So, apparently I'm suffering from a slight case of WIP ADD. I have the next chapter of Just a Bit Unlikely off to BetaBabe, but this also happened. So now I'll be doing both for a little while. I don't usually do AUs like this, but...I needed a change of pace. So yeah. Enjoy.

Rose Tyler was someone that got left behind. It was just a fact of her existence. They didn't always want or mean to (in the case of her parents, her father dying when she was six months old, her mother when she was sixteen). Sometimes she didn't even factor into their decision (such as the boyfriends her mother had when she was still alive, the ones that Rose had grown close to and then disappeared on her). Still other times it was a sort of casual drift toward the inevitable (like the myriad of friends and acquaintances that moved or went off to university and found new, better friends). There were, of course, the occasions when it was deliberate, and hurtful, like Jimmy Stone, but it all came down to the same thing…Rose Tyler, on her own. In her darker moments, she believed what he had said, that she wasn't worth anyone's time in the long run.

Despite this, at nineteen, she was a cheerful, warm person. She worked in a coffee shop to make ends meet, and drifted between dreams du jour…some days, she wanted to travel the globe…others, she wanted to be a painter, or a writer. It was then that she met John Smith, a history professor at the local university.

Despite the fact that he was easily twice her age, the two fell into an effortless friendship when he started frequenting the coffee house. It might have had something to do with the shared feelings of loneliness…he'd lost his parents at a young age to a house fire, and had spent much of his childhood shunted between relatives, making him self-reliant to a fault. Most people found him gruff and terse, but Rose liked his no-nonsense attitude and his sarcastic sense of humor, and the way he treated everyone the same. And, for his part, he seemed to genuinely enjoy her company when she'd taken to sitting with him during slow hours and breaks, listening as he rambled on about the myriad of subjects his intelligent and magpie mind had collected information on.

One night, a few weeks after they'd met, Rose was closing on her own. It wasn't unusual; she closed on her own two or three times a week, and while it wasn't the safest neighborhood, it wasn't the worst, and she'd been so far free of incident. But on this particular evening, a couple of thugs were waiting for her in the alley behind the shop. She only managed to scream once when a dark shadow loomed over them and threw them to the other side of the alley. Then a large hand was in hers, and she was looking into a pair of familiar blue eyes as a gruff, northern voice whispered, "Run."

After that, John started driving Rose home on her closing shifts. More often than not, they'd get caught up in their conversation, and he'd leave his car parked in front of her flat for an hour as they talked about everything and nothing. They even got into arguments more than once, both being stubborn in their opinions, and the night would end with her exiting his car in a huff, slamming the door behind her an instant before he pealed out of the car park, tires squealing.

The first time it happened, she was still annoyed the next day, but worried that she'd lost something. But then he'd shown up at the coffee shop and slid a box of chocolates over the counter towards her before sauntering over to his usual table, winking at her when he saw her staring at him. She mumbled her own apology when she brought him his tea, but he merely nodded his acknowledgement…and it was over. And that's how it went the next three times their temper overpowered their sense…a box of chocolate, a murmured apology, and the fight was over, never having been worth more than that in the first place.

It was during one of the long car conversations that she'd admitted her love of Monet; she was stunned two days later when he pushed a ticket for an upcoming exhibit toward her as she refilled his tea. He looked slightly uncomfortable when she looked at him questioningly, saying quickly that she didn't have to come if she had other plans, but had smiled and let out a happy "Fantastic!" when she grinned and said she'd love to go.

They'd spent the day arm in arm, poring over the beautiful works of art and delighting in each other's company. As the sun set, they were still reluctant to part, stopping at Rose's favorite chippy for some dinner before wandering through a park for hours, their hands linked as John pointed out various constellations in the night sky. By the time he finally drove her home, she was exhausted, but completely content. He'd kept hold of her hand while he'd driven, then, just before she got out of the car, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand and told her how glad he was that he'd met her.

It was after that outing that things started getting strange, though. Because that was when Rose realized that the way she felt about John wasn't strictly friendly…and that was when John suddenly seemed extremely busy. He didn't come by the shop as often, and while he still made sure he was available to give her lifts home at night, he rarely stayed to chat. There were still times when she'd sit with him in the coffee shop, and things would seem almost normal, except for a slight electric tingling between them, but every time she worked up the courage to try to say something about it, he'd suddenly have a reason to dash off again.

Rose couldn't help feeling like it was her fault. Obviously, a forty year old man who'd admitted more than once that he wasn't one for domestics would have no use for a lovesick nineteen year old hanging around. He was obviously trying to give her the brush off nicely, and would eventually go the way of everyone else. She was at a loss of how to stave off the coming rejection, but even when she tried to keep things light, he'd look at her with those penetrating blue eyes and she'd feel caught out like the kid he probably saw her as. She couldn't help it.

She was in love with John Smith. And John Smith wanted nothing to do with it.

oOoOo

Rose smiled and waved at Shereen on the dance floor before knocking back the rest of her gin and soda, letting an ice cube fall into her mouth as she set the empty tumbler back on the bar top. It had been almost a week since John had made an appearance, and the look on his face when he'd told her to take care of herself as she got out of his car had nearly crushed her right there. She spent a couple of days in denial, almost thinking she saw his car in the darkness when she closed. But the car was off, and if there was someone in it, they never made an appearance. She spent the next few days in acute pain before her friend had dragged her to the pub, claiming that all she needed was a good night out and an easy shag. While the latter had never appealed to Rose, it did feel good to be somewhere that didn't make her think of the absent history professor.

"Can I buy you a drink?" an American voice asked, and she looked up to see a tall man giving her a charming, dimpled smile. She glanced down at her empty glass, and he followed her gaze. "Another one?"

"Will you expect me to go home with you?" she asked bluntly.

"Expect?" he asked. "No. Hope, probably, but not expect. A lady deserves to have a drink free of stipulation."

"In that case," she said, chuckling as she waved at her glass.

The man signaled the bartender and placed a quick order, then held his hand out to her. "Jack Harkness."

"Rose Tyler," she said, shaking his hand.

"So, tell me, Rose," he said as the bartender brought their drinks. "What's someone as lovely as you doing alone at a bar on a night like this?"

"Do you realize that your pickup lines are from the forties?" she asked, sipping her drink.

"I do," he said. "They're classics. You haven't answered my question."

"Because the person I want doesn't want to be here with me," she blurted out, then looked up at Jack sharply. "I'm sorry, you don't need to hear about that."

"That's okay," he said, smiling again and shrugging. "Who's the guy? Or girl, as the case may be?"

"Really, it doesn't matter," Rose said, shaking her head.

"Humor me," he said, sitting down properly and turning to her.

She hesitated, but he only raised his eyebrows encouragingly, and she sighed. "It's this…man I know. He's…well…he's sort of…" she trailed off and sighed. "Sort of wonderful. But…I dunno. Sometimes, I think there's something there, when we talk, and sometimes the way he looks at me…but then it's gone. Now I haven't seen him at all in a few days…" She sighed again and took another long drink. "Probably all my imagination anyway."

"Why would you think that?" Jack asked.

"I'm too young for him," she said with a shrug. "He's a history professor…he's got students older than me. He probably just thinks I'm a kid. It's just…"

"Just…" Jack urged, giving her an odd look.

"When I'm with him, I don't feel like a kid," she said. "It doesn't feel like a twenty year age gap. It just feels like…like John and Rose," she finished with a shrug, not sure how to explain herself.

"John and Rose," Jack said slowly. "Tell me, this wonderful professor of yours, his name wouldn't happen to be John Smith, would it?" Rose looked up at him sharply, and he laughed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "It is, isn't it? You're her. You're the coffee shop girl."

"You know John?" she asked, stunned.

"Oh, yeah," Jack said. "We go way back. Good friend of mine, although he'd probably say he tolerates me. Wow, he said you were gorgeous, but…wow."

"He…he talks about me?" Rose stammered, still trying to cope with this new development.

"Talks about you?" Jack snorted. "Won't shut up. And let me tell you…he doesn't think you're a kid. No, he thinks you're, in his words, 'fantastic.' Oooh…speak of the devil," he added, looking behind her.

Rose turned, following his gaze, and saw John walking toward them. She winced when he paused midstep upon seeing her, turning quickly back to her drink as he approached more slowly.

"Rose?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Hiya, John," Jack said cheerfully.

"Yeah, hi," John said, nodding at him. "Rose?"

"Just out for a drink with a friend," Rose said, turning to him with a bright—if slightly brittle—smile.

"And…and you know Jack?" he asked slowly, glancing between them, zeroing in on the way their knees touched as they faced each other.

"Just met him," Rose said. "He bought me a drink."

"I'm sure he did," John said, annoyance giving an edge to his tone.

"Hey, I didn't know she was your Rose," said Jack, raising his hands. "You never even told me her name."

"She's not…my Rose," John said moodily.

"Well, in that case," Jack said. "Rose, would you care to dance?"

"I…" She glanced up at John, who was looking determinedly at the top shelf bottles while a muscle worked in his jaw. What the hell. Her happy friendship with the professor was clearly over. "Yeah, alright," she said, taking Jack's hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor.

"You have to understand," Jack said as he took her in his arms. "John doesn't fall in love. He doesn't do the dating and dancing."

"Yeah, I've noticed," she said. "Like he says, he—"

"Doesn't do domestics," they said in unison, and smirked at each other.

"Right, but that's the thing," Jack said. "He doesn't know how to be in love, much less how to recognize when someone's in love with him. But don't let that fool you. He's been falling hard for you since the day he met you. I think your little museum excursion was what tipped him over the edge. He just needs a little push to show his hand is all."

"And you know all this because?" Rose asked.

"Because I'm probably his best friend," Jack said, glancing to the side and then grinning down at her. "But his eyes are shooting daggers at me right now."

Realization dawned on her at the same time that John appeared at their side and tapped on Jack's shoulder.

"I think this is my dance," he said.

"Of course," Jack said, winking at Rose. "I'll just be…over here."

He wandered back towards the bar, and Rose lost sight of him as John put a hand on her waist. He took her hand in his free one, bringing it to his chest as he looked down at her, swaying to the music.

"I don't dance much," he explained softly.

"Not as much as Jack?" she asked, giving him a teasing, tongue touched grin.

"No one dances as much as Jack," he said, rolling his eyes, then smiling when she laughed.

"Dunno, you're doing alright," she said hesitantly.

"I shouldn't be," he said, suddenly serious. "I shouldn't be dancing with you at all."

"What if I want to dance with you?" she asked, stretching his metaphor.

"You deserve better," he said. "I'm…too old, too stuck in my ways."

"But I want you," she said softly, looking up at him earnestly. "Whatever you think I deserve, it doesn't matter, cause I'll still want you."

He stopped moving then, his eyes lit with some internal struggle as he gazed down at her. Her breath caught when his eyes dropped to her mouth, and he murmured her name before bending his head and pressing his lips to hers, drawing her closer as she melted into his kiss.

oOoOo

Three months later, just after her twentieth birthday, he asked her to marry him. Although they'd only known each other a total of six months, he reasoned that he'd waited long enough for her to be in his life, and even longer debating whether he could allow it. With that in mind, they had a simple ceremony three months after that. Jack was best man, of course, and claimed all credit for the happy union during his speech at the reception. Bride and groom both rolled their eyes heavily at this, but John did hold his glass up in acknowledgement as he pulled Rose closer.

With John's encouragement, she'd even gone back to school, enrolled in a graphics design course. It had to be put on hold, however, when she found out she was pregnant, barely six months after they'd gotten married. She'd been terrified, at first, that this would be far too much in the way of domestics for John, but he'd surprised her, beaming and scooping her into his arms, spinning her around in his excitement.

It was two years to the day since they'd met that they welcomed Ian Thomas Smith into the world. Rose said that he had his father's eyes, stubbornly keeping to this regardless of how many people told her that all babies were born with blue eyes. John had simply smiled and said he was just glad Ian hadn't inherited his ears or nose, lightly kissing Rose's nose to make his point.

Another year passed. Ian was toddling around and already showing signs of having his father's ridiculously high intelligence. John was devoted to his little family, spending every minute he could with his growing boy and young wife. He and Rose still had their moments of temper and annoyance, as all couples do, but it never lasted long, and they always worked through it in the end. That was the important bit.

Then came the winter, and the ice. Then came the car, and John pushing Rose and Ian to safety, but not quite making it himself. Then came the blood as she cradled his head, begging him not to die, while Ian tugged ineffectually at John's hand, not understanding why his energetic father wouldn't get up. Then came her name, carried on John's last breath as he died in her arms.

And it was on a cold day in the beginning of the year, as Rose watched the casket holding the body of John Smith being lowered into the ground, that Rose remembered the fundamental fact of her existence. She was someone that got left behind. What was more, every one that disappeared took a bit of her with them…and now, she had nothing left.