He leans down, tilting his face forward to look at her. Her own gaze is playful, the corners of her eyes crinkled in mirth as a slight breeze blows through her golden hair. Each blonde strand dances merrily around her face, glistening in the rogue rays of sunlight which steal past the leafy overhead otherwise protecting them from the brunt of the noonday glare. It all reminds him so much of their day on New Earth—the landscape, the breeze, her hair stirring in the wind… her smile. He'd almost lost her that day too—to Cassandra—he remembers, his eyes darkening at the memory… he hadn't been able to protect her on that trip, not really.

Just like his brief glimpse into the future is telling him he still is unable to protect her, even now.

He swallows, willing himself to calm down, to breathe—to stop his mind racing through the possibilities and implications of what he'd seen in their flat, hovering just a few weeks in their future. It wasn't a fixed point in time at least—that's good. Very, very good. Perhaps it was a hoax—someone having some sort of a sick go at him? No… he can still feel the remnants of his time sense scratching at the corners of his mind like sandpaper… he'd known full well something was very, horribly, irrevocably wrong as soon as he stepped foot in that flat. And if it hadn't been for the detritus his future self had left behind… he might not have been able to come back at all. He might have had to stay there, to live like that, while Rose—

Something heavy and painful bubbles up into his throat and he swallows it down, staring into her eyes as if he were trying to burn the haunting image of the greeting card from his memory… she might have been completely lost to him, forever.

Her gaze turns questioning, almost worried, and an errant lock of her hair flutters across her face, partially obscuring it from his view. His thumb caresses the apple of her cheek, catching the lock as it curls around his fingers in the breeze. He brushes it back through her hair, entwining his fingers in her tresses and inhaling deeply as he brings his lips down to hers, soft and moist and pliant as she leans into his kiss.

He'll never let anything happen to her. Not if he can help it. Universe be damned.

He wants to—needs to—drink her in, prove to himself that she's really here, that he'll never let her go again, no matter what—prove to his stomach that everything will be all right and it can stop somersaulting around in his abdomen the way it has been ever since he saw that damned card in their flat.

Rose will be fine. Everything will be fine. Perfect. Molto bene.

His touch is still tender but he grips her closer, sliding the fingers of one hand further through her hair while the other wraps around her back. He pulls her closer against him until he's almost cradling her in his embrace, her chest and hips tight and hot against his own. Her own hands run through his hair as well, nails scraping against his scalp the way she did earlier that day in the kitchen, and he groans into her touch. Perhaps if he'd just stayed there with her, never gone back into the TARDIS, taken her to bed—

He sighs against her mouth and can feel her smiling through her kiss. No. It's good that he didn't. Now he knows they're facing something… now he can stop it. Now he can protect her.

He opens his lips slightly, catching her top lip between his own as she slides her mouth against his, wet and cool. She inhales deeply and pulls herself up towards him, closer against his shoulders, as her tongue brushes gently across his bottom lip.

"Oi, get a room!" a woman calls out, and they break apart to see her shooting them an acerbic look as she pulls away a little girl who had been staring at them.

Rose pulls back. "Sorry…" she says to the woman's back as she marches away, gaping child in tow.

Shyly biting her lip, Rose turns back towards him with a giggle, looking up at him through dark lashes. His hands drift to her waist and he once again nestles his body against her own as he lays his forehead against hers, not ready to pull away from her. He can feel her brow furrowing against his forehead and he closes his eyes… she knows him too well, he knows she can tell there's something wrong. But he can't tell her what he's seen… it's one thing for him to have seen their future—he's still a Time Lord after all, with a time sense to guide him—but for her to have that much knowledge of her personal timeline could be a disaster. Without a time sense, she could make things worse. Set them in stone, even. She's brilliant, and she's the love of his life—but she's only a human. Preventing that future timeline is his responsibility—he'll need to do this alone.

"Are you alright?" she asks after a moment, her voice soft, head still resting against his own. He's happy she can't get a good look at his face, can't see him wince and knit his lips together. He'll fix this.

He has to.

And he will.

Nodding, he pulls back to flash her a quicksilver grin, and tugs at her hand to continue their stroll through the park.

"Never been better," he says and looks away, not wanting to see if she believes him or not, keeping the grin on his face and sauntering along the edge of the park, his hand entwined with hers.

"Thought for a second there you didn't want to kiss me…" she says.

He turns towards her, surprised, to find her grinning back up at him in jest, tongue caught between her teeth in a grin. Despite knowing that she's joking he settles his arms once against her waist, looking at her earnestly.

"I always want to kiss you. And I plan to keep on kissing you. Now and the next day and the next day and the next. You're stuck with me now. You've got the ring to prove it."

"So this means you don't mind being stuck with our mortgage too?" she teases.

He doesn't take the bait or return the joke like she's expecting, instead shaking his head and looking at her intently. "It's not stuck. It's perfect. Everything," he says, his eyes dropping to her hand as he reaches out and takes it in his own, his thumb brushing over the glistening diamond of her engagement ring. "It's more than I ever could have hoped for… this is the happiest I've ever been."

"Me too," she smiles, holding his gaze. Her eyes are tender but she looks almost pensive, like something is on the tip of her tongue—but the moment is broken as his stomach grumbles once more, and her lips quirk up in a grin as she eyes his abdomen warily.

"Better with souvlaki, though?" she asks, her eyes wide with mock seriousness.

At this, he laughs. "Yeah. Everything's better with souvlaki."

He secures her hand in his own, gently squeezing her fingers as she smiles up at him and they make their way out of the park and back towards the downtown area to find the cafe on 2nd and Mahogany.

—

The souvlaki is excellent… as is the assyrtiko, the moussaka, the galactoboureko and the baklava he insists on ordering in order to fully and accurately compare the restaurants across the universes. They're there for hours sampling the menu, multiple dishes wedged up against each other and covering the entire white tableclothed expanse of their booth. He orders so much food that even on empty stomachs they can't possibly finish it all—but he quickly declines the server's offer of a take-away box to bring the leftovers back home, instead prying off a large, sticky chunk of the remaining baklava as he grabs Rose's hand and heads for the door.

The streets are dark by the time they leave, strolling down the main boulevard of the city arm in arm. He jostles her with his elbow, holding up the flaky dessert encrusted with tiny pieces of crushed walnut, the sticky syrup almost dripping off his fingers. She pulls a face, shaking her head.

"It's brilliant, honestly, Rose—you should try it. Just a bite!"

As he waves it in front of her in a way he's sure is the epitome of enticing, she wrinkles her nose and laughs. She pushes away his hand with the proffered baklava all the while snuggling closer into his side in the night chill, drawing his other arm closer around herself.

"If you like it so much then why didn't you want her to box it up for you so you could eat it at home? There was enough food left over to keep even you fed for days."

He doesn't answer immediately, turning his head across the boulevard. His eyes take in the brightly animated neon billboards as they dance against the velvet sky of the downtown area, advertising dinner shows and hotels and theatre and fashion. Of course he can't bring her home… not yet. Not while there's still so much for him to figure out about her timeline. And this place is perfect—this is a city that never sleeps, with enough entertainment here to keep them busy for days, if not longer.

Her eyes are still trained on him, and she bursts into laughter as he pops the entire piece of baklava into his mouth, small flakes of syrup-covered crust drifting to the ground like snow as he crunches it between his teeth.

He looks down at her, wide-eyed. "Wha'?" he mumbles through his pastry.

"You're gonna burst, mister! You and your tight trousers both, if you keep that up!"

At that, he looks down towards her with a wide grin and gives her a wink, drawing her closer against him and running the tips of his fingers down the length of her arm to catch her hand in his once more.

"Oooh tight? You like it though, don't you?"

She throws her head back laughing, reaching her hand down and playfully grabbing a handful of his arse as they walk. He grins again, kissing the top of her head, and his eyes flick back up to the neon billboards.

"What do you say we catch a show?"

"Hmm I dunno," she says. She stops walking and turns to face him, sidling up against his chest, pressing her chest into his torso and letting her hands drift back down to his arse… "I'd prefer to catch some of this," she says, her voice dropping to a purr as she places a slow, soft kiss to the hollow of his throat.

He hums in approval, drawing her closer. "Hotel then?" he murmurs.

She pulls back, shaking her head, as his fingers rest on her waist, his thumbs grazing the strip of bare skin between her top and her jeans.

"I didn't have time to pack a bag, remember?" she says, slowly dragging a finger down his chest, from clavicle to waistband. "Someone was in a hurry to leave the flat today."

"So?" he whispers, his voice breathy.

"So I've been sweating all day long, and I have nothing to change into. Besides, mum was supposed to call this afternoon, and she'll be worried if I don't at least call her back, you know how she gets—"

"So call her…" he says, his lips grazing over the soft flesh of her ear. "And make it quick."

"I don't have my phone," she says with a laugh, pulling away from him but keeping his hand in her own. She tugs him down a side street that leads back to the TARDIS. "Plus it's not supercharged yet—"

"Rose…" he whispers, coming to a halt.

"We'll make it quick," she says, giving his hand a squeeze. He doesn't move, and she drops his hand, backing down the street. "Change of clothes, grab my phone—then we can come back here… or spend the night in bed. Whatever you like."

She turns to walk down the side street, and dark as it is, he's forced to start moving again if he doesn't want to lose track of her entirely.

"See? TARDIS is right here. Won't take but a minute," she says, brandishing a key from her pocked to open the door and stepping inside.

He stands on the street a moment longer as the door clicks shut behind her, before sighing deeply and following her into the TARDIS.