"I'd like to emphasize at this point that Rose is doing what she genuinely believes is for the best. She seldom ever did anything else, of course. As one might note, however, intentions carry very little weight, especially in matters of the heart.

"Rose once promised me a forever she didn't have, and fool that I was, I accepted. I told myself it didn't matter, and that trying to argue it with her would only lead to hurt feelings and long silences and tension on the TARDIS, which always drives her buggy. I told myself that Rose couldn't understand 'forever' and that her vow to stay with me was only an expression of her feelings for me.

"No, she meant it as seriously as any wedding vow. And I accepted that vow because I wanted her to spend her forever with me. What does that say about me, do you think?

"To get back to the main point, Rose has done what she believes is right. Chalk it up to sleep deprivation or stress or whatever you might, but her best intentions can't save her very flawed plan--but they might just save her."

Everything went wrong right from the start. Her plane was supposed to leave London-Heathrow at 1:00 am; it didn't actually get off the tarmac until after 2:00 am. She was supposed to have a one-hour layover in Copenhagen; it stretched to nearly three hours. High winds threw off her ETA into Oslo even further.

Rose banged her head back against her seat as they began their final descent, frustrated and stressed beyond words. This flight had been the only one available at such short notice. Flying into Stavanger would have been much faster all around, but the only London-Stavanger flight she'd been able to find had a fifteen-hour layover in Copenhagen. London to Oslo it was, then, and from there a drive or a train ride to Bergen. How long that would take, she had no idea.

She reached up to brush her hair off her face. As she did so, she inhaled--and realized that her skin still smelled of John. It was almost enough to make her break down again; she'd been doing her share of crying on the flight, to the point that Elke, the kindly old Norwegian lady sitting beside her, kept patting her hand and handing her tissues from her capacious purse while fussing over her in heavily-accented English.

At least Rose had thought ahead enough to pack facial cleansing cloths in her bag. Otherwise, she was sure she'd be fit to frighten small children. And she hadn't slept one wink during the entire eight-hour ordeal that had been this flight. As the plane finally came to a stop, she gathered up her bag and did her best to reassure Elke that she would be all right.

If only it had been as easy to reassure herself.

She shuffled to the front with the other departing, mostly jet-lagged passengers and was insanely grateful when she finally reached the terminal and had a little space to breathe. Frankly, she thought the flight delays just added insult to injury, considering she was only doing this for the good of the world.

Least I'll get to see the Doctor again, she thought, and it was indeed the only comforting thought she could find. She tried hard not to dwell on her losses-- her mum, the only father she'd ever known, her only sibling, Mickey, Shannon, Darcie, Jane--

--John.

She stopped abruptly. It wasn't possible that John was blocking her path, arms crossed, a thunderstorm in his face. Yet her eyes were telling her differently.

"You know," he said in a voice like iron, "it's traditional among civilized society to at least say goodbye face-to-face when leaving a lover."

"John?" Her voice was weak. "How?"

"Turns out Richard Branson not only has a privately-owned Concorde, he owes your father a rather large favor. Owed, rather." The edge of anger and pain never left John's voice. "I woke up in the middle of the night to discover you were gone. When I found your 'Dear John' letter, I knew something was very wrong, so I called your father. Can't say he was too pleased at being awakened by the news that his daughter had run off to unknown parts for unknown reasons. He ran a search and discovered one of your traveling aliases was on a flight to Oslo. One call to Mr. Branson later, I was on my way here to hopefully cut you off at the pass and talk some sense into you." He closed the gap between them in two strides. "Why, Rose?"

"I had to," she said.

"That doesn't answer my question. Why? I thought we had something, Rose. Was I wrong?"

"No!" she protested. "I don't want to leave, but I have to. If I stay, I'm endangering everybody."

He leaned in, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm still awaiting an explanation for why you felt the need to sneak off in the middle of the night to hop a flight to bleedin' Norway!"

They were attracting curious glances from passers-by, and Rose didn't want to get into this in public. "Can we go someplace a little more private?"

"Brilliant!" John flashed her a shark-like grin and grabbed her hand. "Got luggage?"

"Didn't bring anything except my bag," said Rose sulkily, struggling to keep up with his longer strides as he practically dragged her through the airport. She couldn't blame John for being upset, but she wished he'd just stayed behind in London. This was hard enough already.

They ended up in the car park. John released her hand and faced her. "So?"

Rose sighed, wishing her thoughts were a bit clearer. "I-I don't belong here. In this universe, I mean."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, I come from a parallel universe," said Rose with a slight laugh. It was ridiculous, all of it. "I didn't even know until recently. Didn't remember my life before, but now I do. Me bein' here, in this world--that's what's been causing all these things to happen. The Cybermen, the Dalek, all of it. It's my fault. As long as I'm here, things will only get worse."

"You'll excuse me if I think this all sounds quite mad," said John. "I've met your parents. Are you telling me--"

"Mum came over with me. So did Mickey," Rose interrupted. "Well, Mickey went over a few months--years, in this world--earlier. But, y'see, they had doubles in this world who died. I didn't. This world never had a Rose Tyler, and it wasn't supposed to have one." She bit her lip. "I-I met a man who says he can get me back . . ." She couldn't use the word "home." She had no idea where that was anymore "He says he can get me back to my old universe. It'll stop things being so bad here."

"And is he the one who told you all this about being in the wrong universe?" John asked acidly.

"Yes. No. I mean, he said it, but I already knew something was wrong," said Rose. "You know me better than that, John. I wouldn't just take a perfect stranger's word for something as important as this."

"Yes, well, I'd also never have thought you'd lie to me about something this important and then leave me! How long have you known about this? Why didn't you ever say anything?" For a moment, his anger gave way to vulnerability. "Didn't you trust me, Rose? Do you love me at all?"

Rose felt another sob welling up, and it burst out before she could stop it. "Of course I love you! Sometimes, you're the only thing that feels right in this whole world." She fiercely wiped a tear away. "And it's only been about a month, ever since our holiday, that I've really known about this. I've been investigating. Everything Aiden--the man I met--said has checked out, but it's more than that. The Brown-eyed Man I told you about from my dreams? He's real. He's called the Doctor, and I traveled with him. Something went wrong, though, and we got separated, and I ended up here."

"So now you're going back to him," said John.

"It's not like that," Rose said wearily. "The Doctor and I--we were never like that. I loved him, yeah, but in a completely different way."

John rubbed his face. "I can understand your leaving, Rose. I can even understand your reasons. What I can't understand is why you never said anything--including 'Goodbye'!"

"I didn't know how," she whispered through a constricted throat. "I don't think I could've and still had the strength to leave."

"And where would that have left your family, hm? Your friends? Me?" John asked harshly. "Maybe if you'd been a little more open, your friends at Torchwood could've found another way."

"There is no other way!" She ran her hands through her limp, tangled hair. "Besides, the way I forgot about my old life? You lot would've forgotten me. You will, once I leave. No worse for wear."

That seemed to make John angrier than ever. "You think that's what I want? God, Rose, you really are stupid if you think I'd go back to my life before you for anything! You made me love again, and now you're taking that away!"

"And what would you do?" snapped Rose, meeting his anger with her own. "I'll be the death of you if I stay. Tell me, if you knew beforehand that you could've saved Paula and Emily by leaving them, wouldn't you have done it?"

John flinched, and Rose knew she'd gone too far. She told herself it was the only way she could end this.

As he returned his gaze to hers, John gave her a hard smile. "Fine. Let's be about it, then. We'll go and meet this chap. Where are we headed?"

"Bergen," said Rose before she could stop herself. "You can't come with me."

"You can't stop me," John shot back. "Right, then--where's the car rental?"

If the plane ride had been an ordeal, the drive was utter torture. John was furious. Though neither of them spoke, it was written all over his body language as he rented a car and used its GPS tracking system to bring up a map of the route to Bergen. He insisted on stopping for something to eat, then, and more or less shoved a pastry and tea at Rose and glared at her until she ate it. She glared right back. Anger was easier than guilt.

This universe, she suspected, hated her. It was nearly noon before they got back on the road, only to meet up with a traffic snarl caused by an accident. Then, once they got onto the main highway to Bergen, construction on the road slowed them. To top it off, it started to rain. Hard.

By late afternoon, it was evident that a fine storm was headed in. Dark clouds blocked Norway's endless summer sunlight, and it was raining so hard that the wipers were almost useless. Finally, when they reached another little town, John pulled over into the car park of a small hotel.

"I've had enough," he said dully. "We're stopping here for the night."

The thought was almost unbearable to Rose. She just wanted to get this over with. Maybe it would all be all right when she saw the Doctor again.

Trade one heartache for another. Again, she thought.

"All right," she said.

Even the short dash from the car park to the hotel left them drenched. John got them checked in while Rose slouched against a wall, thinking that the first thing she'd do when they got to their room would be to take a shower. Numbly, she followed the trailing edge of John's black trench coat to their hotel room, where she tossed her bag to the floor and shucked her coat.

The door shut, and suddenly John grabbed her and pulled her into a punishing kiss. Everything rational flew out of Rose's mind, and she returned the kiss with equal force, wrestling him out of his trench coat and jumper even as his hands stripped her clothing away. Fabric tore, teeth clashed, and fingers bruised as a flood of angry desire ripped through them both. The mattress crashed into Rose's back as John shoved her onto the bed, and she pulled him with her.

They devoured each other, making love like the storm outside.

"Bad Wolf," John growled into Rose's ear.

And she howled.