As Rose regained awareness, her brain registered that she was lying on a cold tile floor. Strong, rough hands alternated between caressing her cheeks and smoothing her hair. The ringing in her ears faded and she heard the familiar Northern voice repeating, "Hello? Are you alright?" The memories of the last couple of minutes returned and Rose wondered if those gorgeous blue eyes would still be there when she opened hers.

Rose blinked her eyes open and her question was answered instantly. She hadn't dreamed it; the eyes of her greatest love looked back at her, filled with concern and relief that she was awake again. "Hello," he said cheerfully with a silly grin as he raised his hand to wiggle his fingers at her in greeting.

Rose's heart fluttered and she smiled back at him and responded "hi" weakly. She moved to sit up and the familiar hands helped her up - one on her hand and another on her low back. "Careful, there," he nearly whispered, as if she was an animal he didn't want to spook. "Take it easy. Let's get you over to a chair before you try walking on your own again." He continued talking as he ushered Rose to a chair and handed her the glass of water he must have retrieved from the kitchen while she was passed out on the floor. Rose glanced back to the front door and noticed his hoodie bunched up on the spot where her head was just resting.

"Sorry about all that a moment ago. I'm sure I must of knocked the wind out of you when I knocked you over and then dragging you at a full run back to my flat only made matters worse," he apologized.

"It's alright," Rose managed to get out. "No harm done."

"The least I can do is fix us both a nice cuppa," he offered. "What sort of gentleman would I be if I let you leave in this storm?" As if on cue, thunder rumbled through the house as Rose looked out the nearest window at the storm outside.

He disappeared into the kitchen and Rose took the moments of his absence to assess the situation she now found herself in. With Torchwood-trained precision, Rose took inventory of herself and her surroundings. Her body appeared unharmed, other than the bruising that was beginning to form on her backside from her tumble in the park. Her respiration and heart rate had returned to normal. She felt a bit nauseous but imagined it had something to do with not having eaten anything and the brief loss of consciousness.

The flat she was in was spartanly decorated with simple furniture and minimal artwork. A nook off the living room was the only area that appeared personal and lived in. It was filled with floor to ceiling bookshelves bursting with books, with overflow books piled around on the floor. A short hall led to a bedroom, possibly two, and at least one bathroom. Rose noticed that the flat was devoid of any photographs, so she imagined that either he lived here alone or had only just moved in.

And what about this man? His physical appearance was identical to her first doctor, from what she could tell so far. But there were no Time Lords in this universe; her husband had assured her of this. Was this man even a Time Lord or was he just another example of spatial genetic multiplicity, which the Doctor had used to explain the resemblance between 19th century Gwyneth and Torchwood's Gwen Cooper back in the prime universe. Was he from the prime universe? He didn't seem to recognize Rose, so could this be a parallel Doctor who somehow ended up in Pete's World? Was he using some sort of chameleon arch, like the one the Doctor had told her about during his travels with Martha Jones? Rose's head swam at the possibilities when the man in question returned with two cups of tea.

Rose took the cup and winced slightly as the steam hit her nostrils. Rose hadn't had a cup of tea since the day of the accident. Too many memories resurfaced around a mug of tea and she just couldn't bear to drink them after that. No one could make a cuppa the way her husband could, even her mum. But now, whether it was the presence of this familiar stranger or the empty stomach now making itself known, Rose drank the tea enthusiastically, closing her eyes as she was assaulted with flash after flash of memories of a life that seemed so distant. When she opened her eyes, the mystery man smiled hesitantly at her and she returned it with a hesitant smile of her own.

A flash of lightning outside shook both of them out of their thoughts and the man reached a hand out to Rose. "I'm Jason. Doctor Jason Tempest."

"I'm Rose. Rose Tyler," she answered, shaking his hand in greeting. Once again she felt an electric shock at the contact of their skin and wondered if he felt it too.

"Rose Tyler," Jason repeated slowly. "Rose ….Tyler …" The words rolled off his tongue in that achingly familiar way she had nearly forgotten about. Jason stood up and began pacing the room while running his hand through his cropped hair. "You seem so familiar. Have we met before?" He continued to pace, mumbling quietly to himself.

Rose's breath hitched. Was this it? Was this the moment her questions about Jason's identity would be answered? Rose couldn't suppress her giggle as she watched him. Oh, how she missed his pacing and rambling.

Jason looked at her when she giggled. "What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing," Rose replied, still grinning. She quickly recovered with "You just don't seem like the type to read the tabloids."

"Oi!" Jason exclaimed. "I don't read those rags!" He slowed his pace and glanced away, only to look back at her quickly, realizing what she had just said. "Why would you be in the tabs? Are you famous?" Rose could see the wheels in his brain continue to spin as he tried to solve the Great Rose Tyler Mystery.

"Ever hear of Peter Tyler, Founder and CEO of Vitex?" Rose asked, glancing down at the business section of the paper that happened to be out on his coffee table. Sure enough, there was a cover story about recent acquisitions by Vitex.

"You mean that enhanced beverage? Never touch the stuff. Prefer plain water and natural vitamin sources, me." He explained. "So, either you're his daughter or his trophy wife…" he nodded in the direction of her wedding rings. She still wore the rings, never taking them off and often fiddling with them when she was nervous, like she was doing now.

Rose glared at Jason, but decided not to respond to the trophy wife accusation. Yep, he was still rude and not ginger. "Yes, Pete is my father," she answered. Her eyes took on a hazy, distant quality and she continued. "And I'm widowed." She'd never admitted that out loud before. There was something about Jason's presence that comforted her enough to be able to verbalize the word she had grown to despise these last two years.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Jason sympathized. "I lost my wife in the war with the Cybermen."

"My husband, John, and my daughter were killed in a car crash two years ago," Rose explained, continuing to stare at nothing, as if she were on auto-pilot.

The silence between them stretched out for a few minutes before Jason shook his head to clear it and offered to refill their empty tea mugs. When he returned with full mugs, he offered, "If it were a little later in the day, I'd offer you something stronger. But, how about some breakfast instead? This storm doesn't appear to be letting up any time soon, so we might as well eat something to pass the time."

"Thanks. I could do with some breakfast." As if on cue, Rose and Jason's stomachs both gurgled emptily. They both smiled and moved to the kitchen to work in tandem. When they were finished, they'd made a proper fry-up for breakfast, which seemed fitting for a cold stormy morning like this one.