A/N: Written for whoinwhoville on tumblr when I asked for AU prompts.

Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose

Summary: WWII, London Blitz

Rating: G

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them.

Blitz Fire

"No."

The word felt small and inadequate to describe what he was feeling right now. Sick to his stomach, the world iced over, like a shadow had draped over his heart, as if nothing mattered anymore, those might be a little closer to the truth.

The building before him was a shell of its former self, just piles of scorched bricks and splintered wood. Empty of what mattered.

And he never said – never would be able to now. If only she had been with him… or if he had been with her, if he hadn't refused to visit her mum the night before, if he hadn't decided work was more important because he was on the edge of something new and exciting and potentially groundbreaking. And now, now he was alone and she was –

He turned away from the ruin. Throat tight, eyes burning, he began to walk. His strides turned longer and longer until he was running through the city, feet pounding the ground. If he ran fast enough, he could turn back time or at least escape the ghosts.

He paid no attention to his surroundings, just let his feet move him around people, past buildings both standing and ruined, past broken lives soldiering on. His legs burned, but he kept on until the ache in his muscles was the only sensation, the only thing he could feel.

Sirens rang through the city. He blinked, halting his mad dash – he'd been going for longer than he'd meant to. Not that he'd had any specific plans in mind, just sweet escape.

He tilted his head to gaze at the dark sky. He could lie back on the pavement and watch the German planes overhead, he could watch the city burn around him, he could feel the heat and breathe in smoke and see what happened, see if chance would favor him or not. He could do it.

"Oi, what are you doing standin' around there for? Can't you hear the sirens?" His head swiveled in the voice's direction, the owner a ginger-haired woman. "Well, come on. We've got room for one more."

He hesitated (he didn't care not anymore, not really, not after – but he didn't want to die, probably, not now at least, and anyway she was standing there, waiting, and he really shouldn't have her worried) and then followed the woman into the shelter. Children made up most of the shelter's occupants, little ones with grubby faces all the way to teenagers who'd grown up too fast.

And in a corner, surrounded by a gaggle of children listening with rapt attention, it was her. He gasped. Impossible, couldn't be, she was dead, her home, it was just a smoking mess of wood and brick. He was finally cracking, had to be. She'd always called him mad and now he truly was.

She hadn't seen him yet, was still going on with her story, something about gas masks and children wanting mums, something fantastical and so utterly her, so utterly them. And the children – they were listening so closely like she was real, so maybe he wasn't mad, maybe this was her and he was being an idiot by not doing anything and –

"Rose." Her name caught in his throat, but she looked up from her audience and her face broke into a large grin. His face followed suit. It didn't matter that they were in a crowded shelter, he was pushing through the huddle, pushing his way to her because she was alive and nothing else mattered. She stood as well, side-stepped children, wrapped arms around his torso, gasped his name into his chest and then into his lips.

"I love you," he murmured into her mouth and when she pulled back to stare at him, eyes shining, he repeated it. He'd say it over and over again, every day for the rest of his life so long as she was there with him.