Disclaimer:Doctor Who and affiliated characters, objects and ideas are property of the BBC. This piece of fanfiction was created for and intended for entertainment purposes only. No infringements of any copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.

Tomorrow

It would've been easier to eat the jelly-like substance if it didn't try to squirm its way across the plate.
"It's just a property of the compound," Mickey hastily reassured her. "The Raxicoricofallipatorians swear by it."

It would have been easier to get up if that alarm wasn't trying to beat her brain out her ears. The sunlight still had dominance over her window curtains: the light burst into her room, cheerfully blinding her.
"There's no point in getting up, Rose! You've got no job to go to." Oh, right. About that.

"Some compensation package," muttered Rose, and sneezed. Jackie bustled into the room, set down a cup of tea and sugar, felt Rose's forehead and hurried out again.

The crazy man wasn't dead after all. He was poking around the cat flap; he had that blue and silver pen again; he was standing in front of her, looking the same as ever- as he did last night. There should be menace on the face of a man wearing black and leather, not a sort of endearing indignation. But power still shadowed him: he was knocking on her closed mind again, and she eagerly opened it up a little more.

The din of the alien reception a few corridors away still made Rose's head throb. She threw the fork to one side and chased down the dark turtle-shaped jelly with her fingers. Feeling faintly remorseful, she slurped down a vaguely leg-shaped portion, then violently tried to cough it back up. Mickey shove the teacup into Rose's flailing hands. Half a bowl of sugar also emptied itself into Rose's mouth before she stopped gagging.

Today should have been-
Today might have been-
Today was a strange man that asked strange questions and gave no answers. Rose should have known he was an alien, someone who looked at her different and turned her mind upside down. The only comparisons she knew of were in romance novels, with all this light and laughter and
life, like flying.
He's so much better than that.

But she supposed he had better things to do than to come back and ask her again, even if she's changed her mind. The universe still needed taking care of. Mickey still needed taking care of. She knew what she was best at.

"So. Sewer water or ground acetaminophen pills?"

Rose glared up at Mickey- who grinned a winsome smile- then at Pete, who had quietly crept in and usurped the bedside chair from Mickey. Pete settled in with a sigh. "Not that I'm in any position to pay up on bets, love. Prime Minister Al Gore is in deep discussion with the Forest of Cheem in the parlour."
Rose shot upright, opening her mouth, but her father held up a hand: "Don't worry, a knowledgable moderator's offered to keep Lord Apophis busy. Restless chap though- well, both of them, but..." He yawned and closed his eyes.

She'd only be gone a few days at most.

Mickey snorted.
"That Lord Chronos' difficult, I'll give ya. And your mum has your comm, don't bother looking. Torchwood won't blow if you're not always checking on it."

"Yeah, Rose rasped fiercely, "that's what you said last time."

"Well, look who was trying to grow a dimensional threshold in the broom closet!"

Mum could look after Mickey.

A couple floors away, Jackie shrieked. It was a decidedly angry shriek. In the ringing silence that pervaded the house, Pete cracked an eye open and remarked,

"Your mum and Lord Chronos never did see eye to eye."

He was talking to an empty bed.

"Bit of a posh name, isn't it?" said Mickey. The older man shrugged.

"The Doctor said he was avoiding a few people."

Today an alien lord in the shop basement grabbed Rose's hand and changed back history. The details are best left for tomorrow.