Roooooseee, Rose...I'm looking for you, but you must come to me. I need you Rose, please find me...Roooose Tyylerrr.-

The gentle but insistent ministrations of the chemo-nurse wake Rose from her dream. She's done with this week's treatment and the nurse is disengaging the picc-line as he asks, "All done for today Rose, were you having nice dreams?"

"Thanks Rory, yeah…well, I think it was nice. Can't remember much of it," she replies with a smile for her favourite nurse, and sits forward readjusting her shirt to hide the port. Her movements are practiced and calm. Not the actions of someone newly diagnosed with cancer.


Three years ago Rose was new to the Parallel Universe that she still calls Pete's World in the privacy of her thoughts. Nearly lost to the Void, she was thankful to have been caught by Pete, but the grief at loosing the Doctor nearly killed her then and there. For months she would have been fine with that, to just die. What was the point? Nothing felt right. The Earth didn't turn right-too fast. The air didn't smell right-too clean. Zeppelins...really? Zeppelins? Chips! How can a parallel Earth not have potatoes? She felt like she was in some sort of weird Purgatory.

Her mother though, was a force to be reckoned with, and Jackie Tyler wasn't going to let her daughter waste away. After several very loud conversations, Rose decided that if she couldn't live for the Doctor, she could at least live for her mum...and her coming brother. She's getting a brother, at the age of 21, who knew?

The next year saw her meet her new brother Tony, reach a place where Pete became 'Dad' in her heart as well as her life, and one more really good thing: in working at Torchwood, she found a very real confidence that no matter how wrong everything still felt, she could take care of herself, and people relied on her. She was very good at her job. The two years with her Doctor made her uniquely qualified to work with aliens of all sorts and the bazaar debris that kept falling out of the rift. Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth, luckily she'd had lots of help and a great team.

One year ago she began having weak spells. A couple of times she almost endangered a mission when she just fell over mid-stride. No warning, her legs just wouldn't hold her up any longer and her head would be spinning. This was obviously inconvenient when you're running to or from trouble. She couldn't continue putting her team at risk, so she switched to a desk position while they investigated her vertigo.

That, was an interesting process. In the initial barrage of tests, blood draws, poking and prodding, they discovered that she wasn't precisely human any longer. Her DNA was definitely weird and getting weirder, her blood was just a touch off, and she wasn't ageing the way she should(which meant at all).

These changes were at war with the human part of her, and it was now making her sick. She'd heard the doctors talking about mutations, gene splicing, bone marrow anomalies; none of the esoteric language meant anything other than she was dying, and no one knew exactly when, how, or why. She would very likely have ended up as a lab rat if her dad wasn't the head of Torchwood—lucky for her.

Now, on her fifth round of experimental chemotherapy, this is all familiar. In the last week she's actually feeling better than she has in months, but she isn't growing any hair back yet. Tony loves her bare skull; he will pet it and tell her how soft it is. Silly boy-child, she smiles this thought as Rory wheels her toward the outpatient area where her mum and Tony will pick her up.

She could have done these treatments at home, but she doesn't want Tony to know what she goes through, and she's uninterested in associating the treatments with the safety of the mansion where she'd moved back, after she became too sick to easily live on her own.

T'was real nice dreaming of the Doctor wantin' me to find him. It felt so real, this dream. It smelled like salt and sand; could almost hear the wind and...waves? She is starting to get a bit of a headache trying so hard to remember. That's the third time I've 'ad that dream, she ponders. Maybe she'll have it again and it'll be clearer. They feel somehow important.

She still dreams of the Doctor sometimes, but they have finally grown fewer and far between. The first year after loosing him, it was all she dreamed about-that damned wall, the Daleks, the howling sound of the Void, the look on the Doctor's face when she lost her grip, the final time she heard the four-time heartsbeat through the wall before he was gone forever.

She knew it was forever now. She was almost comfortable with it. It bothers her that he will have no idea that she's sick, but he thought she was human. He expects her to have some idiotic normal life and die like a human—probably after marrying some stupid human man and making very human babies.

Riiiight…human, not so much, she thinks sarcastically to herself. Well, I hope he isn't alone. Just because I can't move on doesn't mean he shouldn't. She tries her best to actually mean it, but part of her still grieves, still loves, and desperately misses him.

Rory wheels up to the usual place next to the check-in counter, and Rose waits for Tony. This is part of their game. The toddler squeals when he sees his "'osie," and runs over to stand next to the wheel chair where Rory picks him up and deposits him gently into Rose's lap. Rose gives her little brother a squeeze, and he pats her head with one hand, "Uv, oo, 'osie," he says around his other hand is his mouth. Jackie walks up with a smile, and they all head out to the curb.

"'ello, Rory. How's your Amy doing?" Jackie asks.

"Hi Jackie. She's great, looks like she swallowed a planet, but she and the baby are fine." He says this last bit with a prideful grin that lights up the room as they head outside.

Once at the curb, Jackie transfers Tony from Rose's lap to his carseat in the back of the limo. As Rory holds the chair steady Rose gets up and heads towards the other side of the car. Turning to smile at Rory, she waves a fond farewell and the driver helps her into the car. Jackie slides in next to her with a sigh asking how it went.

"Y'know, mum, the usual, I slept the entire time. I'm starting to feel better. These last few days have been much easier. I dreamt of the Doctor again, though. That same dream. They keep gettin' more detailed." She says all this with her head back on the seat, eyes closed, and a small smile on her face.

Jackie, seeing the smile, thinks her heart might break. She's so worried for her daughter. Jackie was okay before, when she thought she would lose her daughter to that strange alien who so obviously loved her, no matter that 'we're just friends' act. Bollocks! But then he was gone, and they were here, building a new life. They'd come so far. Now, watching this slow decay; it's so hard. Anything that makes her happy, Jackie will encourage.

Just please don't die, Rose. What would I do? "Oh, that's wonderful, sweetheart. Was he still looking for you?"

Looking over at her mother and smiling, knowing that she's covering her unease with the cheerful tone and breezy sentiment, "Ya. He's calling my name, sayin' he's looking for me; that I have to meet 'im, jus' like before, but this time I could smell the place. It smells like the ocean, but it's colder. Well, anyway, it's a nice dream. Sad though, he sounds sad." Rose finishes, staring off into space with a small frown on her brow.

Jackie watches her daughter, and hopes. She hopes Rose might actually be getting better (maybe this new treatment is working), hopes that Tony will really get to know his sister, hopes that she might see Rose happy again one day. It never occurs to her to hope for the Doctor, but she would have. She's pretty sure she has enough hope for all of them; Jackie's good at hope.