On a rare, miraculous day off, Rose crested a slight rise in the road and for the first time saw the town that neighboured the school.

She'd never come here before—for the first few weeks any time she had off was spent recovering from utter exhaustion. Evidently she was gaining endurance; she smiled to herself.

She looked around the small square, deflating a bit at how little she found: a modest collection of very utilitarian shops, an old church, etc. To be sure, she hadn't expected Disneyland or anything, but she had hoped she could wander around for an hour or so—as it stood she'd be able to see everything in about 15 minutes, if she stretched. Still, there were a few kinds of shops that no longer existed for her—the cobbler's, for example—might be interesting to see how things were done there. And the Sweet Shoppe did hold promise, calling to the tiny bit of spending money she had burning a hole in her coat pocket.

Despite all attempts to be positive, though, her heart sank a little as she reflected how there was one way a place couldn't help but be fun, no matter where it was—how normally, if she visited a town centre in a strange time she'd be accompanied by…

"Rose Tyler!"

Her eyes widened in surprise, then relief and affection swelled in her chest; she turned to see John approaching. He stopped satisfyingly close in front of her, cheeks (and ears) pink in the cold.

"Fancy finding you here."

Rose couldn't hold back her smile. "Yes, fancy it."

His gaze was drawn to her hat, coat and gloves. "You're certainly dressed smartly today," he commented. "Is this your Sunday best?"

"Erm…" Rose didn't know if it was or wasn't. She panicked—she must have unknowingly dressed too well for her "station." Except the TARDIS had laid it out for her—how could she be wrong? "Yes, I suppose it is…" she improvised, "but…I didn't feel like waiting for Sunday."

The amused look on his face told her her explanation was odd but entertaining enough that he wouldn't press her on it. Quite all right with her. "Well, you certainly won't be taken for a maid in something as fine as that."

It all clicked into place: she was being told her maid status was hidden, allowing her to consort with a schoolmaster in relative peace, at least for the time being.

The TARDIS always did work in mysterious ways.

Rose shrugged, still a mite self-conscious. "Well, there was no grand plan. Just a whim, I suppose."

Conversation lagged for a moment during which John just watched her keenly, something Rose realized he was starting to do more and more. "Glad to see you're still talking to me," he said finally. Rose, remembering the exchange about Latimer, rolled her eyes in an "of course I am" expression. He qualified: "After reading my journal and learning how secretly barmy I am."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rose smiled. "I didn't learn that from your book." Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

John smiled and nodded in grudging recognition of her zinger. "There are other maids, you know."

Rose shook her head. "Not for you. I'm the only one on staff not scared of you."

He chuckled, apparently not the least surprised at the news. He regarded her with a faint smile and a raised eyebrow. "And why is that, do you think?"

Something about the look in his eyes caused Rose's heart to flutter. She kept her composure with teasing. "Well, the others obviously don't know a great softie when they see one."

He made a show of being affronted. "A softie?"

"Yes, and there's no point in arguing with me, I'm always right. I have very advanced softie-spotting skills."

John shook his head, surrendering. "What are you doing here all by yourself?"

"Oh," Rose blinked. "Well, my mate Jenny had planned to come with me but…she's made herself scarce. No idea where she's got to." She shrugged. "So I just decided to come by myself."

He nodded sagely. "It seems there is a need here. If you are amenable, I shall gladly offer my services as an escort during your visit. I can fill in bits of local history that might interest you, as well as protect you from any yobs who might take advantage."

Rose nodded seriously, looking around what she felt had to be the least dangerous environment she had ever been in. "Yes, it seems I have been most unwise." She leaned toward him, speaking confidentially. "Are there many yobs?"

John leaned in. "They're hidden in the trees," he replied, deadpan.

Their serious looks gave way to grins as he offered her his arm. Rose took it, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

With John at her side, Rose soon found herself quite entertained.

Her modern eyes found fascination in places John overlooked: she lingered an unseemly amount of time at places like the blacksmith's (quite getting on the smith's nerves) and the watermill, soaking up the way things used to be done while John merely shook his head in bemusement. The Sweet Shoppe did not disappoint, offering Rose several never-before-encountered treats to choose from which John helpfully described. Where there wasn't fun, they made their own: strolling through the small church cemetery became a furtive game of imagining what the departed used to look like based solely on their names. Rose loved how John looked like he couldn't quite believe his own blasphemy, but couldn't resist playing the game anyway.

It was during just that game that it happened: John had walked on ahead a bit and Rose was heading over to tell him about a particularly promising tombstone name when she saw him standing outside the churchyard gate, talking to the Headmaster. In the few minutes since she'd last seen him, John's entire demeanour had changed: his posture had gone ramrod, the chill in his blue eyes sub-arctic. He nodded seriously at the Headmaster's conversation and responded with gravity. Every bit of levity about him had vanished and instead there stood the "scary old thing" Jenny had described, somehow landed in the middle of a quaint town on a lovely day.

Rose fell back behind a tree trunk, watching and not moving until their conversation was finished and she'd seen the Headmaster go.

She made her way through the churchyard gate toward John. "Making you talk work during your time off?" She made a tsking noise. "The man's a slave driver."

John turned to her, his smile wan and apologetic. Rose could've pummelled the Headmaster for the transformation he'd wrought. "Yes, it seems he wants to meet with all the Masters this evening after supper." He looked around at their surroundings, everywhere but at her. "I should probably go back and prepare."

Now Rose felt murderous. 1913 was the worst year ever and if she ever did get the Doctor back she was going to pound the crap out of him for landing them here. That blasted encounter had moved John further away from her, this time seriously and without a doubt. Who knew how long it would be before he came back, if ever?

Nevertheless she straightened stoically, preparing for the impending brush-off. "That's fine. I can stay here and look around some more by myself." She tried to seem as unperturbed as possible.

John considered this for a second then abruptly shook himself. "Nonsense. It would be un-gentlemanly of me not to see you home." His face was a mask of seriousness. "Have you forgotten the yobs?"

Rose blinked twice before a slow smile spread across her face; it seemed she'd underestimated him. "Why yes, sir, it seems I did. Wherever would I be without you?"

John shook his head in mock exasperation and offered his arm. She took it and they walked out of the square, heading for the school. Rose glanced at John's profile: his smile wasn't 100%, but neither was it gone. He didn't look completely relaxed…and Rose sobered to consider that he probably shouldn't be, and neither should she.

But at least for the walk back, he was hers.

They trudged up a steep rise in the road, their conversation easy even if their breathing was not.

"You told me before that you weren't 'born to the life you lead,'" Rose mentioned, puffing faintly. "What life were you born to?"

John put his head down and scowled a little, looking embarrassed. Rose felt a little sorry for prying, but only a little. It may have been heartless of her to think this—since obviously John wouldn't know the difference—but she just couldn't bring herself to feel too bad inquiring after memories that weren't even real.

"I grew up in the North, in Manchester," he began. Rose smiled a little at the TARDIS's apparent attempt at continuity.

"So I'm guessing your family didn't have money, then?"

"None to speak of. My parents were strictly working class." They came to the top of the rise and John took a deep breath, getting his air back. "There was actually some money in other parts of the family, but there'd been…disagreements in the past." He looked at Rose and smirked cynically. "People not speaking to one another and such." Rose nodded.

He didn't seem inclined to continue. Rose couldn't resist: "So did you used to have a Northern accent?"

His cheeks flared pink and she knew he had. "Oh, please say something in it!" she begged, skipping sideways along next to him, hands clasped in anticipation.

He looked adorably flustered. "Why would you want me to do that?" he sputtered.

"I—I used to have a friend from the North…" She didn't quite know how to finish the sentence. "Someone very special. He had an accent and I miss it."

John's eyebrow achieved spectacular heights. "'He?'"

Rose gave him an admonishing smirk. "Yes, 'he.' He was a…friend from another time."

"Hmmf," John grunted, completely Doctor-like. Rose warmed yet ached with the familiarity of it.

But wasn't distracted enough to let him off the hook.

"I haven't forgotten," she grinned.

John rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure I even remember how," he protested.

"Pleeeeease?" She began hopping sideways again, watching him.

He glanced at her once, twice, then there it was: "Oi! D'you mind not staring like I'm an act in the circus? Not a trained monkey, me."

Rose let out a joyful noise and clapped, bouncing up and down in place. John just shook his head, trying to hide the width of his smile and his obvious pleasure at her reaction. "You're just barking, you are," he said, sounding like he hadn't completely switched back.

Rose hurried to catch up with him. "So, you changed your accent on purpose, yes?"

He nodded. "Worked long and hard."

"But why?"

John stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "So someone might take me seriously. Maybe even give me a job?"

"And they wouldn't do that unless you changed?" she pressed.

John looked as though Rose's relative innocence on the subject was baffling, yet making him doubt his own judgment. She was of course well familiar with the politics of accents, but something about his assumption that he had to change to be worthy was making her challenge him on it.

"Well, I suppose someone may have, but I didn't want to take the chance." He peered at her quizzically. "Have you never thought of changing your accent, Little Miss Londonder?"

She considered this seriously. "Maybe, sometimes," she said, then shrugged. "But then I wouldn't be me."

She watched him marvel at her a little. It was her turn to blush.

"So you wanted out of Manchester, then," she said, picking up their thread.

John sighed quietly and squinted into the distance. "Yes and no. I had always wanted out, but…initially I never considered education as a means of doing so."

She waited in quiet expectation, hoping her eyes conveyed that it was safe for him to continue. After a moment he did.

"I had rather a misspent youth, in all honesty. I was something of a hoodlum." A beat and they looked at each other: "A yob!" they declared in laughing unison. John's expression soon returned to a quiet smile. "When I was a child I was merely unruly, but when I became a young teen my 'yobbish' behaviour began in earnest. My mates and I, we stole things, broke things, terrorized old people, drank before we were meant to."

Rose nodded in the silence he'd left. "So what changed?"

A look came over John's face then, so pained and intense Rose now feel sincerely sorry for asking. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want…" she said quickly.

"No, I will…" He subtly gathered himself. "There was a night when I was 13 when I didn't go home. Fell asleep at my mate's house after staying out all night causing trouble and raiding his father's liquor cabinet," he grinned humourlessly. A short pause. "That just happened to be the night there was a fire at my house."

Rose's stomach fell into the depths of her shoes. She could see where this was going and she wanted desperately to stop it, but it was too late. "No one in the house made it out." He looked at her. "They all burned."

Rose didn't believe for a second that the TARDIS had implanted this in his invented memories. The stubborn git's unconscious had undoubtedly brought that in on its own, unwilling to stop punishing him even when he wasn't him.

He gazed at the ground. "If I'd been there—"

"Don't you dare," she cut across, surprising herself with her own protective vehemence. Surprising him too, it looked like, but strangely he just looked at her. "I just…I—I want to institute a rule," she said finally. "You're not allowed to blame yourself for anything while you're with me."

He watched her for a few seconds and nodded, smiling slightly, looking terribly vulnerable. A moment later he covered and continued.

"After that one of my aunts from the more moneyed side of the family took me in, spent liberally to send me to school. I felt I couldn't possibly be ungrateful for her gift, and that I owed it to her and—" He built up to his next words. "—the rest of my family not to squander the opportunity. I had to make something of myself. It was time to stop…chasing adventure," he sighed.

"What you did before, that wasn't real adventure," Rose said firmly.

"And how do you know so much about it?" he asked in bemusement.

Rose looked at him with a kind of rueful affection, then reached for a joke. "I am wise beyond my years," she intoned gravely.

John smirked, looking back to the path ahead. "It wasn't always easy, I'll tell you. It didn't really matter the manner of my speech, how much I revealed about my past, the other boys always seemed to find out where I'd come from and make things difficult."

A light bulb went on for Rose. "So they treated you like Hutchinson did Latimer?"

"Tried to."

"What did you do?"

He looked at her frankly. "Made them sorry."

"You 'toughened.'"

"Had to. No one was going to appear and do it for me."

"But wouldn't you like to live in a world where somebody might?" Rose warmed to her newly-discovered way of explaining. "Where there's a chance someone with more power and knowledge than you could just pop in and…make things right? Make you feel less alone?" She watched him hopefully.

John, for his part, was marvelling again. "I'm the one who dreams I'm a spaceman," he said finally, "but really, I find it much more likely it's you who's from another world."

Rose smiled as cheekily as she could, using every bit of willpower to disguise the panic that casual, completely innocent remark had just wreaked in her. She took his arm again to comfort herself, and found that it worked.

A few minutes later she dropped it a little self-consciously as they approached the main school building. Neither of them noticed that through a window on an upper floor, Jeremy Baines watched them pointedly, eerily.

Neither did they notice that next to him, so did Jenny.