John paced in front of the chalkboard as he lectured his senior boys on the end of the Boer War. His dreams the night before had been particularly vivid, leaving him feeling restive and unsettled today.

Rose had been crying. They'd been standing on a beach, saying goodbye, and there had been tears running down her face. He'd ached to reach out and wipe them away, but it was like there was some kind of invisible barrier between them—he'd known he wouldn't be able to touch her, even if he tried.

He'd woken up, gasping for air, as she disappeared right in front of his eyes. Once he'd gotten his tears under control, his journal had been a welcome outlet for a torrent of memories about the last time he'd seen his wife.

John shook his head. Not memories. Dreams. And it wasn't the last time he'd seen his wife, because Rose wasn't real and he didn't actually have a wife. He tugged on his ear as he lectured; it was getting harder by the day to separate fact from fiction.

Finally, the bell rang and he dismissed the boys. Once the classroom was empty, he collapsed into a chair and ran a hand through his hair. He'd been on edge since the afternoon before, if he were honest with himself. He'd been in the middle of shooting practice when he'd felt a itch in the back of his mind, urging him to leave the school and walk… walk west, he decided after thinking about it for a moment.

That same itch was now telling him to go upstairs, and finally, after glancing at the clock and confirming the next period was his free hour, he gave into the prodding.

John took the stairs two at a time, not caring that he would chastise any of the boys he found running through the corridors the way he was. He needed to get upstairs. There was… He shook his head and kept going.

He found himself in the library a few minutes later, almost without knowing how he'd gotten there. He blinked as he looked at the shelves full of books, then turned around and stared at the door that had been locked the entire time he'd worked at the school.

"Can I help you?"

That voice.

John trembled, and he squeezed his eyes tight as he tried to get his suddenly racing hearts—heart—back under control. It isn't Rose, he told himself sternly as he turned around. It can't be Rose. Rose doesn't exist outside of your dreams.

He turned around slowly, then took a deep breath and opened his eyes, bracing himself for the disappointment of an unfamiliar face.

He took in her features almost instantly. Hair a bit too blonde to look natural, a wide mouth and a teasing smile, and warm brown eyes he knew he could lose himself in.

"Rose!"

Something flickered in her eyes, but then her dark eyebrows knit together and she shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I'm Marion. Marion Smith."

Her lips turned up just barely, and John wondered why her own name amused her. "Marion Smith. Mar-i-on Smith," he said repeated, but no matter how slowly he said it, the syllables didn't quite roll off his tongue like "Rose Tyler" always did in his dreams.

"That's me," she agreed, but yet again, a hint of something showed in her eyes—awkwardness, discomfort, John couldn't say quite what… But he knew somehow that Marion Smith was not a name she would have used, if she'd had a choice.

"And… you are?"

John blinked. "Oh!" He tugged on his ear sheepishly. "John Tyler, history teacher."

Another emotion showed in Rose's—Marion's—eyes, and her smile deepened. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tyler."

There was something sensual about the way his name sounded on her tongue. John ignored the shiver that ran down his back and held out his hand. Rose took it, and they shook.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Smith," he assured her. "I take it the headmaster has finally seen fit to fill the post of librarian? Really, it's unacceptable that an institution of higher learning would go without a librarian for a full term. How are the boys to do their research if they don't have a skilled professional here to help them find sources?"

Amusement sparkled in her eyes, turning the warm brown whiskey-gold. Yet again, John felt like this woman knew him, as if his little ramble was exactly what she would have expected him to say. A treacherous warmth filled him, and he had to resist the urge to step closer to her, to pull her into his arms, to brush the hair out of her face.

Marion smirked at him. "Well, maybe Mr. Roscastle should have filled the position earlier, but given that it fit my needs so perfectly, I'm selfishly grateful that he didn't." She winked at him. "What would I have done if I'd gotten to Farringham and there hadn't been a single respectable position that could support me? I would have had to go on to the next town, or maybe even back to London all on my own."

The recoil started in the tips of John's toes and rolled all the way through his body. Just thinking about how close he'd come to never meeting Marion made him desperate to hold her as close as possible.

Marion tilted her head and stared at him for a moment. Then her expression cleared, and she shook her head quickly. "But I am here, so there's no reason to think about something that didn't happen," she added quickly.

John breathed a sigh of relief. "You are here, aren't you?"

Her smile softened. "Yes, I'm really here."

John felt something brush against his knuckles, and looking down, he realised he'd never let go of her hand. "I beg your pardon, Miss Smith," he said, feeling flustered for at least the tenth time in the last five minutes. He released her and shoved his hands into his pockets, since he apparently could not trust himself not to be overly familiar with the librarian.

A delicate blush coloured Miss Smith's cheeks, and she clasped her hands in front of her. "You have nothing to apologise for, Mr. Tyler," she assured him. "After all, I could have protested or withdrawn my hand."

Rose—Marion— ducked her head and stared at her feet for a few minutes before squaring her jaw to look at him directly. "I'm afraid I've been struggling with loneliness lately, and I found the human contact too comforting to let go of."

The little catch in Rose's voice had always sparked the Doctor's protective instincts, and John found himself reacting the same way to Marion. She sounded so lonely, and he said the one thing he could think of that might make her feel less alone.

"Then we have something in common," he told her softly. His memories of Rose might only be dreams, but he still woke up every morning missing her. "I recently lost someone I cared for dearly."

Marion held out her hand, and John took it in one of his. She smiled up at him, and once again, the tenderness in her eyes made him feel like she knew every part of who he was.

"Then perhaps we could be friends, Mr. Tyler."

"Perhaps we could, Miss Smith."

oOoOo

Rose took a shaky breath after the Doctor left the library. A week ago, she would have said one of her biggest fears was that somehow, she would get back to the Doctor only to discover centuries had passed for him and he didn't remember who she was. Nothing could be worse than her husband looking at her without a shred of recognition in his eyes.

But she'd been wrong. John's eyes had positively lit up when he saw her, and a matching wave of emotion had washed over Rose from their dormant bond. Surprise, elation, relief—everything you'd expect to feel if you were suddenly reunited with your spouse after a long, painful separation.

And she'd had to pretend she didn't know him. She'd watched him fumble with her false name, the sounds clearly feeling as wrong to him as it did to her. The way he'd sounded it out the second time, trying to get the same rhythm to it that he gave Rose Tyler…

Rose rested her head in her hands and clenched her eyes shut until the hot feeling dissipated and she was confident she wouldn't cry.

Martha had told her that some of the Doctor's memories seemed to be seeping out into dreams, but she hadn't mentioned that he'd dreamed of her. In retrospect, it was obvious—she'd certainly had plenty of dreams about the Doctor while she'd been gone. Of course he'd dreamt about her.

But the way he looked at her… Rose straightened up and took a shuddering breath. All her stern reminders to herself about how John Tyler wasn't the Doctor had flown out the window when he'd smiled at her.

She'd been prepared for him to not know her, for him to look at her like a stranger. Instead, he'd looked at Marion Smith and seen Rose Tyler.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "How am I going to pretend I don't love him?"

oOoOo

As soon as John reached his study, he pulled his journal out of his drawer and sat down at his desk to draw. He'd seen Rose. He'd met her; she was real.

He traced the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips with his pen. A single strand of hair had been falling out of her pins, and he drew the way it brushed down into her eyes.

He had to pause for a moment, remembering how hard it had been to not reach out and push that piece hair back. Rose was right there. His Rose. The woman he'd been dreaming about. He knew exactly how she would lean into his touch, how she would grab onto his tie to pull him down for a kiss…

John shook his head quickly, trying to dislodge those thoughts. This was Marion, not Rose. Marion didn't know him. She wasn't his wife.

His hand slowed and the scratching of pen against paper died down. She wasn't, but she could be.

John leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Maybe this was why he'd dreamed about being the Doctor, about being married to Rose. Maybe the dreams had been some kind of… super time sense, telling him that he was about to meet the woman who would be his perfect partner, who could hold his hand as he travelled across the stars—or just to London for a weekend.

Maybe the dreams had been a sign. Maybe Marion wasn't Rose, but maybe she could be his wife.

The next afternoon, when classes were over for the day, John brushed his sweaty palms against his tweed trousers and pushed open the library door. Marion was standing with her back to him, shelving a stack of books, and he stood and watched her for a moment. Everything about her was exactly like Rose, even the way she held her body and moved.

When she shelved the last book, she turned around for another stack and caught sight of him. "Mr. Tyler!" she said, her cheeks flushing pink. "Did you need help finding a book for one of your classes?"

He shook his head. "Classes are over for the day, and I doubt any of the boys will be visiting you this afternoon. I wondered…" He tugged on his tie. "I wondered if you would like to take a walk with me?"

Rose stared at John Tyler for a long moment. His pale cheeks had flushed, showing off his freckles. She knew what that meant—he was nervous.

Which meant this was not just about going for a walk. John Tyler wanted to court her.

When she didn't answer right away, he shoved his hands in his pockets and a little furrow appeared in his forehead. "Right, of course not. You probably… that is… I mean, you have books…"

Rose couldn't stand the look of disappointment on his face. She never wanted the Doctor to doubt that she loved him, and even though he was human without most of his memories, this was still the Doctor.

She smiled gently. "I'd love to go for a walk with you, Mr. Tyler," she told him, and she was surprised to learn that she truly meant it—not because she wanted to spend more time with the Doctor, but because she wanted to get to know more about this man he was pretending to be.

A true Doctor smile crossed his face then, not the regulated smile of a teacher trying to meet the expectations of his reserved peers. He bounced lightly on his toes.

"Brilliant!" he enthused. "I'll go get my coat and meet you at the door in… shall we say ten minutes?"

Rose nodded, and had to put her hand over her mouth when he spun around and practically skipped out of the room. No matter what else came of this afternoon, she'd made her Doctor happy.

Her smiled faded a few minutes later as she put on all the pieces of outerwear deemed necessary to go outside in this society. Long coat buttoned up tight, a scarf wrapped around her neck, hat perched jauntily on top of her head, and finally, warm gloves. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she had to admit the hat was a good addition to the outfit, even if it wasn't what she would normally wear.

The human Doctor was waiting for her just outside the door, and he beamed at her when she appeared. "Ready to walk, Miss Smith?" he asked, holding out his arm.

Rose felt a blush creep over her cheeks as she took his arm. "Where are we going, Mr. Tyler?"

He gestured vaguely with his free arm. "Oh, I thought we could take a ramble through the countryside, just take in the picturesque scenery."

As they passed through the stone gates at the end of the drive, a cold beam of sunshine broke through the December clouds. The fields that lined the road were white with frost, even though it was afternoon, and Rose tightened her scarf around her neck.

"It's beautiful here," she told John. "I've always loved the icy beauty of winter." Walking arm-in-arm with him as she was, she could feel his indrawn breath, and she wondered what he was thinking.

"Do you ever imagine…" he said slowly, "what it would be like if an entire planet were nothing but snow and ice?"

Rose's heart stopped for a moment. "Another planet?" she said, trying to keep her voice light. Martha had told her he'd been remembering, but hearing him talk about something and knowing exactly what he was referring to…

She cast her mind back to Woman Wept, nearly eight years ago for her. "What happened to turn it to ice?"

John nearly tripped over his own feet. The idea of an ice planet hadn't come from nowhere—he'd dreamed about taking Rose there, as the Doctor. He'd held her hand as they stood beneath massive, frozen waves, and she looked up at him and asked exactly the same question Marion just had, word for word.

He took a deep breath. "Oh… I'd say it was a cataclysmic disaster," he told her, choosing his words carefully. He couldn't sound like he actually believed Woman Wept was a real place, but at the same time, if Rose and Marion were the same person somehow, he wanted her to recognise him.

He gestured at the road in front of them. "Imagine we're standing on an ocean turned to ice in the middle of a fierce storm. Huge waves have frozen in the middle of their fury, and we're walking on them."

"S'beautiful," Rose breathed as they walked under icy tree branches that stood in for the waves in his memory. "How'd you come up with that idea, anyway?"

John bit his lip, but he only debated for a moment before he told her the truth. "I dreamt it."

"You dreamt of an entire planet?" Rose rested her other hand on his elbow. "What else have you dreamt about, Mr. Tyler?"

"Well…" He winced when he tugged on his ear and resolved not to do that when he was cold. "I keep imagining that I'm someone else, and that I'm hiding."

To his surprise, his companion stopped in the middle of the road and stared up at him through wide eyes. "What do you mean, hiding?"

Her eyes sparked with concern, and he thought he saw flecks of gold in their brown depths. John shook his head and took her hand, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles. "It's only a dream, Miss Smith," he reminded her.

She bit her lip, but then he watched as she visibly collected herself, pulling the fiercely protective nature that had just peeked through back under wraps. "A dream, yeah." She nodded and laughed. "And you can call me Marion, if you like," she offered. "At least when it's just the two of us. I'm sure someone at the school would say something about the impropriety of a school master calling the librarian by her first name, but I really prefer it."

John could fee a silly grin spreading across his face, but he couldn't help himself. "Then you must call me John." Marion still didn't feel like the right name for the woman smiling up at him, but he wouldn't refuse her offer.

Marion smiled at him, and her tongue teased him again. "All right then, John," she agreed. "Now, you were telling me about your dreams."

John reached for her hand. As nice as it had felt to walk arm in arm with Marion, holding her hand was as natural as breathing.

"Well, this is going to sound silly," he said.

Rose swung their hands between them. "Tell me," she encouraged.

"I dream, quite often, that I have two hearts."

Marion took his hand and pulled it closer, and a moment later, he felt her fingers press against the inside of his wrist. "Marion? What are you…"

"Shhh," she said, and he realised she was taking his pulse. A moment later, she smiled up at him and let their hands drop back to their sides. "Well, unless the second heart is like… a stealth heart or something, you only have one."

John tipped his head back and laughed. "Marion Smith you are…"

His single heart filled with warm affection for the woman in front of him. Last night, he'd tried to tell himself that Marion wasn't Rose, to not expect her to act like Rose. But when she smiled Rose's smile and used Rose's wit, it was hard to remember she was not the woman of his dreams.

Marion raised an eyebrow. "Did my clever answer impress you, John?" she teased.

The word tugged at his memory, and John grinned down at her. "Yes, exactly," he agreed. "You're so impressive."

To his surprise, Marion stopped walking and bent over with her hands on her knees. John was concerned for a moment, until he realised she was laughing too hard to stay upright.

"I didn't realise a simple compliment would elicit this reaction from you," he said dryly.

Marion straightened and wiped tears from her cheeks. "Oh, I am never going to let you forget you said that," she gasped. "Thank you, John. This has been one of the best days I've had in a long, long time."