At last, the next part of the story is here. I had a lot of fun writing this one, but it was also a bit challenging. Overall, I'm pleased with how this chapter came out, and I hope you enjoy reading it.

As a reminder, this has not been betaed, so all typos and grammatical errors or typos are all mine. MINE. I'm possessive like that. (Feel free to point them out, so I can correct them though. I won't bite. Promise.)

Without further ado, let us welcome to the stage...

Zoe Peyton!

Chapter 2

Upon waking, the first thing Zoe noticed was the pounding headache hammering at her skull. She buried her head into her pillow, hissing as the slight motion sent painful waves rocketing through her head. She rubbed a temple, hoping to ease the pain somewhat, but no such luck. She even felt nauseous and wondered if the egg salad she ate for lunch yesterday had been bad.

Honestly, this was like her hangover from hell all over again. Headaches and nausea like this were the reason she'd swore off alcohol after her 21st birthday. That and because of the super embarrassing stunt she nearly pulled while under the influence. Not only did beer taste like piss, it removed all her inhibitions. She'd started dancing on the tabletops at the local bar and had even started to striptease. Thankfully, Madison had been there to stop her. Now if anyone offers her a drink, it's a quick no thank you. Getting buzzed just wasn't worth losing her ability to think straight.

Cracking open an eyelid, she closed them immediately when the light shining through the pink curtains in the open window hit her full-on.

Wait, a second, she thought after her thought process finally caught up with what she saw, Pink curtains? She doesn't own curtains, let alone pink ones. If she bought curtains for her apartment, she'd pick light blue or a dark green, not pink.

She opened her eyes again, shielding them from the worst of the light with her hand and sat up straight in her confusion at what she saw. Too fast, she realized. The strange pink bedroom she found herself in seemed to spin. Spots were swimming in her vision.

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths in and out until her vision and nausea settled enough for her to look again.

She squinted and saw pink — everywhere. The walls, the window curtains, and the dresser were different shades of pink. Even the fuzzy blanket pooling in her lap was a light pink, though the material looked worn out and felt somewhat coarse to the touch. Though her tan blanket was there, too, still tucked around her waist underneath the fuzzy one.

Now either she was crazy, or she only thought she fell asleep on her living room couch watching Doctor Who last night. Somehow she doubted that. She pressed her palm against her forehead, as if she could push the headache back, so she could have enough room to think clearly.

Of course, right at that moment, there was a sharp rap on the bedroom door and a woman's sharp, waspish voice calling to her from the other side. "Rose, wake up!" Another hard knock on the door. "Rose, you're going to be late to work."

Zoe groaned and mumbled a curse at the fresh wave of pain caused by the woman's piercing voice and her harsh knocking.

"I heard that," the woman said, her impatience evident even without seeing her face. "Don't come crying to me when you've gone and lost your job at the shop then." Her parting remark only followed by the soft padding of feet moving away from the door.

Did she call me Rose? And why did her voice sound so much like Jackie Tyler's?

She pulled the fuzzy pink blanket off, but was careful to take the tan blanket with her, as she stumbled to her feet, noting she was still wearing her clothes from yesterday. Her You Shall Not Pass black tee and dark blue jeans looking a bit crinkled, but passable, considering she wasn't at home to change clothes at the moment. She wasn't wearing any socks or shoes, but that couldn't exactly be helped.

She opened the bedroom door and peeked her head out, peering down the long hall. She stopped short when she spotted the picture frames hanging along the wall. Picture after picture were shots of Jackie and Rose from Doctor Who — both blonde and grinning at the camera. Panic-induced confusion didn't flutter to life in her chest until her gaze settled on the living, breathing Jackie Tyler talking rapidly into her phone.

"That's what I'm saying!" Jackie ranted. "The police visited that young man down the hall from us. Now every time I see him, I think he's gonna pull a knife on me." She stopped when she spotted Zoe hovering in the hallway. "Hang on a sec, Marge. Rose just came out." She pulled the phone away and covered the receiver with her hand. "Finally saw sense, did ya?"

Zoe froze, stared wide-eyed at Jackie for all of 10 seconds before flying backward into the bedroom she'd just exited. Her bare feet scurried across the beige carpet — finally, something not-pink — and stopped in front of the vanity mirror she'd passed earlier.

She stared at her reflection, a relieved breath leaving her. She looked like herself. She still has the same long, dark brown hair and hazel green eyes. She was still Zoe.

She chuckled at herself for even considering the possibility she'd woken up as Rose like some poorly written self-insert fanfiction, and then winced at the way her head threatened to split in half. She needed drugs, and she needed them now. She hoped 'Jackie' or whoever she is has Advil.

She hurried to the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall again, walking straight for Jackie or her convincing lookalike.

Jackie wasn't on her phone anymore, her penciled-in eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Rose, sweetie, are you alright?"

Zoe opened and closed her mouth, unsure what to say. She knew she looked nothing like Rose, so why was Jackie still calling her that? "I'm not Rose. My name is Zoe."

Immediately, Jackie's mouth twisted into a frown. "Well, of course, you're Rose. What are you talking about?"

"No, I'm not," she insisted, hugging her tan blanket to her chest for comfort like she used to hold Mr. Knows-a-lot. "I'm Zoe." She saw Jackie's frown deepen, as her heavily mascaraed eyes took in the not-pink blanket she was holding.

"Sweetie, are you on drugs?"

Of all the things she thought Jackie would say, that wasn't it. "No, of course not!"

She walked over to Zoe and without asking permission put a hand over her forehead. She made a face before pulling back. "You don't feel warm."

"That's because I'm not sick," Zoe said, ignoring the nausea twisting in her gut and the storm cloud of a headache brewing in her head. She stepped out of the woman's reach pointedly. "And my name isn't Rose."

"What are you talking about? Of course you're Rose," Jackie said, gesturing toward her in exasperation. "Who else would you be? And don't talk like that!"

"Talk like what?"

"Like you're American!" Jackie snapped back waspishly. Zoe grimaced. The woman's nasally voice really wasn't doing her head any favors. "What are you trying to do with an American accent? Sound posh? You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are. So we're not rich and don't live in a fancy house, so what?"

"I'm not trying to sound like anything!" Zoe snapped, growing frustrated with the woman in front of her. "I am American. I'm not who you think I am. What I'm not sure about is who you are or why I woke up here."

"You're Rose Tyler. I'm Jackie Tyler, and you're my daughter."

The words hit her like a blow. Suddenly memories of her conversation with August last night poured to the front of her mind. His dying request for her to watch Doctor Who and think about the Doctor and his world as she fell asleep now at the forefront of her thoughts. Is that how she got here? Did he know this would happen? Fresh pain flared across her temples and she wanted to scream out her hurt and confusion, her fears and anger at being told she's someone she's not. She needed to think, and this blasted headache wouldn't let her process what the hell was happening.

Frustrated tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes. "You're wrong," she said, striving to keep her voice even through gritted teeth. "I'm not your daughter, and I don't belong here."

Jackie looked like she'd been struck. "Rose," she said, the word coming out like a plea. "What's going on, sweetie? What is this really about? Did something happen to you?"

Zoe only shook her head, trying not to hear the hurt in the woman's voice. Guilt blossomed in her gut anyways. It wasn't Jackie's fault that she woke up here, but shouldn't a mother know when her daughter has been replaced by someone else? She looks absolutely nothing like Rose.

She paused, as a horrifying thought occurred to her. What if she looks like Rose to everyone but herself?

Zoe turned back to Rose's mom and gestured to her own face. "What do I look like to you?"

"What?" Jackie squawked, seemingly thrown off by the unexpected question.

"What color is my hair? What do you see when you look at me?" Zoe demanded, her tone near desperate.

"You've got brown hair, same as you always have," she sputtered.

For a moment, Zoe felt relief that she looked like herself to others, but it was short-lived. Others may see her as Zoe, but in whatever hell she found herself in, they would still mistake her for Rose.

"But Rose has blonde hair?" she said weakly, pointing at the nearest picture of Rose she could find. There in all her glory was Rose, blonde and smiling softly in the camera. It looked like a high school senior picture.

"No, you don't," Jackie said, sounding extremely confused looking between the photo and her. Whatever was going on, she was seeing what she expected to see. "And why are you talking in third person?"

Zoe shook her head and felt instant regret when sharp pain ricocheted across her skull like a lightning strike. She gasped, unable to help herself due to the pain. Her right hand pressed against her forehead as if she could suppress the pain.

"So you are sick!" Jackie said. She didn't miss how relieved Rose's mom sounded. She supposed she couldn't fault Jackie for trying to find an explanation for what she thought was her daughter's strange behavior.

"Just a headache and some nausea," Zoe admitted. "I woke up with it."

"You didn't go drinking last night, did ya?" Jackie asked, taking her arm to guide her into the small dining room and sitting her down at the table. It was cluttered with fashion magazines, mail, and what she could only assume was Jackie's hairdryer.

"No," she muttered.

Jackie clucked her tongue like she didn't quite believe her. "Here. Just a moment, and I'll get ya fixed up right as rain."

While Zoe leaned forward, using the table to lay her head on her arms, her dark chocolate waves spilled over to cover her face. The hair blocked the light from her eyes, and it eased her headache and helped settle her nausea a bit.

She heard the tell-tale sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing, glasses clinking and the sound of liquid being poured. Then the shuffling feet and a second disapproving cluck of her tongue signaling Jackie's return.

"Oh, you poor thing. Com'on, sit up now."

Zoe sat up as slowly as possible, tucking her disarray hair behind her ears as she did so. It occurred to her then that she still had bedhead, needed to brush her teeth, and use the bathroom. Desperately.

Jackie set a glass filled with green liquid. "Go on and drink that up. It'll fix you in no time. Honestly, I'd say you got what you deserved, drinking last night and all, but…" She opened her mouth to argue, but Jackie waved her hand, cutting her off. "Don't even try to deny it. You wake up, yelling at me, saying mad things about not being my Rose. I'm thinkin' you're still drunk."

She gritted her teeth in annoyance, but took the offered drink with a quiet thank you. She really hoped it would still help ease her nausea and headache, even if it wasn't alcohol induced. She sipped it tentatively and nearly spat the mixture back out.

"What is that?" she coughed, gagging slightly at the taste.

"A hangover tonic. It's got pickle juice, apple cider vinegar, ginger, and cayenne pepper."

"It's disgusting."

Jackie shrugged and looked unapologetic. "It's effective though. It helps if you plug your nose and chug it."

So that's exactly what Zoe did, though it didn't save her from the gag-worthy aftertaste.

Once the drink was gone, Jackie put on a fake smile. "Now, how about some breakfast? There's some leftover waffles, and I can make some toast. And I expect you'll still be going to work. I mean, the worst of the hangover should be gone by the time you finish eating. Best hurry though, or you will be late. I can't drive you, so you'll have to take the bus or walk."

She hesitated at accepting the offer of food, but her stomach betrayed her with a disquieted rumble. Though it was hard to tell if she was truly hungry or if her stomach was revolting from the hangover tonic from hell.

"Okay," Zoe murmured, but first things first… "Um, where's the bathroom?"

Jackie looked at her like she sprouted a second head.

After refreshing herself in the bathroom and sitting through an awkward and quiet breakfast with Rose's mom, shooting her strange looks every few seconds, Zoe found the headache was no longer the fierce storm cloud it had been and was now a simple dull ache. Meaning she could think about her situation more clearly.

99% of her was positive this wasn't a dream. You can't experience that distinct level of pain and nausea in a dream, and she's never had dreams that were so vivid and detailed.

So yeah, this was definitely real.

Worst, the woman sitting on the other side, balancing a Cosmopolitan in one hand and spearing her waffle with a fork in the other was Jackie Tyler. The Jackie Tyler from Doctor Who. She wished she meant the actress.

For a few moments, she entertained the possibility she was on candid camera and that the woman sitting across from her was really an actress being paid to insist she was her daughter, Rose Tyler. But she had to dismiss it when no one came bursting through the doors to reveal they were actually live on television.

Zoe was one for facing the facts, and though this all seemed impossible, she couldn't deny her situation. Somehow, she fell asleep on her couch while watching Doctor Who, and woke up the next morning in the world of Doctor Who and in Rose Tyler's bed.

And as much as she wished to, she couldn't ignore the fact her father had told her to watch the show, think of the Doctor and his world while she fell asleep. She didn't believe in coincidences. But she doubted this was what he wanted to happen, for her to be forced to be someone she wasn't.

Because no matter what Jackie wants to believe, she isn't really Rose. The pictures on the walls attest to the fact the blonde hair girl, Rose - the girl the Doctor fell in love with - exists in this world. So that begs the question: where is Rose Tyler? Did she wake up this morning in Zoe's sparse one-bedroom apartment back in her world?

She was so deep in thought, considering her crazy, impossible situation, she jumped at the sound of Jackie's voice and nearly knocked over her glass of orange juice in the process.

"I'm sorry what'd you say?" Zoe asked.

A flash of annoyance crossed Jackie's face, but she repeated herself with strained patience. "I said, 'It's okay, you know.' We all say things we don't mean when we're drunk."

"I wasn't drunk," Zoe said exasperation coloring her tone. "I said exactly what I meant to say."

Jackie's face crumpled, giving way to hurt and confusion before transforming into righteous anger. "Is this your way of getting back at me, because I borrowed your clothes the other night? Is that what this is all about? You know that date was important to me. I don't get to go out all the time like you do."

"This isn't anything like that," Zoe said. "I know it's difficult to understand, but I really need you to grasp this. I'm not Rose. I'm Zoe. I woke up this morning in a strange room and don't know how I got here."

"Why are you doing this? This isn't like you. This is a cruel joke, and I won't hear it anymore. You are Rose. You are my daughter. That is final."

And you are my daughter, no matter what anyone says.

Fresh heartache ripped through her chest as she remembered August's last words to her. She stood and slapped her hands down on the table, aware at the back of her mind she was pulling a Madison, her drama queen of a best friend. The force of her hands rattled the knickknacks and glassware resting on the table.

"No, I'm not," Zoe said fiercely. "I'm my father's daughter, not yours!"

Jackie gasped, her hand flying to her heart as if she'd been delivered a fatal wound. Zoe hardly noticed in her anger and grief. They stared at one another, neither taking the other truly in, as a tense heavy silence fell over the room.

Realizing staying here with Jackie would get her nowhere closer to finding out how she got here or how to get back, her thoughts turned inward to what she should do next.

And then it hit her. If this is a dimension where Rose and Jackie Tyler exist, then the Doctor exists here, too. And if anyone would know what was going on, it would be her favorite Time Lord. And she realized in the same moment she knew exactly where to find him.

"I'm going to work," she said. Without waiting for a reply, her crackling emotions guided her out of the flat. It wasn't until she was standing on the bottom step that reason and logic caught up with her.

Looking out at the unfamiliar London street, she immediately felt like an idiot. For one thing, she was still bare foot, wearing yesterday's clothes and holding her tan blanket, the only things to travel with her. For another, she actually had no idea where Rose Tyler worked, just that she was a shop girl. She tried to scrounge up her memory, but the best she could come up with is that Rose worked at a department store that started with an H. Reluctantly she turned back around and poked her head inside the house and immediately wished she hadn't.

Jackie was standing frozen in the hall, looking like an abused housewife, with mascara streaks running down the sides of her face.

Where anger and grief had taken residence in her chest, guilt swiftly took its place. Immediately contrite for her behavior, Zoe ran back inside and forced herself to hug Rose's mother. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was only thinking of myself. You didn't deserve that."

And she didn't. Zoe may have lost her father yesterday, but Jackie had lost her daughter and didn't even know it. Somehow, that seemed worst.

She allowed Rose's mom to run her fingers through her dark chocolate locks, as she cried into her shoulder about ungrateful daughters being stupid prats. Zoe pushed through her discomfort about being held by a complete stranger, telling herself she just needed to act the part of loving daughter until the real Rose Tyler could be found, and then she could go home. But the thought of pretending to be someone she wasn't filled with her unease.

"Mom," she forced out, sending a silent apology to her real mother and trying not to think of August.

"Oh, so now that you want something, you're my daughter again?" Jackie asked half playful, half-serious. Zoe could tell she was still hiding her pain from what she'd said earlier, repeatedly, and her guilt increased 10x that she couldn't just give her, her Rose back.

Zoe smiled apologetically. "Where do I work exactly?"

So, how did I do? Please hit review and let me know.

Applause and happy raving are always welcome. (What can I say? I'm all modesty, and my ego loves a good boost?)

Flames are not welcome (my poor ego couldn't take it!), but constructive feedback is another story. Critique away as long as it is intended to help.

On the plus side, I'd love to get to know my readers. So for this chapter, tell me...

What superpower do you wish you had?

For me, I wish I had the power to command time.

I would use it to pause time, shift time forward or travel backward as needed. Mainly, I'd use it to mentor my younger self into making better decisions. Effectively changing my present reality in the process, hopefully for the better. Crosses fingers.

Traveling through time to see the world would just be a bonus. I'd be like The Doctor, Doctor Strange, or Dr. Emmet Brown, just without the fancy time machine or time stone. (What is up with time travelers all calling themselves doctors?)

Note to self: Get a PhD.