Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC. I intend no infringement with this story.

Succulent, sweet juice ran down her chin, but Rose didn't care. The fruit in her mouth was so utterly delectable that a bit of a mess seemed irrelevant. She was sure she'd never tasted anything so delicious. The flavour was different from anything she'd experienced before, and if this was the only thing she could eat on this planet for days and days and days, that would be just fine with her.

In actuality, she thought, wiping the juice from her mouth and licking her fingers, it probably would be the bulk of her diet while she and the Doctor remained on Pelorius. He'd cautioned her that some of the food here was unsafe for her, instructing her to eat only the green fruit with the blue and yellow stripes on it. The other fruits had looked quite tasty, too, but she knew his cautions were serious; he'd said the words without even a hint of a smile. There was no joking tone, no overly enunciated syllables, just a succinct warning. And she'd heeded it.

Rose leaned back in her chair and surveyed the scene before her. The Doctor stood some distance away, talking animatedly with the village elder or chief or mayor, or whatever he was called. His son had known the Doctor in his previous incarnation, and she supposed the Time Lord was pretending to be a descendent of some sort. He'd brought the TARDIS to this peaceful planet to absorb the natural magnetism, which he said was relatively unique and would help the ship to recoup her strength fully after the events on the parallel Earth. Rose suspected, too, that he thought she'd enjoy the tranquility and natural beauty of the place. She'd been a bit morose since Mickey had left…

Rose had to admit that Pelorius was lovely. It was somewhat tropical, with lush vegetation gracing the land. The inhabitants enjoyed a simple yet very pleasant lifestyle. While they hadn't yet developed the technology for electricity, they'd harnessed the natural resources quite successfully. They'd created an effective plumbing system, for example, that utilized the many streams to bring fresh water into the cottages through pipes. She'd been pleased to discover that homes were equipped with sinks, bathtubs, and even toilets that flushed naturally with the flow of water beneath.

And the food… well, maybe there wasn't much she could eat, but honestly she'd be glad to dine on this fruit for ages. The residents were vegetarians, and they ate all sorts of fruits and vegetables with a few grains thrown in for good measure. She'd nibbled a little bread, which apparently was safe because it was cooked. But the fruit was just divine. So if she needed to subsist primarily on that for the four days that the TARDIS was grounded, then so be it.

The Time Ship was parked about four kilometers away. The Doctor had landed her in the optimal spot to absorb the magnetic pulses then had escorted Rose to the village. The residents' hospitality was immediate and profuse, with rooms prepared for the guests within an hour of their arrival.

The TARDIS was powered down, so the translator was working very sporadically. The Doctor was able to converse with the residents, apparently familiar with their language, but Rose only picked up bits and pieces that the occasional translation blips permitted. But she didn't really care. She was well-fed, comfortably full, and stretched out in a cushy chair with the warm sun on her face. Life was good.

She settled her hands on her belly. She was sated and felt she couldn't eat another bite. In fact, her stomach was starting to burble a bit, and there was a little hint of pressure building. She must've overdone it on the fruit. She glanced back at the table and was slightly mortified to note that she'd consumed the entire, large melon.

Her stomach suddenly seemed to notice that fact, too. She struggled to her feet, looking around for the nearest bathroom. They were in a courtyard, between several homes and the small guest cottage where they were staying. Rose hurried past the Doctor and the chief, heading for the cottage.

The Doctor gave her a questioning glance, and she mumbled something about "the loo" as she strode by him. Her stomach was churning, and the pressure was intensifying, and she felt as though she would burst any moment.

She was sweating by the time she trundled through the bathroom doorway. She'd undone her jeans the moment she entered the cottage, and, with a hasty shove of the door to close it, she sank down on the toilet, regretting every single of bite of fruit that she'd eaten.

And it proved to be a hell of a lot of regret. Every time Rose thought that she was done, that her body had finished expelling the horrid stuff, she felt another cramp, another burn, and she found herself automatically hunching over, groaning at the pain and fumbling for the soft, thin leaves that passed for toilet tissue. She was thankful, at least, for the decent plumbing.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when the Doctor knocked hesitantly at the door.

"Rose? You in there?" he asked rather tentatively.

"Yeah," she replied.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," she lied.

"The children made up a song for you. They want to sing it."

Rose took a deep breath. "'Kay. Be right out."

She heard him walk away and willed her body to cooperate as she stood up. Her legs felt shaky, and when she stepped to the sink to wash her hands, she glanced into the mirror in her compact and saw that her skin was pasty and her hair was damp. Damn, she hadn't been this ill in a long time. Well, the fruit must be out of her system by now, so she'd feel better soon.

Rose splashed a little water on her face and ran a comb through her hair then opened the door.

The Doctor was standing in the doorway to the cottage, looking out at the courtyard. He turned his head half-way as she left the bathroom. He held out his hand. "Come and see. You'll love this!"

Rose shuffled across the room and took his hand. He glanced down at her for a moment, probably noticing the clamminess of her skin, but then the children began to sing, and he fixed his gaze upon the little group. A dozen small boys and girls sang and danced, lifting flowers above their heads and moving their arms in fluid, graceful sways. Rose couldn't understand their words, but the melody was lovely, and their faces showed the joy that the performance brought them.

She wanted to watch them, enjoy them, grin and laugh and clap her hands at them. But she felt that urgency building again, and she waited as long as she could, but finally she pulled her hand from the Doctor's and ran back into the bathroom.

To be continued…