The Doctor stood in the doorway of Rose's room, her old room, and watched as she slept peacefully. He wanted to be there when she awoke, afraid she might be confused or worried waking up in a different place. His experience with her so far told him that she probably wouldn't be, something that bothered him greatly. This little girl questioned little to nothing; she simply accepted new faces and surroundings like there was nothing out of place. She questioned her condition, what was for dinner, and the rules of bowling, but she never wondered who he was, the size of the TARDIS, or anything else regarding her environment. So unlike his Rose. His Rose was always asking questions, important questions. Perhaps it was better that this little girl didn't though. Trying to make sense of things could be terribly taxing on her already exhausted mind.

He wondered if she would remember any of the previous evening, but he didn't raise his hopes too high. She had fun, something he was sure she hadn't experienced in the past few days. She caught onto the game of bowling quickly, proving herself to be quite skilled, just as he'd suspected. It was proof of another of his theories; her motor memory was still intact. She could still draw, shuffle cards, and bowl a perfect strike.

The small body squirmed in the center of the large bed and the Doctor watched as she blinked awake. She stared up at the ceiling for a few moments and the Doctor wondered just what was running through blank but busy mind. When she turned toward the door, she showed no sign of fear or surprise, but no sign of recognition either.

"Good morning, sleepy head," he greeted with a smile. "I hope I didn't wake you. I just wanted to be here when you woke up. Didn't want you getting lost. These halls can be a bit tricky to navigate."

Rose nodded and sat up in bed, her little legs hanging over the side. He turned on the light and she squinted against the sudden brightness.

"I was thinking you might be a little hungry. Would you like some breakfast?"

"Yes, please," she answered quietly.

"Alright then. Let's head to the kitchen." He waited for her to follow but she paused and looked down at herself uncertainly.

"I'm still in my pajamas."

"Yes, you are. And you look lovely," he commented, appraising her powder blue night dress. The TARDIS had picked well for her. It was a perfect fit. "You could get dressed now, if you'd like, but you're welcome to wear your pajamas to breakfast. It's what you usually do."

A blank look crossed her face again. She'd tried to recall her past, to remember a time she ate breakfast in her night clothes, and lost everything completely. He'd have to watch that, too. He could say nothing that might make her try to remember.

The Doctor's hearts sunk, but his smile stayed in place as he tried again. "So, breakfast, what do you think?"

Rose looked down at herself and back up at him. "But I'm still in my pajamas."

"And you look lovely," he repeated, earning him another small smile. "Why don't you wear them to breakfast and you can get dressed later."

Rose nodded and met him at the doorway. Her hand automatically found his and they walked together to the kitchen. It wasn't hard to find, being situated quite close to her room, but he was sure she'd forget by their next meal.

"So, bacon, eggs, and beans on toast?" he suggested as Rose sat down at the table. Her answer, as usual, came in the form of a nod.

She was quiet and patient for a few minutes, but quite suddenly, she began talking. It came from nowhere, an anecdote that started in the middle of the story. It had taken the Doctor by surprise the night before, but this morning he was expecting it, hoping she would do it again. Throughout their entire time bowling, she regaled him with stories of her past: one of her mother's birthdays, something funny that she and her friend Shareen did, giant porcupines handing out game consoles, and a werewolf after the queen. She didn't remember a bit of it when the story was done. She wore a confused look, knowing that she spoke but unable to recall what she'd said. That part didn't matter though, not to the Doctor. Each story was a memory she was able to access. The more he thought it through, the more confident he felt that each of those stories were ones he could help her get back.

"What now?" Rose asked, placing her fork on her empty plate.

"Well, I thought you might like to get dressed while I take care of the dishes. Then we could head to the infirmary. We'll get started on repairing that beautiful mind of yours."

"You can make me better?" she asked hopefully.

"I think I can." He stroked her hair affectionately and guided her back to her room. There he showed her the closet, stocked full of clothes her size, set at just the right height. Leaving her alone to change, he returned to the kitchen as he said he would.

The Doctor finished putting away the clean plates and was turning to go retrieve Rose when he found her standing in the kitchen doorway. She found her way alone, which meant she still remembered through breakfast.

"Looks like you're all ready," he commented as he looked over her selected outfit. She wore a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt with flowers on it. Not a girl very interested in frilly things, that was his Rose.

"I'm ready," she answered quietly as she stared at the floor.

"Alright then. Off to the infirmary."

She froze again the moment they stepped into the room. Her eyes looked from one medical instrument to the next and the color drained from her face.

"You're okay here, Rose," the Doctor assured her again. She couldn't remember the promise he made her the day before, so the Doctor was on his knees again, making his promise again. She had no reason to fear him or anything he did.

She was silent as he led her to the little bed. She toed off her trainers and settled stiffly in place. Then Doctor collected a few items and returned to her side, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"This is scary, Rose. I know that it is. What's worse is that it's going to get a bit scarier still." He spoke quietly, making his voice as soothing as possible. "What's going to happen now, I'm going to attach these little suction cups here to the sides of your head. Right at the temples. Right here." The Doctor had showed her two little white suction cups attached to a long pair of wires then lightly tapped her where he intended to place them. Rose flinched at his touch and a deep frown appeared on her face.

"What happens next, I'll turn on this little machine and it's going to send little signals into your brain."

Rose's bottom lip began to quiver.

"I won't hurt. I promise it won't hurt at all. It's just little sonic waves. Just a little noise. Music like. It'll be so quiet though that you won't even hear it. The only way you'll know it's working is that you'll feel some vibration. Just a little buzzing sensation where the suction cups are touching. It's scary. So scary. But I'm going to ask you to be brave. Can you do that? Can you be brave for me?"

"I...I think so," she answered weakly.

"That a girl. Would it help if I held your hand?"

Rose quickly nodded.

"That's what I'll do then. Just let me get this set up and we'll get started."

Rose didn't move a muscle as the Doctor work. Tears were gathering in her eyes and the Doctor did his best to ignore them while he set up.

"Just a bit of gel to get these to stick. Little bit cold."

He was extremely gentle as he placed them but she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, like each delicate touched caused her great pain. It took him no more than a minute, but by the time he finished, tears were streaming down the sides of her face, little droplets falling into her ears. The Doctor wiped them away, but they were quickly replaced by more. His hearts ached but he did his best to keep his composure.

The Doctor sat at her side again and immediately took her small hand. She squeezed it tightly, holding on desperately and with all the faith that she could muster.

"I'm going to turn it on now. No pain. Just a little buzzing."

With his free hand, he flipped a single switch on the small box that lay above their joined hands. Her response was instant. Absolute panic. Her breaths were fast and deep, working toward hyperventilation. Her already hard grip on him, squeezed tighter. The Doctor shushed her in a soothing manner and stroked her cheek, trying his best to calm her.

"Is it done? Make it stop. Please make it stop," she pleaded.

"It needs time. It's going to be a little while yet. You need to calm down though, love. It's okay. It's really okay. You're just fine."

She tried her best to slow her breathing but her body still trembled and the tears came fast.

"How about this? How about I tell you a story?" he offered. "Will that help?"

She didn't answer, but stared at him with a desperate plea for help.

"Once upon a time," he started softly, "there was a sad young woman. She wasn't always sad. She was once a very happy little girl. She lived with her dad who loved her very much. One day though, he got married. Married to a woman who wasn't very nice at all..."

The Doctor proceeded to tell her the story of Cinderella. At first it seemed to make no difference, but after a few minutes Rose began to calm. After a few minutes more, her tears stopped and her breathing was almost at a normal rate. Her body was still rigid and her grip on his hand was still firm, but her distress had lessened significantly.

The Doctor flicked the switch off without warning and Rose started. "All done," he said with a reassuring smile.

She glanced at the box and back up at the Doctor who was then on his feet. "All done?"

"All done," he repeated. Hesitantly, she released her hold on his hand.

"Is that the end?" she asked uncertainly.

"All done," he repeated once more.

"No, the story," Rose clarified. "She lost her shoe and just ran away?"

The Doctor chuckled. It seemed she was more enthralled by the story than he originally thought. "No, that's not the end. Do you want me to tell you the rest?"

Rose nodded and he continued the story as he moved about the room.

"And they lived happily ever after," he concluded as he returned to her.

"Is that real?" she asked.

The Doctor carefully removed the cups and wires and wiped away the gel with a wet cloth. "No, it's just a story. Just a little fairytale."

"Not the story. 'Happily ever after'. Is that real? Can people really have those?"

"Well," he said, pausing to think about it for a moment. "Most people don't think so. After all, no one can be happy all the time. But I think that if a person lives out their days with more happy times than sad times, that's sort of a happily ever after."

"What about you?"

"Me?" he asked in surprise. He took another short moment to think it through. "I've had many sad times in my life, but I've had a lot of happy times, too. You, Rose Tyler, you make me very happy. I'm very sad that you're suffering, but I'm still very blessed to have you here with me."

"I make you happy?"

"Very, love. Very ,very." The Doctor leaned down and placed a kiss upon her forehead. "You were very brave just now. You know that? I'm very proud of you."

Rose shook her head. "I was scared."

"Of course you were, but that's just the thing - the more frightened you are, the more bravery it takes to get through it. You're as brave as they come."

"So when will I be better?" she asked, finally sitting up in bed.

The Doctor was at another cupboard and paused. "It'll take some time, but we'll get there." He didn't have the heart to tell her that the process was just beginning. It would take several more rounds of treatment. But he needn't worry her with that yet. When the next round came, she wouldn't remember that she experienced it before. It would be the first time for her all over again.

"Alright, just one more thing and we can leave this room behind," he announced with his smile back in place. "No need to look worried. This is as easy as it gets. A patch. Just a little sticker."

He held up a tan circular patch and plopped down on the foot of the bed. "It goes right here," he said. He peeled it off the plastic sheet and placed it on her forearm, just below her elbow. "That easy."

"What does it do?"

"It's got a chemical mix made specially to give your brain a healthy little boost."

Rose's brow scrunched and she squeezed her eyes shut. The Doctor immediately started to worry. The patch should have no ill effects. He made it himself. He spent more than half the night studying human biology texts and medical advances in brain treatments from all over the universe. He couldn't have been more careful as he put the treatment together.

"My head hurts," Rose complained. "And... and the lights are too bright."

It occurred to him then, something he should have anticipated from the start. "That'd be the sonic treatment. It's causing your brain to swell a bit from overstimulation. It's causing your head to ache and make you a bit more sensitive to light. Not to worry though, I've got just the thing."

He returned with another patch, this time a clear rectangular strip with a tiny blue tag at the end. "Another sticker. This one goes right across your forehead."

She looked at it with distaste. "It'll make me look silly."

"It's clear. Hardly even visible."

Rose pointed at the little blue tag.

"That's just so we can pull it off easy," he explained.

"I'll look silly," she repeated.

"There's no one around but me. I won't think it's silly. It'll just make me think about you getting well."

Another sharp twinge of pain throbbed in her head and Rose agreed, donning the silly patch.

"What happens now?" Rose asked, desperate to leave the room.

"Well," the Doctor said with a frown. "I'd love for us to do something fun, but I've got some work I have to do today. I've got a project I'm working on."

"So what will I do?"

The Doctor considered it a moment and caught himself just before he said the wrong thing. He nearly reminded her that she was coloring at Gwen's house, something that would make her try her memories. His next attempt could have been just bad, asking if she liked to draw. She might try to search her memory for that, too.

"You know, I bet you like art," he stated. "I'll get you some paints and paper and you can have some fun with that while I keep my boring stuff to myself."

Rose nodded her approval and followed the Doctor around as he collected an arm load of items and finally led them to a large, brightly lit workshop. The left half of the room was dedicated to wall-to-wall shelves, filled with bits and bobs, and boxes filled with smaller, more numerous bits and bob. Many hooks hung from the long wall in front of them, each hook holding an odd-looking gadget, most of them appearing to be unfinished projects. The right side of the room was lined by bright orange countertops. A few wheeled stools stood at odd places in the middle, the user having never pushed them back into place.

"This is it," the Doctor announced. "My workshop."

"The counters are really bright," Rose commented.

"Purposely. That way, if I drop something small on it, I have an easier time finding it. Most of the parts I use are dark colors and stand out against the orange. Besides, it brightens this place up."

The Doctor moved to the right side of the room and placed Rose's paint set on the counter, a difficult task considering how full his hands were. Moving to the counter on the opposite wall, he relieved himself of the rest of the burden.

"Is that a gun?" Rose worried as she eyed the large object he'd just put down. Of all things she might remember, she had to remember what a gun was.

"A gun? No! Well, yes, but no. It's not the kind of gun that hurts people. It does... other stuff," he explained quite vaguely.

"Like what?" she asked skeptically.

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck anxiously as he thought of another vague answer to provide. "It's something used by scientists. It makes things smaller."

"A shrink gun?"

"Something like that. But that's for me to worry about." The Doctor placed his hand on her back and gently, but insistently, guided her to her paints. He quickly grabbed one of the stools and wheeled it over to her. "Now, as I said, this is a workshop, which means we have work to do. Your job is simply to make some lovely pictures. This ship, beautiful as it is, could use a bit more color. Once we've both finished up, we can hang them on the walls."

"What do I paint?"

"Whatever you'd like." The Doctor leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Turning away, he frowned. Now he had to get to his own work - to find a way to fix Rose's other problem, a problem she was currently unaware of.

He stood rooted on spot, eyeing his project from a distance. The longer he stared at the gun, he more upset he became. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to rid himself of the anger he felt. Being upset with Rose would do nothing to help him. After taking a deep calming breath, he opened his eyes and took a seat in front of it.

The gun was quite large, nearly as long as his arm. It must have taken some awkward maneuvering for Rose to turn it on herself. His anger began burning again. It was a dangerous move. She had no way of knowing if it was in working order or just what kind of effects it might have on her. It was reckless. The whole plan of hers was reckless. It must have seemed like such a simple plan to her. She regresses her age and takes the place of the potential human sacrifice. 'I won't die. I promise.' She was stupid testing her life like that. She had close calls with regeneration in the past, but she was by no means familiar with it. And neither of them knew just how many regenerations she'd get. When she said she wouldn't die, did she actually mean to regenerate? Was that an actual part of her plan? She should have called him. He would have answered for her. He might ignore some calls, but he'd drop anything for her. She knew that.

He tried again to calm himself. She was suffering now from those choices, choices she no longer remembered making. He couldn't be angry with her. Missing her the way that he did, he could only long for her restoration. No, if his anger should be aimed anywhere, it was at Jack. It was his choice, too. He used her. He tortured her. He destroyed her.

He was seething now. He was getting nowhere. He couldn't change what happened. He could only fix that which was done.

Pulling his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, he began disassembling the gun.

'It makes things smaller,' he told young Rose. It was a half-truth. Things did get small once the trigger was pulled, but that was because its purpose was making things younger. It was originally created by scientists on Blasphon to rejuvenate orchards. The trees were dying from a terrible drought that had hit them planet-wide. The rains had returned, but the trees were beyond help, and waiting for new trees to grow was not an option. The people would die of starvation before the plants were mature enough to bear fruit. The rejuvenating gun was their answer. They regressed the age of the trees to a point where they could again produce fruit. It was genius. A most brilliant solution to their problem.

But, like all good pieces of technology, it could be tempered with and turned into something dangerous. Once it proved so successful on plants, they tinkered with it further, aiming to use it on themselves. Long life was something that most species strived for, but methods such as that rarely ended well. They could never calibrate it properly. Some people hardly altered at all while others reverted to infancy. Only weeks after they began using it, the workforce was down by half. Some people were then too young to work, and others were forced to stay home and care for their infant mothers or child husbands. Each person was so excited to gamble their own life they coldly ignored what it was costing the people around them. The planet was failing and it was beyond the Doctor's help. In the end, the only thing he could do was alert the Blasphon colonies that were scattered through the galaxy and ask them to assist their home planet. Their responses made him hopeful, but he never went back to check on them.

The gun in his possession, he took out of curiosity. He meant to have a look at it, to figure out how it worked. Its secrets could perhaps help him in the future. Never on a living being, but plants - that could be beneficial. They had taken Rose's TARDIS to Blasphon and the gun never made it to his own TARDIS. It got tucked away in a closet, forgotten for over a year. But Rose, in her panic and desperation, must have instantly thought of it.

"Erm... Mister?" Rose tugged on his shirt sleeve to gain his attention. "I'm... I'm a bit hungry. Will we eat soon?"

The Doctor blinked his strained eyes and looked down at his wristwatch. It didn't tell Earth time, but 'Rose time'. Earth time meant nothing in the time vortex, but Rose meant everything. He set his watch around her sleep schedule. She awoke at seven and it was then... "One-thirty?"

He looked at the gun and was surprised at how much he had accomplished. Lost in his thoughts and his work, he'd lost track of time. "Yes, definitely time for lunch," he affirmed, putting his smile back in place. "You must be starving."

"I am kind of," she admitted. "But do you want to see first?"

Rose took his hand before he could answer and guided him over to her own little work section. He expected, for a moment, to find a long line of child's paintings, but one glance across the room had reminded him that her talents were not limited to her approximate age. Her talent would still be that of the Rose he knew. Only two paintings lay on the counter. In the few hours they spent there, she had put such great effort into her work that she accomplished only two. Standing over them, he was taken aback by their beauty. One was a scene of the two of them, the silhouette of a couple holding hands, standing among large, frozen, ocean waves. Woman Wept, a planet, a trip, that she treasured always. The other painting was a portrait of her mother, Jackie Tyler. She was aged in the portrait, but it was so well done that he had no problem recognizing her.

"So what do you think?" Rose asked cheerfully, obviously quite pleased with herself.

"Beautiful. Absolutely incredible, Rose Tyler," he said sincerely. "You're a very talented artist."

He wanted to ask her about the picture of her mother, if she knew the woman, but he knew better than that. Their day was going alright so far and he wasn't ready to start over, not ready for her to forget everything again. It was more than likely she didn't remember who the woman was. It was just a painting, an image she didn't question.

"She's kind of pretty, don't you think?" she asked.

"I think you captured her well. She looks very thoughtful and kind."

"Yeah, she does, doesn't she?"

"Enough of paintings for now though. What do you say to jam sarnies and some carrots?"

"And juice?" Rose walked along beside him with a little skip in her step.

"And juice," he agreed. "Tell you what. We can even pack it up, make it a little picnic in one of the gardens. Oh! The butterfly room. That's a garden you'll love."

Young Rose wore the largest smile he'd seen yet. He'd hold on to it, he decided. And he'd strive for it always. She'd forget again, probably before the day was through. That grin would return to a hopeless frown. He'd keep trying for it though. He hoped to put her to bed that night with a smile on her face.

Thank you so much to the people who reviewed! This is the part where a beg for more. I love to know you think about what's going on.

Remember: Reviews = Motivation