The clock on the console showed 7:30 AM, London time. Rose should be sleeping deeply, probably in the midst of some restorative REM sleep. The Doctor had finished with the interface and was pleased with the results. He deserved a cup of tea.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he tried to remember where he had picked up his tea habit. Of course it had been in England, probably during his first incarnation, or was it during his second? Funny, he couldn't quite recall…

He blinked in surprise when he saw Rose sitting at the table with her own mug of tea in her hands. Her usually bright eyes and energetic expression were dull and slack.

"What're you doin' up?" he asked her.

"Couldn't sleep." She took a sip, and he noticed that there was no steam rising from the cup.

He frowned slightly. "More bad dreams?"

"No. Just couldn't shake the feelin' that somethin's wrong."

"With your mum, you mean?"

She nodded. "Sorry. I know it's stupid—"

He sat down across from her. "You don't have bad dreams very often, do you?"

She looked up in surprise. "How'd you know that?"

"You seemed pretty upset by the one you had. People who have frequent nightmares are usually less bothered by them."

"Thanks, Dr. Freud."

He waggled a finger at her. "Don't make fun of Sigmund!"

Rose grew serious again. "I've had nightmares before, but this one was different. It felt real—I could still smell the blood after I woke up."

The Doctor poured some tea from the pot that Rose had left on the table. The liquid was tepid, at best; she'd been in the kitchen for some time. "You've seen a lot of things in the last few weeks," he said, "things most humans don't even dream about. A lot if it's the stuff of nightmares—hell, sometimes even for me."

"Yeah. But the dream wasn't about any of those things."

"Doesn't matter. Human minds twist things around to try to make sense of them. It's how you lot deal with all the thoughts and emotions you can't stomach on the surface."

Rose considered his words for several seconds as she sipped at her cold tea. "Did you find my phone?" she finally asked.

"No."

She exhaled slowly. "I really wanted to call her."

He set his mug on the table. "Listen Rose, travelin' with me, you're bound to see new things, both beautiful and terrible. They're gonna have an effect on you. You can't help it; you're human. But you're gonna have to find a way to deal with them. That's just part of the package."

"So you think I'm just imaginin' that's somethin's not right with my mum—that it's just some sort of emotional reaction from all the stuff I've seen."

"Yep."

Rose slid her chair back from the table with enough force to cause a screech of wood against tile. She stood, eyes blazing. "So that's what you think of me, then? That I'm jus' some simple little human who can't sort out her feelings? Who lets her imagination get the best of her—"

"It's human nature," he interjected, irritation creeping into his tone. "You can't help it. But we're not gonna go off an' check on every person you know whenever you have a bad dream or get a funny feelin' in the pit of your stomach."

"Did I ask you to take me back to London?" Rose shot back.

"Not in so many words."

"Right—not in any words at all. I jus' wanted to call my mum, that's all." She whirled around and stalked out of the kitchen.

The Doctor sat for a few minutes staring at his tea. Finally he set it down on the table with a thud and stood to leave the kitchen. He was scowling, memories of other emotionally capricious companions running through his mind. He remembered Tegan's hot temper, Turlough's brooding, Ace's pugnaciousness… And he had cared about all of them, despite their human flaws.

He passed Rose's bedroom on his way to the console room. The door was shut, and he hoped that perhaps she was sleeping, but somehow he knew that she was not. He stopped for a minute to rest his hand against the wall beside the door. He had managed to overlook the imperfections in his other companions and even to find some of their traits rather endearing. In the short time he had known Rose, she had proven herself unflinching in the face of danger, willing to sacrifice her own life in an instant if it meant saving others. Yes, she was human, and truth be told, it was her humanity that drew him to her. She seemed to possess many of the best characteristics of her species—unlike her ridiculous boyfriend, Ricky. He scoffed at the memory of the young man cowering at Rose's feet. Yet she had stood tall, ready to face whatever was thrown at her.

The Time Lord ran his fingers along the wall beside her door then clenched his hand into a loose fist before turning and walking away.

Rose stayed in her room for several hours, her thoughts alternating between anxiety and vexation. She was still worried about her mother; that feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to fade away. She almost snorted when she imagined the Doctor's voice telling her that she just needed to eat… And then her anger rushed back, fueled by his arrogance, by his insistence that her feelings were just a reaction caused by her human weakness.

Finally she went into her bathroom to splash cold water on her face. When she looked up at her reflection in the mirror she saw that her eyes were puffy and dark. It was so easy to loose track of time while traveling in the TARDIS. She wondered how long it had been, really, since she had slept. Yet she didn't feel sleepy; her body was fatigued, but her mind was wide awake.

Maybe the Doctor was right. Maybe she was overwhelmed by all she had seen in the last few weeks. If she was honest with herself, she hadn't really processed it fully. She had seen her world explode, for God's sake—watched the Earth destroyed in a matter of seconds. And minutes before that she had nearly died, nearly been burnt to a crisp. Others had died that day, their lives extinguished in an instant.

"And that was only the bloody first day," she said aloud. Her voice echoed slightly in the small bathroom, and suddenly Rose felt very much alone.

She took a deep breath and dried her face, then walked out into the hallway.

The Doctor wasn't surprised when Rose entered the console room. He knew that she would find him eventually; they always did. But he was a bit taken aback by her appearance. She looked exhausted and disheveled. For an instant he was reminded that humans were not only emotionally fragile; their bodies were vulnerable, too.

She ambled toward him to stand on the opposite side of the console. He offered her a quick smile, and she responded in kind.

"So," she said softly, "how did the others handle it then?"

"Others?" he asked.

"You've had other people travel with you, yeah? I'm not the first, am I?"

"No."

"Did they have some sort of trick, some way to take it all in?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Some were better at it than others, but it got to most of them eventually."

"An' they left?"

The Doctor gave a half nod of acknowledgement. "Somethin' like that."

"How long did they last?"

He looked up at her, his expression somber. "Rose, this isn't what I meant to happen."

"It—" she paused, gathering her thoughts. "D'you want me to leave?"

"No." His response was immediate and firm.

"What do you want from me, then?"

He fixed his gaze on her. "I want you to want to be here. If you don't, then you don't belong with me."

"I do want to be here."

"You sure?"

She nodded then watched as he pulled and cranked the levers on the console.

"Where're we going now?" she asked.

He looked back up at her. His mouth was set in a hard line. "London. I'm taking you home."