AN: I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter. I was starting on it and then I became extremely ill and was hospitalized for a couple days, and then sick for a week after. Fortunately, I'm better now. I'm honestly not satisfied with the majority of this, but it's an interlude chapter, so... Oh, well! I put in a few cameos. Hope ya like! There's only three more chapters in this story. Yes, Harry will return, but not like you all may think! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Special character in here dedicated to the amazing Elensari (who is awesome and you should definitely read her work!). Anyway, thank you too all who continue to read. You're wonderful!

Oh...Snapdragon...It's driving me completely batty that I can't respond to you! Actually, ALL of the guest reviews that I can't answer makes me sad! Since I can't tell you individually and in depth, please know that you're amazing and thank you!

Friday, November 15, 2013

The taxi had barely come to a stop before Ian threw the door open, tossing more than the due amount at the cabbie, and running into the airport. He didn't bother perusing the various airline carriers, instead running up to the first available clerk, slightly out of breath as he reached the counter.

Hearing his labored breathing, the curly haired woman looked up from her computer screen and arched a dark eyebrow at him.

"I need to purchase a ticket," Ian managed to gasp out.

"Well, that's rather convenient, isn't it?" she replied, a smirk emerging.

Ian narrowed his eyes at the woman's sardonic response; he really wasn't in the mood for her games.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll pass on the sarcasm and just stick with the plane ticket. How's that sound?"

The woman's smirk widened and her eyebrows flicked upward briefly. "No need to get yourself worked up, sweetie; even though it does make you quite the pretty boy."

"You do realize that this is an airport, don't you? Not some sort of dating service?" Ian spat hotly, thoroughly annoyed with this curly mopped menace. The overt flirting he could ignore, but she was standing between him and his Rose, and that was not something he was going to tolerate.

His manner didn't seem to put her off in the slightest, but she finally turned her attention to her computer, typing away at the keys.

"Destination?"

"New York City," he replied hurriedly. "I need the first flight out. I don't care what it costs; I just need to leave immediately."

She continued to furiously type away before suddenly looking back up at him. "Alright, I need a form of payment, as well as two forms of identification, including your passport."

Ian had just reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his wallet, when the mention of his passport stopped his hand midair. His stomach plummeted as he realized that, in his haste to chase after Rose, he'd left entirely unprepared.

Seeing his change in demeanor, the clerk arched her brow yet again. "Hmm… 'Fraid I can't let you purchase a ticket without the proper documentation."

Hot frustration brewed within him, and he blew out a ragged breath. "Can you at least tell me what time the flight departs? Or if there are any others?"

"Ooh, sorry, sweetie," she hissed cheekily, winking at him, "Spoilers."

Uninterested in playing into whatever nonsense she was spewing, Ian practically growled and stormed off, pulling out his mobile as he moved away from the irritating clerk. He quickly scrolled through his contacts, looking for the best choice to come to his aid. Time was of the essence, and Ian didn't want to waste any precious minutes by leaving the airport. It made much more sense for someone to bring what he needed to him.

The first name to come to mind was his brother's. He hurriedly selected the number and impatiently paced as he waited for Jack to answer. One ring led into another, and Ian's impatience grew. Finally, Jack's voicemail clicked on, and Ian's eyes rolled upward as he listened to the message.

A beep sounded and Ian immediately began, "Jack…why now, of all times, do you chose not to answer your bloody mobile? I mean, honestly, what's the bloody point of having a mobile if you don't bloody answer it?!"

With a huff, Ian ended his one-sided argument and immediately tried the office number, only to be told that Jack was in court. Ending the call, Ian ruffled the back of his head before recommencing his pacing. He knew trying Cathica was a dead end, remembering that she had mentioned some appointment. Another name came to him and he immediately ceased his impatient movement. He gave it the briefest of second thoughts before selecting the contact and putting the mobile to his ear.

After two rings, the call was picked up.

"Hello?"

Inhaling a sharp breath, Ian dove straight into his request. "I need your help. I know you have absolutely every reason to refuse, especially after how I acted last time. I was horrible to you…A complete and utter cad, and I can't apologize enough for that, but…please… will you help me?"

Sarah Jane clutched the door handle, her knuckles ghostly white, as the taxi meandered like a madman through the multitude of vehicles making their way to their respective departure points. Horns blared and gestures were made as the cabbie continued to aggressively dart and cutoff the neighboring drivers, nearly clipping many of them.

Suddenly the cab screeched to a halt, and Sarah Jane shakily released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Grabbing her purse with a huff, she opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. She stepped to the driver's side and glared at the cabbie as she noticed his hand hanging out of the window, as if waiting for a tip.

"You must be joking!" she grumbled loudly. "Since when does barely making it out with your life constitute a reason for a tip? Has that become some sorta added bonus?"

"Issa cab, dearie, not a carriage. Wasn't paid double to getcha 'ere all nice an' timid-like. The man said ta getcha 'ere at all costs, an' 'ats watcha got," the gruff man retorted, his eyes motioning towards his empty palm.

Sarah Jane glared at him before rolling her eyes. "Oh, get your bleedin' hand back in the car. Consider the absence of my hand across your face as your tip," she groused, swatting his hand away before irritably stomping off to meet her nephew.

As the glass doors parted, Sarah Jane's eyes immediately began roving about the area, scouting for any sign of Ian. It took only a minute or two before she spotted him, his eyes searching the crowd. Their gazes met, and Ian gave a visible sigh of relief before rushing over to her. Sarah Jane was still surprised that Ian had phoned her of his own volition. She had been sorely tempted to press for further conversation, but his demeanor on the phone had been one of sincere desperation, so she refrained from delving further. But now that her task was completed, there was nothing to hold her back.

"Did you find it?" he asked her, the anxiety and impatience clearly evident in his tone.

"Next time you send a taxi 'round for me, please do me a favor and make sure the cabbie isn't some sort of kamikaze lunatic. I can't even count the number of times that I saw a white light during that ride."

Ian offered a tight, hurried smile. "Yes, well, I don't plan on ever having a repeat of this situation."

Reaching into her purse, Sarah Jane pulled out a passport. Ian eagerly reached for it, but she pulled her hand back just before he could take it in hand.

"Speaking of which, just why exactly am I racing to the airport, risking life and limb?"

"I need my passport before I can get on the plane," Ian answered, once again reaching forward.

"Well, thank goodness we cleared up that point," Sarah Jane replied. "Honestly, Ian, I gathered that much on my own. What I'm asking you is why do you need your passport? What is so pressing that you had to run off with nothing but the clothes on your back?"

"I…," Ian rubbed the back of his neck, "I have to find Rose."

Sarah Jane blinked slowly several times before honing her eyes onto her nephew. "Find implies lost. Did something happen to Rose? I wasn't aware that you two were together."

"We, uh...," Ian started, briefly rubbing the back of his neck as he darted his eyes around nervously, "Well, we weren't exac-…it's complicated."

Her eyes narrowed at his poorly executed response. "Then simplify it for me."

Closing his eyes tightly, Ian released a haggard breath. He was torn between shame and the desire to purge. Finally finding his voice, Ian spoke.

"We weren't exactly…together. I mean we spent time together…a fair bit of time…but we were never actually a couple. But there…," he sighed, "there was something there. Something I didn't want to admit to. Neither of us said anything about it until…"

Sarah Jane's eyes further narrowed, becoming the thinnest of slits as he trailed off. Her journalistic intuition coupled with lifelong knowledge of her nephew, assured her with certainty that something profound and unsettling had transpired.

"Until what?"

Running a nervous hand across the back of his neck, Ian released a harsh breath. "Until about three nights ago when everything…exploded. To make an insane and frustratingly confusing story short, I passed out in the middle of St. James' Park and somehow Rose and Jack found me. I had a nightmare and woke up in her flat, completely lost. She was right beside me and I…I kissed her…then I…I pushed her away, in pretty much every sense of the word. Told her that it meant nothing, that I didn't feel anything. She…she called me out…said that she could see I was in pain, that I couldn't hide from her. I told her that…"

Ian trailed off again, turning his head and shutting his eyes. The words he'd spewed at her echoed in his mind, and it was incredibly painful to relive. Gulping down the building emotion, he turned his head back to his aunt, yet still not meeting her gaze.

"I told her that I didn't need or want her meddling in my life. That she was child for thinking that I was someone she could help. That if I could change it…that I…I would never have met her."

There—the words had been said, the sin admitted. Releasing one more shuddering breath, Ian finally allowed his eyes to meet Sarah Jane's. As they roved over her face, he saw…nothing. Not one decipherable emotion. He'd forgotten that professional stoicism of hers and how frustratingly unsettled it made him feel.

Wordlessly, Sarah Jane held the passport out to him. Ian, his mouth slightly agape in surprise, reached out to take it. His fingers had barely found purchase on its stiff exterior when Sarah Jane swiftly pulled it back and smacked her free hand hard against the side of his head.

Ian squawked in pain and clutched at the side of his head.

"You…you daft, bloody prat!" Sarah Jane seethed. "How dare you say such a thing to anybody, let alone a sweet young woman like Rose? You were not raised to be such a bloody heartless cad! Shame on you, Ian!"

"I know that, Sarah!" Ian countered in reply, his voice loud yet free from harshness. "Believe me—I out of everybody know how badly I bollocksed things!"

"What in Heaven's name possessed you to say such vile, hateful things?" she demanded, her nostrils flaring.

"Because I was afraid!" Ian admitted hotly. "Rose is…she's by far the best person I know, and…and the way she looked at me…I couldn't handle it. I had years of guilt weighing on me and to see her looking at me with so much…love…I co-…I couldn't understand it, Sarah. I was convinced that if she knew about everything that'd happened, everything about me…," Ian trailed off yet again, closing his eyes and taking another much needed breath. "Turns out that she already knew…known for quite a while."

Opening his eyes, he again looked at Sarah Jane. Her eyes were piercing, appraising, taking in every edge of his countenance. Pursing her lips, she extended her hand once again. Ian flicked his eyes down to the offered passport and back to her face, judging the sincerity of the action. Cautiously he reached for the passport. His fingers latching onto it, he pulled it towards him but Sarah Jane continued to hold fast to it.

"Listen, and listen well, Cillian Andrew Smith. If I ever hear of you doing such a horrid thing ever again, I will personally tan your hide; I don't bloody care how old you are. And don't you dare doubt even for a second that I can do it, understand?"

Her tone was direct, her boring gaze never once faltering; and Ian had absolutely no doubt that she was in earnest.

"I swear to you I won't—not to anybody, especially Rose," he vowed to her with mirroring intensity.

Satisfied, Sarah Jane released her hold on the much sought after object. With a blinding, boyish grin, Ian swiftly kissed her cheek before bolting to find his love.

She could hear his harsh breathing, ragged and rapid, as if his lungs couldn't capture any lasting air. She was worried for him, the anxiety over his earlier distress weighing heavily on her heart. Her hand continued to cup his face, her thumb stroking the soft skin of his cheek.

Her lips were parted, questioning concern on her tongue. Before she could give voice to them, he moved forward again and grasped the back of her head, his long fingers using her sleep-messed hair as an anchor.

Even in the darkened room, she could see the raging storm of emotion in his eyes—one of desperation, longing, and…was that fear?

The intensity rendered her mute, and she could merely kneel captivated before him. In an instant, his lips fiercely captured hers with such urgency that it took her breath away.

He tightened his hold and pulled her closer to him. He was a drowning man seeking a lifeline. Her hand wrapped around his neck, assuring him that she was there, that she was eager and willing to be that lifeline.

All too suddenly, he harshly pulled away. Her eyes remained closed, her mind hazy and trying to comprehend the abrupt and unwelcomed loss of his touch. When she finally had the strength to open her eyes, she saw the look in his eyes had altered, now cold and distant, void of the overwhelming love she'd seen mere moments ago.

She-…

"Rose, wake up. We've stopped."

Sally's sudden voice and nudge unceremoniously pulled Rose from her dreamed recollections. Her eyes fluttered open and she realized, much to her disgust, that she had been asleep and drooling on the cab window. Grimacing, she sat up straight and wiped her face. Hopefully she wouldn't contract whatever was more than likely culturing on the cab window.

They had been in the cab roughly thirty minutes, but Rose had fallen asleep almost as soon as her bum hit the seat. It had been a rough journey. She had been up for hours and hadn't slept a wink on the flight. There had been a good stretch of turbulence, the food below par (even for airline cuisine), the inflight film was incredibly boring, and then to top it all off, a wailing infant had vomited all over her favorite leather jacket. The exhausted young mother had been so embarrassed and apologetic that Rose couldn't bring herself to be angry at her. The woman had even gone as far as to give Rose her own sweater. Rose had protested, but the woman would have none of it. After wearing it the majority of the flight, Rose had to admit the oversized cable-knit was an incredibly soft and comfortable compensation.

Seeing Sally was already waiting outside, Rose quickly gathered her purse and exited the cab. Stretching the tightness out of her limbs, she took in the scenery. The street was surprisingly calm, only a few passersby wandering by them. There were brownstones on either side of them with gated trees lining the length of the street, their leaves comprised of vibrant reds and yellows. It was a lovely and quite impressive sight.

After unloading their luggage, Sally and Rose climbed the aged stone steps. As Sally opened the door, Rose felt her jaw slack at the beauty of the interior. Everything, from the wood flooring to the copper tiled ceiling, was gorgeous. Aged, maybe, but elegantly so.

Rose looked over at her cousin and found that she too was struck by the surroundings.

"Exactly what kind of business is Jim in?"

"Dunno," Sally shrugged, "I sorta zoned out every time he started talking 'bout it."

"Maybe you shoulda paid attention. This place is hu-…"

Her sentence was abruptly cut off by the ecstatic squeals of her Aunt Bev, who sprinted over to the two girls and wrapped them tightly in her arms, rocking them side to side.

"I thought you'd never get here," Bev said excitedly, volleying kiss after kiss to each girl's cheek.

After what seemed like ages, Bev released Rose and Sally, taking a few steps back to properly look at them. "I'm so sorry we couldn't be there to give you two a lift. I had to take Jim to the doctor. The silly man practically has a phobia when it comes to 'em."

"It's not a phobia," a male voice suddenly spoke up, "It's a strong dislike."

Bev turned around while Rose and Sally leaned to the side to see Jim approaching them, a good-natured smile gracing his face. Reaching them, he put his arm around Bev's shoulder.

"Oh, please!" she swatted his chest, "You're like a blubbering baby every time. It's a wonder they don't give you a lolly after it's all said an' done."

With a small smile, Jim rolled his eyes before extricating himself from his wife and walking to his stepdaughter.

"Great to finally have you here, Sally," he greeted, warmly embracing her and pecking her cheek.

"Sorry 'bout it takin' so long," she replied, offering an apologetic smile.

"Don't worry 'bout that," he assured her with a wave of his hand, "The important thing is that we finally got ya here."

Stepping away from Sally, he turned to Rose and offered her the same greeting. "I know I've only met you a handful of times, but I'm glad you decided to come with Sally. Bev's always raving 'bout you and it'll be nice to get to know you."

"I really can't thank ya enough for gettin' the flight switched," Rose said. "I didn't mean for ya to go through all that trouble."

"Oh, please!" Jim rolled his eyes, "It wasn't any trouble. Not by a long shot. Louie owes me so many favors, I've lost count. I've pulled his butt out of the fire so many times, a flight change is the least he can do. By the way, how was the flight?"

Rose and Sally exchanged glances before Sally spoke up. "S'alright. Y'know…can't expect much for such a long trip."

The joyful expression left Jim's eyes and he furrowed his eyebrows. "What do ya mean 'alright'? You were supposed to have the best seats available."

"It was fine, honestly," Rose assured him, but Jim wasn't having any of it.

"Friggin' jerk," he mumbled under his breath before pulling out his phone and dialing. "Louie! I asked you to fix things for my stepdaughter and niece, and y-… What? I don't care if you're on the freaking crapper, I-..."

Jim's voice faded as he turned and walked hotly down the hall. The three women could only stare after him—Rose and Sally with surprised expressions, and Bev with one of pride.

"I just love it when he gets all feisty."

Both girls turned to look at Bev who was now wearing a cheeky grin as she continued to stare after her husband.

"Ugh," Sally groaned, "Mum, that's just gross."

"What?" Bev squawked. "I'm a woman. It's per-…"

"Please, Aunt Bev! It was bad enough when Mum started talkin' 'bout her bleedin' uterus during dinner. I really don't wanna know how you're gonna finish that sentence," Rose begged. "Can ya show me where the loo is in this museum? I'm fairly certain I got baby vomit in my hair and I'd really like to wash off!"

With a huff and roll of her eyes, Bev gathered a few of the girls' bags and led the way to their rooms.

Releasing a highly frustrated breath, Ian dropped his head against the headrest and stared at the ceiling. This was by far the longest journey of his life. He couldn't help but snort at the deeper meaning to that sentiment. But returning his thoughts to the literal journey, Ian was incredibly irritated. It felt never-ending, as if every force imaginable was fighting against him; whether for amusement or punishment, he couldn't determine.

It was by pure happenstance that he was able to obtain a flight at all. After Sarah Jane had relinquished his passport, he'd run back to the clerk's desk and thanked his stars that the infuriating woman from earlier was no longer there. Instead, there was a dark haired young woman with a warm smile and kind eyes. She'd regretfully informed him that the flight with the only available seat was just about to depart. Ian had pleaded and the desperation was evident in his manner. Something settled over her features, and she quickly picked up the phone in front of her. He listened in confusion to her side of the conversation.

When she finally ended the call, she typed and clicked away before finally handing him a ticket. Ian's eyes had widened as he took it.

"You better like to run, 'cause ya 've got exactly eleven minutes to get to the gate," she grinned.

There were so many questions running through his mind, but in light of the countdown, Ian stifled them. Finally looking at the young woman's nametag, he grinned before lurching forward and pressing a quick peck to her forehead.

"You're a lifesaver, Clara."

Clara's grin widened. "That's what they tell me. Now get a move on!"

He'd barely made it before they shut the gate for good. Glancing at his ticket, he noticed he was seated in first-class—something he knew cost a pretty penny, but didn't faze him in the slightest. The passengers in first-class were sparse, and therefore, he wasn't forced to have interaction with any of them. Well, except for some tall, dark haired man, who insisted that Ian move, as he had somehow been assigned to the seat next to his wife, and seeing that Ian was clearly having relationship troubles and was currently in route to see said woman, he had no use in sitting next to a woman, especially his wife.

Ian was just about to inform the glowering mess of black curls (honestly, was there some sort of genetic trait that inherently made them infuriating?) that if he would shut his gob long enough, then he would move, when the man's wife smilingly instructed him to "take a day off," showing an incredible amount of fierce strength for such a petite woman as she took his hand and led him to an open set of seats directly cater-corner to his. Apparently this didn't fully appease the man, because Ian could practically feel his ice blue eyes boring into the back of his skull the entire flight.

And now, here they were, rerouted to Dulles and waiting on the tarmac with no end in sight. He sighed once again. All he wanted was to get to Rose—did the Universe really feel the need to toy with him? How much longer wo-…

His train of thought was halted as a flight attendant plopped down into the seat across the aisle from him, a glass in hand of what clearly smelt of alcohol. Sighing, she toed off her heels and burrowed further into the leather seat. Sensing Ian's gaze, she turned to look at him, arching a dark brow.

"Can I help you?" she asked sarcastically. "Actually, wait…don't answer that. I'm on break, so if ya need somethin', find it yourself."

Not only was Ian surprised by her American accent, but also by her unprofessional response. "Um…isn't that against some sort of regulations or whatnot?"

Taking a long sip, she looked back at him. "Listen, bud, I just had to remind the guy back in 14F to stay out of my 'No-Fly Zone' for the tenth time in two hours. So, right now, you could get on the PA and sing show tunes if it floats your boat; but I'm staying right here and knockin' back a few. Six hours on the tarmac and McGrabby back there are enough to drive any sane person to drink."

Ian couldn't help but blink rapidly then grin at her blunt response. He couldn't fault her for needing a cooling off period, or a drink for that matter.

"What was that?" she suddenly asked, taking another sip.

"What was what?" Ian asked, confusion written on his brow.

Lifting one of the fingers that held her glass, she circled his face. "That look."

He fidgeted in his seat. "There wasn't a look."

"No, there was a look," the petite woman from earlier spoke up.

Both Ian and the flight attendant turned to see that her attention wasn't even turned to them.

"And how would you know?" Ian asked, the slightest bite lacing his words. "You're practically enraptured with your book there."

"Fourteen hours in close quarters, trust me…I've seen the look," she countered, her eyes still focused on the printed page. "You're just fortunate he didn't get a chance to see more than he already did," she motioned towards her sleeping husband.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask, is he alright?" the attendant asked. "'Cause he's been out like a light since the beginning."

The Englishwoman looked over at her husband and smiled softly. "Oh, he's fine. Just having a bit of a kip."

"Ya sure? I feel like we should poke 'im with a stick or somethin', y'know…just to make sure he's still breathing."

"I promise he's fine. I didn't give him that much."

"Give him…you mean…," Ian trailed of in shock, his eyes widening as the pieces fell into place.

The flight attendant let out a hearty laugh. "You drugged him. That's freakin' awesome," she laughed again before taking another swig.

"You actually drugged your husband? That seems like a happy marriage," Ian murmured.

"He's been working and hasn't slept in almost three days. I merely gave him some…encouragement." Finally looking up from her book, her eyes locked with Ian's. "And somethin' tells me that you're not one who should be throwing stones. Or was he wrong earlier?"

Ian was surprised to find himself fidgeting under the small woman's stare as his mind began to once again replay the events over the past two weeks.

"See? There's the look," the other woman piped up, a pleased, triumphant expression gracing her features.

Sniffing and then clearing his throat uncomfortably, Ian's gaze flittered between the two women. "If it's all the same with you, I'd rather not talk about my personal life with two complete strangers."

"Fine. I'm Kelly and that's…," she turned her head towards the other woman, waiting for her to interject.

"Molly."

"Molly. So…Kelly, Molly, and you're…?"

Ian blinked at her, not particularly keen on the direction this was taking.

Kelly sighed as he continued to remain silent. "Hey…you can either tell us your name, or I can make up one of my own…I'm thinkin' somethin' like Fred…or maybe-…"

"Oh, for the love of-…it's Ian, alright? Satisfied?" he huffed.

"To be honest, I was kinda liking Fred, but I guess Ian'll do. So…back to topic—what's this look we keep seeing? You just break up with someone? Or get dumped, maybe?"

"Nothing so cut and dry," Ian sighed, hoping these two women would lose their unwelcomed interest.

"Hmm…," Kelly took another sip and pursed her lips in thought. "Well, as impressive as I am, I'm not psychic, so you're gonna have to spill. What's brooding between those sideburns?"

Unable to help himself, Ian softly chuckled at the feisty woman across from him. Though he was most definitely not going to go into a full-length account, he figured that he could give the barest of details, at least enough to satisfy their curiosity.

"I'm trying to find this woman. She an-…"

"What's her name?" Molly inquired, her eyes now warm and tone sweet.

"Uh…Rose. Her name's Rose," he cleared his throat, "Anyway…we spent some time together, and one night, I...uh…I kissed her. Then I sorta…took it back."

Turning her body to face him directly, Kelly narrowed her eyes. "What do ya mean ya took it back?"

"I…," Ian ran a hand through his hair as he looked away, "I pushed her away and told her that it meant nothing. There was a lot of shouting after that—mostly from me—and then I told her I wish I'd never met her."

Slowly Ian turned his head back to face them. Molly's eyes held sadness and concern. On the other hand, Kelly's eyes were alight with fury. Before anyone could blink, she flung her drink at him. When no liquid doused Ian's face, she furrowed her brow and looked down.

"Crap…I'm all out," she grumbled before turning her fiery gaze back to Ian. "That was a real jerk move, Ian. And lemme guess…you're running away with your tail between your legs. That's real manly. Aren't you just a keeper?"

His own ire increasing, Ian narrowed his eyes. "First off, I don't speak American, so any effort to make actual sense would be greatly appreciated. Second, and most importantly, I am not running away from Rose. I'm running to her."

Molly squeaked with happiness as she covered her wide grin with her hands. Kelly merely cocked an eyebrow appraisingly, a gesture Ian returned in kind. Judging by the way she held herself, Ian would swear she was attempting to act as defender of wronged womankind.

Crossing her arms and grunting irritably, Kelly looked at Ian squarely. "Well, I tell what: you better have some kneepads because you'll be down on them for a while begging for forgiveness."

A small laugh escaped him before a smile found its way onto his lips. "I'm sure I will, but I couldn't care less. I'll beg for as long as necessary…forever, if that's what it takes."

On Saturday morning, Rose woke up later in the morning than she had anticipated. For the past several days, no matter how much she endeavored otherwise, Rose was barely able to sleep more than four solid hours; even those hours were marred by endless tossing and turning. So the fact that she'd garnered a few precious extra hours of sleep was much welcomed.

Rolling out of bed, Rose pulled on her hoodie and sleepily ambled down the stairs. As she made her way to the kitchen, she noticed that the carrying voices of her aunt and cousin were missing. Shuffling into the room, Rose saw Jim leaning against the kitchen island, hovering over a newspaper and sipping from a steaming mug.

On hearing her approach, he looked up and smiled. "Mornin', Rose. How'd you sleep?"

"Well, I slept, so I can't really complain otherwise," she walked over to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, "Where's Bev and Sally?"

"Not exactly sure. They left a few hours ago saying something about sales or purses…to be honest, I sorta zoned out. All I know is that my wallet felt lighter when the door closed, so it can't be too good for my bank account."

Rose giggled into her mug as she took a sip of the hot liquid, feeling it immediately course through her veins.

"I have a few business calls to take care of," he informed her, carrying his mug with him as he walked out of the kitchen. "You need anything before I get started?"

"Nah…I'm fine, thanks," Rose assured him with a smile. "I'm gonna shower off so I don't look like death warmed over."

Chuckling, Jim began walking towards his office. "Let me know if you need anything."

Forty minutes later, Jim sighed as he concluded the first of his many necessary calls. Though he was put out that he was forced to work on Saturday, Jim forced himself to keep a positive mindset, knowing that if he was realistically going to be able to spend time the next few weeks with his family, he'd have to make his current sacrifice.

He'd just clicked over to his email when the doorbell sounded. Rising from his desk, Jim quickly strode to the foyer and opened the door to see a tall young man waiting. His appearance was slightly disheveled, his suit wrinkled and a faint shadow formed along his jawline.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh…yes, I hope so," the man started out nervously. "My name's Ian Smith and I'm looking for Rose Tyler. Her friend Donna gave me this address. Is she here?"

Jim remained silent as he blinked a few times, seizing up the man before him. Whatever he discerned must have satisfied him, because he stepped back and opened the door wider, allowing Ian to enter. The two of them began walking the hall with Jim leading the way.

Just then, the woman in question began to walk pass them, another steaming mug in her hand.

"Hey, Rose," he called out, causing her to stop and acknowledge him. It somehow escaped his notice that her eyes widened exponentially as she caught sight of the man standing behind him." Looks like you have a vis-…"

His words ceased as the mug fell from her hands and shattered on the floor beneath her.