Chapter Nine—London, Tuesday, 10 July, 2007, and London, Saturday, 14 July, 2007

Heart pounding, John automatically reached for his sketchbook and pencils in an attempt to try to capture the dream images before they faded.

Fire, searing fire. Flames burning the trees, the fields, even the air itself. More disjointed faces and bizarre pepperpot creatures. A blue box floating in a sky of planets and stars. A cavernous chamber with metal grating on the floor and odd columns that branched treelike as they stretched to the ceiling.

And the blonde girl.

No, not the blonde girl. Rose. Rose Tyler.

His pencil flew across the pad as he sketched Rose. Standing on the embankment of the Thames. Running hand in hand with him. Swinging on a chain over an enormous pit.

Clearly many of the dream images were simply products of his subconscious. Knowing that he had been present at the explosion of Henrik's however could explain his recurring dreams of fire. Maybe some of the other images were memories trying to come to the surface, particularly the ones of Rose.

A hand in his. Run.

Or perhaps the dreams of Rose were just products of fantasy, of wishful thinking, he thought, as he looked as his sketch of Rose in his arms after he had caught her midair.

He pushed the thought out his mind. Thoughts of holding Rose were completely inappropriate given their obvious and fairly substantial age difference.

Not to mention they were pointless.

When they'd met and she'd begun teasing him, he was instantly smitten, but even if they'd been the same age, there was no way she'd ever be attracted to him. Not with his daft face. Allowing himself to develop a crush on her was a bad idea. Nothing could come of it, and it would be nothing but trouble since he was working with her.

He pulled a face. Work. Damn, he had to get ready for work. He didn't want to be late again. He didn't mind his job, he really didn't—after all it beat sitting around his flat all day with nothing to do—but working, actually having a job that he went to, always seemed to him like a foreign, even alien, concept.

But today he'd see Rose again. And that was fantastic.

And as he headed to the shower a slow grin spread across his face.

~oOo~

Rose was jerked awake by the harsh sound of the alarm clock. Gritting her teeth, she slammed her hand down on it.

Blessed silence. She sighed in relief.

After a moment she propped herself up onto her elbows and looked at the clock. Half seven. Barely enough time to get ready and get to work by eight.

"Time to get up, sweetheart," her mother called from the hall. "You've got a job to get to, and believe me, I never thought I'd say that again."

Rose rolled her eyes.

"And you'd better get in and out of the bathroom quick, because Stuart's gotta get in there too," Jackie added.

Rose dropped her head back on the pillow and groaned.

~oOo~

Twenty minutes later, she flew down the stairs leading to the courtyard. Despite hurrying through shower, hair, and makeup, she was running late. Not good for only her second day at work. She needed to reset her alarm clock for seven.

She just wasn't used to having to get ready by a certain time anymore. The Doctor would tease her about taking forever to get ready in the morning—or what served as morning on the TARDIS—but truly, they were never late places because of her.

She had gotten spoiled.

She burst out the door to the courtyard—and stopped. He was coming out of the building across the way.

Perfect. She grinned.

He headed towards the alley, and she called out to him. "Doc—" She stopped herself and winced. Dammit. She had to watch that.

"John," she yelled.

He stopped and turned towards the sound of her voice. She jogged to catch up with him, and they automatically fell into step.

"Running late again?" she asked.

"Evidently I'm not the only one," he said, sounding amused.

She ignored that. "I figure that as long as we're headed to the same place, we could walk together," she said.

"Works for me."

~oOo~

Over the next several days John fell into the habit of walking to and from work with Rose, ostensibly because they lived in the same area, but actually just because John enjoyed her company. He watched for her, and if she was running late he waited just inside the entrance to his building until he could see her coming down the stairs of Bucknall House. That way he could accidentally run into her in the courtyard. In the afternoon since he usually got done earlier than she did, he'd waste time slowly cleaning up the garage until she got off, and then like a schoolboy who fancied a girl, he'd walk her home. It meant he'd have to run out again to pick up something for tea, but it was worth it.

And the only time one of the other mechanics had begun to make a crude comment on their arrival together, a single look from John had stopped him mid-sentence. After that, no one had dared to say anything.

That Saturday, John left his flat a few minutes early in order to take a side trip to the floor below his before meeting Rose. Another row between Rita and Chuck had woken him up again in the middle of the night. Since it had ended quickly, he hadn't bothered getting up to stop it. Although all was quiet now, he just wanted to make sure Rita was okay.

He lightly rapped on the door to their flat and waited a minute. He thought about knocking again but then decided against it, not wanting to disturb her if she was asleep. Just as he was turning to leave, the door opened a crack. Through the narrow opening he could see the chain lock fastened and a single eye peering at him.

"Rita, are you all right?" he asked quietly.

She shushed him and nodded.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," she whispered. "I'm fine. But Chuck's asleep and I don't want him to wake up."

Rita started to close the door, and John stopped her. He searched her face, what he could see of it, and frowned. "You sure you're all right?"

"Yes," she hissed. "Now go on, before he wakes up."

"I'm comin' back here after work to check on you," he told her.

"Fine," she said with a huff and shut the door in his face.

Still frowning, he headed down to the courtyard to meet Rose.

~oOo~

For the first time in weeks, the afternoon was slow. With nothing to do, the other mechanics had gone home at lunchtime. Even the boss and his wife had taken a rare afternoon off, leaving Rose to work the desk and John to finish up the repairs on the last few cars.

John snuck a look over the engine he was working on into the garage's office. Rose was sitting at the desk doing some sort of paperwork. Even he could see from where he was that she was bored to tears.

She didn't belong here, he thought. She was too bright, too curious about the world around her to be spending her days filing and answering the telephone. Of course everyone had to make a living of some sort, that was the reason he worked here as well, but she seemed destined for greater things than working in a garage.

He watched her for a minute. She looked a little different today. Her shoulder length blonde hair was sort of wavy, and she was wearing a bright pink top that suited her coloring.

She sure was pretty.

No. He shouldn't be thinking about her that way. He was far too old for her, he told himself firmly, and returned his attention to the engine in front of him.

After he finished the car, John grabbed a spare rag to wipe his grimy hands and then tossed the cloth into a nearby barrel. He crossed to the office and stuck his head in the door.

"Finished the Ford," he said. "Just had a few loose wires and needed a new battery. Movin' on to the Vauxhall next. That'll take some time. Don't know what's wrong with that one."

"You mean you can't tell by smellin' it?" Rose asked teasingly. She gave him her wide, cheeky grin, the one with the tip of her tongue touching just the edge of her upper teeth. She often grinned at him that way, and every time she did he wanted to snog that look off her face.

Down, boy. She probably flirted with everyone like that. Although he'd never noticed her doing that. And he noticed everything about her.

"No, I can't tell by smellin' it," he answered in the same tone as she had used. "Not unless there's somethin' wrong with the fuel injection system. So the Vauxhall's problems have to be somewhere else."

"Bill and Pat both have looked at it already, and neither of them could find what was wrong," she told him.

"Bill and Pat aren't me."

She snorted. "You think you're so impressive."

"I am so impressive!" he said with false indignation.

"Then let's see how fast you can fix the next one, Mr. Impressive." She winked at him.

She winked at him. His heart sped up, and unexpectedly, something stirred a bit lower. He forced himself to ignore the reaction.

"All right," he said with a nod. "Time me."

She pulled out her mobile and made a few adjustments. "Ready, steady… go!"

Flashing her a manic grin, he rushed to the car and opened the bonnet, determined to show her just impressive he was in this. Then he could show her how impressive he was in other things.

No, he couldn't be thinking that way. Down, boy.

For the next hour or so—as usual, he felt like he should be able to instantly know how much time had passed to the second but wasn't sure why—he concentrated on the car in front of him. It was an older vehicle, not computerized, therefore whatever was wrong with it should be fairly straightforward. But the problem eluded him for some reason. Everything looked fine. It just wouldn't start. Wouldn't fire up, no matter what he did. He checked the fuel line, the battery, the fuses… everything he could think of. Well, whatever it is wasn't a simple problem.

As he began to check everything again, starting with the fuel injection system, he barely noticed a young man pull up, get out of his car, and go into the office.

After a couple of minutes, he began to hear raised voices coming from the room.

"Get outa here, Jimmy! I'm warnin' you!"

"I got every right to be 'ere. My car needs to be fixed. What would your boss say if he knew you were turnin' down business?"

"There's lots a places you can get your car fixed! Find one of them!"

A wave of unease swept over him as he realized that in addition to the anger in Rose's voice, there was a tiny note of something else.

Fear.

Senses on high alert, John immediately dropped his wrench, not noticing or caring where it landed, and rushed to the office.

He stopped at the doorway. In an instant, he took in the scene in front of him. The younger man, his back to John, had Rose cornered in the far side of the office. He was blocking her way both through exit out the front door and the one into the garage.

And Rose, his fearless Rose, looked afraid. And the look on her face wiped out any realization that in his thoughts he had called her his.

"But this is the best place to get the work done," Jimmy was saying, looking her up and down. "In fact, this looks like the best place to get a lot of things… done."

"Oi! Leave her alone."

At the sound of John's voice, the younger man whirled around. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt advertising a rock band John had never heard of, Jimmy appeared to be a few years older than Rose, mid-twenties maybe, with shaggy, dark blonde hair and green eyes. He had a bit of scruff, like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days, and he reeked of cigarettes and cheap whiskey. Very cheap whiskey.

"This doesn't concern you, old man," Jimmy told him. "So fuck off."

"The lady told you to leave," John said evenly. "So it's time to leave."

Jimmy made a rude noise. "She ain't no lady. And who are you, her grandfather? Or are you her mum's latest shack-up?"

"I'm the one who's gonna kick your arse if you don't leave her alone," John said coldly.

"John, 's all right, I can handle him," Rose said.

Jimmy's mouth twisted into a nasty grin. "Yeah, I remember how well you handled me," he said, his voice thick with innuendo.

"Jimmy, shut up and jus' go," Rose said. She pushed at his shoulder in emphasis.

"Don't push me, bitch," he yelled and shoved her back, hard. She slammed into the wall behind her.

And then he was on the floor, clutching his abdomen and moaning in pain with John standing over him, his foot on the back of his neck.

"If you ever touch her again," John said coldly, "if you ever see her again, if she ever sees you again, hell, if I ever see you again, you will not live to regret it. Understand?"

Still on the floor, Jimmy nodded.

"So now," John continued, in an almost cheerful tone, "get yourself up, dust yourself off, and crawl back into whatever hellhole you climbed out of in the first place." He started removing his foot, and then replaced it. "Better yet, perhaps you should consider emigration. Maybe to Afghanistan. Lovely there this time of year."

Now he really did remove his foot, and Jimmy immediately scooted out the front entrance. He watched as the younger man limped over to his car and drove off.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," he said, turning back to Rose. She was staring at him, her jaw slack.

"I didn't know you could do that," she said, her voice colored with shock—and could it possibly be admiration?

"No reason you should," he told her.

"What was that?" she asked, gesturing with her hand in the general direction of where Jimmy had been.

"A martial art that's an offshoot of Aikido," he answered without thinking. Then he frowned. How did he know that? And what's more, how did he know how to do that? It wasn't the first time he had uncovered unknown advanced skills, like his abilities on the computer or his affinity for languages, but whenever it happened it still surprised and puzzled him.

"Well, whatever it was," she said, "that was pretty—" She bit off the last word, so he supplied it.

"Impressive?" He gave her a smug grin.

She laughed. "Impressive," she agreed. She bit her upper lip for a moment before continuing. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." His grin turned into a genuine smile.

They stood there grinning at one another for several long moments, not saying anything.

"You know, I could've handled him myself," she said eventually.

"Oh, I've no doubt," he told her. "Just wanted to save you the bother. Didn't want you to ruin your manicure." The clock on the wall caught his eye, and he frowned again. Again he was struck with the idea he should have already known what time it was, should always know to the millisecond exactly what time it was.

But that was ridiculous.

"Y'know," he said slowly, tearing his eyes away from the clock, "I think it's late enough that we could probably just close up for the day."

"Sounds good to me," she agreed.

"And then maybe we could go out…" She blinked at him, she literally did, obviously surprised by his suggestion, and he didn't know how he felt about that. Would she be that shocked by him asking her out? "And you could tell me exactly who that was and why he was harassing you."

Her face fell slightly; he could see the exact instant she realized he wasn't suggesting an actual date. Did that mean she had wanted him to ask her out?

She couldn't.

Could she?

Nah. Must be just his imagination. Or more wishful thinking said a small voice inside his head. A voice that was gonna get him into trouble, he told himself.

She had quickly substituted the look of disappointment for a bright smile. "Closing early sounds great," she said. "Goin' out too. Anything to get away from this mess." She gestured at all the papers she had been working on earlier. "Besides, I figure I owe you. For savin' my manicure 'n all. I'll even pay." Then she frowned. "I forgot. I won't have any money until I get paid next week."

"'S all right," he said. "I'll pay."

"You'll pay?" She was staring at him again, a look of shock on her face, and he wondered why.

"I'll pay," he told her. "You can pay next time."

She gave him a wide grin, and he realized he had just suggested they go out more than once.

"Fantastic!" she said.