The not-plan may have been simple, in theory at least, but that was where simple ended. With such a tight set of restrictions required in terms of timing and location, plotting the course was a nightmare - even for the Doctor's frankly magnificent brain. Then there was the turbulence for him to contend with. Turbulence which pitched him from one side of the console room to the other with dangerous, punishing, force.

Finally, through what felt like sheer force of will, the Doctor managed to get the materialisation sequence started.

The landing was one of the roughest he'd ever experienced as the Tardis rebelled against her senses and the inconvenient protocols which were designed to prevent doing exactly what the Doctor wanted her to do. The force of the Old Girl's fight sent him crashing to the floor more than once, adding to his motley collection of bruises, until, finally, the vibration stopped and everything stilled.

Disorientated, and with blood trickling down the side of his face from where he'd bashed it at some point on the console, the Doctor stood on shaking legs before he staggered towards the doors.

The landing might have been rubbish, but the sight that greeted him was perfect.

"Rose," he beamed at her, "found you." Then he keeled over.

~*o0o*~

When he came to 1.35892 minutes later, it was to a very welcome sight. Rose. She'd found him.

"Hello sweetheart," he beamed at her, giddy with relief and excitement at the very welcome, if surprising, sight of his beloved.

"Wh-what?" Rose stuttered in articulately. Her eyes flicking between him and the looming shadow of his Tardis just behind him. "Who're you?"

Oh, right. He'd regenerated. His grin slipped a little. Damn. Somehow, despite all the careful not-planning he'd been doing, he'd completely forgotten he was wearing a different face from the Doctor she was with now. Internally he cursed in twenty-three languages before the Tardis gave him a mental nudge and he realised he was wasting precious time.

Manic grin once more pasted in place, he leapt to his feet… with more enthusiasm than sense, as it turned out. As he promptly lost his balance again and careened into the wall opposite.

"Woah," Rose shouted, darting after him to steady him before he could injure himself any further, with a concerned, "you alright, mate."

"Course I am," he declared, only swaying slightly. "Superior biology, me." He tacked on at her disbelieving expression.

Rose raised an eyebrow, "if you say so."

"I do."

"Right then, fancy introducing yourself. Only I'm not having the best day and I'm pretty sure all the crew are dead and being roasted as we speak. So that makes me wonder who – and what – you are." Oh, that would be what that smell was then. He'd forgotten that little nugget of information. No wonder Rose was looking less than her usual lovely self. It was a rather nauseating smell, and his poor love didn't have the benefit of a Gallifreyan constitution to help her.

"I'm the Doctor," he said, puffing up his chest and holding his lapels in a habit that could only have come from his first incarnation. Afterwards, he couldn't say exactly what he'd expected Rose to do with his announcement. But laugh at him wasn't it.

"No you're not," Rose retorted, her expression growing cold. "Pull the other one, mate, it's got bells on."

This wasn't in the plan. In the not-plan Rose had known it was him, but real Rose was not following not-plan-Rose's script. Confused, he tried again. "It's me Rose. Your Doctor. Hello." He beamed at her.

Rose's frown transformed into a dark glower as she shook her head. "No, you're not. My Doctor is in France."

"Look," he said, flailing around for ideas and landing on the two most obvious attributes he had to speed things along. He pointed at the Tardis, "I've got the Tardis, and.." he fished around in his pocket until he felt a likely shape and pulled it out to show her, "I've got a sonic screwdriver. Who else do you know who's got those two things."

"Having the Tardis and a sonic screw driver doesn't make you the Doctor," Rose said defensively, crossing her arms with a mulish expression. "You could've stollen them."

Oh for Rassilon's sake, not this god forsaken conversation again. Still, he thought as he resolutely shoved his mounting irritation back down before he made things worse, he couldn't really blame her, could he. It wasn't like she'd been expecting a second, handsomer, Doctor to suddenly appear while she busy waiting for another - definitely inferior - one.

Sighing, he stepped closer, offering his hand as he said softly, "it's me, sweetheart. Truly. Do you remember when we first met. I took your hand and said one word - just one: I said, run, and we did. We raced across the stars, you and I. Burning suns, demented flaps of skin, cat nuns, daleks and flirty ex-cons." He pressed her hand in the centre of his chest, waiting for her to feel the twin thumps of his hearts. Hearts that belonged totally, and utterly, to her.

"We ran so fast and so far, didn't we." He murmured, mesmerized by the super nova's in her eyes.

"Doctor," her voice whispered across both his ears and the nascent bond. With his barriers down, the bond was outright singing at the contact between them, urging him on. Pushing him to close the distance and finish what he'd started centuries before.

"My Rose," was all he could manage before he pulled her into his arms and lifted her clear off the floor so he could swing her around as he attempted to regain control of his inconveniently timed hormones. Honestly, he wasn't a green youngling anymore of only 70. He was well over 1500 years old, and a graduate of the Time Lord Academy (if only just); he bloody well ought to be able to control his body or, at the very least, have more control than he currently had. Rose's proximity after all this time, though, seemed to be doing some very strange things to him.

When he - finally - set her back on the ground, she leant back to study him properly. Amber eyes tracing every feature and change.

"You've regenerated," she said so quietly he had to strain to hear her. "Was it… the droids?" She asked, sounding almost fearful.

What? What on Rassilon's frilly knickers was she on about: what droids? He was just about to put his foot in it and undoubtedly make the situation much worse when he remembered. They were on the space station with windows through to France. His idiot other self was right now down there, having stranded himself in a truly impressive fit of idiocy, because of the aforementioned droids.

"Oh god," she breathed, "you died. Something happened down there and you regenerated again." Then she shook her head, her eyes darting between the blue box behind him and a point out of sight. "No, that's no right, the Tardis is still here, that means you're another you. And only with you would that sentence make sense."

He smiled gently at the blonde, "that's right, sweetheart. It wasn't the droids who caused me to regenerate." Not that was he going to tell her what had caused him to regenerate. There was only so much future knowledge he dared to tell her, and he was already stretching the First Law of Time close breaking point by being here, so he really didn't want chance it.

Instead of looking reassured though, Rose paled, the blood draining from her cheeks so fast that for a moment he was scared she was about to faint.

"But that means…" she glanced behind her at a blank wall, despair telegraphed in every line of her beloved face.

What? Then the realisation hit him with all the force of a cricket bat to the face. Buggering fuck. It was that wall. The Wall. Capitals very much intended. The wall which had housed the mirror he'd crashed through on a white horse not that long ago. Rose – his beautiful, wonderful, precious girl – thought he'd chosen to stay there and had regenerated from old age.

Like hell. Not even his egocentric, hair obsessed, previous self had considered doing that. He'd been there less than an hour and the desire to get back had been so strong he'd been tempted to start ripping the palace apart. But Rose had no way of knowing that.

"No, sweetheart," he started, uncertain where he was going but trusting his gob to get him there nonetheless. "You've got it wrong. I didn't… that is, what you're thinking didn't happen. I didn't stay there. This face," he waved a hand, nearly hitting himself in the nose, "magnificent as it is, is a long way off for you. A long, long, very long way off, and has absolutely nothing to do with France. Scouts honour."

The rambling – though rather embarrassing – had clearly done the trick, as it coaxed a small smile from a still pale Rose. "You were never a boy scout," she said, with some of her usual cheekiness.

The Doctor grinned, bright and manic. That was better. "Oh, I don't know," he commented, making a show of checking his trousers, "I rather think I've got the legs for it, and I'm good with knots."

"Wha-, no, you know what. I don't want to know," Rose shook her head with a fond smile. It wasn't quite his favourite megawatt grin, but he'd take it over his precious girl crying any day of the week.

"Hello," he repeated, large hands moving of their own volition to tenderly cup her cheeks. In that moment what he wanted more than anything else was to lean down and kiss her. Kiss her as he should have done centuries before on that horrible beach in Norway. Kiss her the way he did in his deepest, most secret fantasies.

It felt like gravity was pulling him in, pulling him inexorably closer and closer to his pink and yellow girl. He was just tilting his head, ready to finally get the kiss that haunted his dreams, when the moment was abruptly shattered by Rose stepping back to lean against the wall. Her pink cheeks the only evidence of what had been so close to happening.

She cleared her throat and looked at the floor, her hands twisting nervously in the front pocket of her hoodie.

The Doctor was stupefied. What in fuck's name had happened there. Why had Rose rejected him. She loved him, he knew she loved him, so what was that. Could he have moved too fast for her? Regeneration was difficult for the human mind to grasp, as he knew only too well, but he'd been certain Rose had understood, that she'd been receptive. Did she need more time to get used to this face? There was nothing for it, he considered morosely, he was going to have to ask, wasn't he. The Doctor opened his mouth to let out the storm of words brewing inside him, but shut it again with a click when Rose's voice cut across him.

"What are you doing here, Doctor? I thought there were rules about this - about crossing your own time stream. My… that is, the other you said It's why we couldn't use the Tardis to set things right in France."

"And he's right," the Doctor paused, then added, "weeeell, not completely, of course. Only sort of right." He grimaced, pained to admit that muppet had got anything right. Having said that, Even a stopped clock was right twice a day… or once if it was one of those 24-hour digital ones. So past him was bound to have got somethings correct, if only because of the laws of statistics. Pleased to have reconciled this particular bit of cognitive dissonance, the Doctor refocussed on the task at hand:

"Using the Tardis when you're a part of events is difficult. It requires incredible accuracy, intelligence and luck so you don't accidentally muck things up and cause a paradox or damage to the web of time. So, it's not so much that past me couldn't, rather he decided it was too risky. Now, me; I'm older, wiser and lot cleverer than that pinstriped buffoon."

Rose fidgeted, eyes still firmly on the floor. "Still doesn't explain why're you're here. Why here. Why now."

Ahh, now that was more like the Rose he remembered. Always asking the right questions, his Rose.

"Are you here to save him?" she asked softly, eyes dark with complex emotions he had difficulty reading.

Bugger, the Doctor growled internally. Why in all the time he'd spent thinking about this moment had he not thought to plan how he was going to explain this to Rose. Of course she was going to ask that.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly, exhaustion starting to well and truly set in now. Was it really only 20 hours ago he'd been on Shan Shen talking to Gheheris? It felt a lot longer.

Burning with a fierce desire to claim the future he'd glimpsed in that tea shop he'd done his usual thing of jumping in head first without care or consideration for the consequences. In hindsight, it might have been better if he'd waited a couple of hours so he could catch-up on some of the sleep he'd missed since the disaster of Demon's Run, but instead he'd just charged ahead; and now he was committed to this course his impetuosity had set him on.

"In a manner of speaking," he finally replied, anxiety crawling up his spine. This was the critical bit. Somehow he had to convince Rose to come with him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rose demanded, clearly irritated by his non-answer.

"Exactly that," he clasped her hand, lacing their fingers together just as they used to do. Her hand still fit. It gave him the courage and energy to continue. He had only one shot at this – and he was NOT going to mess it up. "In order to do so, I need to know one thing. Rose Tyler, do you trust me?" he asked.

Rose paused for one hearts stopping moment before slowly nodding.

The Doctor let out a long breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding. He pressed her hand, torn between a dizzying mix of gratitude, elation and terror. "Because I need your help," he admitted, softly, unsure for the first time whether this cunning not-plan of his was going to work.

He needn't have worried. Rose just squared her shoulders and said: "What do you need me to do."

The Doctor grinned, "first things first, I need to grab something from the other Tardis. Then, Rose Tyler, I need you to come with me. Don't worry," he quickly added, "we won't be gone long and I promise you'll be back before last-me returns."

"He does get back then?" Rose asked in a subdued tone.

"Oh, yes. Don't worry about that. Past-me will be absolutely fine. And so will you." It wasn't much of an explanation, he knew, but it was the best he had. Time was passing far too fast as it was. Once inside his Tardis he could explain more, but for now he just needed for them to get moving.

"Okay, then, our Tardis is that way," Rose pointed down another corridor. "I'll show you the way."

Delighted at both her response and the fact that she was still holding his hand, he squeezed her fingers and grinned. "Lead on, sweetheart."

~*o0o*~

The other Tardis wasn't far away, but he was glad for a guide as after several hundred years he couldn't remember exactly where he'd parked her the last time he'd been here. Rose was quiet on the walk, and unusually pensive. He'd expected her to ask questions he wouldn't be able to answer, but no. Instead, they just trotted along hand-in-hand in companionable silence.

It was nice, the Doctor decided, squeezing the hand he was holding and delighted when, despite not talking to him, Rose squeezed back. It felt right. Still, it was a relief when he finally spotted the younger version of the Tardis, sat innocuously by a control panel. Time was flying away and he had no idea exactly when in the five and half hour window he'd landed.

Rose broke away from him in order to hammer on the door to the younger Tardis, bellowing loudly, "Micks, I need you." From the inside her heard a sullen sounding, "Yeah?"

That was odd. He was fairly certain his Tardis ought to be soundproof. It was a standard setting, even his brain corroded previous self shouldn't have been able to muck that up. Given the audible response from inside though, either his moronic last incarnation had somehow managed to turn the setting off, or Sexy must have decided to help Rose out. She'd always been inordinately fond of their pink and yellow girl, he recalled fondly. Fresh flowers every day in her bedroom. A giant spa sized bath that appeared after one horrible misadventure ended with her covered in slime. There was always a ready - seemingly never ending - supply of her favourite treats, including Aponechian chocolate. And so the list went on. He certainly couldn't remember her doing that for any of his previous companions. Even River - allegedly a child of the Tardis - only merited a nice room and the occasional mug of tea.

There was a creak from the door as it swung open to reveal a grumpy looking Mickey Smith.

"Who's this guy," Mickey asked, sounding only slightly less put out than he looked. "Did one of the crew survive?"

"He's the Doctor," Rose said, in a tone laden with subtext Time Lord didn't understand.

Mickey scratched his head. "What, another one? How many bleeding faces does a guy need."

Well, the Doctor considered, that was refreshingly easy. He'd completely forgotten that Mister Mickey would be on this particular adventure. No matter. It wasn't like his presence altered the plan all that much. Rose had already proved she was willing to run off with him and leave him once before, he was sure she'd be happy to do so again this time. He grinned and bounced forward to pull a resistant Mickey into a hug; pleased at the chance to see the other man again.

"Mick-micky, how are you. Long time no see. How's the misses? No, wait, forget I said that," he waved a hand in the air, nearly smacking Mickey in the face, "too early. Far too early. Not even met her yet." The last time he'd seen Mr and Dr Smith, they'd been working for UNIT and finding their own trouble to get into.

The boy frowned, brown eyes glaring at him contemptuously as he backed out of grabbing reach. "Do your people get younger when you regenerate or something?"

The Doctor preened. This regeneration really was rather fine, wasn't it. His youngest looking yet, and the handsomest, if he was any judge. Rose had already given him an appreciative once over and was even eyeing him up right now. He struck a pose.

"What do you think?" He asked, doing a slow twirl to show off his frankly magnificent coat. So much better than a pinstripe suit. Honestly, he had no idea what his previous self had been think when he'd chosen that ensemble. Velvet was much better.

"God, you really are the same man," Mickey muttered, sounding distinctly unimpressed.

"Oh, an upgrade, surely," the Doctor replied with a wide grin, spreading his arms out so Mickey could get a look at his fine physique. One hand nimbly pulled the sonic out, twirling it expertly between his fingers. "Even my sonic is better. It has prongs and seventy-eight new settings," he flicked the switch with his thumb. The prongs really did make it, didn't they. Sandshoes him didn't have a sonic with prongs on it.

Instead of looking impressed though – as he'd expected – Rose and Mickey just shared a look. A look he didn't like. Why were they looking at each other and not at him. He adjusted his hold and selected a setting bound to elicit a reaction. The sonic let out a shrill whistle that made all the overhead lights flicker.

He looked up and grinned, ready and waiting for the applause but met only stony silence. Clearly what they needed was an explanation.

"It's an anti-bat setting, I added it on for you, Rose, in case we bump into any more Krillitane," he beamed proudly. Then in the interest of honesty, added: "it also works fish, ghouls, people with sensory issues, and can summon every canine type creature within a five mile radius."

"Wow," Rose said weakly. "Seventy-eight new settings, yeah? Any of those for cutting through concrete or opening wooden doors?"

Ouch. That hurt. The wide, happy grin that had been fixed to his face since he'd found her froze and started to slide away. What? Mickey he could understand. The lad had always been a prickly sod, especially pre-parallel Mickey who had yet to find his confidence and grow up, but he'd expected Rose at least to be impressed. But she wasn't. If anything she was looking distinctly apathetic. Unimpressed, uninterested and unhappy. Lots of un words that didn't fit with the Rose of his memories. He didn't like it.

He shook himself. The mystery of Rose's reaction would have to wait. Time was running on and here he was showing off. If he didn't hurry his idiot-previous self would be back and that really would mess up the not-plan – and quite possibly any hope of fixing this car-crash of a timeline with it. The Doctor clapped his hands together, rubbing them in an attempt to dispel the anxiety that was beginning to eat at him. On to the next part of the not-plan.

"Now then, can't stand around here chin-wagging all day. Just need to pop into the Tardis to get something, then Rose an I will be off," The Doctor sang, fiddling with his bow-tie to disguise the discomfort creeping up on him. In the dim recesses of his mind the half formed thought that he was missing something died as optimism bludgeoned it back into the abyss.

If the Time Lord had stopped to think about it he'd have realised that this was not only the worst thing he could have said at that moment but also quite probably the worst way he could have said it, but uncertainty at Rose's strange behaviour combined with jubilation at the successful execution of his not-plan made him glib and gobby. Two traits he'd forgotten were almost guaranteed to wind people up, let alone two who had already experienced a rather stressful day and were not currently best pleased with his last incarnation.

The last thing the Doctor saw was Mickey's fist flying towards his face. Then blackness swallowed him.