Been a while, I know, sorry.

This is quite short too. And it's written sort of oddly. I don't know, I can't describe it.

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Characters belong to Moffat and RTD in this case.

And as always, a poem by Rose Kelvin.

Serendipity

It's like a childhood memory,
You can't break it, change it or destroy it.
We don't need to know, not really,
Whether it's real or just a decoy.

Maybe it's the madness taking over,
Perhaps it's a world entirely of their own.
But it's not impossible, just a bit unlikely,
The puff of air tipping over the stone.

We never give up hope, that's rule one.
We trek on, run through the dark,
For when running in darkness you're going to fall.
But there's always the possibility you'll light a spark.

The first thing she sees is that he's restless. When he steps out of that old box, ancient and new and the bluest blue ever, accompanied by a young man with a large nose and a woman with flaming red hair and legs that go on forever, he doesn't stop moving.

He laughs and he twirls around, his feet crossing over and again but never touching. And he points as he laughs and he throws his head back at something or rather that the red girl said. And he pats the face of the nose man and he grins and then it's gone and replaced by something else. And he straightens his bowtie, and he pings his braces as he rocks back on his heels and his eyebrows go up and way up like, 'I told you so,'.

And he's shaking hands with which ever stranger is nearest and it is his hands, she realises, that are the most restless part of him. They're patting and thumbing up and shaking and pointing and everywhere all at once, gesturing to this or that and dancing on the piano keys of the air. And he twirls one final time with a 'ha!', and his hands are out and wide before they're pulled back like dogs on tight leashes. And then they drop. And then he stops. Because he's seen her.

He is still. His hands do not move from his sides. The red girl and the nose man look bemused and they follow his unwavering gaze to see a blonde woman leaning against a tree a little way away. Her stance is relaxed and casual as she leans, yet her face is tense and drawn up and her eyes are locked to the restless man's like that lever was online and locked all that time ago.

The four of them are still for some moments, only the red girl and the nose man could say approximately how long it was, the blonde woman has no idea of the time passing, and the restless man forgets to count it for once.

Then the restless man takes a step forward. Just one. He stops again. The blonde woman shrugs the tree off and stands upright. There are cars passing between them on the road. Her on one side and him on the other. Just as it always ended up being. Neither of them crosses the void between them. Not yet.

The restless man finally moves his arm. He brings his hand up from his side and holds it out invitingly into the space between them. His wiggles his fingers just as he always did, and she laughs on the other side of the road and he doesn't hear it but it doesn't matter because the blonde woman is running out across the road, still laughing.

And the cars screech to a halt and there's a pile-up all the way up the road and people are leaning out of their windows to shout abuse but it falls on deaf ears. Because the blonde woman has already crossed the road and is long gone by now. And one of the many irritated and perplexed drivers shakes his head and asks the empty seat beside him who that woman was.

It was Rose Tyler in the TARDIS with the Doctor, just as it should be.