"Rose! Wake up!"

Something was touching her shoulder, holding her back. She swung her arms wildly, trying to swim through the blood, to reach her mother.

"Let me go!" she cried. "I have to get her."

"Rose." Now both her shoulders were held firmly, and she was pulled forward, her cheek touching something soft and cool. "It's all right. It's just a dream."

She opened her eyes. Her face was resting against the Doctor's leather jacket, and he had wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

She pulled back and blinked at him. "I—" Her voice refused her for an instant.

"You were havin' a bad dream," he said, his eyes fixed on her face. He was kneeling in front of her.

It took a moment for this information to register. It had all seemed so real, more real than any dream she'd ever had. And pain was still clamping her calf. She bent over to grip it with both hands.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Cramp," she said through gritted teeth.

He took her ankle and rested her foot on his thigh then slid his hands under hers. He began kneading at the knotted muscle with one hand, and she relaxed her fingers. He wrapped his other hand around her shin then pressed his thumb into the back of her knee, moving it in small, deep circles. For an instant Rose wanted to pull her leg back; his motions were causing her more pain. But then she felt the muscle loosen, and the cramp melted away.

"Better?" he asked, glancing up at her face.

She nodded. "Yeah, much. Thanks."

He grinned at her then returned his attention to her calf. He continued massaging the area for another minute. "Muscle's gonna be sore if we don't encourage the blood to flow through it. Some hydration'll help, too. Have to control that lactic acid, y' know."

Rose wasn't really listening to him. The images from her dream remained fresh in her mind, and she could still almost smell the metallic odor of blood.

"So what was the dream about?" he was asking. "Rose?"

She shook her head to clear it. "My mum."

"Yeah? That'd be a nightmare all right."

She punched his arm lightly then grew serious again. "She was in danger an' I couldn't get to her. Something was holdin' me back, holdin' my leg—"

"Funny how physical sensations can grow into full-fledged dreams."

"What d'you mean?"

He gave her calf one more rub then set her foot back on the floor. "You got a cramp in your calf, and it lead to a dream in which you were restrained by the leg."

"You think the cramp made me dream that?"

He nodded. "Yep."

"But that was only part of it," she said. She was frowning at the memory.

"Yeah? What else?" He stood up then perched on the arm of her chair.

"She was in a pool of blood, an' she walked right out into it… She looked like she was dead."

"Sounds gruesome."

"It was." She shook her head to try to clear it.

"How do you feel about crowds?" he asked rather unexpectedly.

"What?"

"Crowds, Rose. Like 'em? Hate 'em?"

"I dunno. London's crowded; it doesn't bother me."

"But the crowd today, at the marketplace. How did it make you feel?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Awfully concerned about feelings now, aren't you?"

"Right this moment, yes."

She exhaled slowly. "There were a lot of people an' creatures, an' it was pretty noisy an' thick."

"First time you'd ever been in a crowd like that, wasn't it?"

"S'pose so."

"Well then, that's the rest of it." He stood up with a self-satisfied smile and began to walk away.

"The rest of what?"

He stopped to turn back. "The rest of the dream. Big crowd like that's bound to make you feel a bit of claustrophobia first time you see it. You feel like you're gonna be sucked into it—just like your mum got sucked into the blood in your dream."

"So now you're Freud or somethin'?"

"Brilliant man, old Sigmund. Way ahead of his time, but bit of a misogynist, really—way too much emphasis on the mother's part in the development of the child's psyche. An' don't get me started on his ideas about conversion disorders—"

"Don't worry, I won't."

Rose stood, testing out her leg. She'd had a couple of cramps like this during the last year or two, and they always left the muscles tight and sore, but her leg felt fine now. The Doctor took her arm and turned her toward the interior corridor.

"Off to the kitchen," he said. "Have a nice big glass of water, maybe a banana for the potassium."

He gave her a small push, and she continued walking.

"Oh," he added, "an' while you're there, I wouldn't mind a cuppa."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Yeah? Anythin' else?"

"Nope. That'll do."

Rose walked out into the hallway. The images from the dream were finally fading, but the fear she'd felt when she'd seen Jackie's frozen features and sightless eyes was still with her, gnawing at her stomach. Water might help, but she would definitely forgo the banana.

The Doctor spent the next several hours working beneath the console. He seemed pleased with the Divursticine, even humming little snippets of songs Rose didn't recognize.

She had wandered back into the console room more than once. After delivering the tea to him, she had tried to read, but she couldn't concentrate. She felt restless, so she had taken a long walk through the TARDIS's endless corridors. After more than an hour she realized that she was lost and almost began to panic, but then she was suddenly back in the hallway next to the console room. She poked her head inside to find the Time Lord still busy and completely preoccupied with his work. Rose took a stroll through the wardrobe room, briefly enchanted by the sheer variety of items and styles she found there.

But then she pulled out a woman's sweater that looked much like one of Jackie's favorites, and her thoughts returned to the dream.

Distracted again, she wandered back to the console room. Finally the Doctor had completed his task, or at least he had changed his position. He was standing before one of the screens, eyes flicking rapidly over whatever images or words had appeared.

"Did you finish it?" Rose asked, walking over to stand next to him.

He glanced over at her. "Almost."

"An' how's it working?"

He tapped at the screen with his finger. "Like I said, it's good stuff—best I've seen in over a hundred years. It's working pretty well."

"Good." Rose's tone, however, conveyed little enthusiasm.

The Doctor looked up from the screen. "What've you been doin' for the last couple of hours?" he asked casually.

She shrugged. "Just walkin' around."

"This whole time?"

"Most of it. I was in the wardrobe room for a while."

"I've known people who spent days in there."

"Yeah?" Again her tone was flat and disinterested.

"S'pose you're not that interested in clothes."

"Just not in the mood today."

Rose's fingers ran over the console, stopping to rest on an old-fashioned mechanical clock. The Doctor had rigged it to show the time in London.

"Nine at night," Rose muttered.

"Still thinkin' about your mum?" the Doctor asked.

"Can't seem to shake it," she replied.

"Give her a call," he said.

"You don't mind?"

"'Course not. Why else would I have fixed your phone?"

He was pleased to see a small smile cross her face. She reached into her pocket then frowned. Quickly she checked the other pocket in her shirt then shook her head.

"It's not here," she said.

"You must've dropped it. It's around somewhere."

Rose sighed in frustration. "Yeah, but where? I walked all over the TARDIS."

"Check the wardrobe room. It probably fell out while you were tryin' on clothes."

"I didn't try on anything." Rose began to walk toward the hallway.

Two small beeps echoed up from the screen, and the Doctor returned his attention to it. Rose hurried out into the corridor to search for her phone.

Rose felt as though she'd been walking for hours. It was virtually impossible to retrace her steps in the ever-shifting corridors. She passed the wardrobe room four times and her bedroom twice. On the third pass by the console room she nearly collided with the Doctor as he emerged out into the hallway.

"Any luck?" he asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his stomach.

"No."

"I'm sure it'll turn up eventually."

"I dunno. Can I call her from the phone in there?" She gestured toward the doorway.

"I'm still working on the communications system. You're gonna have to use your phone 'til I finish."

Rose sighed. "Maybe I lost it at the marketplace. Maybe we should go back there—"

"If it fell out there, it's long gone by now."

Rose began to move away, but the Doctor caught her arm.

"You could help me look, y'know," she said tiredly, pulling her arm out of his light grasp. "You know the layout of this thing much better than me." She started to walk away.

"Rose." He reached for her hand. "Just stop for a minute. Do you have any idea how long you've been searching?"

"Coupla hours," she shrugged.

"Five hours an' thirty-seven minutes. An' you were gone for over three hours before that. Don't suppose you stopped to eat or drink anything, did you?"

"I'm not hungry. Anyway, I only passed the kitchen once, an' that was a while ago."

He began to walk, still holding her hand so that she had to follow along. "Usually you humans can't stop thinking about food. An', while I think eating is over-rated, at least in the quantities that some humans do it, I do recognize that you lot need some food to keep your bodies going."

Rose could swear that they had taken less than twenty steps when the Doctor led her into the kitchen. Funny, she'd passed this doorway on her way to the console room and was sure that it was a store room…

He steered her to the table, where she sat down, finally feeling the effects of her ceaseless walking for the last eight hours. He set a tall glass of water in front of her, and she took a sip. It had a hint of lemon flavor and a bit of sweetness. She drank the rest in a few swallows.

After a minute or two, his hand appeared over her shoulder holding a bowl of soup. He placed it on the table.

"Tomato?" she asked.

"Yep. Eat up; it's good for you."

The soup was precisely the right temperature, but Rose's appetite was lacking. She forced herself to eat a few spoonfuls then pushed the bowl away.

The Doctor had taken the chair opposite her, and he slid the bowl back toward her. "Finish up."

"I'm really not hungry."

"Three more spoonfuls, then."

"Doctor, really—"

He shook his head. "No arguments, Rose. You've gotta eat."

She complied then quickly stood to pour the remaining soup down the sink and wash out the bowl. When she turned back, she found that the Doctor had stood and was now lounging against the door jamb.

"Come on, then," he said, holding out his hand.

She walked toward him. "You gonna help me search for it now?"

"I'll have a look round. But you're going to bed."

"After I find the phone—"

He shook his head. "Nope. Now."

"But I—"

He took her arm and guided her out into the hall. "You haven't slept in twenty hours. You sleep, I'll search."

Truth be told, Rose was tired. She hadn't felt it until she sat down, but now fatigue seemed to throb through her, weighing down her limbs and clouding her mind.

The Doctor pushed open the door to her room. "Sweet dreams," he said summarily and pushed her inside.

"You'll keep looking—" she began, but he closed the door.

Rose sank down onto the bed and kicked off her shoes. The Doctor was a walking conundrum. Most of the time he seemed completely oblivious to her human needs. More than once she'd had the embarrassing necessity to find a bathroom in the midst of some escapade, and he'd rolled his eyes at her, appearing annoyed by the tedious demands of her body. Yet now, when she really just wanted to keep looking for her phone, he was suddenly Mr. Sensitive. And people thought that women were hard to figure out…

With a tired sigh, Rose lay down and closed her eyes.