Rose stumbled across the TARDIS art studio. She walked inside, staring at the pencils and paper of all kinds, paints and canvas of all kinds, modeling clay, chisels and stone, weaves for tapestries, and yarn for knitting and crocheting. Easels, desks, and poseable figurines of all shapes and sizes were strewn about. A corner was designated to fabrics and clothing design, and on a huge wall hung every conceivable musical instrument. Some sketches, barely begun paintings, and globs of unmolded clay lay around. As she walked through, she noticed stations for tile mosaics, colored paper collage, and junk sculpting. She knew she had probably missed a few things on her way to the far music wall.

The room was a huge mess, but looked mostly unused. The stack of music sheets filled with hand-written music notes stood out, being the only work at any sort of completion. She grinned, knowing it could only be the Doctor's work. Her heart nearly stopped, seeing the title. Truths and Roses. Just below the large, embellished title lay the simple Mvt. 1. The Doctor had written a symphony for her.

She took the first page, thinking it would be too hard to take all of them. She ran out, through the corridors, and into the library, where the Doctor had said he would be.

Rose ran to the Doctor, slouched in a comfy armchair with a thick book. "Doctor!"

He looked up and straightened.

Rose produced the music sheet. "You wrote a symphony for me?"

His lips tightened and his eyebrows lowered over intense, bright eyes. She had expected excitement and maybe embarrassment, but anger surprised her.

He quickly dropped the book as he stood up, tore the paper out of her hand, and crammed it in his pocket. "No." He brushed past her and walked quickly out of the library.

Rose followed him. "Doctor, it's all right, I like it! What's up with you?"

"Forget it."

"Please talk to me. I saw it all composed. It looked beautiful."

He rounded on her, his face red. "I said forget it!" he shouted, raising his hand.

Rose stared at him, stunned a moment. "Why?!"

The Doctor closed his eyes with a frustrated sigh and kept walking.

"I'm sure it's beautiful! I want to hear it. I can't just forget about it! I can't go on knowing I'll never get to hear the beautiful music you've composed for me."

He stopped and covered his eyes, then dragged his hands down his face. "I'm sorry. Of course you can't forget it. I just . . . I don't think you want to hear it."

"Yes I do! I'm sure it's beautiful. Stop doubting yourself. Let me hear it."

"Rose, I- I don't think you want to."

Rose took his hand and hugged his arm. "Stop being so hard on yourself. You're brilliant, Doctor. You're brilliant, and adventurous, and beautiful, and . . . totally mad! I know that your heart, poured out in music, can only be something just as brilliant, adventurous, beautiful, and mad as you are."

"Rose . . . really . . . it's not that great. It- it's rubbish, really."

"Stop saying that! Why are you so hard on yourself?"

He stuttered, flustered and trying to think of something new to say. "Just no." He walked away.

Rose followed him closely. "Please! Please, Doctor, please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

He stopped and lifted his head, clenching his fists. "Aaaaarrgh!"

Rose waited in anticipation, watching him breathe. He took a deep breath and she thought he was finally going to say something

"Uuuuuuuuuuugh . . . ." he groaned through the entire exhale.

She watched him breathe a few more times. He took another breath and she hoped he wouldn't keep groaning.

"Gaahh, fine!" he growled, throwing up his hands and twisting to face her. "Get your coat, Rose. We're going to a concert."

Rose jumped on him and hugged him. "Thank you, Doctor! Thank you! Thank you for being so vulnerable. I know it's going to be amazing."

He sighed and pushed her off. "Just . . . . Ugh!" He took a deep breath. "Okay. It's fine. It'll be okay." He gave her a look, finally one without anger or frustration. He looked nervous, but he looked kind. He continued to the console room, while Rose went to look for something nice to wear.

The Doctor slipped into the seat beside Rose in his tuxedo, while the orchestra set up. The Doctor had procured the best seats in the house through questionable means.

He leaned in to whisper. "I snuck this in the bottom of Picasso's dustiest, messiest trunk, with a note from Stravinsky, saying he'd sent the symphony to Picasso as a gift. It's been discovered as Stravinsky's lost work."

Rose's cheeks were cramping from smiling so much. "I'm so excited, it's going to be so sweet!"

The Doctor leaned back and finally relaxed. "Yeah . . . ." A smile finally appeared on his face. "I s'pose it is."

The conductor and the first violinist made their bows. Silence hung thickly after the applause stopped, creating tense anticipation in the entire auditorium. The conductor finally raised his hands. The players began.

Rose sat in shock. It was the worst cacophonous caterwaul she'd ever heard. There was no form or rhyme or reason in the tone or the rhythm. Just random sounds piled on top of each other. She could hardly even pick out the separate instruments. Her ears cringed and her brain cringed. She tried to believe it sounded good. Maybe not even good, just interesting. She tried to find anything redeemable. Her imagination had blown it out to be something magical that would transport her to romance-land and her conception of music would never be the same again. Her conception of music certainly would never be the same again. Her ears wanted to go deaf just to stop listening.

She came out of her shock and looked at the Doctor. His head lay back, his eyes closed, his lip trembling.

Rose couldn't help but laugh. "You were right, Doctor! I'm sorry I didn't believe you! It's rubbish!" She doubled over laughing at how awful it sounded.

The Doctor sat up. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Of course it is."

Rose took his hand and led him out of the auditorium. She rubbed her ears, trying to get the sound out. "I'm sorry I made you play it. I should've listened to you. And maybe never put a pen to a music sheet again, if that's all right."

He looked confused. She loved it when he was confused.

"I'll keep on composing, if that's all right, and you'd better not ask me to have them played."

"Definitely not. I am so sorry. But you were brilliant, and brave, and sweet to play it for me even though you knew it was awful."

"Yeh. I am those things, aren't I?" The smile was finally back on his face.

They held hands and left the concert hall, leaving Truths and Roses to be buried in time once more.

'Truths and roses have thorns about them,' said Henry David Thoreau. Rose will only hurt me. Telling her the truth of my feelings for her will hurt us both in the long run. I suppose I'm lucky Time Lord music is so highly advanced compared to early twenty-first century Earth music that she couldn't even understand it. Hmm . . . . Will she understand Time Lord sketches . . . ?