a/n: I don't own Doctor Who, or the songs At Last or Unchained Melody, but I wish I did. And for those who are interested, Rose's dress is based on the dress Marilyn Monroe wore in The Seven Year Itch.

Chapter Six

Three hours after the twelfth Doctor and Clara had arrived on the Powell Estate, and two and a half hours after she had gone to Jackie's flat for a cup of tea, Clara was still there, watching mind-numbing television. Rose hadn't returned to the flat yet, and Jackie didn't seem worried about it in the slightest. In fact, she had spent most of the past two and a half hours on the telephone.

Bored with telly, she was trying not to listen to Jackie's latest phone call. She wasn't above a little eavesdropping by any stretch of the imagination, but Jackie's telephone calls were repetitive and more than a little boring. So far she had spoken to Bev, Cousin Mo, Roger, Howard and now Bev again.

Clara got up off the sofa to make herself another cup of tea, her third, as Jackie continued her latest conversation.

"Dropped in unannounced, no warnin', nothin' in the house but bananas and biscuits, which he promptly ate I might add. Of course I was glad Rose was home. She was so upset about Mickey, poor dear. Oh, didn't I tell you? He's gone. Moved out. Not comin' back so far as I know. Anyway, they get here and himself is eatin' me outa house'n home, but will he take a minute from his busy schedule to fix my washer? No. Anyway, Bev, I says to him…"

~oOo~

The tenth Doctor searched in vain for Rose for more than two hours, ringing Shareen and Keisha and stopping by the chippy, the pizza place, the community center and the library. He even went to Mickey's flat on the off chance she had gone there to pack up his things, but as soon as he had let himself in, with the help of the sonic screwdriver, he knew no one had been there since Mickey had joined them on the TARDIS. The younger man's flat was a disaster, even more so than the last time he had entered it. There were dirty clothes, dishes and gaming magazines lying on the floor and every horizontal surface, the bed hadn't been made—and from the smell the sheets hadn't been changed in months—and the remaining food in the refrigerator looked as though Mickey had been conducting scientific experiments on mold in his off hours.

After quickly deciding that it wasn't his responsibility to clean up the mess, which looked as if it required a hazmat team and a shovel more than anything, the Doctor had returned to the park. There he waited in vain for Clara to return. He briefly considered returning to Jackie's flat. If Rose was there she was perfectly safe, but if she wasn't there, he didn't want to have to admit to Jackie that he didn't know where her daughter was. He told himself that it was because he didn't want to worry Jackie, but deep down he knew that it was because he wasn't looking forward to the inevitable slap he'd get from her. He wanted to put that off as long as possible.

And the truth was he was becoming more and more worried that Rose was with his older self.

Eventually he gave up waiting for Clara. He returned to the TARDIS where he once again tried to ring Rose. For some unknown reason she still wasn't answering. It occurred to him that perhaps she wasn't picking up because she was still upset with him over the events of the past few weeks. He had known she was not happy with him after the business with Reinette, and then again after the business with Mickey, but they really hadn't talked about it. On the other hand that was the usual way that they handled things and he, for one, was perfectly happy with that arrangement.

For the lack of anything better to do, he climbed under the console and returned to making repairs. The sooner he could get the TARDIS fixed, the sooner he'd be able to scan for Rose, and even search off-planet if necessary.

~oOo~

After another set at the club, the twelfth Doctor took Rose out to dinner, and she had stared at him in disbelief when he told her how the restaurant was advertised.

"They call themselves a genuine copy of an old New Orleans restaurant?" she had asked, laughing.

"And they're very proud of it," he said, grinning.

Rose had never been to New Orleans—and she made a note to herself to ask the Doctor to take her—but this was exactly what she would have imagined: tiny tables squeezed into a crowded room, plaster walls painted a delicate yellow, ceiling fans with large oval blades slowly spinning overhead.

And the food…

"This is delicious," she said, tucking in as soon as the waiter had brought it to the table. "What is it again?"

"Jambalaya," he replied, frowning. He still hadn't tasted it yet; instead he poked and prodded it with his fork.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"New taste buds. Don't know if I'll like it or not."

"You ordered it," she said, laughing. "Might as well try it." She speared a large prawn with her fork and held it up. He obediently opened his mouth and she shoved it in. A look of relief crossed his face as he began to chew. "See, 's good, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," he said, and began to eat with relish.

"Still can't get over it," she said, shaking her head. "My you will eat anything in sight, and taste things that aren't even edible. 'Cept pears, of course."

A shadow crossed his face, and she wondered what she had said wrong this time.

"Different looks, different taste buds, different accent, but I'm still me," he said quietly.

Her smile faded when she met his eyes. They weren't quite blue as she had thought in the park, but they weren't not blue either. Stormy, she'd call them, changeable even. Blue and grey and green, changing with the surroundings and his mood. But despite the color, she saw him. The same him with the piercing blue eyes, and the same him with the chocolate brown ones. He was still him.

But it was more than that, she realized. Somehow, at some point between the fluorescent Kumquat whiskey and the genuine imitation jambalaya, somehow he had become hers.

And somehow, she had become his as well.

"Yes, I know you are," she told him, her voice carrying the pure truth of that statement.

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. And as he squeezed it back, they smiled.

~oOo~

After getting caught up on the latest game shows, reality shows and soap operas that an afternoon in 2007 had to offer, some of which she was convinced she had seen before, Clara decided to leave. Jackie was still on the telephone—Clara hadn't heard the name of the caller this time—and it didn't seem likely that Rose was going to return to the flat any time soon.

She made a quick trip to the loo, the inevitable consequence of drinking almost a gallon of tea over the past few hours, and waved to Jackie as she left. Jackie waved back absently without missing a beat of her conversation.

Once in the courtyard, Clara stopped, debating which direction to go. A loud stomach growl decided the matter. She had seen a chippie earlier; she'd go get something to eat before meeting the Doctor in the park.

Whichever Doctor showed up.

~oOo~

As the suns began to set, they left the restaurant. Humans and aliens, dressed in finery—or in the case of some of the aliens, not dressed at all—passed them on the cobblestone street as they walked, all headed to specific destinations, but unlike them, the Doctor and Rose wandered aimlessly through the streets, her arm looped through his, her head occasionally coming to rest on his shoulder. The cooling air was filled with the sounds of music and the smells of cooking food coming from the open doors of the restaurants and nightclubs they passed. More than once they stopped, standing hand in hand in a doorway somewhere listening to a particularly good singer or a lively band, but then they'd move on without entering, as if by staying in motion they could prevent the evening from coming to a quick end.

As the streetlights came on and night began to fall in earnest, they reluctantly headed back. After a quick use of the sonic on the iron gate, they reentered the garden and followed the path to the TARDIS, each step slower than the last. Finally Rose came to a stop, tilting her head up and pressing her lips to his.

It was just a quick kiss, of thanks no doubt, but it was his. It was truly his, and only his. It wasn't Cassandra using her body to snog him, it wasn't a kiss of good luck placed on a space helmet, it wasn't a kiss intended for the cheek of someone named Harry, it was her kissing him. And even if that were the only kiss she ever gave him, he'd take it and take it gladly.

After a moment, she smiled at him, and with a tug on his hand, she slowly led the way back to the TARDIS.

~oOo~

After a few minor repairs and a system restore of the temporal vortex transducer, the tenth Doctor wondered if connecting the power outlet socket directly to the transducer cells would allow the TARDIS to more readily access the energy within them. He even considered transferring some of his own energy directly to her as he had while in Pete's World, but then decided such a drastic step could be put off until later, as a last resort. Being stuck on Earth was nothing like being stuck in a parallel universe, and he knew the TARDIS would eventually heal herself in time. He just was impatient to have the process done now.

Reconnecting a few loose wires that had come undone during his repairs, the overhead lights suddenly came on. The Time Rotor was still dark, but he'd take any progress he could get.

As he climbed out from under the console, ready to give Rose a celebratory hug, he suddenly remembered she wasn't there. How had he been so focused on what he had been doing to forget that?

He tried to ring her mobile again, but again she didn't answer.

Where could she be, he asked himself, although by now he was certain he knew the answer. Why would he become so reckless in the future that he would take her out of her timeline? Why would he sweep in and figuratively—if not literally—carry her off, not just from her planet and her family and her life on the Powell Estate as he had when they had first met, but from himself as well?

And then he felt the slight skin crawl and disorientation of his timeline changing again.

He needed to find Clara and question her again, he thought as he left the TARDIS again. Despite the danger to himself, he needed to find out what kind of man he had become that he would risk everything like this. Only then would he have a chance of righting the timeline.

And, he worried, that only by risking everything would he get Rose back.

~oOo~

"So where are we going next?" Rose asked, leaning against the railing circling the console.

The Doctor pulled down a lever on the console and smirked at her. "You'll see. And we're already here."

She headed towards the door, and he stopped her.

"Just wait," he said. "You can't actually go out there."

She looked at him curiously. "If we can't go out there, then why are we here?"

"You'll see," he told her. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Go ahead, close them," he urged.

Obediently she closed her eyes and covered them with her hands for good measure. The Doctor grabbed hold of her shoulders and gently led her across the room towards the door.

"Okay, just stand here," he instructed. "Alright, open your eyes."

Rose dropped her hands from her face and gasped. The doors stood wide open, revealing the fact that they were floating in outer space and in front of them…

"I don't believe it," she said in wonder. "It looks like a giant rose."

"It's the Rose Nebula," he said quietly. "Just a patch of glowing gas and dust, and yet it is one of the most beautiful things in the universe." He was silent for a moment. "I always wanted to show it to you, but somehow I never got around to it."

"Well, you have now," she said with a small smile for him. Standing on her tiptoes, she leaned forward and gently kissed him as she had in the garden. "'S beautiful. Thank you."

The Doctor pulled her into his embrace. Tilting her chin up, he lowered his head to hers and captured her lips with his, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Without words she urged him to deepen the kiss; her tongue traced the edge of his lips, seeking entrance. With a quiet groan, he responded, opening his mouth and caressing her tongue with his. It was his first real taste of her, having denied himself this while they were together. This was something he had never thought he'd have, not after Canary Wharf, and something he had longed for on the beach in the parallel Norway when he had given her up.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue entering her mouth and allowing hers to enter his. Dimly he tasted the sharp flavor of the whiskey they had had earlier, but underneath was the pure flavor of Rose. It was intoxicating in a way the whiskey had not been; it made him lightheaded as blood moved from his brain lower.

The kiss quickly became fevered, with tongues fighting for dominance and hands clutching desperately. After a few moments, with great difficulty he forced himself to pull away from her. Rose was breathless and flushed with desire, and he wondered if he appeared the same. Forcing his heartsrate to slow, he slipped her hand in his and led her away from the door, and it closed behind them. He lifted his other hand, snapped his fingers and the lights lowered.

"I see you have some new moves," she said, still slightly breathless. She grinned at him, in the tongue-touched way she had which had always made his hearts stutter, even when he had worn a leather jacket.

"A few," he replied, and he grinned back at her, his eyes twinkling.

As music began to fill the room, he gently tugged on her hand and she spun into his arms, her dress swirling around her. They began to sway to the music.

At last
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song

"I recognize this one from the club," she said.

"Etta James," he told her. "Lovely woman, and in my opinion, this is best version of this song ever produced."

With one hand spread across the soft, smooth skin of her back, the other holding her hand, he slowly led her in an intricate dance around the console, treasuring the moment. The song, the dance, her in his arms, all meant far more to him than he wanted to admit.

"Can I make a request?" she asked when the song ended and they had stopped. "A song request of my own."

"Of course," he answered. "All you have to do is think it. The TARDIS might get into your mind, but you also get into hers. Just ask her."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she reopened them the sound of a piano filled the room. His eyes met hers, and his breath caught as he recognized the opening strains of the song she had chosen.

Oh, my love, my darling
I've hungered for your touch
A long, lonely time

Not even pretending to dance anymore, he stared at her as she lifted a hand to caress his face, and his hearts pounded when he saw the love in her eyes. Not just desire, but love. And not just for the men he'd been, but for who he was now as well.

And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine?

As the music continued to play, the Doctor no longer could hold back. She gasped when he fisted his hand in her hair and roughly pulled her head back. He moved his mouth to her neck and then, after first gently sucking at her pulse point, he traced a line downwards to the hollow of her throat. She quietly moaned, running her fingers through his hair and caressing the back of his neck.

And then she gently pushed him away.

Panting, he looked at her in confusion.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought…"

She moved a finger to his lips.

"Shh," she murmured. And as the music swelled, she dropped her hand to entwine her fingers with his, and she led him silently from the room.

I need your love
I need your love
God speed your love to me.