A/N: Thank so much to everyone who left such lovely comments for my story Birthday Girl yesterday. It was definitely a standalone piece, so I won't be adding any more to it, but I hope you enjoy this too!

Marbella, 1989

You'd think, Rose reflects, pushing her hair back from her face, that people would notice a blue police box parked in the middle of the beach.

You'd think a lot of things. You'd think the Doctor would be too hot in his leather jacket, even if he does look magnificent standing at the bar alongside the crowd of lobster-hued, bermuda-shorted holidaymakers. You'd think saving the world would be a full-time job, especially with the rest of the universe on the side, and you'd never get time off to go to the seaside. You'd think the TARDIS would have at least included sunglasses with today's ensemble.

There's so much light.

The breeze from the sea ruffles her hair, and she shades her eyes to look up at him as he approaches.

"Your drink, madam," he says with a wink, as he places the glass on the table in front of her, and sits down opposite her.

Rose takes a sip, and pokes just a little bit of tongue out at him. "Vodka and orange? No Sex on the Beach today then, Doctor?" She tosses him a mischievous glance from under eyelashes she remembers all too late are thick with bright blue mascara.

"It's a Screwdriver, Rose," he says, waiting for it to sink in, and she looks up at him brightly and laughs, glowing and brilliant.

"That's fantastic." She looks across at his glass. "Why do you get two umbrellas? Nobody needs two umbrellas."

"I might. I need two hearts."

"Share," she says, holding out her hand.

He's looking at her with the strangest light reflected in his eyes as he carefully folds down one of his cocktail umbrellas, placing it in her outstretched palm and curling her fingers over it so gently, so tenderly, it makes her catch her breath.

"Keep it safe, Rose Tyler," he says.

The sun seems likes it's everywhere all at once, bouncing back at her from white sand and white walls and the white stone terrace.

Nearby a woman in a red dress with a flower in her hair is singing, something soft and sad that rises above the sweep of the sea and the chatter from the bar.

Maybe it's just that she drank too quickly, but the sun and the song start to fill her head, and it aches, and everything starts to blur.

Everything but him, and he's still holding her in that unstoppable gaze, blue eyes drenched in light.

"My head…" she starts to say, and he's there, always there.

I think you need a doctor, she thinks she hears him say, and as the world erupts in light she holds onto him and doesn't let go.


Rose looks up from the TARDIS floor. She remembers Marbella, and a thousand other places beside, every star in every sky. She remembers the sound of singing, and so much light. She remembers his hands, and his eyes, and his mouth.

And he's standing there saying something stupid about scaring off the Daleks with a song, and they're both of them laughing, and she knows that above all she will not forget his hearts.