She walks through the forest, her red hood covering her face, the basket secure at her side. Her objective is to make it to grandma's house safely while making sure that no one gets the important information protected from enemy eyes. She feels her breathing quicken at the thought of danger, her pace speed up as she drives herself deeper into the thick trees.

"Rose…" she can hear him whisper, the one she fears, the only one who could stop her.

"Rose…" he calls again, so soft against the shell of her ear, tendrils of her hair in falling outside of the red cloak.

"The thing about most fairytales Rose… is that they have a beginning, a middle and an end," he tells her, before appearing in the shadows of the trees a few feet ahead of her.

Her steps slow down, as she begins to try and catch her breath. No need to hide it, she knows she's been caught, knows he likes to play with his prey. There is no escape. She stands there, waiting for him, waiting to see his face as he moves out of the darkness.

"But your story Rose, it has no end. It skips like a flat stone against the surface of the still waters of the ocean that this universe resembles. One tiny stone, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and yet you just keep skipping." His brown eyes find hers from beneath the brown wisps of bangs. His trademark trench billows in the wind around him, as though he belonged there with the trees, living amongst them.

Still, she knows that he's out of place here.

The chucks give it away.

"You've changed since the last time I saw you." She tries not to feel the heat rise to her cheeks, or the yearning that she remembers. He's stopping her from her goal, and therefore he is the enemy.

"Mmm… have I? I guess it all depends on your interpretation. Which one of me you are talking about? After all, this is your story…"

She remains silent, stoic against his words. She's waiting. She's forever waiting for him to finish what he's started.

"You certainly have. You used to be Rose Tyler, defender of the Earth. Now look at you. You've gone domestic, playing house with a child that's not even your own. I never thought I'd see the day-"

"I had too!" she interrupts, reacting to his words. "I never once called him my own. He had a mother, and a father! The Ouroboros told me…"

"To what? To give up? Give into life? To chips and beans on toast? To white picket fences and mortgages? I thought they told you to protect him, not try and make him into something he's not."

She's quiet against the onslaught, figuring it's for the best. She'll never escape him. He's come here to collect. He's hunting.

"A big swirly ball looping in over itself in a constant continuous manner- you were always articulate weren't you Rose?" He moves closer to her. Stalks her. Circles.

"What are you here for? If it's Peter…"

"No, it's not the boy. I'm not really here at all. Do you think this is all real Rose? The cape, the basket full of top secret Torchwood information that must get to Granny's before 16:00 hours? I think your brain is starting to go in your old age."

She remains silent, a tear falling down her cheek. She had been so happy on the trail before he appeared. So happy to believe in forests and faeries.

To not veer off the path.

He's ruining it. He's ruining it all with his words, and his clothes and every little detail. He doesn't belong in this world just as she didn't belong in this universe.

Still he circles her.

Still she waits.

"Do you remember the day that Grace gave you Peter? The day you two swapped children? Elle was so brave, so at peace knowing she would never see you again. It was almost like she was relieved."

"Stop it," she says, and he stops the pacing right off to the side of her. He obeys her wish, but leans in to whisper in her ear.

"Mind you, Elle was a young woman by then, twenty years old. You two looked like twins, which is why I guess it made it easier for you to pretend you're her great granddaughter, made it easier to dye that hair of yours auburn, just like hers. But Grace cried and cried, she didn't want to hand over her baby, her son. She always knew, always knew it would have to come to that. After all, fifteen years had passed and he still was the size of a five year old. She always knew she would have to let go. She wouldn't let you touch her, wouldn't let anyone touch her as she cried."

His words send shivers down her spine, as she notices that the trees are becoming dimmer.

She can't see the forest through the trees.

"You must have wondered; wondered if she took care of Elle, if she loved her the way you did, the way she expected you to love Peter. I know that you looked, between the constant moving and pretending, you searched. You kept in contact with Torchwood, until you knew that it was futile. You kept looking till you knew they would have had to have been dead."

"What do you want?"

He stands in front of her, no more than a few inches away.

"I want you to wake up. They are coming, and you have to get ready. You've had your head in the clouds for so long that you've forgotten what you're here for. You forget what he's here for: the boy. What you don't know is that they're hiding something from you, your granny and your mum. You are just confused as too what you are doing. There is no Good and Evil, no truth, only everyone's perceptions, but you are so lost, so lost as to what is really going on."

"What do you want, from me?" she asks him.

"I am just trying to protect you, protector… trying to help you." And he pulls back, walking away from her, a smile still stretched across his face.

"But if you're not the big bad wolf? Then who is?"

"You are."

Rose wakes to the sound of her alarm going off, and she groans as she hits the off button and gets up to make herself a cup of tea. As she walks down the hallway, passing half unpacked boxes until she reaches his room, and she can't help but look in on him, surprised to see him still face down on the mattress, sound asleep. Knowing his alarm will go off in another twenty minutes, she decides to leave him be and let him have those last precious minutes.

As she pulls the rob tighter around herself, she pushes her now auburn hair back out of her face, before making her way to the kettle. She smiles, realizing it was one of the first things that she has unpacked. Even after all these years, she still enjoys her cuppa. Once it's on, she sits herself at the kitchen table and begins to think about her dream.

It's the first time in twenty years she has thought about him, thirty since she's thought particularly about William. She remembers because it was Peter's fiftieth birthday, an equivalent to his tenth.

"Mum," he asks, and it causes her to still cringe at the sound. It still sometimes surprises her that his emotional maturity level grows at the same pace as his body.

"Peter dear, I told you, you have to call me Rose," she says, kissing his hair as they wait to go see a movie.

"Why isn't Dad coming for my birthday?" he asks, holding her hand firmly as people push each other closer together to try and stay warm in the cold. He looks ten, an age where most let go of hands, but it's not that he isn't autonomous- he just likes to reach for her hand. It reminds her of someone else.

"It's because he's busy sweetheart. He's… your dad had to go away for awhile," she says, trying to remember how she told him the first time. "He had to go to a far away place because he met some people that said they could fix his spaceship."

She watches as the woman in front of her looks back at her with a strange look, then down at Peter before up again. Rose just smiles politely and the woman smiles back in a knowing way, a way that she's learned parents use between each other. It's the smile that says: "Kids, aren't they just precious?" Once the woman looks away, she rolls her eyes and focuses back on Peter.

"He'll be back right?" Peter asks her, no sign of sadness or hope in his voice. He sounds so old. She shakes her head, realizing he's really fifty. It makes her feel so old.

"One day sweetheart, one day."

The tea's placed in front of her, the scent of it waking her out of her reverie. Peter smiles briefly at her and sits across from her. She notices he made her toast, while making his own breakfast. She smiles back fondly at him as he takes a sip of his own tea and bites down on the bread.

"Are you ready for your first day of school?" she asks.

He nods politely, not really looking at her, but focusing on the black art book he's been carrying everywhere for the last six months. She shakes her head at the new hobby, knowing it will only be a matter of time before he masters it as well, just like almost anything else he's ever done. But for now, he still bumbles, still colors outside the lines, is still learning.

"I know you're still mad that we moved here from Japan. I know how much you liked it there, but it was time honey," she says reaching for his hand resting against the table. He stills at the touch, looking at it before looking up at her, his blue eyes vacant , the curly mess he calls hair falling into his eyes.

"I'm not mad," he says quietly, turning his focus back to the book, and she feels a little disappointment that he's reached the age where he shuts her out.

"Well I'm super excited. New country, new job, new school."

"First school," he interjects, continuing to draw, his other hand stuffing food into his mouth. Her smile falters for only a moment before she nods her head.

"It's going to work, I promise. You're old enough now that no one will notice if you don't age the same. You know that's why I couldn't…"

"I know, Rose," he says, and it hurts just that little bit. They've had several lives now, identities given to them by her honorary status by Torchwood. She's been a sister, aunt, cousin, even a god-mother to him, but never mother. She always refused to be, because she isn't. It doesn't stop her from wishing some days.

"We're here to stay until you graduate, then we'll move to Vancouver. It's a bigger city and we can get lost down there for a few more years." She knows that now she's just speaking to reassure herself as she stands up and begins to move away from the table.

"I don't see why I have to go to school," he mumbles, holding his head between his hands. She feels her brows furrow in confusion.

"But I thought you said you wanted too," she says, stopping beside him, looking down at what he's drawing. It's a woman, her hair flying everywhere, floating in the middle of the paper, her dress unique but delicate looking.

"I did, but I realized you were right. It's stupid. I already know it all. It's too much of a danger. anything I could learn there I could learn on my own."

"True, but I thought it was because you wanted to meet people, start socializing."

"I'm not like them," he says, looking up at her with those blue eyes, so much worry and fear behind them, that she finds herself taking his face with both her hands.

"No you're not. You're special, and there is nothin' wrong with that. Peter, this is what you wanted. Well it may not be where you wanted, but it's what you wanted. You wanted to go to school. You want to learn, you want to make friends, and that's all any of them want to do, give or take a few of those options." She beams, and she sees him smile in her hands.

"You may not be completely 100 like them Peter, but none of them are 100 like each other anyways. As long as you are yourself, you'll fit in perfectly."

"Is that something my father taught you?" he asks her. The words are not malicious, which is a first. He hasn't talked about his father in over ten years, the name falling out of their vocabulary like Rose's accent did over time. She finds it odd that the time she dreams of him is the time that Peter mentions the "F" word.

In truth it wasn't his father who taught her that, but her Doctor. He had been the first to make her realize that all she had to do was be herself, and never mind the rest. It had been good advice. She still uses, it even a hundred years later. But that would be too complicated to explain in the moment, so instead she says, "Yes, yes he did."

She kisses his forehead and lets his face go, letting her fingers trail on the paper. The drawing is amateurish, and it makes her happy. It's rare that he's doing something at his age-level, and the drawing looks like something a sixteen-year-old would do, at least in her mind. She doesn't know too many sixteen-year-olds. She spends her days taking care of preschoolers now.

"She's pretty," she tells him and smiles as she tucks a strand of escaping hair back behind her ear.

"She's you," he tells her, grinning up at her hesitantly.

She feels her face break into a wide grin, and can't help humming to herself as she walks down the box-riddled hall to the bathroom so she can start her day.

After all, today is the first day of the rest of their lives.

"I thought you said this was safe!" he screams to Romana as the TARDIS jerks and moans, sparks flying everywhere, while he tries to maintain his duties.

"It is safe!" she fires back, using the railing to keep her upright while she tries to pilot the ship. Both move in a frenzy, pushing and pulling gadgets on the console. It's almost enough to make Martha laugh, if she wasn't already too busy trying not to throw up.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you let the other TIME LORDS HELP!" Jack yells to him, over top of the warning bells, and even then she can hear his exasperation.

"That's not the deal. The deal was that Romana could pilot if none of them touched my TARDIS," he roars, shooting a cautionary glance at the two younger male Time Lords who are seated silently beside Martha. She turns to the one left of her, hoping to catch the dark haired alien's eye. He turns back to her, a calm expression on his face. She smiles reassuringly at him only to have him look away, uninterested.

Rolling her eyes at his indifference, she tries closing them at the onslaught of the shaking ship, only to realize it wasn't a good idea. They shoot open, her stomach lurching into her mouth, and she's ready to throw up. It's the Time Lord to the right of her, a blonde, who takes her hand in a reassuring way, that causes the sickness slowly fade away into a bearable queasiness. She smiles at him in thanks, and goes back to watching the three causing this hell.

"You are such a hypocrite. They are at the top of their classes, two tests away from their license, something you never got, and you're questioning their ability to fly?"

"Who still has a functioning TARDIS after flying through the void, huh? That's what I thought…"

Martha stops paying attention when Romana and the Doctor start speaking in a language she doesn't understand. It occurs to her that if the TARDIS can't translate it, it must be an old tongue. That, or she's trying to spare her the grief of listening to them.

She holds onto the Time Lord beside her, holds onto his hand and tries to focus on something to keep her world from spinning out of control. She finds she can't help but watch him, moving about the console, the liveliness of his actions, the spark she hasn't seen in months. Even then, she never saw the excitement he exerts now, his muscles screaming in glee, the twinkle in his eyes, and she knows it's all for Rose.

It's enough to make her vomit.

But before she can, the TARDIS crash lands, causing more sparks to fly everywhere. Her eyes fuzzy from the light, she tries to unbuckle the belts that were installed from Romana's ship, the belts that secured her while they took this crazy journey. Struggling against them, she feels someone else's hands helping her calm and cool, and as her vision clears she can see it's the blonde Time Lord. She smiles in appreciation and lets him unbuckle them before she's up and running to where the Doctor fell.

"You alright?" she asks, kneeling beside his form.

"Just a bit of rough and tumble, no damage done," he says, letting her take his hand and pull her to her feet. Next she goes to check Jack.

As she approaches his still body, she gets gooseflesh at the sight. His neck seems to be crumpled at an angle that she knows is not healthy. A small dripping sound, the sound of blood as it sneaks through the grate causes her to move forward and move fast. She can already tell he's not breathing.

"Got a problem here…" she says her voice on the edge of panic as she begins to check for a pulse.

"No you don't, trust me," the Doctor says, gently helping Romana up. Martha stares in disbelief at his complete disregard before turning back to the recently dead and tearing open his shirt. Part of her heart knows that this is futile, useless even. As a doctor, she grasps the concept that his neck is broken and if he's not dead, then he'd be severely paralyzed for the rest of his life. But she knew him. He made her lunch. He had shown her the dream recorder. He had been laughing moments ago, a tinkling sound she found more precious than any stone.

"A little help here?" she asks pumping Jack's chest with her hands in repetition. She turns to look back at the Doctor, who has Romana's face within his hands, as he checks her for damage. Slowly he turns to Martha, a sad look on his face, distance between his thoughts and his eyes.

"Trust me, you can stop."

"I'm not going to let him die! It doesn't end like this," she yells, pressing her mouth to Jack's and exhaling into his body. But before she can pull away, his hands come up and wrap around her head, and she feels him kissing her, sending tingling sensations to her toes. She breaks away and moves away from his body.

"Jesus Christ!" she gasps in shock, as she crawls away.

"I just had the most wonderful dream. A beautiful girl was taking off my clothes and then…" He lifts his head to see his shirt undone. "Oh… Nevermind."

He then turns to see Martha half sitting more than a few feet away, and smiles brilliantly. "Sorry sweetheart, I just can't help myself sometimes. You should see men's faces when I do it. They don't know whether to punch me or be happy I'm alive."

"Anyone care to hell me what the hell just happened?!" she asks, annoyed as her adrenaline starts to drain away from her body as Jack begins to sit up, leaving no mess on the floor where the blood should still be.

"Jack can't die, which is why he's joining us on our little journey," the Doctor tells her, his hands dropping from Romana's face, before he bends down to pull Martha up.

"Is that true?" she asks Jack, the Doctor still holding her hand, still keeping her grounded against this new information.

"Scout's honor," he replies, holding three fingers up.

"Like you ever were a scout," she scoffs, turning away from him and towards the others.

"No but I met Lord Baden Powell once. Excellent stamina, lovely wife."

She shakes her head, ignoring Jack and focusing on the man in front of her. He still holds her hand gently, his thumb rubbing the top. She can see the visible distress in his face at the thought of harm befalling her, and it's almost enough to make her forgive him his injustice on the spot.

Almost.

"Uh… you could have told me that Jack was immortal," she whispers.

"Uh… As far as I can recollect I'm pretty sure I did," he whispers back.

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did. I specifically… you know what, never mind. I'll resend the bloody memo." He drops her hand and walks away, and she stares on in disbelief and confusion. At this moment, in this setting she's never seen him so… human. His nerves are wracked, he's pacing back and forth, biting his nails and being all together fidgety. Since his fall from the pedestal just the other day, she has been viewing him through different eyes, with a different perspective. It's with this perspective now that she sees him, sees how fragile and normal he is, Time Lord or otherwise.

And she realizes, even if this is all Rose is to him, a handicap that takes him down that notch and makes him into a more fractured but beautiful soul, that she creates the imperfection that makes him flawed enough that he can relate to others, if she is what separates him from Romana and the rest…

Well then, that's enough.

"Ready?" she asks him, her hands tightly gripped around the steering wheel. The school that stands before her is over 200 years old and gorgeous no less, red brick with large expanding windows, and stairs up to the front entrance.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asks him, as they watch teenagers mingle in the courtyard full of dead leaves on lush green grass.

"It's old," he replies in a non-committal tone. She looks past the passenger seat to look up at the looming building.

"It is, but it's not what it appears to be. When your principal gave me the tour, he explained that the buildings up front are heritage sites, and therefore protected by law. They rebuilt the school in 2008 and then again in 2090 so that there's better heating, power and all of that in the back part of the school. See the segway?" she says, pointing to the hallway that leads from the old worn building to a more up-to-date one. The glass gleams in the early morning sun as people move back and forth through it.

He nods politely and sighs before opening the door.

"Hey!" she exclaims, grabbing his arm before he turns to leave. He looks at her, his eyes evasive.

Just like his father.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want too," she tells him, and knows even given the option he would refuse to take it, and he doesn't prove her wrong.

"It'll be okay Rose, don't worry about it." And he gives her a half hearted smile, which she returns tenfold. Grabbing his face, she kisses his cheek, much to his dismay.

"Do you HAVE to do that?" he asks her, pushing her away, but not with full strength, never will full strength.

"Yes, and I will, everyday for the rest of your life. Now get out of my car, or I'll be late for work," she says as his bell rings. He climbs out and looks back at her, leaning down to keep eye contact.

"You will be too, if you don't hurry," she adds, nodding to the multitude of students filing through the doors.

"Have a good day," and she can hear in his voice that he means it. Grinning, she nods and says "You too," while changing out of park to neutral.

He just smiles back and closes the door, before running towards the school. She lets the mask of easy-goingness fall from her face as she sees him run away.

And that's when she feels it, like a piece has finally slid into place in her brain, a puzzle completed, and now a weight against her mind. Fuzzy yes, but present.

She doesn't leave the parking spot until she sees him go in the door.

He holds his breath as he takes his first step out of the TARDIS, his foot landing only a twenty to thirty feet away from where it had a little over 2 ½ years earlier. The sea breeze hits his face, causing him to stager back at the weight of it. He checks above instantly for zeppelins and is surprised to see something similar to them decorate the sky. They aren't exact, leading him to wonder if they are in the right universe. The balloons are thinner and seem to move somewhat faster than the last time he's seen them. New dirigible technology? He chuckles at the thought of the poor bugger who works that job and finds himself beaming manically. There's a sense here, a feeling in the air that tells him she's here, and she's waiting.

"Coming out?" he calls back into the ship, watching as Romana walks down the ramp towards him, her heels traded for combat boots and a pair of olive pants, with a white t-shirt and black zip up jumper. He smiles once he sees she's pulled her hair back, something that he can't recall ever seeing her do- well, his Romana do. In fact, she had always seemed a bit of a girly girl to him, and here she was, in what seemed a little more like fatigues than a business outfit.

"You're the President of an entire race, about to walk into a Torchwood that you have no idea if they're going to be welcoming to you, and you choose to wear that?" he asks her, leaning against the steel railing that guards people from the Thames below.

"Well, if they don't take to kindly to President's of an entire race, then it will be a good camouflage, won't it?" she says, smiling at him.

He lets his gaze travel to the insides of his ship as he watches Jack check co-ordinates on his wrist band, the wool of his long coat making it harder to billow against the wind. As he steps out of the way, he can see Martha slowly making her way down the ramp, chatting it up with one of the other Time Lords that had accompanied them on this trip.

She makes eye contact with him and he grins at her. She smiles back at him, and it's then he knows she's forgive him.

Once all of the occupants are outside the TARDIS, he locks her, and turns to everyone standing there in a circle.

"Right then, so what's the plan?" He places his hands in his pockets and looks at Romana.

"Send out any signals that may help other Time Lords detect our presence. Originally I sent out three teams: Alpha, Beta and Theta."

His smile fades a touch at the names, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't let her constant reminder affect him in anyway.

"And we are?"

"Team Theta." She looks at him briefly before blushing and looking away.

"Right, of course we are," he says, looking back out at the sea.

"Well, you go do you're signal… thing…" Jack says, interrupting the awkward moment between the two leading Time Lords. "And we're going to go get a bite to eat." He takes Martha's hand and beams brightly at her.

"You hungry?" he asks, his hair waving in the wind, his smile charming.

"Of course!" she replies, beaming back at him before looking at the Doctor. "Will that be okay?"

He feels one of his hearts sink a little at seeing her hand linked with Jack's, to see her smile at him so brilliantly, but he doesn't let it show.

"Sure, I'm not your keeper," he tells her half heartedly, trying to be light and breezy. But he watches as her face falter for a split second, a sliver of hurt entering her eyes at the response and he wonders then if he can do anything right.

"If it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if I could take a leave of absence as well Madam President," asks the Time Lord who had been talking with Martha earlier.

"Well, I am your keeper, and I don't think I can spare you at the moment. I need someone to set the co-ordinates of the inter-planetary signal, something that wouldn't show up on Torchwood's scope, unless they're there."

"I can do it," the other young Time Lord Pipes up. "Let Fren go, I can take care of it. That is, if you find that suitable Madam President."

She looks at Fren then back to the other one. "Alright Anais, you may stay and deal with the co-ordinates. Fren, you may have your leave."

Fren smiles widely and jogs to where Jack and Martha had stopped to wait for him, the Doctor watching as all three jaunt off merrily while he stays behind with Romana to help.

Sometimes, he thinks, you have to sit one out.

"… so at circle time, Francois asks me if he can sit in my lap, and of course I'm not thinking this will be any problem so I said sure, since Nancy was directing the circle this morning. Well, little did I know that Francois has a bit of a bladder problem…" Rose says as she dishes out carrots to go with the mash potatoes and steaks. In doing so, she pauses to breathe and notices that all he's doing is shaping his potatoes, molding them.

"What's the matter sweetheart? Lots of homework?" she asks him, ladling more carrots onto his plate.

"I dunno, I've had a headache for the last couple days, ever since the first day of school. It's right at the front of my head." He drops the fork and places his head in his hands. She places the pot on the table and pulls off her oven mitts.

"Yeah? Let me see." She kneels down and places the back of her hand on his forehead.

"Come on Rose, I think I know a headache from a fever," he tells her.

"Then humor me," she retorts sweetly, holding her hand in place. "I'm a preschool teacher, I work with fifteen bacteria and germ infested rug rats. I know a thing or two about a thing or two."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't pull away from her onslaught of forehead checking and gland testing.

"Well you don't feel warm," she says, stroking the hair out of his face.

"No communicable illnesses. Do you believe me now?" he asks, his tone dull and emotionless. It was almost as if he was a normal teenager.

"Yes I do," she says, getting up from her kneeling position. She neglects to mention that she's had the same headache, the same press against the frontal lobe. Instead, she walks around to her side of the kitchen table and begins to sit down.

But as she sits down, she feels a stirring in her stomach that she hasn't in over fifty years. It's the stirring of a sleeping animal, the waking of the beast she's been so good at hiding. It's almost like she can hear the roaring of a tsunami about to hit her, her body going numb against the oncoming storm. And then all is completely and deafeningly quiet, before all she hears is her own intake of breath as she's thrown to the floor. A strangled noise escapes her throat as she claws her way up the side of the cupboards, trying to pull herself to a sitting position. Time and the Wolf are fighting for possession, fighting for the right to own her. She looks up to see Peter standing above her, a frightened and concerned expression on his face.

"Run," she growls, the scent of his skin making her dizzy, his sweat and fear mingling and exploding in her brain.

"I wont leave you like this," he says, hovering, his hands outstretched to calm her.

"Peter, help me… Don't trick him, but he's so tasty looking! A little help here, what and share? I doubt it… FOR GOD SAKES PETER RUN!" She screams at him, and she watches as he darts out of the kitchen and down the hallway, as she slides further down on the floor.

"Peter and the Wolf, how quaint! Tick Tock, Time's a clock, Rhyme with Time, but Time's a bore, there's always war, war war war… Time… war… time… war… time…"

And then he's back, a bottle of pills in his hands- they shake violently trying to open the cap.

"Rose what do I do? They've expired!"

"Rose is a little busy right now dearie, but if you could just get me a cuppa… Don't talk to him like that, like you're better than him…"

She sees his eyes are tearing up as he shakily finds a way to open the bottle and dump a few of the pills into his hands.

"Peter…" she whispers, finding her voice amongst the others. "Peter, give me the whole thing."

"But it could kill you- there's more than fifty pills in here!" he says, shaking his head.

"I know, it's okay… don't die remember? It will be okay, trust me… maybe I just need to jumpstart the system…" She is panting, her forehead perspiring.

He shakes his head no, not ready to accept the fact he's going to have to kill her to bring her back to normal, but he does it anyway. Tipping the bottle in her mouth, and grabbing a glass of water, she fights off her daemons as he helps her get them down. Slowly, he lays her on the ground and goes to grab a comforter and a pillow. He throws the blanket over her, and lays down beside her, the pillow under his head.

"You don't have to stay Peter, you don't have to stay and watch this," she tells him, as he holds her hand. He's propped her on her side in the recovery position, her arm outstretched with her hand in his.

"I told you, I'm not going to leave you," he says, the tears already fading from his eyes, the resiliency she knows he has coming into effect.

She smiles at him the best she can as she feels the war waging in her body. "Then I want you to go to sleep, and don't worry okay? Because everything will be fine in the morning. Think of it as me going to sleep."

"I love you Rose," Peter whispers, closing his eyes and letting himself drift off. The adrenaline rush he experienced moments before has worn off and he is tired. She knows the headache throbs against his mind.

She watches as his breathing slows, as he drifts off into sleep, her breathing coming in slower and slower intervals, the drugs slowly working their way through her system. But she watches. She watches as her body gets colder and colder, as her mind gets fuzzier and fuzzier, until she closes her eyes for the last time.

That is, until tomorrow.

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

Martha sits across from Jack, with Fren to her right, digging into a plate of eggs and waffles. Jack smiles before biting down on his sausage. Fren stares at his plate.

"What is this?" he asks curiously, the pancakes still untouched, the syrup to his side.

"They're pancakes, haven't you had pancakes yet?" Martha asks, laughing as she shovels piece after piece of egg and toast, waffle and hashbrowns, into her mouth.

"Fren wasn't allowed to partake too much in Earth customs, such as our food. Romana seemed to think that if she allowed them to get too involved they might end up like the Doctor." Jack tells her, never looking up from his meal.

"Is this true?" she asks, looking at Fren, who sits politely.

"She didn't even want us wearing human clothing until she realized we were supposed to seem inconspicuous. That's why she isn't wearing her sash or carrying her rod." Fren replies, picking up the knife and fork at the sides of his plates.

"What did you eat then?" she manages to say before she shoves her dripping waffles into her mouth.

"Mostly proteins and nutrients in bland earth forms. Pastas without sauces, nuts, no meat. Time Lords are vegetarians where I come from," Fren answers, watching and mimicking how Martha pours the syrup on her plate, before he begins to cut into his pancakes and takes his first bite.

Jack and Martha both look up to witness his first taste of human food.

"It's so sugary!" he exclaims, his voice as surprised as his eyes. They snicker as he begins hurriedly shove them into his mouth.

"It's… I've never experienced…"

No one interrupts or acknowledges his obvious approval for the dish. All eat in silence before they see the Doctor and Romana running up to their table.

"We found them. They're at Torchwood."

"That's a pretty serious prescription Rose, one that a psychiatrist would prescribe. But it doesn't say on your records at all that you've visited a doctor in that field." Her doctor sits across from her on the little spinning stool.

"I know, and I know it sounds sketchy, but what I'm about to tell you is- well you probably won't believe me."

"Well, I'm open if you are," he says smarmily as he folds his arms over his fat chest.

Slowly, she inhales and exhales, clenching and unclenching her fists on her lap. "I'm an immortal human raising a half-alien/half-human child. I've been alive for over 120 years, so the fact remains that I have to change my records up a lot. That's the reason the pills aren't on them. It's because I haven't needed them in over sixty years."

She watches as his face contorts from confusion to amusement to anger.

"If you're not going to take this seriously, get the hell out of my office," he tells her, pointing to the door.

"I was afraid you were going to say that,' she replies, pulling a device out of her purse that has a similar shape to a gun. Its alien tech she stole from her days at Torchwood, and a very valuable piece at that.

"Listen, all I want you to do is write me out a prescription and then I'll be on my way."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" he asks her, his face shocked and his hands up.

"Yes. I TOLD you that already, that's why I need you to prescribe me the pills," she replies calmly.

He shakes his head, his hands shaking as he pulls the prescription pad from his pocket.

"I'll take the pad when you're finished too. That way we don't have this pesky problem again," she says, as he shakily writes out the prescription. He nods and hands her the pad.

Making sure it's what she needs, she nods her head in agreement and places the pad in her purse.

She then sets the dial on her device as he whimpers on the chair. "Men, you silly beasts, you think that I'm always going to kill you. Women usually figure it out right away but men they always fear it." She points the device at his eyes and pulls the trigger. An instant flash goes off, like a camera.

"See, it's kinda like that movie Men in Black. I get info, you get the last few minutes of your memory wiped, and when I come back for my pap in three months we'll be just peachy."

"And you are?" The front desk man asks, smiling politely.

"Romana, I already told you," she says, getting frustrated. Calming down, she tries again. "Look, I know you're only doing your job, but this is of a most pressing matter."

The young man looks at them, at their varying styles and ages. He smiles as he looks back to Romana.

"I think you have the wrong building. This is Vitech Center," he tells her firmly.

Romana looks at the Doctor, nods, and they all take a few steps away from the desk to come up with a new plan.

"I didn't foresee this being a problem," she whispers. "Last time it was rather convenient that we landed IN the main area for, not having to get through the lobby."

"What's the back-up plan then?" the Doctor asks her, and she looks at all the faces around the circle-Anais, Fren, Martha and Jack.

"Well there's obviously no reasoning with the receptionist, and I don't want to risk trying to move the TARDIS. I need some time to think," she tells him, unable to look him in the eye, not able to admit she has no plan.

"Madam President, if I may, I think I may have an idea," Fren says, and she looks up hopefully. He smiles, and continues. "It's simple, but I would have to do it."

The Doctor watches as she thinks about it for a few seconds, and then nods curtly, causing them to all turn and watch as Fren walks cautiously up to the receptionist, and comes to stand behind his marble station.

They speak in low tones for a few minutes, before Fren takes the receptionist's hand and places it on his chest. The group watches on as the receptionist pulls his hand back, looking a bit shocked, but still trying to act professional, as he nods and picks up his phone.

The Doctor smiles as Fren walks back to them with purpose, a smile on his face.

"Right, up we go then? I'm sure the others will be waiting."