AN: Thank you all for your continued support. I'm sorry if I've forgotten to reply to your reviews, but please know they mean the world to me. Every. Single. One. Okay...this chapter is a lil rough. Please hold on just a little longer. We're getting there and soon. I PROMISE! Okay...I added some Italian in here. I'm sorry if it's not correct. I'm not Italian, only fairly competent in Spanish, so...oops.

(Non siamo soli-we are not alone) (Zio/Zia-Uncle/Aunt) (Spostare-move) (Fiore-flower)

Hope you enjoy! ∞

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

As she entered the bakery, she was surprised to see the display case completely stocked. Rose always came in at 5:00, and usually had everything ready by the time 7:00 rolled around. But it had barely turned 6:00, and yet everything was finished; actually, there was even an excess. Thoroughly puzzled, Isobel journeyed to the kitchen. Rose was standing at the middle prep table and working on what appeared to be a carousel cake. Her earphones were in and she was completely engrossed in her detailing.

Isobel took in her appearance and furrowed her brow. Something was off. Typically Rose wore a jumper, or the occasional button down, and a pair of jeans; her hair was either in a messy yet somehow stylish bun or sleek ponytail. However, this morning, her hair was in a wet, loose plait; her face was void of makeup; and she was wearing jeans and an old, oversized jumper with the long sleeves pushed up. Her features were somewhat drawn, her lips not quite pursed as she occasionally moved side to side around the cake.

Taking a few more steps forward, Isobel smiled and called to her, "Look who's being an overachiever!"

There was no response, no acknowledgement of any kind.

"Rose?" she tried again, frowning.

Still nothing. Rose was in a world entirely of her own. Absorbed in her work, she knelt down slightly and began another series of etches.

Isobel walked up to so that she was barely five footsteps away, and placed a hand on Rose's shoulder. The unexpected contact caused Rose to jolt back, dropping her knife and almost falling to the floor. Like a shot, Isobel grabbed onto Rose's arm, preventing her fall and helping her stand.

Rose released a gruff breath and yanked out one of her earphones.

"What the heck, Bel? Tryin' to kill me?"

Isobel's eyes widened just a tad at Rose's snappy attitude. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. To be fair, I did try to get your attention but you were off somewhere in Rose Land."

"Right, sorry. Guess I was a bit preoccupied," Rose replied, her tone much softer than previously.

"I'd say more than just preoccupied," Isobel looked around the room at the vast quantity of pans and baking sheets, "You really went all out, didn't ya? How long have you been here?"

Rose shrugged and turned her attention back to her project. "Since 3:00."

"What?!" Isobel squawked, her eyes bulging. "Why?"

A small sigh escaped Rose's lips before she spoke. "Woke up, couldn't go back to sleep, so I just decided to come in. Didn't feel like lying around the flat doing nothin'."

It didn't escape Isobel's notice that Rose's eyes never left her task as she answered. That action coupled with Rose's flat tone convinced her that something was most definitely not right.

"You alright, Rose?" she asked gently, her concern evident.

There was a pause. Her focus still straight ahead, Rose replied, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, for starters, you look exhausted and have been working since 3 A.M. You won't look me in the eye when you answer. Y-…"

"I'm focused on what I'm doin'. Nothin' unusual 'bout that, is there?" she interrupted.

"Nooo," Isobel drawled, "But that's not what makes it unusual. It's just a bunch of little things, Rose. You're dressed different; you're oblivious to things around you; you w-…"

"Can y'get me some coffee?" Rose asked suddenly, finally looking up at Isobel.

Isobel blinked at her, taken off guard by the unexpected question. "'Scuse me?"

"Coffee. Like ya said, I'm exhausted and could use a cup. Bellissima should be open by now."

Gone was the avoidance, and now Rose looked at Isobel straight on, never once breaking her gaze. Isobel blinked a few more times before finally relenting.

"Alright," she sighed, "What do ya want?"

"Just tell Alberto it's for 'Fiore.' He'll know what to make," Rose said, picking up the dangling earphone and placing it back in her ear and turning her attention back to the cake, effectively tuning out Isobel once again.

Sighing yet again, Isobel took Rose's not so subtle hint and left for Bellissima.

Isobel had only been to Bellissima a handful of times but readily remembered the direction of the little café. It wasn't near her flat, and other than when she had to work at the bakery, she was rarely in the neighborhood. She arrived at the quaint eatery and opened the aged door. The aroma of roasting coffee beans mixed with spices wafted over Isobel as she entered. The room was empty except for one lone figure standing behind the counter with their back to her.

As she neared, Isobel noticed that behind the counter stood a man—a tall, dark haired man with incredibly toned arms which were accented all the more by a fitted T-shirt with the letters FDNY. She had absolutely no idea what 'FDNY' was, but Isobel didn't need to know the meaning to appreciate the broad set of shoulders they were resting on. He must have heard the approach of her boots, because he suddenly turned around to face her. On seeing him, Isobel felt her stomach somersault. If she thought his upper body was something to admire, it had nothing on the gorgeous face currently fixed in her direction. Isobel was certain that it was highly illegal to be that…delectable. His jaw was well-defined, yet lacked any rigidity. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and hanging just slightly over his forehead. And his eyes… they were dark brown, almost like the color of coffee…

Coffee, coffee…why am I thinking 'bout coffee…? Oh, right… S'posed to get Rose some. Sorta forgot about that for a mo'…

Isobel blinked rapidly for a brief moment, attempting to jar her thoughts and stop her obvious gawking. She opened her mouth, but to her embarrassment, no words came out. His smile widened at her silence, but he said nothing about it.

"Mornin'."

Isobel was surprised to notice that his accent was heavy but definitely not British, not in any shape or form. No, she'd watched enough telly to recognize a New York accent when she heard it. It struck her as odd that he was working as a barista; it really didn't seem like a natural fit for him. Finally, and much to Isobel's relief, words began to form in her mouth.

"Hi."

"What would ya like?"

Once again her mind blanked. Lord, this is ridiculous, she groaned inwardly. "Umm..."

Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me
Infect me with your love and
Fill me with your poison

Isobel's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as her mobile blared Katy Perry. She hurriedly shoved her hand into her pocket, causing her purse to drop to the floor as she scrambled to silence the embarrassing ringtone. Finally shutting up the offending object and switching the ringer off, she bent over and picked up her purse, her dark hair ridiculously flipping backward as she jerked her body upright. Isobel could feel her face blazing, and it was no longer because of the man's incredible physique.

"Not a bad idea, but I was actually referring to the menu," the man laughed, his smile widening.

Isobel bit her lip to hide the immense grin attempting to form. You're a cheeky piece of eye candy, aren't ya?

"Uh, yeah…sorry 'bout that," she muttered blushingly, "I'm supposed to tell ya Fiore wants her usual."

The young man's forehead creased in confusion. "I don't know any Fiore."

"You're not Alberto?" Isobel asked, her expression mirroring his.

"No, I'm Tommy, his nephew. And he isn't-…"

A loud banging noise followed by a flurry of gruff Italian cut off Tommy's sentence. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Following doctor's orders."

Before either Isobel or Tommy could say another word, the voices resurfaced in the background.

"Alberto Marchetti! You are not supposed to be here, and you are well aware of that fact!" said the voice of an irate British woman.

She had barely finished her sentence before Alberto responded with another string of Italian.

"I don't care if you can hop all the way here on one leg, the doctors told you to take things slow and not become stressed, and this is notthe way to go about it!"

This time, Alberto's words were more rapid and irritable.

"An 'episode'? That's what you're calling it? You had a heart attack, Alberto! A heart attack! You may find this whole situation laughable, but I am not amused in the least. Not one bloody bit!"

There was some more muttering before the door to the kitchen swung open. A tall, older gentleman with salt and pepper hair came charging out, followed by a petite, older woman hot on his heels.

"You get back here, Alberto! We are not finished discussing this!" she demanded, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her.

"It's not really a discussion, now is it, Victoria?" he retorted, surprisingly now in English, though still heavily accented. "It's me telling you what my decision is, and you shouting at me!"

Isobel stood silent, both amused and shocked at the small domestic transpiring. Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose before clearing his throat.

"Non siamo soli," he said to the bickering couple.

The pair halted their heated discussion as they turned their attention to their nephew and the young woman near him. Victoria tucked away a few strands that had escaped her graying bun, molding her features into stoic professionalism. Alberto cleared his throat and offered Isobel a warm, apologetic smile.

"Apologies."

"No worries," Isobel readily assured him. "I didn't understand half of it anyways."

Both Tommy and Alberto chuckled, while Victoria simply arched an eyebrow.

"Zio, do y'know someone called Fiore?" Tommy asked.

"Of course I know Fiore! How is she?" Alberto happily asked Isobel.

"Tired. She's been workin' since 3:00, so she asked me to get her some coffee. Said you'd know what to make."

"Si, si, si," Alberto confirmed, nodding his head and walking towards the espresso machine as he rambled off instructions to Tommy in Italian. However, before he could round the corner, Tommy moved into his pathway. Alberto looked up sharply at his young nephew.

"Spostare, Tomaso."

Tommy sighed in frustration, but his eyes were soft and warm as he spoke. "Zio…"

"Isn't there some fire for you to put out back in Brooklyn?" Alberto huffed.

"Alberto, Tommy moved everything around so he could help us out while you recuperate. He does not deserve any smart retort from you. Now, come sit your backside down, or so help me Lord, I will drag you over here myself and tie you to a bloody chair," Victoria threatened in an even tone.

He looked between his wife and nephew, both their expressions pleading, yet determined. Huffing, Alberto swiftly turned around, and grumbling under his breath, walked over to his wife and sat down at one of the tables.

Isobel turned her attention back to Tommy as he proceeded to make Rose's drink. When he was finished, he turned around and handed her the drink, a softer smile than before on his face.

"Sorry, 'bout all that. Zio's pretty stubborn, but so is Zia."

"They're quite a fiery pair, aren't they?"

"Yeah, but…," Tommy trailed off, nodding his chin towards the pair. Isobel looked back over and saw the couple sitting close, their hands joined and resting on the table. Alberto's thumb was stroking Victoria's small hand while quietly speaking to her. He then moved one of his hands and cupped her cheek. Victoria smiled lovingly at him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Feeling as if she'd intruded in on enough private moments, Isobel broke her gaze from them and focused back on Tommy.

"No matter what, that's how it always ends."

"That's sweet…beautiful, really," Isobel answered, a soft and somewhat thoughtful smile tugging on her lips.

For a moment, their eyes locked and she felt a round of intense fluttering. Bashfully, Isobel flicked her eyes away and cleared her throat. "I should head back. Rose'll have my head if she doesn't get some caffeine in her. Thanks," she said, gesturing with the cup.

Tommy grinned. "Anytime."

Giving him one final bright smile, Isobel left for the bakery.

After walking almost a full block, Isobel remembered the phone call from earlier and hastily pulled out her mobile. She was shocked to see five missed calls and eight text messages, all from Martha and Sally. There were no voicemails, so she checked the texts.

(Martha)—How's Rose?

(Martha)—Answr ur phone!

(Martha)—I'm nt jokin', Bel…

(Sally)—Mar called. How's Rose? Hv u tlkd to Donna? Can't reach her…

(Sally)—Seriously? Answr ur bloody phone! It's important!

(Martha)—Isobel Woods…I'm gonna murder u if u dnt call back. Trust me…I know how

(Sally)—WHERE R U?!

(Sally)—Call me NOW!

Being equal parts confused, worried, and irritated, Isobel flipped a mental coin and called Martha first. After the second ring, the call was picked up.

"Well, it's about flippin' time! I've only been tryin' to reach you for the past half hour! Y'know that thing in your hand not only makes calls, but accepts them too!"

"What's your bleedin' problem, aye?" Isobel replied hotly. "I was in the middle of gettin' Rose some coffee. What's got your knickers all in a twist?"

"Oi! None 'a that! I'm bloody exhausted and nearly outta my head with worry 'bout Rose. Which is the whole point of me calling."

"Well, tell me now—what's wrong with Rose? I know something's not right. She was all closed off this morning. Hardly looked at me at all."

"I'm not sure what all happened last night, but this morn-…"

A beep suddenly sounded, and Isobel looked to see Sally trying to ring in. "Hang on a minute, Martha."

She clicked over to Sally's call. "Hey, what is it?"

"'What is it?' I've been phoning and texting you, tellin' you it's important, and all ya say is 'what is it?'"

"Listen, call me back in a bit. Martha's on the other line," Isobel instructed and switched back to Martha. "Sorry 'bout that. So…Ya have no clue 'bout last night, but this morning…," she prompted.

"Right. So, this morning—I think it was almost 2—I woke up to a bunch of yelling. I got up and followed the noise to the living room. Ian was standing there and shouting at Rose. Said something about how he didn't ask for her help, how she messed up his life, and that if he could go back and never meet her, he would. Y'shoulda seen her, Bel. She just stood there. Didn't say a word; didn't even tell 'im to get out. So I marched over and shoved 'im into the wall and then threw him out on his bum!"

Isobel was stunned into silence. Not only had Ian somehow managed to end up at their flat, but he'd also raged at Rose. She couldn't believe that he would be so hurtful; not after the way she'd seen him look at Rose.

Suddenly registering that Martha was speaking her, Isobel finally gathered her wits about her. "Sorry. I-I…I just can't believe it. H-he…he really said that? That he wished he'd never met her? How could he say such a thing? They looked so besotted with each other."

"I don't know. I have no idea how he even made it to the flat. And when I tried talking to Rose, she just acted like nothin' had happened. But I know that whatever went on, it shook her up badly. I could hear her sobbing in the shower."

"What did Donna say when you told her all this?"

"She won't answer her bleedin' mobile, either," Martha grumbled. "I called her first, but nothin'. But y'know that she's gonna blow her top once she finds out. God help Ian if she ever gets her hands on 'im."

By this time, Isobel had managed to make it the bakery, and knew it was time to end the call.

"Hey, I gotta go. I'm back at the bakery. I let ya know as soon as I find out somethin'."

Rose was utterly exhausted. She was operating on roughly three hours of sleep, and though her body begged for rest, Rose had no desire to sleep. Her thoughts raced through her mind at blinding speed, constantly replaying her last encounter with Ian. But her thoughts were nothing compared to the overwhelming emotions continuing to plague her—the foremost being anguish.

What she had witnessed in those early morning hours was practically incomprehensible. The man standing before her raging like a wounded animal was not the man with whom she had fallen in love. He looked and sounded like Ian, but that was where the likeness ended.

Rose put down her sculpting knife and braced herself against the prep table, closing her eyes as another crippling wave of pain washed over her. The sense of immense loss caused an ache within her bones. Yet in the midst of all the cascading emotions she was experiencing, Rose couldn't understand how she could also feel so hollow. Being with Ian had made her feel complete; whole. But now that he'd pushed her away, now that he'd plunged a dagger into her heart, she felt empty.

Opening her eyes, Rose realized that she was trembling. Pulling back from the table, she turned up the volume on her iPhone, attempting to distract herself from the pain and drown Ian's words. She went to pick up her knife again, but halted when she caught sight of Isobel walking into the room. Without removing her earphones or turning down her music, Rose thanked her before taking a sip and turning her focus back to her work. She could feel Isobel's eyes boring into her, and a spark of anger shot through her. Rose knew the word had spread; of course it had. That was one of the downsides of being in close group; everyone knew practically everything.

Rose took another sip before saying, "I need you to man the front; I'm staying back here today."

Steadfastly ignoring her gaze, Rose focused intently at the cake in front of her, holding her breath and hoping Isobel would get the hint. Surprisingly, after a few moments, Isobel left the kitchen, never saying a word. Saying a silent thank you to above, Rose hopped onto the counter and sipped on her coffee, staring absentmindedly at the wall in front of her.

Suddenly, the music stopped and she noticed Jack was calling. Closing her eyes and exhaling slowly, she pressed Accept.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Rose."

"Hey, Jack. How are ya?"

"Been better. Didn't get much sleep. How 'bout you?"

"I'm fine," Rose replied without hesitation, but without emotion.

There was a pause before Jack spoke again. "How's Ian this morning?"

A burning came to her eyes, and Rose realized that tears were fighting to break free. Taking a deep, silent breath, she said, "Whatever he took seemed to be outta his system when he left this morning."

"He already left?"

"Yeah, he left early this morning, just before I went into the shop." Rose felt a lump come up into her throat. She didn't want to talk about what happened with Ian. Even the condensed version caused her pain. Deciding it was too much and she need to end the call immediately, Rose said, "Listen, Jack, I gotta go. Y'know, work an' all."

"You okay, Rosie?" Jack asked her, deep concern evident in his voice.

"I'm fine, Jack. Talk to you soon, yeah?"

"Sure."

"Alright then. Take care." Without waiting for a reply, Rose ended the call and closed her eyes once again as a few tears broke loose. Furiously wiping away at her eyes, Rose resumed her music, turning the volume up even more and retreating inward.

A few hours had passed, but to Rose it could have been mere minutes; that was how detached she was from her surroundings. She had ceased baking because it was just becoming wasteful to make such an excess. Now, she was sitting cross-legged on a chair, flipping through one of the girls' gossip rags, her music still blaring in her ears. It was for these reasons that Rose didn't register Isobel's presence until one of her earphones was pulled out.

"OI!" Rose snapped, jolting her head upward to look directly at Isobel. "What do y'think you're doin'?"

"You're needed up front," she replied, unfazed by Rose's anger.

"I already told you that I'm working the back today," Rose answered snappily, reaching for her earphone.

Before she could get ahold of it, Isobel grabbed her hand. "Rose. You need to come up front."

Irritated and her anger rising, Rose stood, hotly pocketing her mobile, and stomped to the front. She had barely gone through the doorway when she immediately halted her steps. There was no flurry of customers; rather, she found Mickey, Jake, Sally (still looking dead to the world), and Donna scattered about the room, all evidently waiting for her.

Rose shook her head vehemently. "No. No, I'm not doin' this." She turned to go back to her hiding place, but Isobel blocked her exit.

"Out of my way, Isobel," she demanded, her eyes sparking with contained ire.

"No, Rose. You need to talk about what happened last night."

"Like fun I do," Rose snapped. "It's nobody's bloody business what happened. It's done and over, and that's all that concerns any of you," she finished, whirling around and turning her blazing eyes on each of them.

"Rose Tyler, we're your family. What happens to you matters to all of us," Donna countered, surprisingly calm. "When someone hurts you, we want to know about it."

"Nothin' hap-…," Rose started, but was immediately interrupted by Mickey.

"Don't even say that, Rose. All of us know that's not true. We might not know all the details, but we know enough to know that that Ian bloke was more than a bloody wanker to you."

"Y'don't know anything about last night—none of you do," she shouted. "And you don't need to know. All that you need to know is that I'm fine!"

"Rose-…," Jake chimed in.

"Bugger this!" Rose hollered, grabbing her purse from under the counter. "I don't need any of this. All of you can just back off and mind your own bloody business for once!"

Without another word, Rose ran out of the bakery, ignoring the protests and shaking off the hands of her friends as she rushed by them. Once outside, Rose rushed to the nearest underground station and took the first tube she saw. She had no destination in mind, but that didn't concern her. She simply needed to escape, to put as much distance between her and those who would have her recount her pain. She already felt it; to speak the words would break struggling hold she had over her emotions.

Silently, Rose reached into her bag and pulled out the worn leather volume she'd retrieved off the lawn of St. James' Park. Gently she ghosted her fingertips over the imprinted leather. As the doors closed and the car began to move, she hugged the book to her chest, closing her eyes and leaning her head back, allowing the nothingness to overtake her.

It was nearly 7:00 P.M. when Rose walked into her parents' home. She'd spent the entire day either riding around on the tube or simply getting lost in the crowds. She'd ignored all calls and texts; and avoided going to any familiar haunts. She also hadn't eaten anything, which hardly mattered anyhow; she had absolutely no appetite. But after hours of aimless wandering, Rose somehow found herself standing in the foyer of her former home.

Softly closing the door, Rose walked into the living room and saw her mum sleeping quietly on the sofa, her hand instinctively covering her abdomen. A small smile crept onto Rose's face at the sight. Quietly turning away, she headed up the stairs and into her father's office.

The door was open and Pete was sitting on the floor in front of a half-built computer, wires and parts all around him.

"Hey Dad."

Pete looked up from his project and smiled at his daughter. "Hey, sweetheart. What brings you here?"

She shrugged, walking over and taking a seat beside him. "Dunno. Just decided to stop by."

As her eyes met his, Rose could see a look pass over her father's eyes. Clearing her throat, she motioned to the computer.

"Buildin' another one?"

Pete smiled softly. "Not exactly. It's just sort of a tune up. Needed to add another hard-drive and a few other things. Hand me that Philips head, will ya?"

Rose looked around her briefly before finding the screwdriver and handing it to him. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, Rose assisting him like she had when she was younger.

"Haven't done this sorta thing in long time," Rose finally spoke up.

"You were always good at it. Better than some of the men who used to work for me. Nearly broke my heart when you decided to become a baker," he teased.

"Yeah, well, I think your stomach proves you've recovered," Rose chuckled, playfully jabbing him.

"Cheeky."

Rose chuckled again before returning to silently assisting. Another few minutes passed before Pete spoke up.

"So…think you're ready to talk about it?" he asked, looking over at her.

"Don't know what y'mean," she answered, keeping her eyes fixed on the wire in her hand.

"I think you do," Pete replied softly, no accusation or anger in his voice.

"So which one of 'em have been running their bloody gob?" Rose asked hotly.

"Mickey was in my office when Martha called. He felt it was only right to tell me."

Rose snorted in derision. "I'm sure he did," she muttered. "Well…doesn't matter what he said, I'm fine."

"Rose-…"

"I said I'm fine, Dad," Rose snapped, throwing the wire and jumping to her feet.

Calmly, Pete stood and took a few steps toward her. "I know what you said, Rose. I also know it's not the truth."

Feeling a constricting lump of emotion rise in her throat, Rose began to pace, refusing to look at her father. She ran her hand through her hair. "Why can't you all just leave me alone? There's nothing to say, nothing to fix. Just leave it!"

Crossing to her, Pete gently grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to stop in front of him. "Talk to me, love."

Rose threw her hands up, breaking free from his hold. "What do you want me to say, Dad? Huh? That I've fallen in love with Ian? That the man that I can't imagine my life without wishes he never met me? That my heart hurts…hurts so much that I can hardly breathe? That I-…," she broke off abruptly, tears strangling her voice. She shook her head, barely regaining control. "That I've never felt so broken, so numb? That enough for you, Dad, or do ya need me to keep goin'?"

Pete felt his heart tear as he looked at his daughter. Never once in her entire life had he seen her so pained. Sure, she'd had rough times; but she was always so resilient, taking challenges head on. To see her heart lying broken at her feet was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to endure. He saw her close her eyes and take several heaving breaths. Without a word he approached her. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I'm fine, Dad," she insisted, her voice strained.

He stopped in front of her, putting a hand on her arm.

"I'm fine," she persisted, her voice now above a whisper, her eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears.

Pete remained silent as he gazed upon his daughter. Her hold was crumbling; he could see it. In one fluid motion, he pulled Rose to him, wrapping her in his arms. Every single emotion came crashing down on her, and she couldn't fight it any longer. She felt her body go limp as harsh sobs wracked her body and she sank to the floor. Pete kept his hold on her as she burrowed her face into his chest, hot tears burning her cheeks and her lungs pleading for air. Knowing there were no words he could say to take away her pain, Pete simply held his little girl in his arms as her sobs echoed through the room.

It was after 10:00 P.M., and Ian was sitting on his sofa, staring off into the distance. He'd spent the majority of the day replaying the events of that morning on an endless loop. There was the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her kiss, the way she looked at him. Then there were the venomous words he'd uttered, the pain in her eyes, the small sob escaping her lips, the instinct to bring her into his arms. Each time it became more and more painful, at times literally making it hard to breathe.

A knock at his door pulled him from his recollections. He had no desire to answer it; but at its persistence, he relented. Scrubbing his face with his hands, Ian took a breath and opened the door to find his brother standing before him.

"Hey Ian."

"Jack," he acknowledged wearily.

A few beats of silence passed before Jack took a step forward and spoke.

"I think it's time we finally talk."