Hi! No author's note this time!
Oh wait this technically is an author's note.

Well this is awkward.

Well, since I've started an author's note, I might as well say that yes, I know this update is kind of late (in my time zone it's 9:30 PM)

I say "well" a lot.

That's interesting.

Ok now I'm getting off topic so I'll just end this author's note.

Doctor's POV:

I hate it when I get chained to tables. Especially when I don't have my shirt on.

Unfortunately, that's what's going on right now.

The table is made of luxaes, as are the chains. They really need an interior designer in here.

A middle-aged man in a white coar stands above me with a stethoscope, looking confused.

"Sir, it appears-" he begins.

"I have two hearts? Yes, I'm aware of that." There's no point in trying to convince them I'm human anymore.

The man jots something down on a clipboard on a tray next to him. I crane my neck to try and see what he's writing, but he angles it away from me.

I lay my head back down. The table is cold and uncomfortable, and I have no pillow to rest my head on. I listen to the ever-present hum of machines in the quiet room. My arms begin to ache from being chained to the table.

I feel something rustle my hair. I hear the snip of scissors and the man places a couple strands of brown hair in a test tube. "Hey!" I exclaim. He ignores me. I glare at the luxaes ceiling.

The man takes a cheek cell sample and a small skin sample. He pricks needles into my veins to extract blood and shines lights in my eyes. When he's done, he pours a sickeningly sweet liquid down my throat and rolls his cart away. My eyelids droop and my thoughts get slow and sticky, like molasses. Hmmmm, I like molasses…

-Later-

I know she's here before I even open my eyes. The red dress woman.

She stands over me, her eyes glittering villainously. "Our machines couldn't identify your species," she informs me.

"I'm not surprised," I answer.

"What are you?" she interrogates.

"I'm the Doctor," I reply.

"Well, if you want to do it the hard way," she smiles coldly, sending shivers down my spine.

A mechanical arm holding a knife slides out from the side of the table. The knife positions itself on my chest and lowers down slowly, stopping when a tiny dot of scarlet blood wells up around it. I cry out in pain and shock. The woman's smile widens.

"Why… are… you… doing… this?" I ask through gritted teeth. Although I know the answer. She wants to know about me, she wants to cut me open, take me apart, see what's inside.

Sometimes one of the things I love most about humans, their curiosity, is also their biggest flaw.

"Who are you?" she asks in response.

"I'm the Doctor," I tell her.

She purses her lips and snaps her fingers. The knife retracts. "I'll be back in twelve hours. And if you don't cooperate, we'll have to use a… different tactic."

Rose's POV:

I rub my eyes drowsily. "Doctor?" I ask.

No answer.

"Doctor?" I ask louder, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

Silence.

"DOCTOR!" I scream frantically. I pound on the wall hysterically.

A wall panel slides open. A woman steps in.

She's wearing a long red dress that fits her slender frame perfectly. Her dark, wavy hair is perfect, as is her bloodred lipstick, which stands out against her pale skin. She reminds me of a vampire, the kind that seduces her victims into trusting her before sucking all the blood out of their bodies. She looks beautiful, but she radiates a feeling that makes you want to scuttle away and hide.

"Where is he?" I demand, trying to sound unafraid.

"Oh, he's being subject to our… hospitality," she answers in a way that makes it obvious that their "hospitality" isn't a good thing.

"WHERE IS HE? TAKE ME TO HIM!" I demand.

The woman looks unimpressed with my outburst. "You love him, don't you?" she asks.

I feel like I've just been hit by a horde of rampaging cybermen. I try to look calm. "No," I lie. Or am I telling the truth? Do I love him? Does he love me? I'm not sure anymore.

She purses her lips and I can't tell if she believed me or not. She turns to leave the room. I grab her arm.

"Take me to him," I command.

She wrenches her arm free. "Oh, you'll be seeing him soon enough," she tells me as she sashays out of the room, which is somehow not reassuring at all.

I should be worried. I should be coming up with an escape plan.

But the woman's question voice echoes in my mind. Do I love him? I did. I broke through the fabric of reality for him.

But he rejected me.

But he's saving me now, isn't he? Doesn't that mean something?

No. He's the Doctor. He saves everyone.

Am I becoming just another part of his past? There were always those people that we would meet, save, and leave, hopefully with them safe and happy. Those people were great. Are great. They were strong. Brave. Good. Deserved to be saved.

But I was something more.

I remember when we met Sarah Jane and I asked him if I was going to end up like her. Abandoned.

He said no. Not me.

I felt special. Like I was something to him that no one else was.

Maybe I wasn't. Maybe he says that to everyone.

He cried when we said goodbye. He barely ever cries.

Does that mean something?

Maybe it doesn't.

Or maybe he did love me. Once. But not now.

I could have ended the universe. The hole still isn't closed.

But did I do it for him or me?

Do I love him? Does he love me?

50 years is a long time.

Maybe there never was anything between us. Maybe I'm just being naïve, riding on fantasies of something that'll never happen.

Do I or do I not?

Soooooo, uh, that was the chapter.

Yep that got kind of… heavy at the end there.

Like seriously I was writing and then I took a break and watched some Doctor Who and then BOOM Rose got all depressed.

Well anyway ITS DA WEEKEND SO I CAN WRITE MORE BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE TO WRITE POETRY ABOUT MITOSIS YAY! (my science teacher is a weird guy)

So yeah expect an update tomorrow.