The stories that follow are paired. The opposite story is called "How He Loved Her" and can be found on my Author page. Both stories follow Rose's chronology and will be updated simultaneously. I also still have to disclaim, as Russell T Davies has not yet hired me. I really want that job. Please note that these will get longer as Rose gets older.

Nine: The One She Dreamed Up

The man who had, apparently, picked her up off the floor, was small and dark haired and, from all appearances, quite the little vagabond. Rose tried to say something logical, or even vaguely appreciative like "thank you" but what came out was "What's with the fur coat?" She was lying with a rolled up gym mat under her feet and something folded behind her head, and the little man knelt beside her, watching her face with kind, inquisitive blue eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice sounding rather stern. "But what I would say is this: What precisely are you doing unconscious on this floor in the middle of the night, young lady?"

"Dying," she said hoarsely as she felt the most uncomfortable throbbing in the back of her head and put her hand to it. It felt somewhat wet and sticky. She looked at the little man in shock and pulled her hand away to look at it.

"You're not dying," he scoffed gently, then leaned over to look at her. "I've already cleaned it," he assured her as she blinked at her damp but not bloody hand. "And quite the nasty little cut it was, too. You bleed most profusely from the head, you know."

"Am I..." she started, but couldn't think how to phrase it. "Is this..." She sighed, feeling quite light-headed and dizzy. "Do you have some aspirin?"

"Great heavens, no," he said, looking thoroughly shocked at the suggestion. "Never touch the stuff. It's dangerous, you know."

"No, I didn't," she said sensibly. "My mum gives it me all the time."

"Well, then, I imagine it's safe enough for you. I forget. Have a jelly baby," he added, holding out a small white paper bag. "They're not better for you, of course, but you're already better than you were when I found you, so that's something."

"What happened?" she asked, vaguely, rummaging through the bag for an orange one, her current favorite.

"Well, I certainly didn't knock you unconscious. I wasn't even here when it happened." He looked mortally yet adorably offended at that statement. Rose found herself fighting the urge to giggle. Not that she didn't want to, just that he was very nice and didn't deserve to be giggled at, and also, it made her head hurt tremendously.

"How old are you?" he demanded. "Where are your parents?"

"Nine. I'm nine." She ran a hand over her face, trying to shut out the light which was exploding inside her skull. "M'dad's dead," she said, tiredly. "Mum's at home. I snuck out."

"Ah, a little run-away. Well, I've met more than my share of those. And how did you come to be knocked out on the floor?"

"I was practicing."

"Being unconscious?" he exclaimed. "Why should anyone want to practice that?"

Now she did giggle, until she ended up groaning from the sharp increase of throbbing in her head and had to dash away tears from her eyes. "I was trying to practice my new move. I fell."

"You should have had supervision or something, child." He peered into her eyes. "Don't go to sleep, now, you've got a concussion," he added in a softer, kinder tone.

She frowned. That was bad, wasn't it? "Oh no, I won't be able to compete!" she exclaimed, frightened as she finally put the realization together. Her brain was moving exceptionally slowly right now.

"That won't be a problem," he said. "There won't be any competition here, I'm afraid. It'll have to be postponed."

"Why?" she asked, utterly confused as to how she should feel.

"The building's infested. It'll have to be dealt with and I'm afraid it won't be ready tomorrow. You'll have time to get better. You like competing, then?"

"Not really." She got the idea, somehow, that he was trying to keep her occupied any way he could, and asking her about herself probably seemed the easiest way to keep her awake. Still, she was curious what he was doing here, and he was probably far more interesting than she was, wearing that enormous fur coat in this weather. He also, for some reason, reminded her of someone, but she couldn't place it. "Are you here about this infestation thingee?"

"I am now," he said. "It's my job."

"Oh." She smiled gamely up at him. "I'm glad you came to work so early, then." She reached out and took his hand, just to hold it, just to let him know how grateful she really was.

His image swam before her wobbly eyes, replacing his slightly silly face with the sad, tired face of a man with gorgeous, devastated eyes and large ears, then the beautiful, big-eyed face of a man who looked so lost behind his enormous grin. This image gave way to more faces, some old, some young, some lovely, some plain, and one, very young and almost innocent and so nearly divine she knew she could have cheerfully followed that face into hell itself.

"Oh dear, oh dear, dear, dear!" the man exclaimed by her side. "Stay with me, don't do that," he said. "What's your name, little girl. Tell me your name!"

"Rose," she said, feeling so very far away. "Rose Tyler."

"Rose Tyler," he repeated, sounding quite frantic. Then, the voice went as wobbly as his face and she heard an entire chorus of voices, all of them saying "Rose!" in some way, all of them strange and familiar and frightening and wonderful.

"Oh, we can't have that, now," said the voice from her side. "Should have known, really, should have known. Ah ha!"

Something funny, a strange smell, wafted up from beneath her nose. "There, that's better," he said as she coughed and sputtered.

"What was that?" she choked out.

He looked sheepish and alarmed and excited all at once. He had such a fascinating, animated face, it was easy for him to pull all those expressions and more into one single glance. "I can't tell you now, Rose. Maybe when you're older, I'm sure you'll understand then."

"I meant the stuff, I guess," she replied, inhaling deeply. "I feel better."

"Yes, I suppose so. Just smelling salts. Nothing to worry about." He looked a little shifty, but after everything he had done for her, she felt no need to distrust him. Besides, she knew him, had always known him, would always know him. No harm would ever come to her as long as he was around.

"Thanks, Doctor," she said, vaguely.

He started. "You're welcome, Rose," he said, finally.

Then, all at once, he looked away sharply. "Uh oh," he breathed. "I think one of us, at least, is about to be in trouble."

"You'd better go," she whispered back, because she could hear her mother, screeching for her from the lobby.

"Take care, Rose. Until we meet again?"

"Sure." She felt all fuzzy and drifting. "Love you, Doctor," she mumbled.

He smiled, waved cheerily from the edge of her vision, and then vanished.

In the morning, when Rose woke in hospital, she was almost completely convinced it was all a dream, even though the competition did indeed close down and have to be postponed.

Her frantic mother, completely alarmed at what Rose had done, told her that this was it, no more Gymnastics competitions for her, after this one. Rose had agreed, not at all as upset as she should be, really. No one, not even Jackie, had asked her the hard questions, as to how she had come to be so well taken care of for a girl who had fallen and busted her head open. For that she was relieved, since she almost didn't even believe the answer herself.