Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The BBC owns all, I am merely borrowing.
Spoilers: Through The Satan Pit.
Author's Notes:Desperate to save Rose from a body snatching spirit, the Doctor resorted to establishing a forbidden bond between them. Now, he's just as desperate to keep them apart. When they visit a starlight festival for a little fun, he might very well get his wish. The much requested sequel to The Moonlit Cotillion.

The Doctor was more preoccupied than he'd been in at least three hundred years. He'd visited the bazaar on Humarga countless times with several faces and never come across this mood enhancer. Which meant he was either far more oblivious than he would like to admit or the seemingly innocuous substance would soon lead to trouble. Not that he could concentrate with his nubile young companion tempting him in ways he really shouldn't be thinking about. Especially since he couldn't possibly...

He threw open the door to the saloon and it hit the wall inside with a bang. Despite the loud noise announcing his entrance, the scruffy patrons of the bar barely glanced up from their drinks. The Doctor wrinkled his nose as his superior olfactory senses catalogued what lurked in the musty room. Nothing particularly dangerous, but plenty that was unappealing.

"Oh, lovely. Just what I like in a saloon. Dark. Seedy. Filled with questionable morals. Perfect." With a grin, he sauntered up to the bar and leaned against the counter. "Hello. Can I get, um, what's popular?"

The bartender stared at him, slowly blinking his reptilian eyes. "A pint?"

"Yes. Of course. An' that's got latakar in it, right?"

A deep furrow appeared in the bartender's spiky brow as he hissed, "We don't carry that sort of swill here."

"Really? Why not?"

"It's not natural. Ask anyone an' I'll bet they can't tell you what it's made of. But they all drink it anyway. An' with trade as it is, it'll soon spread throughout the colonies."

"Like a dandelion in the wind," the Doctor murmured. "Still, all that demand must be good for the local economy."

"They only hire off worlders," the bartender grumbled, reaching for a glass that didn't look particularly clean. "Don't trust us locals for some reason. They're a suspicious lot. Often seen 'em out late at night, when I'm closing. Takin' deliveries in the dark. You only do that if your hidin' something."

Processing this new information, the Doctor was startled by a loud exclamation from the man seated beside him.

"Oh, I saw 'em once! Unloading a cage of some kind," the man declared, gesturing with his glass, liquid slopping over the edge.

"A cage?" the Doctor prompted.

"Yeah. Huge thing! Some sort of creature inside it. And there was this horrible clacking sound!" The man shuddered. "Like...claws snapping shut. Over an' over an' over again."

Shaking his head, the bartender pushed the filled glass toward the Doctor. "Don't listen to him. He's a bit crazy when he's sober. Get a few drinks in 'im and he's likely to make up any sort of story."

"Oh, I don't mind. Big fan of stories, myself. The more extraordinary the better." The Doctor was considering what question might coax more information from the tipsy man, when he heard Rose's voice calling his name. "You can't have had enough already, Rose. Brilliant hot water like that. Only been...what? Eighteen minutes? Hmm...must of lost track. Wandered a bit further than I intended to before picking a saloon. Still, how could..." He paused, mouth hanging open as he suddenly found himself incapable of babbling further. Which, although surprising, wasn't nearly as shocking as the evidence in front of him. She wasn't there.

The bartender carefully took away the drink he'd just supplied. "Think you've had enough already, mate."

The Doctor didn't answer, mind already racing with possibilities. He'd heard her, definitely her voice, definitely...Rose. But she was nowhere in sight. Rose's voice, but no Rose.

Oh, yes. Something was definitely wrong.

He was out of the saloon like a shot, sprinting down the thoroughfare that would lead him to the hot spring. Ever since he'd foolishly bound their minds together, he'd been hoping for a way to dull the awareness that came with it. Suddenly, he felt the slightest drop of pressure in his mind, like sky diving in the low gravity of Callistal. He could no longer determine Rose's proximity or the jumbled confusion of her human emotions. But instead of the relief he expected, he panicked.

His mind, starved for connection since the war, automatically scrambled to reestablish the link. Yet, despite his efforts, he couldn't strengthen their bond. Terror seized his hearts. He knew all too well what that could mean. At the very least, Rose was unconcious and very possibly injured. How could he have left her on her own like that. She could be...dying.

In his haste, he barely noticed the decaying interior of the building that housed the hot spring, heading directly for the curtained doorway beside the vacant desk. He hurtled into the hallway beyond, almost colliding with a young woman in a black dress.

"Oh!" she gasped. "We're closed! You can't be here!"

The Doctor brushed past her, quickly continuing down the hallway. "I'm looking for a young woman. Blonde. Knack for trouble. Inexplicable love of the color pink."

The woman hurried to keep up with him. "This isn't that sort of establishment, sir."

"What?" he blurted, tilting his head to look at her. "No, no, no, no, no. That's...that's not what I meant. She's a friend of mine. And I left her here, oh, twenty minutes ago. Have you seen her? You must have."

"We haven't had any customers today," she said quietly.

"You sure?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, voice wavering. "No one at all today."

"Well, then you won't mind if I have a quick peek," he determined, blithely striding through another curtained doorway.

"Sir! You can't! That's the women's side." She clutched at his sleeve, desperately trying to halt his progress. "I haven't even had a chance to clean up and..."

"Clean up?" he snapped, shaking himself free of her grip and pointing at the rumpled burgundy dress on the floor. "You mean that? The dress my friend was wearing? Quite careless of you. Leaving it about."

"Please! You must leave at once!" she begged, eyes darting fearfully between him and the door.

"Oh, I don't think so," he stated, advancing on the trembling woman. "You're scared and I know for a fact that something is wrong. And all the evidence implies it involves Rose. Which really isn't at all surprising. Might as well have trouble written across her forehead in big black letters. No, wait. Maybe in red. Would red stand out more?"

"Um..."

Not expecting a reply, the Doctor turned on his heel and stalked over to the door that would lead him outside. "Now, I hope this is all just a misunderstanding and Rose is just enjoying the tranquil..." He halted mid-step, trainers slipping on the pathway. "...pink waters. The water's pink. Pink. Why's the water pink?" Whipping out his sonic screwdriver, he knelt beside the water, scanning the chemical contents. "Some sort of sediment. That's odd." Something sparkled at the edge of his vision and he turned to locate it.

The necklace.

It was carelessly strewn across shards of pottery, shimmering with a faint glow that reflected against the slick rocks. The Doctor crouched next to it, carefully untangling the chain and reattaching the clasp, before tucking it in his inside coat pocket for safe keeping. Without the aid of the necklace, Rose wouldn't be able to project nearly as strongly as she had been. She was still only human after all. Which meant she might still be safe. For now.

Brandishing the screwdriver, he found traces of latakar on the broken cup and in the liquid pooled upon the rocks. "Did you drug her?"

"We just...do as we're told," the woman mumbled.

Slowly, the Doctor stood, eyes locked on the jagged shards and other signs of the struggle that must have occured. "Where is she?"

"I don't..."

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean," he interrupted. "Where is she?"

"You have to understand, she said she was on her own."

"Where?" he repeated impatiently.

"They don't tell us where they take them," the girl explained, sounding close to tears. "It's the only way we can keep in business. They need young women, unattached women. And..."

"Who? Who needs them?" He spun around, chest heaving with the anger that pulsed through his frame. "And for what?"

"We haven't got a choice!" she insisted, backing away from him. "Whoever she was to you, sir, you'd best forget her."

"Oh...I'm afraid it's far too late for that," the Doctor whispered.