Disclaimer: Not mine, the BBC's. I'm just playing.

--

Once again, the Doctor ponders his penchant for choosing companions that wander off into trouble when he’s not looking, even if just for a few seconds. And there were probably even more than he can remember at this point. His memory is still a bit fuzzy on the things that happened in his more distant past. But there is nothing fuzzy about his memory of Rose, dressed as if she were the wife of the Doge, striding wide-eyed through the crowds.

He also remembers the pins that started pricking, first in his fingers and toes and then spreading over his entire body, and the static crowding in on his vision. He’d sought support against a wall for an instant, closed his eyes for a fraction of that. And now that his eyes are open again, Rose is nowhere to be seen.

Yes, typical. Then again, she’s dressed even more richly than most other people visible on the streets, and it’s not like her behaviour blends in particularly well. She shouldn’t be that hard to find. The Doctor deliberately picks a different street from the one they had come from. Knowing Rose, wherever they had been already would be the least likely place to find her now.

He has been searching for about an hour when the pins and needles start again. They are followed by an odd numbness and this time the Doctor stumbles before he can catch himself. He staggers into a group of nuns who scatter around him, crossing themselves. Only one of them pays him any attention, helping him up to disapproving comments of her sisters. When she turns away to join them, the Doctor notices the bulge under her habit that can mean only one thing. A pregnant nun? How strange.

He continues his seemingly futile search, wandering ever deeper into the back alleys of Venice. The prickling keeps returning, more and more often, and even when it goes away the Doctor is light-headed, as if he’s had too little sleep. Which is of course ridiculous. He barely needs sleep. Then again, he is clearly suffering the after effects of regeneration. Perhaps he should head back to the TARDIS and rest, to continue the search for Rose later.

No, that’s out of the question. With his memories in their current state of flux, it might even be possible that he’ll forget, and leave her here, far away from home. Unprotected. He has to find her.

The Doctor ploughs on, finding his way back to the somewhat more reputable streets. There is still no Rose to be found. His feet are starting to drag, the boots too heavy on his feet, and the wool of the jumper he’s wearing is itchy against his chest. He’s also starting to draw attention to himself. He sees some people pointing and staring, women hiding behind their fans as they turn to each other to gossip. But all of them draw away as he comes closer. Nobody seems to want to get close to him.

Then he turns a corner and immediately gets far closer to someone than is desirable. The man the Doctor has bumped into roughly shoves him out of the way, against a wall. “Get away from me, beggar.” But then the man gets a closer look at the Doctor’s face and the look of annoyed disinterest changes into a smile that doesn’t carry into the man’s cold eyes. “Casanova. Finally dressing according to your station, I see. Or are you spying on someone?” He laughs, and two men dressed in livery join with him. The woman on his arm forces a smile, but her shock at seeing the Doctor like this is clear. Then the man signals to his two servants and turns away, drawing the woman with him. “Come, darling. My father is expecting us. We’ll be late.”

The couple walks away. The two servants follow, but each administers another shove to the Doctor. Neither shove is particularly violent, but because he’s not feeling all that well to begin with, they send the Doctor reeling. This time, there’s nothing for him to find support on, and he lands sprawled in the gutter. He tries to get up, but he can barely find the strength in his arms to crawl out of the roadway. The static starts at the edges of his vision again, and closing his eyes does nothing to clear it now. Instead, the grey shimmer fills his entire field of vision and then turns dark.

--

When Rose enters Casanova’s apartment, the first thing she notices is the clutter. All of it is neatly stowed, but the whole room is full of various sorts of odd apparatus, books, and clothing. It almost works to hide the damp-riddled walls that are losing their plaster in several places.

Casanova sees her interest in some of his toys and starts explaining what they’re for. With the same enthusiasm he used when talking about his exploits, he now talks about the possibilities and beauty of science, astronomy, poetry and music. He tries to demonstrate his prowess with the violin, but it’s out of tune and he throws it aside in disgust.

In that instant, Rose sees something of the Doctor in him, the way he used to look when he’d dreamed up a marvellously impressive destination, and the TARDIS landed them someplace else.

The disgust passes quickly, and he is soon waxing lyrical about new inventions and what might come out of them, showing her pictures in the books. He even demonstrates an experiment where a small glass globe filled with water is heated over a candle until the water starts to boil and the steam escaping through vents in the sphere set it spinning. Voice full of wonder, he explains that it might one day be used to power carriages so that no more horses would be needed.

Before Rose can think of a response to that, Rocco comes up the stairs with the platters for dinner. As soon as he has served it, Casanova dismisses his servant. Rocco seems reluctant to leave, but Casanova insists, repeating his dismissal and suggesting that he take the whole night off.

Rocco takes the hint and leaves.

--

Merciful blackness.

…

Why is someone pulling at his arm and talking next to his ear? Consciousness returns fully and now it becomes clear that the talking is, in fact, scolding. The Doctor finds himself being carried by a strong black-skinned individual who, by the sound of it, is none too satisfied with the task.

“…bloody drunk. Bet he left that lady all by herself, too. Bloody idiot.”

He wants to reply, but his tongue is swollen in his mouth and doesn’t want to respond to his commands. All the Doctor manages is a half-grunted, “Bwuh?”

That gets an immediate reaction from the man carrying him. “How about that. He’s awake. Well? What happened to your clothes?”

When the Doctor can’t manage an answer, the man sets him down and shakes him. “Wake up, stupid.” The Doctor still doesn’t manage an answer, and now the tone of voice changes to one of concern. “I’ve seen you drunk before, but never this bad. Are you okay?”

What is going on here? Who is this black man, and why does he think they know each other? The Doctor shakes his head in an attempt to clear it.

The stranger seems to interpret this as an answer to his last question. He pulls the Doctor’s arm over his shoulder again and partially lifts him. “Let’s get you home, then.”

It’s a long way to go to ‘home’. It gives the Doctor’s head enough time to clear a little. He’s still unsure how long he has been unconscious, but he remembers the encounter with what must have been a nobleman. That man had called him by a name too. What was it again? Casanova.

Now something clicks. However this new face looks, it must resemble history’s greatest lover a great deal. Oh, the irony. He has probably thoroughly damaged Jack Harkness’s spiritual predecessor’s reputation as a snappy dresser, at the very least. It also explains all the odd looks he’s been drawing all afternoon. His current support must be a friend, or perhaps a servant.

Hang on, hasn’t the black man said something about a lady? Could it be Rose? It would be in keeping with her usual tendency to end up in the spot where she can cause the most trouble. Nah, probably not. After all, the major thing Casanova was famous for was never being short on female company.

They reach a tall house, which is apparently their destination, and the black man carries him up two flights of stairs. Partway up the Doctor hears a giggle, the sound unmistakable. It’s Rose. That realisation gives him a spurt of energy and he struggles free, darting up the remaining stairs.

The stairs end in a comfortably furnished room. Rose is there indeed. Standing over her, laughing with her, is a young man, half undressed by the standards of this time. They both look up at the noise of the Doctor’s entrance. Rose’s smile disappears immediately, her mouth dropping open and her eyebrows rising in the surprise of a child caught doing something she shouldn’t. Well, at least she realises she’s doing something wrong, even if it doesn’t seem to have prevented her doing it.

The reaction of the young man is a little more surprising. Initially he acts like someone irritated at being disturbed, but at the sight of the interloper he freezes and turns pale.

He must look a sight, too, all covered in dust and mud, with the collar of his oversized jacket turned up, breathing hard from the climb up the stairs.

They stand there, the three of them, frozen for the seconds it takes the black man to follow the Doctor into the room. He’s the one that breaks the silence. “Now what was that all about then? Why st-.” He must have caught sight of the tableau. “Bloody hell.”

“Well said, Rocco.” The young man is the first to recover his wits and he responds to what must be his servant. “Your companion, I presume,” he says to Rose while still staring at the Doctor.

“Yes,” the Doctor answers, and he hears Rose’s voice along with his own. The young man snorts at that and carefully, almost apprehensively, approaches the Doctor. Blue eyes gaze piercingly into his own, then start to study every inch of him.

This must be Casanova. Somehow, the Doctor had imagined him differently. Older, at least; he can’t be much over twenty. But young or not, Casanova must already be working hard at his career, because by the looks of it, he has Rose entirely at his mercy. And that’s not good, oh no. He has to get her out of here now. He ignores Casanova, who is still incredulously investigating him.

“Rose, we’re going. Come on.”

At the same time as she says: “But I don’t want to,” Casanova also interrupts him. “Not so fast, sir.” His hand grips the Doctor’s jacket as if to stop him. “Who are you, exactly, that you would leave a lady wandering alone?”

Oh, but the boy has nerve. Now the Doctor fixes a glare on the young man who has dared insult him. Everything that has happened to him today floats to the surface. This young man is in more trouble than he believes himself to be, and today the Doctor has acted as a foil for that trouble. He starts to become angry. “Who I am, sir, is someone who promised to protect her.” He gestures over to Rose. The anger does strange things to his voice. It is changing, the accent wandering northwards. “While I may have been somewhat derelict in my duties, that does not give you license to take advantage of her.” The Doctor pulls himself free of Casanova’s grip and walks over to Rose. She’s now on her feet, ready to protest, but he simply takes her by the arm before she can say anything. “Let’s go.”

Rose struggles, but anger has given him strength and the Doctor manages to push her along to the stairway. The servant, Rocco, is still too dumbstruck to do anything. Casanova protests and first tries to free Rose, but perhaps he recognises the behaviour of an enraged guardian, for he turns from protesting to pleading. The young man attests that nothing has happened, and that this much ado about it is unnecessary.

When these protests have no effect on the Doctor, he directs his pleas to Rose, asking her to calm down. Maybe he thinks the Doctor will let go of Rose then. His efforts are unsuccessful, but he is persistent; they’re already halfway down the street when Casanova finally gives up and they leave him behind.

Rose, however, does not abandon her efforts to get free. She is fighting, and it takes all his strength to keep her in check. When she finally calms down a little, enough so he can let go, she immediately pulls away from him. Well, that’s to be expected, really, but it still hurts.

She is silent until they reach the TARDIS. Once inside, when all the Doctor really still has strength for is to sag against the console, she begins berating him. For leaving her alone, for taking her away from Giac, whomever that might be, for leaving Jack behind, for changing – well, everything and anything, really.

And the only way he can maintain any sort of face, the one thing that will allow him to stand up straight, is anger. He takes every accusation she flings at him and gives it back. All the pain he has suffered today, he throws it at her and sees it strike home, shocking her into silence.

But then she drops three words, breaking the momentary calm.

Three words that break him.

Head bowed, all he can do is activate the TARDIS in obedience to them while she disappears, gone somewhere to sulk in solitude.

Three words that mean that everything he fought for today has been futile. Three words.

“Take me home.”

THE END