Sorry for the delay on this one; it got more complicated than I anticipated. And much, much thanks to YouCleverBoys- Tony's playhouse is loads cooler thanks to her. :)
Chapter 3
"Head wounds always bleed a lot," said the Doctor, his voice low and soothing as he crouched beside the panicked mother.
Jackie was knelt on the floor of the playhouse, hovering helplessly over her injured little boy as the young human doctor tried to attend to his injury. Gently, with a little upward pressure on Jackie's elbow, the Time Lord finally encouraged her to stand and move back out of the way. "Don't worry about the bleeding," he repeated.
"But it just...it just looks so awful," she choked, wiping her eyes.
It did look awful, blood soaking through the folds of the tee-shirt that Andrew had stripped off and pressed tight to the injury on Tony's forehead. But how it looked didn't bother the Doctor. What bothered the Doctor was that the little boy had ceased his own sobs and was growing increasingly incoherent.
"Call 999," said Andrew, right before Tony lost consciousness. Jackie's crying increased. Rose pulled her mobile out and dialed the number with shaking hands.
The Doctor took a white-faced Pete aside. "You need to let me take over," he told him, low. "Now. We can't wait for an ambulance."
Pete stared at him for a moment, then acquiesced with one quick nod. "Alright. I'll just..." He gestured, helplessly. "I'll have Dan and Bev wait outside, watch for the medics."
"Might be best."
As Pete ushered the couple through the door, the Doctor swiftly dropped to his knees on the floor next to Andrew.
"What do you think you can possibly do?" asked Andrew, sounding edgy. He eyed the now bespectacled Doctor, who was leaning in to peer closely at the boy. "He's got a concussion. Or worse," he mouthed, so as to not be overheard.
"I'm going to treat him."
Eyebrows going up, the man gave him a look that was both irritated and disbelieving. "You can't..." He drew in a long breath and blew it out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "Look, are you even a real doctor?"
"Oh, you have no idea," muttered the Doctor, as he used his thumb to carefully lift one of Tony's closed eyelids. With his other hand he slipped out his sonic screwdriver, which whirred, tip glowing blue as he scanned the boy's retina. Holding the sonic up, he relaxed slightly as he read the results. "Intracranial hematoma. I can deal with that. Might take a few minutes."
Andrew scoffed. "What, now you've diagnosed him?"
"Yep. You can keep holding him." With careful hands, the Doctor turned the boy's face his way. Once he was satisfied with the positioning he carefully lifted the makeshift bandage, revealing the large goose-egg near Tony's hairline, and the raw, jagged tear in the center of it. It immediately started bleeding again, in earnest.
"Oi, that's not helping-"
"Shut up," said the Doctor, his brow furrowed in concentration. The voice of the sonic pitched high and he trained its light directly over the wound while the blood continued to run, trickling in a crimson line across Tony's forehead and dripping on to the floor.
Andrew made a incredulous sound in his throat and looked up and over his shoulder. "Jackie, do you see this-"
"Shut up," she repeated, adamantly.
Blinking in surprise, Andrew did as told, especially once he shifted his gaze back to the boy and found the bleeding had already significantly slowed. Soon, the ragged cut was nothing more than a sticky red line, and the Doctor fiddled with his screwdriver's settings again, intensifying its power to permeate tissue and bone.
Several slow, deliberate adjustments, one extraordinarily steady hand and a few tension-ridden minutes later, Tony's eyes blinked open. The five other inhabitants of the tiny, crowded playhouse breathed a collective sigh of relief. After scooping the boy into his own arms, the Doctor stood, handing him to his mother just as the wailing ambulance pulled into the drive.
"He should probably still be taken to hospital," Andrew told him quietly, only this time his voice held a bit of reluctant respect.
The Doctor turned to the boy's father. "It's up to you. His healing might be kind of hard to explain," he said, indicating the sonic. "But he'll be fine."
"Rose, love," said Pete, not breaking eye contact with the Doctor. "Will you run and tell the medics that it's just a false alarm. That we overreacted, yeah?"
"Alright," she agreed readily, and took off.
Pete uneasily regarded Andrew. He was staring at the mysterious silvery tool in the Doctor's hand, his curiosity intense and undisguised. Snapping his fingers to get the blonde man's attention, the Doctor made cold, unflinching eye contact with him. "This is brand new tech," he said, his voice clear and hard. He held the screwdriver out vertically, pinched between thumb and forefinger. "Absolutely cutting edge. And the design is not only secret, it's also all mine." He gave the sonic a quick flip, then in one smooth movement caught and pocketed it. "If you breathe a word about this to anyone, don't think for one second that I won't sue you for everything you've got."
The Doctor caught Pete's grateful look.
The young doctor swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Right."
"Just as all that food arrives at the house, you disappear," came a familiar voice. Jerking his head up, the Doctor found Rose coming in through the door. "It's not like you."
"How'd you find me?" The windows were dark against her back and the Doctor realized how late it was already.
"Saw the lights in here," she said absently, eyes tracking all over the interior of the playhouse. "Which should've been impossible, since it wasn't wired for light. So I knew it was you. Looks like that wasn't all you've done."
"Well, you know," he said, trying (and probably failing) to sound modest.
Rose was silent for a moment, turning this way and that, taking it all in.
The playhouse, while still overly plain on the outside, now boasted an interior that was anything but. Wood walls had been lined with some sort of dull, silvery metal, which reflected the yellowish-orange-coloured lighting and set the room aglow, making it appear far bigger than it actually was. A stainless steel workbench, already loaded down with all sorts of small, tech-y looking gadgets, plus toys and games from the playroom, ran the length of an entire sidewall. On the wall opposite, the bookshelves that had caused so much trouble earlier had been removed, and a couple of cushioned chairs (nicked from the gazebo) took their place.
The Doctor suppressed a smile as he watched Rose's eyes finally land on the source of the lighting- a clear glass cylinder set vertically in the centre of the room. It ran from the ceiling down into a large, vaguely mushroom-shaped base, which he had just begun to embellish with all sorts of dials and knobs. The instant her eyes widened he knew she'd recognized it.
She didn't comment, however, just gestured toward the image displayed on the flatscreen monitor that he'd mounted on the faux-console. "You gave him CCTV?"
"Yep. Top of the line security system, too." He gestured vaguely to the back of the door, which now sported an impressive locking mechanism, wires running in and out of it every which way. "Not even the hordes of Genghis Kahn could get through there."
A bit of alarm stole across Rose's face. "My mum's not gonna get zapped by that, is she, if she tries to get in?"
"No. Well," he reconsidered, pulling off his glasses, "possibly. I suppose I could shut part of it down. Anyway, I linked the visual display terminal to the mansion's security cameras, plus I mounted another camera right outside the door," he pointed, "so Tony'll be able to see everything that's going on anywhere on the grounds. Or I guess he can use them to watch his favorite channels on telly."
Rose laughed. "Mum's gonna love that," she said. "She won't be able to bribe him to come inside at all anymore, not even to watch CBeebies." She looked around, taking it all in again. Her gaze sharpened slightly as it veered off to the workbench behind him. "Is that a drone?" She leaned, trying to get a better look and he made a face, shifting his body to block her view. "It is, isn't it, one of Torchwood's spy drones!"
"He's a little boy, Rose," he explained, scratching at a sideburn and feeling inexplicably embarrassed. "He doesn't want a playhouse, he wants a place where he can be a hero. Somewhere he can escape from his foes."
"Foes?" Amusement was thick in her voice.
"Well, you know. Anyone who's trying to make him do something he doesn't want to." He shot her a grin, which she matched.
"I get it. So the TARDIS was your playhouse, then?"
"Oh, definitely," he said, laughing, and went over to her. "I think I'm done in here for tonight. Want to take a walk or something?"
"Sure." A rush of cool evening air hit them as Rose opened the door. Stepping out after her into the grass, the Doctor saw that the lower level of the mansion was all lit up; the Valencourts must not have left yet. He was glad to be heading in the opposite direction. A companionable silence fell between him and Rose as they reached the woods, turning to track just along its outskirts.
The moon was half-risen, full and yellowy white. Bits of broken light sifted through the trees' shadowy canopy, creating changeable patterns on Rose's shining hair and adding brightness to the waning pink and blue twilight. Scattered clumps of lilac bushes dished out their heavy fragrance, bringing back to his mind the cut flowers of hours earlier; how lovely Rose had looked whilst arranging them, and then, the feel of her silky smooth cheek under his palm. The rush of adrenaline, as he'd very nearly kissed her.
With a pang of longing, he glanced down at their unlinked hands. Rose leaned over to bump him with her shoulder, peering up playfully through her lashes like an impish forest pixie. "So," she said, lips curving up. "Do I even want to know how you got all that tech for the playhouse?"
He returned the shoulder bump. "Your dad stores a lot of stuff around here."
"Aha, so is that what you did, all this week while I was working? Familiarized yourself with the contents of the outbuildings?"
"And you supposed I was doing what, exactly?" he retorted, as they slowed, coming to face each other under one of the property's ancient oak trees. A battered old swing dangled from a thick, outstretched branch. "Sitting around all day? Sipping tea with your mum?" He tilted his head, smirking. "Pining for your presence?"
Rose lowered herself onto the swing. "Hope not," she said, pointing her toes straight out, focusing on them instead of him. She pumped a few times, quickly, to set the swing going, and then hung backwards, looking up at the sky.
"Only the last bit," he went on, rather loudly, unwilling to let this particular door shut now that it'd been cracked open just enough for him to jam a foot in. When she ignored him he went closer, waited for her to pass by on the upswing, then grabbed, yanking hard on one of the ropes. The swing twisted sideways and Rose shrieked, legs out and hair flying as she went whirling, faster than either of them expected.
With some clever maneuvering he got hold of the second rope with his free hand, brought the swing to an abrupt halt and, without allowing the ropes to untwist, hauled it, and Rose, right up into him. "I missed you," he clarified, as if she might have missed his point.
Her cheeks were a bit too pink, hair spun into a tangled mess. "You could come and work with me, if you're bored," she said, in a tone that was carefully casual. "You know Dad would love it."
He readjusted his grip on the ropes. "I don't care what your dad thinks, Rose. But I'd do it in a heartbeat, if I knew you'd like me to."
She fidgeted like she wanted to get away, but she was caged in, her knees brushing his thighs and his fists clutching the ropes on either side of her head. "I don't want-" She sighed. "I don't want you to do things just to make me happy. Doesn't seem right."
He made a face, a subtle chastisement. "Why not?"
"Because...too much of this," she gestured vaguely at him, "actually all of it, has been for me already."
"Okay, I don't entirely understand what you mean by that, but doing things to make each other happy- isn't that what people do when they're..."
She stared at him, stiffening slightly, then looked off toward the house. "What, Doctor? 'Friends'?"
Ooh, now they might be getting somewhere. His use of the term had upset her; it was obvious as could be. And he felt anything but sorry about it.
"Always," he began slowly, "but..." Her gaze swerved back, riveting to his. "I couldn't find the right word, earlier. For us. I know so many words, Rose, but I just couldn't figure out why nothing seemed to fit. But now I know why. There's only one label I ever want to give you, only one that's right."
When he hesitated she prompted him on. "What, Doctor?"
"Wife."
Rose inhaled, sharp and quick. "What did you say?"
His mouth hung open. What had he just done? They didn't need grand romantic gestures, they needed to talk. All personal and revealing and possibly painful, and he'd be rubbish at it, and...
...and now her lips were turning up, her eyes gone soft and warm and looking at him- as if he were some sort of small, adorable creature to be cuddled and maybe, possibly adopted, even against her better judgment.
Surely that was a good sign?
"Wife," he repeated, recklessly. "My wife. So will you, Rose? Will you let me tell everyone you're my wife? Starting with that gorilla in your mum's lounge?"
Something dark crossed her face. "Only you," she muttered, looking down, "could be so unaware and competitive."
"What?" he said, thoroughly confused. "I'm not competitive. How could I be competitive, when literally no one on this planet could compete with me? Is this your way of letting me down easy? Oh, it's too fast, isn't it? I mean, I get it, I've only been here a couple weeks and all, of course you aren't sure yet what you want, or who I am and..."
She silenced him, quite effectively with her fingers against his lips. "Wait. Wait. Were you...proposing to me, just now? Like you actually want me to be your wife, not just call me your wife cos you're jealous and don't-"
"Well, yeah, but did you not know that, Rose? I told you, back on the beach, that I wanted to spend my life with you. I've been trying to give you some time, to figure things out. But...well, to be perfectly honest, I'm rubbish at deciphering your signals."
An idea hit him and he abruptly let go of the twisted-up swing, sending it and Rose twirling while he dug deep in his coat pocket. She dragged her heels in the patchy grass to slow herself. "What are you doing?" she asked, rocking back and forth on her perch, watching him.
"I want to try something- aha!" Search successful, he took the sparkling ring out and held it up, acknowledging her shocked gasp with a roguish smirk and a tilt of his head. "Yes," he said clearly, "this is exactly what it looks like. It's a ring; the sort that a bloke offers to the woman he is madly in love with when he wants her to marry him. Now I can ask you again if you want, get down on one knee and everything if you fancy the old human tradition, but in order for this to work you need to do your part and give me an answer, yeah? Simple yes or no."
Rose stared at the ring as if mesmerized, and maybe she was; the moon's pale light set the translucent alien stones ablaze in a way that would put an ordinary diamond to shame. The Doctor shifted the ring around in his fingers, trying to provoke some sort of reaction out of her.
It worked. One of Rose's hands went to her mouth, and she used the other to pluck the ring straight from his fingertips.
"Not quite sure how I should take this," he said, unable to mask his shock. She'd made no move to wear the ring, or even really look at it, aside from her intense study of the inside of the band.
All at once she thrust it back his way, her hand shaking slightly. "There's writing in there. Your language. Does it...does it say Bad Wolf?"
"What?" he said, looking at the band's inner curve automatically, as if it might have changed on him when he wasn't looking. "No, of course not. Why-" his nose wrinkled up as it dawned on him what she was getting at. "You think that's why I want to marry you? Because Bad Wolf decided it?"
She popped up off the swing and began pacing a line in the grass. "That's why you're here, isn't it? It's why you exist. Because a nothing, ordinary girl from the estates decided it would be a dream come true. Take a Time Lord, make him into her very own part-human prince."
"Rose-"
"You told me all about it, remember?" She continued to pace, hands clenched, her knuckles gone white. "I absorbed the vortex, and I brought Jack back forever, and I had power over- what did you say? 'All that is, that was, all that ever could be.' I had the chance to make my own future, and I took it. And I gave myself everything I ever wanted." Heaving a breath, Rose paused and looked over at him with tortured, red-rimmed eyes. "Including your love."
Sucker-punched, the Doctor managed a tiny shake of his head, his mouth opening and closing as though it knew that he needed to be spitting out a million reassurances, right now, and an airtight rebuttal, but the only thing his brain seemed capable of tossing onto his tongue at the moment was one curse word after another.
He bit them back with difficulty, dragging a hand down his face. How could she think...oh, this was all his fault, him and his recent, ridiculous inability to think through anything properly when she was involved. He hadn't wanted her to bear any burden from Bad Wolf, ever, but Rose had wrangled the whole story out of him, having witnessed Jack's miraculous return to the land of the living. Blast, he'd have conjured up something, anything, the cleverest lie- oh yeah, Rose, all Time Agents are immortal, didn't I mention it? -if he'd in any way anticipated how she might take the truth and twist it until it morphed into this...this monstrosity.
"No," he said, marching over to her. Taking hold of her upper arms, he waited until she met his intense gaze. "Listen to me. You. Are. Wrong. You used that power to destroy the Daleks, to save billions of people, and yes, to bring Jack back. Why would you do all that, if you were only concerned with yourself? Why..." he slid his hands down to her elbows, "why didn't you change your own past? Undo what happened to your dad? Sure, Bad Wolf led you back to me, and while I'm forever grateful for that, there is no way it created this me just to be in love with you."
Her gaze skittered away but she didn't remove herself from his grasp. "I think it's the only way your loving me makes any sense."
He laughed, raw and harsh, and took his hands off her to toss them out to the side. "Oh, now there's a challenge. Love a challenge, me. What do you expect I might say to that? Maybe something like- a person doesn't know why they love another, they just do?"
"I've heard it said before," she said dully, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Not from me you haven't. And the people that believe it? They've never been in love; at least not like this. It's understandable; I mean, before we met, I didn't believe I was capable of loving someone the way I love you. It blew me away right from the start, the way we just fit together. And once I discovered your brilliance, your loving heart, your compassion...I was absolutely done for. By the time we met Dickens I was already openly admitting it to myself."
Rose absorbed this with wide, wary eyes, still hugging herself but not nearly so tightly. Her thumb and forefinger twisted in the fabric of her short sleeves. "It's...it's the openly admitting it to me part that I don't get. 'S like, it's so easy for you now. You're constantly telling me how you feel, and you're so forward-" he started to apologize and Rose silenced him with a glare, "and it's everything I ever wished for. Wished for- all the time knowing that I couldn't have it, because before, you never would have done this."
Despite the fact that she'd just pretty much admitted she wanted him, anxiety welled up in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he stuck a hand in his hair. This was not a road, no, scratch that, minefield, he'd intended on traveling tonight. There was no in-between answer for this. The truth might come across far too strong. Or worse yet- leave her longing after his other self.
"You could blame it on my new bits of humanity, Rose," he started slowly, "my shorter life, just as easily as you could blame Bad Wolf. But, well, even if you did you'd be wrong then too. Because truth is," he heaved a breath and blew it out, "I always wanted this. I didn't pursue things because, well, mainly I didn't think I deserved it. You're so young, Rose, so innocent, and everything that I'm not. And...you don't know what it means, to enter into that sort of relationship with a Time Lord."
He trailed off. Rose raised her brows. Lord help him, she wanted him to elaborate.
"Maybe," he fumbled on, feeling his cheeks redden and burn, "um, if my feelings for you hadn't been as quite strong as they were- anyway. As it was, and with me being a telepath, it wouldn't have been possible for us to have less than something...ah, permanent. Literally permanent."
Her eyebrows rose higher. His shoulders hunched, and, cringing, he spit it out all in a rush. "It's a Gallifreyan... thing; unavoidable with intimacy. A, uh, mind link. Essentially marriage for my people."
Rose gave him a look like she wanted to roll her eyes. "I'd already promised you forever. Sounds like this link thing was something for you to be scared of, far more than me."
Somewhat thrown by her nonchalance, he stared at her. "I was," he replied, slowly. "But the instant I saw you again, standing on that street...I wasn't scared of anything anymore. It was my second chance. Point is, Rose, the meta-crisis had nothing to do with my loving you, or the fact that I want to be with you. It would have happened either way," he admitted, rubbing an eye tiredly. "And I'm sorry he misled you about it, but, well, even that was out of love. He truly thought you'd be happier here."
Rose's forehead creased, and even in the dimness he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes before she blinked rapidly, turning away from him. She faced the house with her back to the Doctor. "I was so sure that this," she waved a hand behind her to gesture between them, "you, this you- was my doing. I should be thrilled to be wrong, but I'm not. I don't want one of you to be heartbroken. I hate to think that he's hurting. Why does this have to be so bloody complicated?"
She had her arms around herself again, shivering. He wasn't sure if it was more from nerves or from the definite temperature drop, but if it wasn't the perfect excuse to go to her he didn't know what was. Quickly shrugging out of his pinstriped jacket, he went to drape it over her shoulders from behind. "He'd hate to know that you were denying yourself happiness," he said softly near her ear, tucking the coat more snugly around her. "He wants you to have a fantastic life; and I would know. Cos after all, I'm him, remember?"
Her golden head tipped back, resting against his chest. "Stop saying all the right things."
"Can't help it. Genius, me."
She laughed a little, resting her weight more fully against him, and he tried to remember how to breathe. They stood there together, savoring their newfound closeness, content to let the chirps of lovelorn crickets and rush of friendly little breezes take their turn to fill the silence.
"You alright? he asked her, after a short period during which he'd dared to wrap his arms snugly around her, got away with it, and learnt just how much he enjoyed the actual reality of a back-to-front embrace.
"Yeah," she said, turning in his arms, and tilting her face up to his with a small smile. "Just thinking about everything. About us, and how much I love you. Wondering what I ever did that you, of all people, should love me."
The question was rhetorical, but he answered it anyway.
"You saved me," he told her, his eyes open and earnest. "Not just physically, but with your love, your loyalty, your hand in mine. Yourself. Rose, you not only made me want to live again, you made me realize that, even more than nine-centuries in, I'd never really lived before."
For an instant he wondered if it was too much; her face crumpled just the tiniest bit, but then she went up on tiptoes, her parted lips pressing gently against his. With a small, startled inhale, his arms tightened around her and he sank into the kiss, eyes slamming shut.
Slowly, slowly, their mouths moved together, sliding, learning, brief partings only to reconnect even more deeply, with the growing sense that this was further settling things between them, their verbal expressions of love becoming solid and tangible. Rose traced her fingers up as they continued to kiss, over his shoulders and neck and into his hair, tugging to draw him closer. The thoroughly dazed Doctor (who had forgotten he even owned things like legs and feet) overbalanced, and stumbled into her instead. Parting abruptly, he nearly whimpered when she blindly chased his mouth with her own.
It was, by far, the best sign yet.
"So," he said, breathing hard, as they stood with foreheads pressed together, "you know that question I asked you, earlier? I just want to say that I understand if you need time and..."
"Doctor," she said, slowly sliding her hands out of his hair and down the front of his shirt. "I made my choice a long time ago."
Her accompanying smile was wide and meaningful, but he wasn't having it. He plucked her hands from his chest and held them tight in his own, stepping back to put a bit of space between them. "Okay, that's brilliant, Rose, I enjoy it when you say that, but right now I'm not too sure if I'm understanding you correctly. Simple answers, remember? So- is 'I made my choice' a poetic way of saying 'yes'? As in 'yes', you'll marry me? You can see where I might be confused, because the first time you ever said that to me it certainly wasn't after a marriage proposal, and then there's this problem I've had lately where my synapses just don't seem to be firing properly whenever you're around so-"
"Doctor-"
"-and you've probably made a lot of choices since then, any of which you might be referring to-"
She yanked him toward her, halting the oncoming ramble with her lips on his, and he felt her smile.
"The first one," she said, once she pulled back a little, her breath warm on his chin. "I meant yes, as in yes, I'll marry you. You had it right."
"I did?" Joyous and laughing, he swept her into a hug, then spun her, round and round. "I'm back," he declared, delighted.
"You're daft, is what you are," Rose giggled. "Put me down."
He did, but didn't relinquish his hold on her. "I'm daft? You're the one who's marrying me." And this time it was he who initiated the kiss and prolonged it, for long, long, uninterrupted minutes of bliss, as if making up for years of missed opportunities. As if he needed to kiss her for the man he once was- the lonely one who would never have this, forever denied the fulfillment of a most treasured dream.
When they eventually separated the Doctor tugged Rose along to the swing, then sat on it, drawing her onto his lap. She snuggled against him and they rocked there, slowly, talking about everything and nothing until the mansion's outside lights came on, flooding the lawn in brightness.
"Mum's probably wondering where we are," said Rose, pressing a kiss to his cheek and then reluctantly sliding off of him.
Wincing, he gave her some faint reply before clenching his eyes shut, taken with a sudden, inexplicable dizzy spell. He heard Rose say his name as the cold, sick feeling continued creeping over him, entirely out of place in the previously romantic atmosphere, standing his hair on end and prickling his skin.
"Doctor? You okay?"
He nodded, slitting his eyes open to behold a worried Rose. He managed to drag himself to his feet, hunched forward, holding tightly to the lines of the swing. Rose scooted under his arm. She spoke to him, but his attention was drawn to the woods by a muted rustling a few metres away, and a highly unexpected tug in the back of his mind, a place that had been silent ever since he'd lost the TARDIS.
Hastily drawing out his screwdriver, he flicked it on, shining its light toward the area in question. Instead of the hoped-for rodent or scavenging animal, what he illuminated there was the outline of a human woman. Her blonde hair glowed greenly for an instant under the sonic's beam, and then she vanished into the inky darkness. He sucked in a breath. "Do you get many paparazzos out here?"
"Sometimes," Rose groaned. "Please, don't tell me you see one."
"Not sure," he said, having no desire to chase after the mysterious figure, and not entirely sure why that was. "Probably best to head in."
She agreed, and hand in hand, they headed away from the woods. "What happened to you back there?" queried Rose, looking up at him.
He smiled, and gave a half-shrug. "My time-sense came back online, as it were. Good to know I've still got it."
He decided not to tell her why it had affected him so strongly. Whoever had been watching them tonight was not meant to have been there. The brief read he'd gotten of her biological signature had been inconclusive, but heavy with temporal distortion. A Time Agent, possibly. Or maybe it was a paparazzo, and she'd just obtained a career-making photo of the Vitex heiress and her new beau- her timeline forever altered by him and Rose, two people who should never have existed in this universe. It would be the simplest explanation, and the likeliest. He didn't even want to think about how many others they might affect similarly in the coming years.
"Wonder what Mum and Dad'll say; they'll be so surprised," said Rose, as they arrived at the rear of the mansion. "I do feel sort of bad though, telling them about it in front of Andrew." She stretched her left hand out with a smile, admiring the starry gems adorning her fourth finger. "Maybe we should wait until after he's gone home."
"Nah, why should we? After I've done him such a favor?"
Rose gaped at him, aghast. "You've done him a what now?"
"Oh yeah," the Doctor said, grinning like mad and oblivious to her glare. He dropped her hand and leaped on to the top of the patio wall. "Bloke owes me big time, and I want him to know it."
He looked back toward the edge of the grounds, and the moon was plenty bright enough tonight for him to make out a tall, narrow, rectangular structure, painted a radiant, inimitable blue. Well, not painted. Why go to all the trouble when you could alter anything you wanted about a thing's appearance with a simple perception filter? His grin widened as he imagined Jackie's face, tomorrow, when he reset it to look like an Atraxi spaceship.
"Yep," he went on, cheerily, jumping down and going over to unlock one of the french doors with the sonic screwdriver. "Good thing I was here to fix up that dangerous, boring shack that he built. Now it's a real, proper playhouse."
