A/N: The rating of this story will eventually go up to M. I'll put a warning in the chapter right before the rating goes up.
"What you're thinking is quite correct. Doctor John Smith is, in fact, a perfect replica of my former self, save for only having one heart and one stomach and merely double-stranded DNA and not being a Time Lord almost a thousand years of age . . . well, they look exactly alike, at any rate. You're likely wondering just how this happened, if I'm correct--and I usually am.
"To answer that question, I'll use the illustration of a pearl. Do you know how they're formed? An irritant is introduced into an oyster, and the oyster, in an effort to stop the irritation, coats the irritant in, basically, itself. Thus, a little piece of sand, a seed, so to speak, becomes something precious.
"Consider Rose the irritant in this scenario. My, she wouldn't like that, would she? Well, she's not here, so we'll go with the metaphor. Rose was placed in this world, not belonging there, and created an irritation.
"I know I called it a wound before. Time Lords can mix metaphors with the best of 'em, so kindly stop interrupting.
"Besides, both metaphors apply, though in different ways. Rose's entry and the surrounding events did create a wound in that universe. It's her continued presence that creates the irritation.
'However, Rose is not the only seed pearl. Rather, she's only one part of the same irritant. I think you can guess at the other."
The brief meeting on the beach made more of an impression on Rose than all the Torchwood business she'd done that week. She couldn't stop thinking about Doctor John Smith. Not for the remainder of the weekend, not during the drive home, not back at work in London. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from talking about him to Shannon when she asked if Rose had met any interesting men in Cardiff, and threw her roommate off by talking about Owen the Jerk.
He's not even my type, she thought as she tried to sleep Sunday night. Can't be anywhere close to my age, way more educated, not pretty. Though he did have beautiful eyes.
It was terribly distracting.
"Rose might have felt better at this junction if she'd known that in a flat just a few miles away, Doctor John Smith was scolding himself for obsessing about the pretty young blonde he quite literally ran across.
"Quite the matchmaker, the universe. But that's not the only point of this exercise. Not by far."
By the next weekend, Rose had managed to put the incident (mostly) behind her. She didn't mention it to Jane, figuring it was a fluke and not worth talking to one's therapist over.
Besides, she had plenty to occupy her time. Exams were coming up, and between school, work and keeping up with her family, she was exhausted. When she finally got a moment to breathe, she dropped into her favorite café for tea, something sweet and a little relaxation. She picked up her tea and lemon bar at the counter and started looking for an open table in the crowded café.
There he was. Sitting at a table with a half-full cup of coffee beside him, scowling a little at a laptop computer, was Doctor John Smith. Rose froze in place. Her immediate instinct was to go over and say hello, but beyond that?
Hello, remember me? Girl playing with a hyperactive dog in Cardiff last weekend? Well, I remember you. Been obsessing a bit about you, I have. How's this weather?
Rose shook her head a little at her own thoughts. She spotted an empty table beyond him and decided to head for it and let the chips fall where they may.
As she approached his table, he looked up and met her eyes--and grinned widely. She couldn't help but return his smile.
"Hello," she said.
"It's Rose, right?" he asked. "Where's Captain Jack?"
"Promised I'd bring something back for him," she said. "Doctor John Smith, right?" As if she'd had a chance to forget.
"Tough name to remember, I know." Something in his eyes was almost hopeful, and Rose took a deep breath and a chance.
"D'you mind?" she asked, indicating the empty chair at his table.
"Please do." He shut his laptop and picked up his tea. "I could use a break from this."
Rose sat down, still a little nervous. "What is 'this'?"
"A surgery report. It isn't enough to save someone's life, you see; it'll all go to hell if you can't document it properly. Or at least that's what the hospital seems to believe." He gave the laptop another look as if it was offending him by its very existence.
"Not the same thing, I know, but having had several papers due recently, I can sympathize," said Rose. "Aside from which, I had to write up a report of my own on the exchange with my company's Cardiff branch. Bit unfair when I've got exams coming up, but my boss doesn't seem to care."
"Even when your father owns the company?" John smiled at Rose's startled look. "I may not pay much attention to the society pages, but your face leaped out at me from a photograph accompanying a column on Richard Branson's birthday party last week. You're Rose Tyler."
"Guilty," said Rose. She shifted a little uncomfortably. "He and my father have some dealings together, so I had to put in an appearance. The party was the worst timing in the world what with exams coming up, and I wouldn't have gone if Mum hadn't nagged me into it. She doesn't think I get out enough."
"I'd imagine she'd be pleased that you're not on a first-name basis with the tabloids," said John.
"'S'what I keep tellin' her," said Rose. "How would she like 'Chavvy Heiress Drops Trou at Branson Birthday Bash!' or somethin' blaring from the newsstands?"
John laughed. "That would be a tacky headline. One of the hazards of wealth, one supposes."
Rose sipped her tea, suddenly very self-conscious. "Yeah, well you know us new money--all the vices, none of the class."
"Well, obviously, there must be something morally wrong with your father if he actually worked for his money," said John.
"That's how some people feel, I gather," said Rose, forcing a laugh. "I'm proud of him. I still remember living in a tiny flat in the Powell Estates when I was little. Gives a little perspective on what we have now."
John nodded. "I'm convinced that anyone who's born into money should spend at least a year scraping by on entry-level wages. I have some students . . ." He rolled his eyes. "Stupid, silly creatures."
"Students?" asked Rose.
"I work at Albion. It's a teaching hospital, and yes, I work with med students. They're a different breed."
Rose grinned. "So you're Professor Doctor John Smith, eh?"
"My students have some other names for me," said John, flashing a predatory grin, "but yes. Depending on the day, I might like teaching better than surgery or surgery better than teaching, but I always hate paperwork."
The conversation flowed easily from there. Rose told him about her coursework, he told her a few funny stories about teaching, she told him about the book series she was reading, he told her about the year he spent in Africa . . . they both lost track of time as they talked.
Time reasserted itself as John's phone rang. He gave it an irritated look.
"It's the hospital," he said. "I'm sorry, Rose; I have to take this." She smiled at him, letting him know it was all right with her. He lifted the phone to his ear. "Smith. What's happening?" He frowned a little. "Where's Weber? Shouldn't he be on it?" Whatever the other person said drew an impatient sigh. "As a matter of fact, I'm having coffee and a chat with a lovely blonde half my age. No, really, I am. So tell Weber he owes me. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Trouble?" asked Rose, amused at his choice of words.
He smiled regretfully at her. "My colleague seems to have picked a very inconvenient time to come down with the flu. One of his patients just spiked a fever, and the attending physician suspects post-operative complications."
"So you have to go riding to the rescue," said Rose.
"That's me. A hero." John packed his laptop into a bag and stood, grabbing his coat. He looked hesitantly at Rose. "It's been . . . very pleasant, Rose."
"It has," said Rose. She offered him a hand, which he took. "Thanks for the chat. I hope we run into each other again, yeah?"
John seemed to war with himself for a moment. Then he smiled at her again, something having won and something having lost. "I hope so as well. Good afternoon, Rose Tyler." He let go of her hand and walked away, weaving between the tables to the door.
Rose watched him, warm all over with a fluttery feeling in her belly. What she didn't feel was the sense of loss she'd been living with for the past few months.