On a rather unfortunate trip to Bellona during one of its infamous and lengthy wars (naming a planet after a war goddess was a certified method of warding off any chance of world peace), after failing to make any side see reason, The Doctor and Rose ended up legging it to the TARDIS through a very rocky, slightly springy path. On one of the ground's bigger bounces, Rose lost her balance and went sprawling towards it. She'd landed hard on her side, bruising a couple ribs and twisting her ankle painfully. Luckily they'd been a couple feet from the TARDIS and the Doctor had easily scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way, doing his best not to jar her too badly. He had just enough time to shoulder the door closed and place Rose on the jump seat when the pounding fists against the wooden exterior and the distant gunshots started. He'd hurriedly sent them into the Vortex and rushed to Rose's side.

An incursion to the med bay (amid much groaning and whinging from both parties) revealed nothing was broken. Her ribs would be a bit sore and her ankle had twisted pretty badly. It wasn't serious, but it hurt, and it earned her sick day rights. She made the media room her headquarters, feet propped up on a coffee table, a big plushy sofa especially made to spoil her (their baby Tardis was getting the hang of creating things) and the universe's widest range of channels just a sonicking away. Rose wasn't one to fuss about her injuries, but she'd enjoyed the downtime, and he'd gotten an afternoon of cuddling in front of the telly with his favorite pink and yellow human. Also, he'd finally found out what happened to Abraxa's evil twin, though he'd never tell Rose he'd been waiting for that all week. She could be positively ruthless, his Rose.

He'd extracted himself from their tangled limbs hours later when his new human metabolism made a note to remind him it'd burned through the lunch already. He'd meant to make a quick trip to the galley to fetch them some dinner, but Rose had batted those eyelashes and turned those big brown eyes on him and within minutes he'd found himself on 23rd century Belgium on his way to buying her favourite version of chocolate and butter cream pie. He might have been mumbling about the very human tradition of being manipulated into doing your wife's bidding too.

That was when the blond boy materialized out of thin air.

At least that was what it had looked like. He wasn't particularly close to him and there'd been a bit of a crowd between them, but he was too old to ignore his past experiences and too human nowadays to not trust his instincts. He was quite certain the boy hadn't been standing there five seconds ago.

He thought wistfully about Rose, sitting on the TARDIS with a banged up foot, waiting for him to come back. He thought about that frankly fantastic chocolate and butter cream pie that already had their name on it. He thought about snuggling under a blanket with Rose and falling asleep, watching a film, and waking up the next day with her in his arms.

And then he sighed and followed the boy before he lost him from view.

The remarkable thing was, for someone who'd shown up out of nowhere by mysterious and perhaps underhanded means for possible nefarious purposes, the boy surely seemed at ease. He also seemed to know his way around perfectly. He walked with a light, relaxed gait, hands in his pockets and nonchalant stance. He was wearing a fancy leather jacket and denim trousers, bit more 21st century than the people around them, but that didn't tell him much. Humans' love for vintage clothes spanned through pretty much the entire millennium. The boy even waved at a couple of passersby and got warm smiles in return.

So not a threat to the multiverse, then. Maybe.

It took The Doctor one minute and thirteen seconds to realize the boy was heading the same way he'd originally intended when leaving the TARDIS. They were both heading for the little boulangerie at Place Ste. Catherine with the best pastries this side of the galaxy. When they got to the front door, the boy walked right in.

Someone else might have thought it a bit risky to be that close to the person you were following in a closed space. The Doctor decided he might as well kill two birds with one stone and walked inside to place his order, while watching his suspect for any attempt at world domination. He really hoped they'd still have a piece of that chocolate pie or he'd have to go back and try to land some other day and that could be such a pain.

The moment he walked in he spotted the boy standing in the queue by the counter, so he'd tried to inconspicuously make his way around the customers and sit on one of the tiny round tables. He settled on the uncomfortably frilly chair and plucked a menu from the table beside his, propped it up to hide half his face and turned his eyes (peeking out from the top of the plastic card) to his suspect.

He had been too far to see it before, but he could make out the boy's features now. He'd known he was young, early twenties if he'd had to guess, but looking from closer he wouldn't say he'd reached his twentieth birthday yet. He was tall and lean, just short of lanky, with a mop of dark blonde hair sticking up in varied degrees of dishevelment, like it didn't know whether to curl or stay straight. It looked a bit good though. The Doctor ran his fingers through his own messy hair. He could respect a fellow appreciator of great hair. His eyes were brown and he had a prominent jaw that he somehow associated with stubbornness.

He was painfully familiar. The Doctor was sure he'd never seen the boy before, but everything in him screamed familiarity. If he didn't know him, than he would surely know him sometime down the line, because the kid made alarm bells go off in his head.

At the counter, the blonde boy's turn had arrived and he smiled at the old man running the register.

"No, don't tell me, I'll guess!" the cashier said as a greeting. "Chocolate and butter cream!"

"You know it! Mum's in a bit of a strop, thought I'd bring a peace offering," he said with humor.

"What did you do, m'boy?"

"Ran her car into a house," he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a way the Doctor had definitely seen before.

Now, wait just a second. What was that about chocolate and butter cream? No, no, that pie was his.

"I'm sorry, did you say chocolate and butter cream?" he interrupted, slapping the menu on the table and jumping from the chair, strutting forward.

He hadn't really expected what happened next. The boy's eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

Just about the same time the Doctor's did.

There was no denying the sudden two-way flash of recognition. A long forgotten place in the back of his mind filled with a distant humming he hadn't felt in centuries. The humming of another telepath, the kind that he'd never thought he'd ever feel again. It was dull, out of its time, their timelines weren't synchronized, but he'd know that presence anywhere, anywhen. Suddenly he could see perfectly where the familiar features came from.

They were the perfect mix of Rose and him.

"Oh. Hello," he said, voice light with the shock of the discovery.

The boy's lips curled up in an equally surprised smile. Rose's smile. "Hello."

They stared at each other in stunned silence, each absorbing the improbable image the other made. And then what the boy had been talking about with the old man finally registered.

"What was that bit about running your mother's car into a house?"

His son groaned.

"Never mind the pie, Abelard. I gotta run." He flipped on his heels and dashed out of the bakery.

"Wait!" the Doctor ran after him, but he had already disappeared in the crowd, taking the comforting hum with him.

He'd gone back and bought the chocolate and butter cream pie on automatic mode, letting his feet drag him back to the TARDIS, head a million miles away. He dropped the plastic container on the coffee table and plopped down on the media room sofa. Rose thanked him and paused her film to smack a kiss to his cheek and wiggled around until she got into a comfortable position sitting upright. She noticed something was wrong when he remained quiet and still the entire time, when he would usually be regaling her with a slightly improved tale of how he'd acquired their dessert by some brave and dangerous feat that, of course, he'd achieved with his superior Time Lord brain. She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly to get his attention.

"Alright, love?" she asked, gently running her fingers through the short hair on his nape.

He stared at her, his brilliant, beautiful Rose. Looking at her face now, he could point out which of her traces their son would inherit. He felt his lips curling up in a soft smile. Their son. She didn't know about him, and he wouldn't ever tell her, he'd let things run their course and happen in their own time. But still. He knew. He loved her so much already, had from the start, and would even if that blonde boy hadn't ever come to be, but knowing just what awaited them in the future, he felt a new rush of affection for her. He loved to gripe about Jackie's obligatory family Sundays and complain about domestics, but he honestly couldn't wait for that particular bit of domesticity to arrive in their lives.

He scooted closer on the sofa and curled around her, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder to hide the emotion in his eyes, but couldn't help smiling against her skin.

"Yes. In fact, I'm fantastic."