Finding somewhere on Plontoosh turned out to be more difficult than he'd expected. The first bar he spotted was too full to give them the privacy he craved, so he ploughed on down the streets in search of a quieter spot, chatting while tugging her along.

"I'm Scottish now, that means I get to complain about things. And have you seen these eyebrows?" he pointed at his forehead as he dodged around a badly positioned merchants stall, "these are attack eyebrows."

It was like his mouth had developed a mind of his own and he couldn't for the life of him stop babbling about his newest regeneration. He sounded like a teenager with a crush, eager to impress the object of his affections.

Rose laughed, her hand never slipping from his as they raced down the twisty, cobbled streets that surrounded the market square where he'd found her.

For the first time in this regeneration he felt alright, as if he'd found finally got his sea legs after a particularly nasty storm. He felt balanced; no longer like a whizzing top that was spinning out of control.

It was as he was digesting this novel feeling that he felt a tug on his hand and Rose pointed at a small bistro type place. The name was partly obscured by the awning and all he could see were the last three letters -olf.

It was no matter though, and he quickly discarded the issue of the name, as the place his companion had found was just what he'd been looking for: small, quiet and without a gaggle of patrons who might disturb this precious time with Rose.

A few steps and they were inside and being directed to a table towards the back of the establishment. The booth they selected was set back in a small alcove off the main room, granting them more privacy than if they'd sat at one of the more popular tables. The server came, a pleasant young Thenian who blushed purple when Rose directed one of her charming smiles in his direction, to take their orders and then they were alone. Finally, blessedly, alone.

The first round of drinks was spent catching up. Rose told him about her life in Pete's world (mostly spent working on the dimension cannon) and then it was his turn to tell her some heavily edited highlights of his life over the last millennia or so.

Highlights which somehow led to them arguing about temporal mechanics, of all things, over roast gruchak burgers.

"You're wrong, you know," Rose said between mouthfuls, "about fixed points."

The Doctor just stared at her, torn between bemusement and outrage that a human would try and school him on the laws of time. His Rose hadn't even known what temporal mechanics were when she'd travelled with him. More than that, the Rose he remembered wouldn't have dreamed of arguing with him about academic theories. Morality, yes. The ethics of his decision making, definitely. But the mechanics of time and space travel. No. It wasn't that she was stupid – far from it – more that Rose, for whatever reason, had always lacked confidence in her intelligence, and so had tended to shy away from anything scholastic.

This Rose, though, had clearly put her years in Pete's world to good use, as evidenced by her knowledge of some very advanced quantum theories, and the confident poise she showed in arguing her point.

"The problem is you've conflated a lot of separate things into one catch-all term – and I can see why your people did it, because on the surface it makes sense, yeah? If you're setting up rules to make sure people don't mess things up too much when they're mucking about in a timeline it's better to be overly cautious. But it's actually wrong. They created absolute rules to understand Time when Time is always relative. It all depends on where you're standing. For a time-linear species, everything is fixed as soon as it happens: the past is the past and only the future is in flux. Time travel though, complicates things. From a time traveller's perspective what's fixed or in flux depends on where and when you are in your personal timeline.

Rose pushed her plate away and pulled a biro out of a pocket so she could scribble something on the napkin. "See, Time is like a tapestry; each life, each decision, is another thread that makes up the pattern of Time itself." She tapped one end of her drawing, "if you look at it backwards then everything is fixed, yeah? The pattern is complete, but if you look at it from the start, or the middle…" She paused and looked at him expectantly.

His brow furrowed as he stared at the napkin, thinking through her words.

"That's true, but it doesn't change the fact that somethings are fixed. I can sense them." That should really have ended the discussion.

Rose though shook her head. "Britain's golden age under Harriet Jones, or how about the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire," she snapped her fingers, "gone like that. You can't tell me that there weren't a whole load of fixed-points that were changed there."

Well, she may have a point there, the Doctor conceded reluctantly. Time had been rewritten – giant, great, universe changing chunks of time, and Time had just compensated and adjusted. Enthralled, he leaned forwards, listening intently to Rose casually rewrite the Laws of Time.

"Things become fixed for a time traveller when the timelines get knotted, so C literally could not have happened without A occurring first, and vice versa."

"Yes," The Doctor agreed, slowly, "the circular temporal link between the two points creates a paradox." It was a trap he knew only too well, courtesy of River.

"Exactly," Rose crowed triumphantly, her hands waving with enthusiasm. "My Dad is a good example. He had to die on that day because if I'd saved him my life would have been different and I wouldn't have been in Henricks to take your hand, which would have meant I couldn't have been there to save him in the first place. That's a true fixed point." She levelled a glare at him, "that mess with the uncrowned queen of France though, that was a temporal tipping point, not a fixed point." Rose held up a hand to stop the objections she could see brewing in his stormy eyes. "Yes, she was historically important," she agreed with a thin smile, "and she played an important part in 18th century France, and it would have made some pretty big changes if she'd been killed by clockwork droids. Buuut," she drew the word out, her amber eyes firm and determined, "the timeline would have coped just fine. Her premature death wouldn't have caused a tear in the space time continuum, not like me trying to save my Dad."

"Precisely. You proved my point for me."

A wicked little grin flashed across Rose's face, making his hearts skip another beat. "Not quite. 'Cos it's about timing. I couldn't save my Dad but doesn't mean someone else couldn't have. Oh, it would have changed my entire life, probably meant we never met, but if a bystander had pushed him out of the way, or if the car had swerved, or if you'd saved him before we met the timeline would have been fine. My whole life would have changed, but the reapers wouldn't have come."

The Doctor leant back into the soft padding of the booth, his mind whirring as he considered Rose's theory. 'Well, yes, when you put it like that. That didn't mean there weren't fixed points though, because… oh. Bugger.' The Doctor thought as his mental rant derailed faster than a Hornby train going round a bend. Rassion's frilly knickers, Rose was right and he was a thrice cursed idiot of the highest order! Fixed or flux, it was all a matter of perspective.

What she said went against everything he'd been taught in the academy - and yet… and yet, it made sense. It felt right. How else could he crash through all the adventures he'd had, destruct testing Time as he went on his merry way; and didn't it make him feel like a total dunderhead that he hadn't considered Time like that before. The thing that niggled at him though was how did Rose know. This was more than advanced physics theories; not even the experts at the Time Agency in the 51st Century had this sort of understanding about timelines.

It was while Rose continued chatting through other examples to reinforce her point, that an idea started to unfurl in his mind, sparked by their discussion. A crazy, completely mad idea. Totally bonkers. Nuts. Insane.

It would mean breaking the first law of time.

And yet…

This was Rose.

Rose who within a few jumps would find him only to lose him again. Rose who he would take back in Pete's world with some cockamamie plan to dump his genocidal clone there for her to keep an eye on as some weird parole officer cum consolation prize. His unprecedented clone who he had no idea how he would turn out: had he treated Rose well, were they happy together? For all he knew his clone could be the bloody Valeyard. The point was he didn't know. He'd just left them and run…

But if Rose was right then there was a chance to… what exactly, mess with time even more than he already had? The Doctor scoffed mentally. Just because he might be able to do something didn't mean that he ought to. For all he knew, Rose had been deliriously happy in Pete's Word with his twin. He couldn't – shouldn't – jeopardise that just because he was a miserable sod who hated what his life had become.

It struck him as he sat in the booth, drinking in the sight of the woman he thought he'd never see again and pondering things that he definitely shouldn't be thinking about, that his time sense was singing even more loudly. It was starting to give him a headache with its irritatingly noisy insistence.

Reluctantly, he parked his thoughts and focussed on the annoying sense, exasperated at the interruption. Of all the Rassilon cursed times. While he was more psychically gifted in this body than he had been for several regenerations, and more aware of Time as a result, it still wasn't a talent he used often. Unlike his seventh and eighth selves, who had relished it and practically lived in the temporal realm, he preferred to avoid it. Knowing the future, in his experience, only seemed to be borrow trouble he'd rather not know about.

There was no avoiding it now though – not with the racket it was making. He must have been really out of practice, as opening his mind to the temporal realm took several moments longer than it really should have. Things didn't improve much once he'd succeeded either, as he promptly knocked his glass over in shock and felt like a total idiot that he hadn't realised before.

The Master had told him he was a sorry excuse for a Time Lord, and now it looked like he'd been proved right, because he should have known, should have seen before now.

It was Rose.

His Rose was what – who – was making his time sense go crazy.

Sitting across from him was a golden goddess, Time was literally wrapped around her, caressing her lovingly, adoringly.

It was the shock he blamed for his motor mouth once away getting away from him as he blurted, "it's all over you," before reason was restored and he shut his gob with a click.

"What's all over me?" Rose asked, looking bemused.

He met her eyes, allowing the two disparate images of the temporal and physical plains to overlay, knowing that having already opened the can of worms he had to tell her. "It's Time, Rose. All over you, wound around you, through you. It loves you."

If asked what he expected, the Doctor would have said confusion, probably tears, anger, denial – you know, the usual gamut of human emotion. What he would not have said was weary resignation… as if she already knew, or at least suspected.

"You already knew." The Doctor's question came out far more accusatory than he'd intended.

Rose's nod was hesitant, her beautiful amber eyes cautious and confused.

"Because you see Time." It was meant to be a statement, but his emotions were fluctuating like crazy, and he couldn't help the slight inflection that crept in, turning it into a question. That explained how she was so certain when arguing with him about temporal mechanics. Rose didn't just know because of books; she knew because she saw it.

Rose paled. "You said that like it's a question - like you don't know," she blurted out, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. "Oh my god, I don't find you. I don't succeed. That's why you don't know."

"No, no, precious girl," he almost tripped over himself in his haste to reassure her, sliding out of his seat and then squeezing onto her bench, so he could pull her into the safety of his arms. It was odd just how much he relished the feeling of her there, her head resting in the crook of his neck. He was the least tactile he'd ever been in this body; hated touch, in point of fact, yet he hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself since he saw Rose by the fountain, and now with her pressed so close she was practically on his lap, he felt none of the usual antsy-angst that contact made him feel. There was only peace.

Eventually though he had no choice but to let go; and Rose shifted away, taking a sip from her glass to help restore her tattered composure. "Sorry about that," she said, pressing her hands to her eyes, "s'just been a lot, these last few years."

Oh, Rose. His hearts ached.

"You do find me, and soon," he whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss there as if it would somehow ameliorate the pain he knew was coming for her.

For a moment he wasn't sure whether Rose had heard his words, but then she shifted away so she could look at him and he frowned at the pain he saw blooming in her eyes as she correctly interpreted what he hadn't said. "Oh."

Rose glanced away, eyes hollow and unfocussed as she struggled to assimilate the clue he absolutely should not have given her. She was clever, his Rose, and he knew she'd already put the pieces together and reached the right conclusion.

What he should do at this point was give her another hug, then send her on her way before he irrevocably damaged his past and her future. Rose needed to leave and go do humany-couply things with his metacrisis in Pete's World. It didn't – shouldn't – matter that Time was woven around her in a way he'd never seen (or heard) of before, a way that defied everything he'd ever thought he knew about Time. It didn't matter that it was a mystery and a puzzle and a conundrum all wrapped in one Rose Tyler shaped parcel; or that he loved all those things.

What he should do is run in the opposite direction to the temptation seated within arm's reach next to him.

What he should do is leave well enough alone.

What he does, though, is poke the bear. "You might have died before I got a chance to find out," The Doctor suggested, curious as to why Rose had jumped to the conclusion that she hadn't found him.

"S'not that simple," she answered with a shrug, still not looking at him.

The Doctor felt like he was underwater. He… but that… it was impossible. She couldn't mean… could she? He stretched out all his senses, but all he felt was Rose. There was none of the discomfort he felt around Jack. He checked again, and again, but nothing. Rose was just – Rose. She felt the same as she always did.

He stared thoughtfully at the blonde, turning the puzzle over in his mind. Maybe she meant something else, and he was just jumping to conclusions. But then another thought intruded, one which had clearly been waiting for him to get his shit together for some time: how did Rose know so much about temporal mechanics and Quantum Theory. Being able to see Time would undoubtedly help, but that sort of advanced knowledge took years to build, a decade at a minimum – and that was more time than she'd had in Pete's World, going by her youthful, unchanged features.

That led to another question he'd not asked in the original timeline: who had actually designed and built the dimension cannon.

Mickey had said something before leaving about it being Rose's baby, but the Doctor had brushed that off as proud hyperbole from her friend. He'd made an assumption. An assumption, which given all the evidence before him, could very well be wrong. He'd assumed that while Rose may have been the driving force behind its creation, that someone else had designed and built it - that someone probably being the same person/people who had built the hoppers that had saved Rose from the void. It was an assumption made on the premise that the Rose he knew had lacked both the advanced knowledge and the technical genius needed to build a device as brilliant as the dimension canon. A device which now he thought about it was much, much more sophisticated than the dimension hoppers Pete's team had used before.

Another question hit him with all the force of a black hole. Time moved faster over in Pete's World, that was how they'd known about the stars going out.

Time.

Moved.

Faster.

Fuck!

How much time had passed over there. How long had Rose been trapped in that other world before she made it back, and what did that mean for…

"How long has it been?" He asked abruptly, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen. She paused and finally looked up to study him, visibly uncertain.

"Rose," he prompted, attack eyebrows beetling with displeasure at her hesitation.

Her gaze held his, caramel coloured eyes full of something he couldn't understand. "Ten years," was her quiet answer.

The Doctor nodded. Guilt curdling in his stomach. Ten years, a further four travelling with him. Rose should have looked like she was in her mid-thirties; she should look older. Instead, she looked identical to her 20-year-old self.

He'd noticed it during that dreadful day on the Crucible but had dismissed it because it had only been a couple of years for him and he'd assumed she hadn't been in Pete's World for very long. He'd thought that universe was only running a couple of months ahead of the prime one not… not eight years.

The puzzle pieces started to drop into place. Rose's sudden knowledge of advanced physics. The confidence and maturity he could read in how she held herself. A large part of him – the part that ran from his mistakes – wanted desperately to believe that Rose's youthful looks were down to good genetics, or Pete's World having some sort of amazingly advanced age-reversing technology, but he knew in his gut that wasn't the case. He recalled Jackie as he'd last seen her on the Tardis before he'd dropped them off on that bloody beach. She'd looked older, much older, with new wrinkles and lines on her face and hands. If such technology existed in that universe, Jackie would have been one of the first to use it.

That left only one explanation – the one that made his hearts stutter and eyes sting. Rose wasn't aging.

But if so… if that was the case, then he'd trapped her in a universe not her own, with a version of him she would outlive, a man she'd have to watch grow old and die while she remained the same. Desperate for reassurance that he was wrong, the Doctor turned inwards mentally searching for the Web of Time, looking for the thread that was Rose Tyler.

He'd never seen her timeline before, had never even glimpsed it. Seeing it now, he was blinded by the truth he should have seen already, and he wished he'd been brave enough to look.

There had been good reasons, solid reasons why he hadn't tried to peak. Reasons he cursed now. His time sense had been too badly damaged when he'd first met her to even try looking at her timeline, and by the time he'd regenerated and could have done so, he'd lacked any desire to know in case it confirmed his greatest fear; that he would lose her.

Idiot. If he'd only looked back then all of this could have been avoided, because the truth was undeniable, unavoidable and explained what his time sense had already tried to tell him, what he'd been too stupid to understand. Rose wasn't wrapped in Time. She was Time.

Suddenly her being what he'd thought was the Moment's interface made sense; because Rose – his Rose – was a goddess.

And not just any goddess.

He finally knew her for who she really was: the legendary Daughter of Time.