St. Petersburg, Russia
1905

The Doctor straightened his tailcoat, and smoothed a hand over his hair. He'd come here to see Anna Pavlova premiere her most famous role, but found himself captivated by the beautiful young woman admiring the view from the theatre box. He was certain he'd never laid eyes on her before, and yet…there was something familiar about her. She was exquisite - blonde hair, sparkling brown eyes, and a warm and wonderful smile. Her gown was a dainty confection of pale pink chiffon and delicate beads, and she carried a nosegay of pink rosebuds. She turned at the sound of his footsteps.

"Doctor, I -" Rose gasped in surprise at the strange man who'd entered the box. She noted absently that he was quite handsome in his formal attire, but the reddish hair that waved softly around his face was definitely at odds with the way all the other gentlemen were groomed. "Sorry," she murmured.

"Forgive me, mademoiselle," he replied, with a bright, open smile. "I was admiring your lovely gown. Quite ahead of the fashion." 'By a good five years,' he added silently.

"It's…from Paris," she supplied quickly.

"And yet, you sound English."

"I travel."

"What a coincidence. So do I." And then he felt it - a timeline threatening to tangle into incomprehensibility if he did not remove himself from the vicinity post haste. "Ah," he sighed, with a sad little smile. Stepping forward quickly, he took Rose's white-gloved hand in his own and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. "'Til we meet again."

Rose stared at him in utter confusion. "Wait - who are you?" she called after him.

***

"I still don't understand the significance of a dying waterfowl," Nyssa protested, as she had been, ever since the Doctor proposed this outing.

"It's not an actual swan," Tegan attempted to explain, yet again. "It's a ballet. The ballerina plays the swan."

"Why?" Nyssa asked, still obviously puzzled.

"It's a form of artistic expression," the Doctor informed her. "Ah. Here we are. I believe this is our box. Or perhaps not…" his voice trailed off as he caught sight of the blonde girl already seated there. "I…uh…excuse us, please," he stammered, suddenly bewildered, without quite knowing why.

"S'all right," Rose assured him, smiling. It seemed to be her night for handsome fellows wandering about the place. This one had sandy hair, and a pleasant, open expression. He was wearing what appeared to be an old-timey cricket outfit, and was accompanied by two girls about Rose's age, dressed in lovely embroidered white lace frocks.

The taller girl noticed his open-mouthed stare and nudged her companion with a smirk.

"I beg your pardon," the Doctor said at last, "have we met?"

"Don't think so," Rose replied.

"Are you certain? I travel quite a bit. Perhaps -?"

"So do I. I'm pretty sure I'd remember you," Rose laughed, eyeing the stalk of celery pinned to his lapel.

"You…travel? Ooohhh…" His eyes widened. "Right then, Nyssa, Tegan, we've obviously wandered into the wrong box. Mustn't intrude on this lady's privacy any longer. Off we go." He shepherded his companions back out into the corridor, but paused for one last wistful glance over his shoulder.

Rose turned back to face the incredibly ornate stage, wondering where on Earth the Doctor had gotten himself to. Surely the ballet must be about to start? She was also becoming just a touch unsettled by the strange intrusions. They seemed harmless enough, but still…

"Romana, I- Oh, do forgive me," the tall man with wild curly hair who had just burst into her box apologized. "I was looking for a blonde haired young lady wearing a pink gown."

Rose glanced down at herself, then back up to him, raising one eyebrow and grinning cheekily.

"Right. Yes, of course. I meant to say, a different blonde haired young lady wearing a different pink gown." He shook his head, trying to clear it. Centuries old, and here he was, staring entranced at a young human girl and babbling like an idiot. The strangest notion presented itself to his formidable intellect. "Have we -?"

The weirdest idea crossed Rose's mind. Fashion just slightly out of sync, the odd sense of familiarity, a celery stalk for an accessory - and this one, with question marks on his collar. Suddenly, everything fell into place. "No, not like you're thinkin,'"

His blue eyes brightened maniacally. "Oh. Oh! Well, then, I'd best be off!" With that, he whirled around in a flourish of coat and scarf and vanished back into the depths of the theatre.

Rose flopped back into her seat, trying to muffle the giggles which she knew were totally at odds with the ladylike demeanor her surroundings demanded.

The Doctor paused on silent feet in the entrance of their box, utterly charmed by the vision before him. He'd never tell her, but he hadn't planned this excursion just to see Pavlova. That would be lovely, of course and he thought Rose would enjoy the spectacle of the theatre, but he'd deliberately chosen a destination that would give her an opportunity to play dress up. She'd adored searching through the wardrobe for the perfect gown, and he adored her - seeing her - that is, so delighted.

Rose noticed him standing there and smiled up at him. "Where've you been then? They must be about to start."

"I needed to check on something. Wouldn't want our lovely evening to be disturbed by having to go save the world, would we? There were some -"

"Temporal anomalies?" Rose supplied.

"Right. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." Rose held out her hand and drew him into the seat beside her. She gifted him with a side-wise glance and a rather enigmatic smile, then laced her fingers firmly through his. This particular Doctor was hers, and she wasn't about let him swan off.