Stay.

He watches himself when he's wearing leather.

He finds himself unconsciously rubbing the place where his ears should be, speaking and wondering where that accent's gone, running a hand through his long, floppy hair and wondering whether he should cut it short. (He doesn't dare look at himself in pinstripe, he can't look). He sees her, and his hearts stutter and flip but he doesn't approach. He doesn't like the feeling - anticipation, fear, nausea. She's here, and she's alive and real.

He does little things, brushes past on her the street - "Sorry, sorry - my fault - sorry" - and sits behind her in restaurants. He avoids the leather, knows that his other self will recognise and see him, and he's afraid. Nervous of the Northern accent and calloused, weathered hands. Afraid of how much she broke them, him.

Once he asked her how to get to Charing Cross. "Sorry, mate - I dunno. Uh, Mickey?" - he'd trounced off with a smile and "Don't worry about it" - it had just been too tempting. She'd been this close.

Sometimes he thinks of Amy. He'd leave her in the swimming pool, reading Jane Austen and listening to The XX and he'd miss her. He liked how she was - how she made him feel. But he couldn't slip. He couldn't let slip on Rose.

One time he was too close.

"Have I seen you before?"

He's startled by him, sitting down, shuffling his bow tie. It's Saturday, just after lunch - his Marks & Spencer's sandwich box is sitting next to him, he bought a bakewell tart, too - and he was just sitting, watching, quietly. Rose has gone - he's not sure where, but by the looks of it, Leather is upset.

"No," the Doctor replies, calmly, eating his sandwich, avoiding eye contact. Promptly, he gets up. "Sorry, must go."

Tardis, Tardis, Tardis …

Where did he park that thing?

He starts to move, conscious Leather is behind him. He fumbles around with his keys, thinks about Amy worriedly, and looks behind him.

Leather is there.

His eyes brew a storm and his stride is powerful.

He's afraid of himself. He scoffs.

He walks to his Tardis, still aware of Leather's presence and turns, eyeing reproachfully.

He can't remember this meeting, but he can't remember a lot of things.

"You're me," Leather says, skewing his mouth, his eyes still dark, wary. A pause. He smirks, then -

"How old are you - twelve?"

The Doctor almost smiles. "Older than you. Technically."

The silence is strange. He's strangled for words, talking to himself. "You shouldn't be here." He finds the accent strangely comforting, but the warning is clear.

"I needed to see her," he admits quietly.

Leather frowns, and then nods. He understands.

"Don't waste it," he breathes. "Time with her … it's short." He swallows, thick, dry.

"I have to go." Leather turns - the doors of the Tardis swing open.

"Amy!" The Doctor yells, pressing the redhead into an embrace, eyeing Leather over her shoulder. He leaves the alleyway. "Let's go. I promised you Rio, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I - who's that?" she asks, staring after Leather and his meaningful stride. The Doctor shrugs.

"No idea."

He shuts the door.

"I'm off, uh, again. You gonna be okay here?"

She's lying lazily on a blow-up crocodile in the pool, "VCR" playing out of her miniature Sony speakers, fiery hair pulled up into a bun. He avoids staring at her - his eyes narrowly avoid grazing over her body - as he knows is her intention.

"Where do you keep going?" she asks, her eyes wary - hurt, even. He smiles, softly, reaches a hand down into the cool water.

"Nowhere particular. You wouldn't like it."

She swallows - makes a sort of choking noise, and then decides to say whatever got strangled in her throat. "Is there someone else?" The words resonate around the room for a moment, and he retrieves his hands from the watery depths. He blinks, considering how to answer that question. "Tell me."

"No," he says, finally. "There's nobody else, Amy. Only you. I only need you." She smiles, softly - but her eyes don't believe him. He strokes her temple and smiles again, "I'll be back soon."

The song changes to Islands, and he leaves the pool.

The guilt claws away at him, but he still watches her, dark eyes hovering over her. Leather spots him sometimes and he sprints back to the Tardis. Amy is always waiting for him.

He bites his lip.

He keeps hanging, looming - watching, waiting. He wants Leather to do something wrong so he can go to her, comfort her.

(Apparently, he never does.)

He contemplates going back to Amy several times, but then he'd hear her laugh and remember that joke, how she used to laugh at his stupid ears. Apple grass.

Pinstripe is harder to avoid.

He never catches his eye, but he sees glimpses as he walks around Rose's estate - the brown trenchcoat, the Converse. He hears his own laugh and feels ill.

Pinstripe is harsher. Rose cries sometimes, when he drops her home. He stays with her and she loves him and he loves her but neither of them say it.

He hits his head with his hand. So many things could be different.

Leather and Pinstripe never coincide. Leather doesn't mess up with his TARDIS - never accidentally lands in 2007 and bumps into Pinstripe and fucks up everything. Pinstripe seeing Rose would be a bad idea.

So why was he doing it?

"What was your name again?"

"Smith," he says, rubbing his nose. "John Smith."

She smiles and nods, looking awkwardly at him and then at Mickey. She kicks him under the table. He shoots her a look.

Rose sighs, fiddles with her fingers.

She isn't too sure about 'Smith, John Smith'. His hair comes down to his chin and when you got to his chin you can't see much else. He keeps looking at her strangely. Not in an uncomfortable way, an interesting way. Still - pretty weird.

Oh, and he's wearing a bow tie.

She laughs to herself, eating chips. Mickey and John are in some kind of deep conversation. John keeps laughing - it's an appealing noise - and using his overly large hands to demonstrate things.

The Doctor hasn't come back.

It's been a day or so, but she misses him. His V-Neck t-shirts and old leather jacket. She bites her lip.

"Rose?" Mickey is taking her chips off her and getting up. "I've gotta get back. Dinner's at seven." She nods and looks up, John is looking at her.

Mickey bends and kisses her forehead and she smiles, slightly, and is left with John.

He stands there, awkwardly, whilst she gets up.

"Where do you live?" he asks, politely, his dark eyes looking her over.

"Wait." She puts a hand on his bow-tie, and takes it off. "And braces?" She grins and he blushes. "I gotta take you shopping. Stuff going home. You look like you live in the 1800s or somethin'." She smiles her toothy smile, feeling around for her tube ticket in her bag.

He's still watching her. She kind of likes it.

Baggy jeans and a plaid shirt later, he looks relatively normal. Still eclectic, out of time and all, but nice. She smiles, putting the tweed, braces and bow-tie into a plastic bag, which she hands to him and he carries, grinning.

"Soo. Smith, John Smith. How do you know Mickey?"

He smiles casually, she likes his smile. "Friend of a friend."

She raises an eyebrow: "Well, how long are you sticking around?" she's biting her lip, and he licks his.

"As long as you want to see me."

"Okay then."

"Okay."

She's grinning now. "Well, call me."

"Okay."

"Okay," she laughs and he likes the tone. She reaches up and kisses his cheek and he leans in, just to feel her, for a few moments.

"Bye, Rose."

"Bye, 'Smith, John Smith'," she giggles and turns back into Powell Estate.

Then, he slumps to the pavement. This is a bad, bad idea.

He continues to see her 'accidentally'. When he brushes past her on the street now, there's recognition, a cry of surprise and his favourite toothy smile. She complains when he wears the bow-tie and braces, asks him where the shirts gone. Sometimes he sees her with Leather and he sprints away quickly, before Leather can realise it's him and before she can call after him.

"So, 'Smith, John Smith', where are you taking me today?" she grins at him. He smiles secretively, and taps his nose, leading her by the hand. He likes her hand - how it fits so perfectly with his. She groans with the suspense and moves her hands up to his elbow, tucking his arm in with hers. She likes to keep him close, keep him safe. She feels weirdly protective of 'Smith, John Smith' the man with the floppy hair, the massive chin and the bow-tie. The way she catches him looking at her, like he'd never leave her, like he's so scared of losing her. So she does the protecting for him, holding him close to her at all times. It doesn't make her uncomfortable, in fact it makes her like him more.

Mickey was hardly chuffed when she told him she liked 'Smith, John Smith', and hasn't told Leather about him at all. He questions where she 'swans off to' sometimes, but she just says to see Mickey. She knows that he doesn't believe her. But, for once, she doesn't care.

They walk steadily up a staircase, talking and laughing as they do. Finally, they meet the top floor and he pulls down a metal ladder, and beckons her to go up.

Meeting her, is a sea of roses. Red roses and white roses, glowing in the summer evening sun. She throws her head back with her wonderful, soft laugh and turns to the man with a great big smile on her face. "They're wonderful."

"You're wonderful," he grins and she laughs harder.

"You're cheesy," she says, poking him in the chest. He smiles and picks a rose up and gives it to her. "I love them."

He smiles and his eyes twinkle in the sun. Softly, she kisses him and his smile brightens.

Still, a bad bad idea.

But it's worth it.

He's lying on the sofa with his head in Amy's lap. She's reading a magazine, and his hands are resting upon his chest. He checks his watch and shoots up. He's late. She reacts quickly, and grabs his wrist.

"You're going to see her again, aren't you?"

He stares at her, breath caught in his throat.

"What? Who, Amy - I - nobody -"

And then she kisses him. He's not sure how to react, his hands are frozen in mid-air, before he responds softly, then pulls away. "Amy, I - "

"I don't want you to leave me," she says quietly.

"I - "

"Doctor, please."

She kisses him again, and he sighs against her, her mouth soft and his wanting.

"I have to go," he says quietly.

"Doctor - " Her hands scrape at his braces, his lapels, his fingertips -

But he's already gone.

When he finds her, she's grinning that toothy grin and he can't help but grin back. His chest is heaving and she's so close and -

his lips collide with hers. She's shocked, but then responds quickly, eagerly, fisting her fingers in his hair, gasping against his mouth.

It's only when she attempts to unbutton his shirt that he stops her and stares. "I'm so sorry."

"No, John, it's fine - "

"It's not fine."

He stares at the floor with contempt and tries not to look at her. Rose. Amy. Rose. Amy.

"Tell me you love me," he asks desperately. Rose lets out a slightly shocked laugh. "Please," he begs.

"I - John, what? I …" she laughs again. "I like you, John. A lot but, I don't … I don't love you."

He presses his forehead into her shoulder. "You love him, don't you? Your Doctor."

She tenses, pushes him away. "How do you know the Doctor?"

"I know a lot of people."

She looks at him, her eyes wide, her stance wary. "John." Her laugh is anxious, wary. She repeats his name several times, his eyes still shining at her. Then she swallows her word and gasps. "John, John Smith, it's … it's you, you're him, how - how? No! It can't be -"

He watches her as she gasps, her hands go to her mouth and she whimpers. "Rose -"

"I can't. I'm sorry, I just can't." And she leaves.

They don't talk about the kiss.

She finds him watching her sometimes, but she shies away from questions, shies away from his hands, his eyes, his lips, from him.

She's sitting under the metal grates of the control room, her red her glittering from the green and gold aura, the colours, the beauty. She takes in a sharp breath when he finds her.

"Amy."

"Doctor."

He lies down next to her, his hands on his stomach. It's not long before she curls into him, and his hands envelop her waist.

They still don't talk about it.

He waits a month before he looks for Rose again.

He still feels Amy's lips, feel her hair. They share looks in the hallway, echoes of desire and missed feelings - moments, but it's unspoken. But then he hears her laugh echoing in his mind and he has to, he just has to find her.

He does it when Amy's sleeping. They often fall asleep on the sofa in the library together, and he disentangles himself before heading off to London.

He finds her finally when her hair is short and smile is older. She's surrounded by Pinstripe, and Pinstripe never leaves like Leather does. Pinstripe stays and holds and loves and they're perfect. He finds himself leaving in bitterness alone, loneliness ebbing away at him, before he finds Amy and her solitude and worming his way into her heart instead.

Eventually he finds her alone, somewhere between Queen Victoria with the werewolf and finding Sarah Jane Smith. She's humming and happy and different, different from younger, naïve Rose.

She stops when she sees him and opens her mouth to speak.

"Rose," he says quietly. She walks towards him slowly.

"I didn't tell him - I mean, you. About - well, you."

"Good."

"Yeah."

She smiles gently, and wraps her arms around his waist. "You were never mine to keep, Rose. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," her smile is different this time: knowing. "I have my time with you now, and then time with you you in the future."

He laughs, doesn't correct her. Can't correct her. Can't tell her where she'll end up, though his hearts burn with the agony of not being able to. "I don't think I'll see you again. Not like this, anyway."

She nods. "No, I get it."

He waits, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Bye, Rose."

"Bye, Doctor."

Her lips press against his cheek and he relaxes into her.

Then she walks away.

Goodbye, Rose.

When he returns she's sitting outside the Tardis, her eyes red and puffy. A suitcase sits at her feet.

"I have to." She says simply, not looking at him.

"No," he says quietly. "No, you can't."

Without her consent, he picks up her bag and takes inside the Tardis, ignoring her pleas. "I have to go, Doctor."

"No you don't." His voice is emotionless, void. He starts up the Tardis, not looking at her face - strewn and wet with tears, her body shaking. "Amy, you can't - you can't leave me."

"You already have," she whispers. Helplessly, he lets her put her hand on his cheek, his own agitated stance calmed by her, lax. "Doctor."

"Amy, please," he whispers into her shoulder. "Don't."

"Doctor Doctor Doctor. My Doctor," she mumbles. She mumbles words into his shoulders, words he's too afraid to say out loud, words he's not allowed to say out loud. "Tell me. Stay with me."

He shakes in her arms, his hearts palpitating randomly. Rose has gone. Amy's here.

Don't lose her. Not like all the rest.

"Tell me."

He can't, he can't say it. "Amy," he sighs.

She chuckles quietly, presses her lips into his cheek. "I thought so."

The Tardis door hangs open, and she moves towards it, leaving his body motionless, eyes staring. Tears glitter on her cheeks and he moves to wipe them away, but she does, her laugh this time incredulous. "I knew it was somebody else. Knew I wasn't enough for you."

"Amy, no -"

"It's okay."

"I lost her," he says blindly, blundering forwards. "I lost her, Rose, my Rose and then there's you. You, Amy Pond, mad, impossible, beautiful Amy Pond."

She continues walking, slower now, smaller steps. "Don't leave me," he repeats softly. "Stay with me," he says, and she - like so many others - refuses.

"I love you," she explains calmly, too fast for the words to have meaning, but he gasps. "So I have to leave. That's how it works, right? That's what happens to everyone who falls in love with you, everyone who you ever feel for?" He stares at her, mouth agape. "Don't deny you never felt anything for me. Don't." Her tone is loud, daring him to say otherwise, to contradict her.

"So I go, because that's how it works," she says, quieter now. He's still staring. She picks up her bag, her knuckles white, and leaves the Tardis, the door shutting quietly behind her.

The engines churn into life behind him, and he doesn't - or can't, it's impossible to distinguish - stop them.