Ian's body remained rigid. Even his breathing became shallow, as he feared the slightest movement would wake the tranquil figure sprawled across him. He took in a small breath and immediately the scent of coconut and vanilla struck his senses. It was foreign, yet oddly familiar to him. He found it warm, inviting, even soothing. The impulse was too strong to fight, and he inhaled again. A few stray hairs tickled his nostrils, and he stifled a sneeze. He so badly wanted to cast his eyes down to her face, but he denied himself that luxury. The longer he remained with her, the more strength his repressed emotions found. He had to break contact with her. Tentatively, he shifted his body ever so slightly to the side, gauging her response as he did so.

Nothing.

He moved again, this time with slightly more force and further in distance. Still, she remained asleep, almost as if she were dead to the world. He moved once more, finally untangling himself from her. Though he knew it was unnecessary, Ian found himself standing there and watching the rise and fall of her chest to ensure she was actually breathing. And if his gaze lingered on her slumbering figure slightly longer than necessary, well that was just purely by accident. He tore his gaze away from her and quietly left the bedroom.

The house was entirely silent and Ian found it strangely calming, something he desperately needed to combat the panic that threatened to overtake him at any random moment. Their bedroom was on th—wait…oh no… he couldn't, wouldn't think of the bedroom as theirs. That implied he had a relationship with this woman, that they had a life together, and that…that was not something he could afford to entertain. So, refocusing his thoughts and mentally distancing himself as much as possible, he took in his surroundings. The bedroom he'd awoken in was on the upstairs floor. He stepped lightly across the cold wooden floor and down the hallway.

The first door he came to was slightly ajar, but he knew the instant he saw it that he would not be entering it. It was painted to look like the surface of a tree with intricate vines detailing it. The hand painted precision and detail was most impressive, and Ian couldn't help but admire the artistry. Though inviting, one glaring detail kept him away—the name Olivia etched into the surface. The idea of opening that literal, and proverbial, door was a prospect too shocking to entertain. He had to get some semblance of bearings underneath him before he started venturing into that territory.

Passing by her door, he took in the few other rooms—a guestroom, a loo, and another room that was under remodel (if the plastic sheet covering the door was any indication). At the end of the hall, he came to an office, obviously his. He stepped through the open door and looked around the dimly lit room. It was nothing like his office—or at least his other office, the one he remembered sitting in last night as he fought off feelings of guilt and images of Rose. This room had a sense of order and function, but unlike the other, there was no sense of detachment here. This room felt lived in, was actually part of the home. There were bookshelves against the left wall, and they were lined with the same law and case volumes he had at the flat, along with some others that he didn't remember ever seeing. There were a few other items scattered throughout the room—a blanket on the small sofa, a baby bottle on the floor, a couple of plush toys.

He went over to the desk and sat in his chair. His laptop was open and he immediately noticed the screensaver. It was pictures of this life he was currently in and he couldn't help but watch, anxious to absorb any details that could help him navigate through this unfamiliar territory. What he saw left him in awe. Photo after photo conveyed a life so different from what he was living. There were countless pictures of him and Rose, many of the little girl, various places he assumed were holiday destinations, and more. And in each one there was a common thread—he was happy. There was a look of complete contentment about him that he hadn't seen in so long. In fact, the last time he even remembered being remotely happy was…

He swiftly put up a wall in front of those memories; he would not entertain them. His gaze flickered over to the blue frame resting next to the laptop. It was a black and white wedding photo of him dipping Rose mid-dance. As he looked upon that photo, it occurred to him that the majority of the photos taken were spontaneous. So many moments of happiness and love were captured naturally; and even the ones that were posed didn't appear insincere. He could barely fathom being that happy in life. In his experience, happiness was a fool's luxury, and he'd stopped being a fool years ago.

A child's cries pulled him from his musings. Ian remained frozen in his chair as the cries continued, praying that Rose would take care of whatever was needed. Several minutes passed and the cries persisted. He suddenly found himself in front of Olivia's door, his hand resting on it, ready to push it open. Realizing where he was, he jerked back and turned towards the master bedroom. He found the bed empty and for a split second, he panicked. It was then that he heard water running mingled with a soft voice. He quickly went into the en suite and realized Rose was singing in the shower. Ian stopped dead in his tracks as he entered, and he swallowed hard, averting his eyes even though there was a shower curtain separating them.

"Um, Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh…th-the child is, uh, crying," he fumbled, his eyes locked forward.

There was a brief pause before Rose said, "Well, the mother is in the shower and currently getting shampoo in her eyes. So the father needs to take care of her."

"But, it might need something," he said in an almost pleading tone.

Ian suddenly felt a something wet hit his head and he looked down to see a loofa on the tiled floor.

"Go check on your daughter. And if she needs her nappy changed, then change it. Don't leave it for me again."

Realizing that he would not be winning this discussion, he closed the door and went back to the girl's room. The cries had died down just a tad, but she still demanded attention. Taking in a deep, ragged breath, Ian finally pushed open the door and stepped into her room. Livy was standing in her crib, her little hands clinging to the wooden bars for support. Tears streaked down her soft, round cheeks. On seeing Ian, she immediately reached her arms out for him, causing her to flop down onto the mattress and eliciting a new series of cries. Ian stood there fixed in place, fear and panic gripping him. Livy persisted in reaching out to him, craving her father's comfort. His feet felt like lead as he moved a few steps in her direction. He stopped just short of her crib.

"Um…everything's okay. You just need to…just stop crying. Rose will be done soon. She's in the shower," he said, grabbing whatever thoughts would come to mind. Livy continued to cry and grab for him. This action didn't go unnoticed.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, you don't want me. I don't know what you need. I've never even held one of you before. I'm not even supposed to be here. One night I go to bed, and then I wake up an—God…you have no idea what I'm saying, do you?" he muttered to himself as he ran his hands through his hair.

"Da…"

That syllable instantly knocked the wind out of Ian. His eyes shot over and met hers.

"Da!" she cried, beckoning him to her.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn and flee, to put as much distance as possible between him and this child. But something within him, something that he could only describe as primal, overtook his members and before Ian realized it, he was cradling Livy close to his chest. Now that she was in familiar arms, Livy's cries diminished considerably, becoming only intermittent whimpers. He was still uncomfortable with the foreign object in his arms, but the little one didn't seem to sense it. Her eyes centered on him, and Ian's did the same with her. In that moment, something transpired. There were no words to describe it, and even if there were, Ian wasn't sure he could articulate them. Livy was looking at him with such unadulterated love, as if the sun and moon rose with him. Ian stared at her in amazement; how could something so small look at him like that? Panic and wonderment battled for control over his breathing.

"Looks like ya managed."

Rose's unexpected voice startled him, and he whirled around to look at her, swallowing hard as their eyes met. She was leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded across her chest, and grinning at them. She was casually dressed in jeans and a loose jumper; her face was without makeup and her hair was still damp, but Ian couldn't help but think how beautiful she looked. Suddenly, his mind flashed with images of the last time Rose stood before him, and he was instantly filled with guilt over his hateful behavior. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she searched his face.

"Y'ok?"

Ian cleared his throat and walked over to her. "I'm fine. Here," he mumbled, handing over Livy to her as he quickly left the room.

Ian stood under the showerhead and allowed the water to pour over his head. The rushing panic he'd been struggling with all morning seemed to have subsided to a mere trickle. He attempted to process all that had transpired over the past three (?) days. So…from what he could gather, he was living the same day twice, but six years apart. One was his normal, sane life and the other was…well, it was something in another league entirely. He couldn't fathom what could possibly have brought on this otherworldly experience, or how it was even happening. Multitudes of questions began to form in his already cramped mind, when a sudden voice snapped him back to the "present."

"Hey, Ian…"

The sound of Rose's voice made Ian feel like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on him. He could have sworn he'd locked the door, but her unexpected presence clearly proved otherwise.

"Is, um, there a reason why y-you're in here?" he said in a somewhat squeaky tone, gripping the curtain tightly.

"So Martha just rang and said they can't come tonight. Guess Mickey's got the flu or somethin'. But that still leaves Donna, Gramps, and possibly Jack."

Ian gulped. He didn't know what response to give, so he went with the most generic. "Um…okay."

"Don't sound so excited," Rose joked.

"No, it sounds…brilliant. I'm practically bursting with anticipation," he spouted, somehow managing to not sound completely sarcastic.

The room suddenly filled with Rose's melodic giggle, and Ian found himself smiling at the sound.

"You're so full of it," she said and Ian could almost hear the smile in her voice.

As he heard her footsteps retreating, he quickly tried to put together a game plan of sorts. Ian decided that he had to play along with this life the best he could until it went away. He'd done the "freak-out and run" strategy and it had ended in a slap from an irate "mother-in-law," an ambiguous threat from some ginger, and a burn to his hand. Basically, it was a complete disaster. If he was going to make it through this—whatever this was—he was going to have to try to make the best of things. Of course, this plan didn't mean that he was going to develop a relationship with Rose, with Livy, with any of them. No… no, that would not be happening. He would keep them all at a comfortable distance, especially Rose. He was going to be kind, but he was not going to pretend that he felt something more for her. He didn't love her, and it would just be cruel to act otherwise. Besides, this life was an illusion...and it was only a matter of time before it disappeared for good.

The morning and afternoon passed fairly quickly for Ian. He was able to maneuver his way around Rose with relative ease. She had divided her time between picking up the house and taking care of Olivia. At one point, she'd asked him to take care of the dishes. After thirty minutes of clanging and Ian grumbling loudly, she'd come in rolling her eyes at him and said to "get it in gear" or he'd be on nappy duty for a month. That threat resulted in Ian finishing the dishes within ten minutes and without any more complaint. Sometime around 4:00 P.M., Rose took Olivia upstairs for a quick kip, leaving Ian downstairs by himself. His exploration of the downstairs revealed a kitchen, living and dining room, laundry, loo, and library. He was just getting ready to do a thorough look through, when he heard someone enter the house.

"Hello?" said a voice in the distance.

It seemed vaguely familiar to Ian, but he couldn't place it. He cautiously made his way to the voice. He rounded a corner, and ran smack-dab into the ginger. He jumped back and stared at her wide-eyed in surprise.

She quirked an eyebrow as she made an appraisal of him. "Are we playin' a game that I'm not aware of?"

"Um, no. I was just, just….hi, how are you?" he said, just on the edge of rambling.

She furrowed her brows together and continued to stare at him, not saying a word. The silence began to get to him and he started to fidget.

"I'm good. How 'bout you? Did you decide to go mental and go on another run today?" she asked pointedly, crossing her arms.

"Uh," he started before clearing his throat, "no. No, I was here today. All day, in fact."

Donna continued to eye him critically, but then her eyes focused on something behind him and she smiled. Ian turned to see Rose walking towards them. She was pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she walked, causing her jumper to pull taunt against the swell of her belly. Ian felt a peculiar flutter in chest as he watched her, but quickly assigned it to anxiety over the ginger hawk perched next to him.

Rose sleepily shuffled over to Donna and gave her a quick hug. "You're here earlier than I thought you'd be."

Donna gave a quick glare to Ian before she spoke. "Yeah, well, after Ian the Idiot—"

"Aat!" Rose said, swatting Donna's arm.

Donna rolled her eyes at Rose's correction. "Fine," she huffed, "Ian the Imbecile…"

"Try again."

"Ian the Ignorant?" Donna offered.

"Oi! I'm right here," Ian growled.

"I know," Donna said looking right at him.

Ian glared at her.

"Donna," Rose drawled out warningly.

"Okay, okay, okay. Sorry. I just thought after yesterday, I'd come over early and spend time with you…ya know, make sure you were alright."

Now it was Rose's turn to roll her eyes. "Of course I'm alright, Donna. So, moving on…where's Gramps? I thought he was coming tonight," she asked, looking around.

"He'll be here soon. One of his old mates came in for the week, so they've been down at the pub reminiscing about 'the glory days.' He said he'd come 'round sometime after six. Now," Donna said as she turned and pointed to Ian, "you come help me unload the car so I can start cooking."

"So let me see if I understand this; you threaten and insult me, and then you expect me to jump up and help you? Do I have that right?" Ian questioned incredulously.

"Oh come on, you know how this goes," Donna said rather unaffectedly. "You whine, I threaten, but underneath it all, you still like me."

"Don't you mean we like each other?"

Donna shrugged her shoulders. "Eh…"

"Come off it, you two," Rose chided good-naturedly, "Ya both like 'n love each other. Now play nice and unload the car. I'm starving!'

An hour later, Donna and Rose were by themselves in the kitchen finishing the preparations on dinner. Ian had excused himself not long after he begrudgingly helped Donna unload the groceries. Donna swiftly and expertly put together the ingredients, and before too long, they were both sitting in the living room, idly chatting.

As Rose took a sip from her water, she realized that Donna was starting at her intently.

"What?" she asked, arching her eyebrow.

Donna's expression became concerned and she crinkled her brows together. "Are…are you sure you're okay? Yesterday—"

"Donna, just leave it!" she groaned, completely exasperated with the subject. "It's just a rough time of year for 'im and—"

"Rose," Donna said firmly, cutting her off, "I'm not talking about him. I'm asking if you are okay. You were seriously stressed out, and you know what Martha said abo—"

"I know," Rose interjected. "I know, and I'm fine." She looked up and saw the worry in Donna's eyes. She reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "I promise."

The sound of the doorbell silenced any further discussion. Rose stood up despite Donna's protests and answered the door. Her face instantly lit up at seeing who was on the other side.

"Gramps!" she said and eagerly hugged him.

"Hello, Sweetheart," Wilfred Mott greeted her jovially, returning her embrace before following her inside. "Sorry I'm late."

"No worries," Rose assured him. "But Gramps, how many times do I have to tell you? Just come in, you don't have to ring the bell."

"It's a hard habit to break, Sweetheart," he chuckled. "Now…where's that beautiful little bundle of yours?"

Ian was stretched across the sofa in the office reading A Tale of Two Cities when a soft rapt on the open door pulled his attention from the words on the page. He looked up to see Rose standing in the doorway, eyeing him knowingly.

"So when you said you had to work, was that code for 'I just feel antisocial?'"

"Weelll, not exactly," he said, hurriedly standing up. "I came upstairs t-to work, like I said. But, then I, um, saw the book. And it's Dickens…I mean, who can resist Dickens? So I—"

"Ian," Rose said, interrupting his evolving ramble, "Love, it's not that big of a deal. I was only messing with you. C'mon. Dinner's ready."

Rose held out her hand for him. Pretending as if he hadn't seen the gesture, Ian quickly shoved his hands into his pockets and headed downstairs, a puzzled and slightly hurt Rose following close behind.

Ian entered the dining room to see the ginger (Donna, he remembered), and an elderly man with Livy on his lap, attempting to feed her some sort of mashed food. The food smelled wonderful, but there was a familiar scent that he just couldn't place. He took an empty seat with Rose taking the one next to him. Donna portioned out a plate and handed it to him with a smile, one that he was inclined to label as 'mischievous.' Ignoring that misgiving, he took the plate and returned her smile with a tight one of his own.

"This is delicious, Donna," Wilf praised, taking another large bite of meat.

"Thanks, Gramps."

"What is it?" Ian asked her, forking a small portion of meat.

"Roasted pork tenderloin," she paused, allowing Ian to begin chewing before she added, "with an Anjou pear glaze."

Ian stopped mid-chew and locked eyes with her.

"Told ya you weren't getting off that easy," she said as she smirked and took another bite.

Quickly grabbing his napkin, Ian spit the unholy meat out and did his best to scrub his tongue of the taste.

"Donna! Ya didn't have to be that petty," Rose said angrily. "For heaven's sake, Mum already slapped 'im. Ya didn't have to try 'n poison 'im!'

Ian felt himself gear up for a fierce tirade when a well-known but unwanted voice joined them.

"Am I too late?"

His eyes instantly honed in on the source—it was Jack. While the others greeted Jack readily, Ian remained silent. His entire body seized with tension and his jaw locked. Jack walked over and slapped him good-naturedly on the back.

"You scared the crap out of us yesterday. What was all of that about, huh?"

Ian looked from Jack's hand to the warm smile on his face. He mumbled something unintelligible and excused himself from the table. He hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to steady himself. Ian didn't care that he left them all bewildered. He just had to leave. It hurt simply being in his presence. He was a reminder, and Ian wanted nothing more than to forget, to run. The effort it took to keep those experiences at a distance was exhausting, and he suddenly felt so very tired. As sleep began to creep over him, he couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a day when he could stop running.