationships. Humans don't survive what counts as long-term for a Time Lord and so we stay away.

Or, we bring our companion's boyfriend on-board as a buffer.

They did exactly what I'd hoped they'd do. The TARDIS created a bedroom for Mickey, but he hardly ever used it. Most nights, he snuck into Rose's room, and I think they both were able to convince themselves that I didn't know. I could hear them down the hall, the moaning, the furniture rattling, sometimes for hours. It gave me no pleasure to hear, but I listened anyway. Rose was harbouring something monstrous, for me, for Mickey, probably both, who knows? She was exuding pheromones I could practically swim in, and I willed Mickey to bang it out of her. It's vulgar, but true. I thought he could get it out of her system. I thought if they had each other, she'd turn that part of her attention away from me, and then I could have some peace. Maybe her thing for me would go away.

Reinette

At some point while Mickey was with us, I lost my mind for a bit, and took a short holiday at Versailles. I figured, why not? Cool spaceship, clockwork robots, time portals – can you think of anything more my speed?

Reinette was smitten with me from the time she was seventeen, I could see that (not that it was exactly difficult to tell after she pushed me against the wall and stuck her tongue in my mouth). And I didn't hate it. Under any circumstances, I couldn't have left the child, the teen-ager nor the woman to perish at the hands of those Mardi Gras monsters, but the fact that she'd tried to climb me didn't really hurt my motivation.

Anyway, she wanted me to dance with her, so I danced. And the way she moved, the way she looked at me, I was glad she was wearing forty-six layers of petticoats below the waist, let me tell you, because well, I personally was not. There was nothing between me and the world other than a pair of pin-striped trousers and some Fruit-of-the-Looms. The state of things would not have been thought particularly dignified under the circumstances. Or, maybe they would have – who knows? They were French.

Hm. Maybe this is where I developed my fetish for women encumbered in layers of brocade.

Later that day (for me, much later for her) I hatched a plan. A woman like that? She was one of the most brilliant and accomplished of her age, though she'd always been second best, always the mistress, never the queen. She deserved to see the stars, to be at the helm, to be at my side.

But if Reinette was finally going to stop being second-best, then who was going to be second best?

Yeah. You see my problem. The next chapter of my life could have been entitled Cat Fight in Space, and I might have enjoyed it, but it doesn't make it okay.

So, I don't know what made me think that it would be sporting to bring an 18th century noblewoman aboard the TARDIS without disturbing the natural order of things, both in history and in our lives. Well, actually I probably do know. And I know for sure which part of me was thinking it.

I was trying so hard to distance myself from the idea of being with Rose, I'd brought Mickey into the mix. I figured, why not take it a step further and bring in someone else? Someone for me. Someone worldly, with experience, someone who wasn't twenty years old. Reinette was pushing forty by that time (though earlier that day, she'd been eight), had seen the world, conquered Versailles, given birth, met every conceivable historical figure who was contemporary with her, could play several instruments, speak seven languages, was gorgeous, and it had frankly been a while since the TARDIS had had a decent gardner (I'm not making an innuendo – it's the truth). And, she'd had the King of France. I knew I was better and I wanted her to tell me so.

So what? I'm a bloke. Sue me.

But it wouldn't have solved anything because Reinette was still human, and she was destined to live only another six years anyhow, and I knew that. So what the hell? I'm a Time Lord, for crying out loud! The thought of bringing a major historical figure into my life, let alone so I could sleep with her, should never have even begun to cross my mind!

This stupid body. Turning me into a complete nutter.

I'd really hate to use the phrase, "Fortunately she died," but… well, let's just say that I never had the chance to disrupt history any further, and it's probably better that way.

But, this little episode taught me a lesson – or so I thought. I had to rein it in, get myself under control. Fortunately, I still had Mickey, and was hoping I could still count on him to plumb Rose's obsessions away.

Rose

Well, Rose's obsessions didn't go away and neither did mine. But you know what did go away? Mickey! And I couldn't even argue because the idiot was being so chuffing noble! Watching Rose cry as we flew away from him, perhaps forever, wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was not knowing what the hell to do next.

I'm pretty sure that's when I gave up, and from then on, our time together was like one long date. From then on, I was just warming her up. I would be charming beyond belief. I would let her see me being extra-valiant. I'd begin to tell her about my past…

Oh, I know. It's not like she wasn't ready, like I was preparing to steal a closely-guarded innocence. I was sure that at some point in the not-too-distant past, she'd been a virgin, but, well… not now. I had absolutely no delusions of seduction. But, I wasn't a cad. I wanted at least to have a relationship first, make us both feel like we'd earned it. I was biding my time, psyching myself up. I was letting go of my qualms and allowing myself to pursue what I wanted.

In my dreams, at first, she'd whisper my name and then I'd sink into her like a velvet bath, she'd moan and shiver, and I'd come, and then afterwards, we'd laugh and talk and play footsy.

Before long, I was suffocating, and all thoughts of her ran to a dark place in me, a lustful place of fantasy and something I'd thought long dead. No matter what manner of controlled, sensible, clever Time Lordy things came out of my mouth, all I could think of was what I would do to her helpless, naked, quivering body as soon as I had the chance. She was soaking wet, her skin raw and pink, and she was panting and chained to things. Sometimes she was on her back, saying filthy things to me, and other times, she was on her knees letting those luscious lips do what they seemed meant to do. She was in rubber, leather, lace, fishnet, collars, belts, boots, barefoot, red, black, clear. Every night it got more intense, every morning, it took me longer to calm down, clean myself up and put on my bloody suit. Every time she put her hands on the console, I fantasised about coming up behind her, whispering something in her ear to make her flush, and then bending her over it.

I know what you're thinking, and you're right. I was regressing into adolescence. Thanks for pointing it out, by the way.

But after we were separated, every day, I wished I hadn't been so damned wishy-washy. Because unfortunately, with all of the twisted fantasies, it wasn't until I laid my head against that wall at Torchwood after watching her disappear through the void that I realised I actually loved her.

That was when the visions of her naked and begging were replaced by longing for what might have been. In that moment, I'd have given anything to have that velvet bath, or just a kiss. I'd have settled for one more look at her smile. The fantasies gave way to an emptiness, a great big hole of something unfulfilled, potential gone untapped. I knew I'd been self-indulgent and egomaniacal. All that hemming and hawing, flirting and driving us both insane the way I had, it had hurt her. And I'd never be able to take that back, never be able to give her that time. And worse, because I was such a coward, I was destined never to tell her any of this, nor even that I loved her.

And moreover, I promised myself I'd never do anything like that to anyone else again. With any luck, I'd die again and regenerate into a circus clown before I met another attractive woman.

But I didn't.

What I did do was check into hospital with "stomach cramps." Who would think that defrauding the British health care system would actually get me into trouble?