Holy mother of pearl, I thought I had no idea what I was going to do for the last chapter, but man, this one makes that one look like I'd planned something. Anything. I hadn't the faintest clue what this one was going to entail, other than words. Which are kind of required for a story.

I'm hoping this chapter meets the standards of my writingnoscity. It's slightly more of an internal-Rose than the zany adventures of the Tardis trio, but I felt that an internal-Rose was sort of needed before the next last few chapters. I really hope everyone likes it, especially since I created this chapter out of thin air (OoOo, magic!!!), and I am deeply honored by all of your awesome support. You're all beautiful people!

Disclaimer: I claim that I do not claim that I own Doctor Who.

"What do you mean, I have to stay?" Rose gaped up at the Doctor, horrified by his proposal that she stay put in the Tardis while he and the Master went traversing on some planet called Dwink in the hopes that they'd be able to resolve a massive war between the planet's inhabitants and their imposing invaders, the aliens called Rocorin. They had received the distress call earlier that day.

"Rose," the Doctor said, much calmer than she was, and he sat her down on the console bench, "you're in your third trimester, and for a Time Lord child—"

"Half-Time Lord child," she reminded.

"Okay, but even for a half-Time Lord child, the mother's anxiety level can be critical. The slightest amount of stress can be harmful."

"Not that you should feel any pressure," the Master mumbled dryly.

"Don't you start," the Doctor snapped.

"So while you two go off, I'm supposed to stay here and pretend that I'm not worried about how you could be killed?" Rose said, critical.

The Master gasped. "Oh, Pansy! I didn't know you cared so much about me! I'm touched."

"For the last time, my name is Rose!"

"Technically, it won't be the last time, since you said it would be the last time the last time you said it would be the last time, so really, I don't think I can trust you. Just saying."

"Keep on like that and I'll make it so that you won't be able to just say anything at all!"

"SEE? THIS IS STRESS!" The Doctor shoved the Master off of the part of the console he was sitting on and grabbed him by the ear. He ignored the Master's audible aggravation and proceeded to put him in a headlock, all the while, giving Rose a reassuring smile.

"It'll be fine," he told her. "We'll go, and you can have the whole Tardis to yourself. Just stay away from the room marked 'Do not enter,' because I'd rather not have you be eaten before our wedding day. But don't worry! You probably won't be missing out on much while we're gone, anyway. Just politics, and you know how boring that sort of thing can be."

"Yeah, he's right," the Master agreed. "Enjoy your stay alone with the unknown man-eating whatever monster only kept behind the safety of a bloody door. You should feel totally secure."

Rose moaned and buried her face in her hands, not paying attention to the Doctor squeezing tighter on his hold around the Master's neck.

So that was why she sat in the console room of the Tardis, all alone, at least when it came to the means of people who were already born. Little Alien Baby sat with her, comforting her sheer boredom by reminding her that they were both incredibly hungry, and that they wanted some strawberry-banana yogurt. Right. Now.

After relieving her craving, she began to walk aimlessly around the Tardis. To this day, it still astounded her how large the blue box really was. Every day she discovered something new, whether it was a room or a secret passage. She knew that there were hundreds of different bedrooms that looked like they had been lived in once, but had never gotten the chance to be cleaned out. The Doctor told her of a few of the rooms, that they had been lived in by his former companions (the ones whom he'd never gotten pregnant, although he could have always been lying), and that he hadn't had the heart to empty them of their old residents' stray belongings. Rose always smiled at the thought of this. She hoped that—if anything were to happen to her so that she could no longer travel in the Tardis—the Doctor would never clean out her room either, so that he would never forget her.

However, she imagined that the fact that they were having a child together would ensure her safety in that department.

Curiosity getting the best of her, she wandered up the hallway to the Doctor and the Master's different rooms, which were straight across from each other—an ironic factor, as they both made it obvious that they feared they might be strangled by the other person in the middle of the night. She'd seen the Doctor's quarters before (long before any drunken night following a visit to Picasso), but it looked almost entirely different than how she remembered. It always had the resemblance to a small library or museum, but now, there was less clutter of different artifacts scavenged from times and planets. Things were cleaner, which she didn't understand at all, not until she noticed that all of the sharp corners of desks and tables sharper objects had been moved to higher shelves. Once she made the connection, she beamed proudly at the attempt at baby-proofing the Doctor had made. She couldn't help but wonder how often he thought about Little Alien Baby without telling her.

The Master's room, she'd never visited before. To her, it was a danger zone, at least when he was around. She was positive that his bedroom had to be filled with weapons of mass destruction or plans to hunt down weapons of mass destruction or pictures of one specific person pinned on the walls to the point where it was horrifying. She expected missiles and guns and strategies to rule the universe. Maybe an escape plan or two in case he landed himself in prison. Or a self-help book.

But when she threw open the door, she was taken aback completely.

It was just a room, one like the Doctor's but without so many books and even tidier. The room was all white, sort of reminding Rose of an insane asylum, except there wasn't a straightjacket in the corner (though she and the Doctor had their suspicions that the Master may need one), nor was there an electric chair. There was, however, an overly large amount of crisps in one corner, stacked high up against the intersecting walls.

So that's why we had such a crisp shortage so suddenly!

She allowed herself to steal some (the Master wouldn't miss it—hopefully) and continue to peruse the bedroom, content and cured of her latest craving.

It was strange how everything was so normal. He had a wardrobe filled with random antiques he'd discovered in the past, and there wasn't a trace of dust on them. If only he could clean just as compulsively when he wasn't confined to his room. Further in the back of the wardrobe was a box of weapons, of small guns and lasers and things that would be snatched from him immediately if the Doctor knew about them. The sonic laser sat at the tip of the mountain.

Then, poking out between the bottom of the wardrobe and the floor was a book. Rose glanced around—she was positive that the Master had some sort of security camera set up in case curious eyes came wandering into the sanctuary—and when she saw that she was safe, that the Master and the Doctor hadn't returned that very minute and weren't going to barge in and demand to know what she was doing (or the Master, at least; Rose was fairly certain the Doctor wouldn't care), she snatched the book from its half-hiding spot.

It was a book of baby names.

You mean he's actually looking into this? Rose was bewildered at the Master's devotion, in case the baby did turn out to be a girl. Unable to stop herself, for she was too far gone now, she opened the little book to see what the Master was planning.

The book had everything, from the names (of course) to meanings and origins and what planet or time the names were from. Scribbles were written in the margins, about how one name would sound stupid next to the surname Tyler, or how another name was one worth considering. Names were circled and crossed out, had stars written beside them, and pages were dog-eared if they held names that the Master particularly liked. Rose was astounded, perhaps far more astounded than she'd ever been, and that was saying something.

When she finally got over the initial shock, she allowed the corners of her mouth to turn upwards. It was things like this that reminded her why she and the Doctor tolerated the Master so much.

She returned the book to its partially concealed place on the floor and exited the room, beaming at no one at all.

Eventually, she found herself staring into the future room of the Little Alien Baby. It was much more furnished than it had been in previous months, no longer just a very purple room with the contents of broken crib pieces and a dismayed block of wood that the Doctor had become far too angry with (he'd been trying his hand at carving a duck). No, along with the crib, it had a wardrobe and a changing table and approximately half a million toys (give or take a few) from the fantastical planets that were at peace with the Doctor and had heard of his upcoming parenthood. Only a few of the toys they'd received were not what they'd consider "safe" for newborns, but they accepted the gifts anyway. It was the thought that counted, not the fact that some people thought babies liked to play with miniature "Fun Grenades."

Apparently, word traveled fast across the universe. Rose didn't fully understand how this could be, but she had been a traveler of the stars long enough to know that some things were not meant to be understood, to her (and anyone else's) annoyance.

With the wedding and the due date of the Little Alien Baby—not to mention, the inevitable chaos that would ensue at the intergalactic wedding reception—Rose had nearly too much on her plate. She amused herself with the thought of some high and mighty alien emperor being squashed like a bug by Jackie, or the idea that Jack would turn the charm on to every single wedding guest (which he would, without a doubt). She thought of after the wedding, when Little Alien Baby would finally arrive to change hers and the Doctor's lives forever. The child in question was currently sending her flashes of excitement to subconsciously make her inch toward a little mobile hanging over the crib, one of all the "main" planets of the solar system (as far as most humans knew). Rose would poke the mobile with her finger and she could almost hear the baby squeal with delight.

Rose did not know what her child was going to become, but it didn't take rocket science to see that—whatever or whoever it would be—it would definitely not take much to amuse it.

Rose spun the mobile around once more and then left the nursery, closing the door softly, like there was already a sleeping baby inside. Although a bit nervous about what was to come, she rubbed her stomach and carried on through the Tardis to ease her complete and total boredom.


When the Doctor and the Master returned, she'd set up a buffet of food around the Tardis console so that she wouldn't have to move too much if she needed something while she watched My Fair Lady on the screen. Eliza Doolittle was at a horse race when the two Time Lords came tumbling in, slamming the door shut behind them with a bang.

"Hurry and get us out of here!" the Master yelled, shoving his entire person against the door in case someone tried barge into the spaceship. The Doctor jumped over the bags of food, only to punch a number of different buttons and throw just as many levers.

"What's going on?" Rose demanded, panicked. While she was worried over whatever was happening, she was not worried enough to feel she should try to move from her spot. "I thought you were asked to settle peace!"

"We did!" the Doctor cried, rushed. "We stopped the war, they aren't fighting, and it's all good with them now."

"It's just that they're not as good with us anymore," concluded the Master. "On the plus side, you can cut back on the guest count a bit!"

The Doctor pounded his hand on a big orange button, and the Tardis went spiraling. Rose kept her position by holding onto her seat for dear life. She wished that, at least if they had to run so they wouldn't be killed, they could go about it in a much gentler manner. However, she recalled the times when things like that never mattered, when she could be tossed around the Tardis freely and somehow still manage to keep from having a concussion, and she couldn't help but ask herself if—come next month—she'd ever feel like that again.

But she had to admit: she never liked how much her feet ached after all that lovely running.