"Why now? Yes, Rose maintained her memories for months inside her new universe. Why lose them only after Bad Wolf Bay? You'll recall, I'm sure, that I used a tiny breach to send my message to her. It closed soon afterward. All the breaches between her universe and ours did the same within the following weeks. And that, you'll note, was exactly when Rose's memories started ebbing away and new memories took their place. That was when her new universe began closing its wounds.

"I know it seems terribly brutal to be stripped of one's memories, have them changed like that. In fact, it is terribly brutal. I don't mean to minimize it. I've had friends . . . but that's a story for another time. Two things must be understood about what's happening to Rose.

"First, the new memories are not, in fact, false. Time is overwriting itself, creating a space for Rose Tyler where there hadn't been one before. In effect, although Rose Tyler lost her father when she was a baby and grew up in the bad part of London—well, one of the bad parts, anyway—she also grew up with both parents and is heir to Pete Tyler's fortune.

"All right, I do see where this is confusing. Perhaps it's better to think of her as being two people, or having two lives. Easier?

"No, I'm afraid I really can't explain better than that. Just take my word for it that the universe made a place for her, starting after the last breach had been sealed and spreading backward in time so that she had always been there. Cleaning the wound, you see.

"The second thing that you must understand is that although Rose may not recall the time she spent with me, she has still had those experiences. She retains whatever growth and strength she found aboard the TARDIS. It's merely been worked into what she is now. No spoiled society princess, she.

"So, to bring us up to speed, Rose Tyler works at Torchwood, which operates under the guise of one of Pete Tyler's businesses since he it over after the Cybermen. As far as her world is concerned, she's his protégé and one of the less empty-headed heiresses in recent memory. The tabloids don't find her that interesting, even, and I say, good for her. There are records of her birth, her schooling, her passport, everything, and they are not forged. She's the daughter of Pete and Jackie Tyler, soon to become a big sister.

"It's a boy, by the way."

A therapist showed up at the Tyler estate the day after Rose's breakdown. Jackie had called her, concerned about her daughter's state of mind.

Dr. Jane Woods, an elegant woman with smooth mocha skin and a soothing voice, met Rose in her private study, which was strewn with books and papers for her work and university courses. Rose herself stared out the window at the rain, expression inscrutable.

"Dunno what's wrong with me," said Rose as soon as Jane introduced herself. "I've got great parents, baby brother or sister on the way, friends, a job I love—I've got everything. Why'm I crying all day?"

"I can't tell you the answer to that, Rose," said Jane. "What I can do is hopefully help you to find the answer yourself." She folded her hands and rested them on her knees. "Before we go on, you should know that I am on contract to Torchwood, so you may feel free to discuss your job with me."

"Torchwood hires psychiatrists?" Rose laughed. "Suppose it makes sense. Someone's got to keep our heads on straight, all the things we see."

"That's one way to put it," said Jane, laughing a bit herself before sobering again. "Rose, I'd like you to tell me why you've been crying. Just work through your emotions, no matter if you think they make sense or not. What do you feel before you start to cry?"

Rose looked out the window again. "Sad. Lost. Alone. I feel like . . . like I'm missing something important, and I can't remember what it is."

"Alone," Jane repeated. "Why do you feel alone?"

"I don't know," said Rose, rubbing her forehead. "I've got my parents, my mates, my coworkers—I shouldn't feel alone, but I do."

"Anyone can feel alone, no matter how many people they have in their lives," said Jane. "Do you have any close friends? Anyone you can talk to when you feel like this?"

"About the closest I've got is Mickey. He's my ex-boyfriend, but we've stayed good friends. Better friends than boyfriend and girlfriend, actually. He's a good bloke. He's been worried about me, too." Rose sighed. "Still, it's not like . . ."

Jane waited a few moments before prompting, "Like?"

"Oh, this is going to sound so stupid," said Rose. "I have this dream—well, it's not so much a dream as a person who keeps popping up in my dreams. He's a good-looking bloke, tall, beautiful brown eyes, always wears a pinstriped suit for some reason." She had to chuckle. Now that she was talking about him out loud, it really did sound funny.

"Natty, for a dream," said Jane, smiling.

"S'pose he is. He doesn't have a name. I just call him the Brown-eyed Man. Like I said, he keeps popping up in my dreams. An' whenever he does . . ." Rose swallowed hard. "He makes me feel safe. Like nothing can hurt me, even if the dream was a nightmare before he came in. Like I can tell him anything, and he'll still love me. And the thing is, I feel love from him in my dreams, just rolling off him in waves. It makes me feel like—like he'll always accept me, no matter what." She choked with sudden tears. "He's just a dream, and I'm crying over him! It's so stupid."

"It's not stupid, Rose," said Jane gently. "I think the Brown-eyed Man represents something very important for you. You want that kind of unconditional acceptance. You want that intimacy, but you haven't found it. Have you ever let yourself get that close to anyone?"

"Not really." Rose wiped her tears away with a tissue. "I love my parents, but things were topsy-turvy when I was growing up. They separated when I was a baby, and then Dad came back a few months later. Repeat that at five, seven, and thirteen. Last few years, they've really settled down, and now with this new baby on the way, I think they've finally got it right." She sniffled. "I hope so, anyway, if only for the baby."

"What about your friends? Boyfriends?"

Rose snorted a little. "Didn't you read the tabloids a few years back? 'Heiress Rose Tyler Runs Off With Musician!' Jimmy bloody Stones, thoroughbred bastard. I wasted almost a year on him before I came to my senses and figured out he liked groupies and smack more than me." She thought a moment. "He was my first real boyfriend, y'know. First guy I ever slept with. I'm just lucky I didn't wind up pregnant or get some horrible disease from him."

"Sounds like a bad experience," said Jane in a neutral tone. "And after him?"

"After him, I went with Mickey," said Rose. "He felt . . . safe. Nice guy, wouldn't stomp on my heart and throw it in the trash. An' it was good. We had a lot of good times, but it just kind of gave out right before I turned twenty. No hard feelings, though. Well, he was upset for a while. I think he was really in love with me, and I just didn't feel the same way." Her eyes glistened with tears again. "And that's the thing. When I dream about the Brown-eyed Man, I don't just feel love from him; I love him so much it hurts, and I've never felt that way about anyone."

Jane ended up diagnosing Rose with minor depression.

"If it's minor, why does it feel so major?" asked Rose.

"Even minor depression can have a crisis point," said Jane. "It's all relative, but from what you've told me, this is your first experience with depression, and it came on rather quickly."

"So what do we do? Drugs?"

"I don't find that drugs are generally the best route for minor depression," Jane said. "Why don't we try standard therapy for a while? We'll meet weekly, and I'll give you some homework to do on your own. Don't worry; if the homework is too much on top of work and your courses, you don't have to feel pressured to do it. But I think it'll do you good. I can always prescribe an antidepressant if you start to feel you really need one, but I'd like to try therapy first."

Rose agreed with her plan of action. Weekly sessions with Jane helped Rose feel better, but the strange feeling of loss never went away completely. Nor did the Brown-eyed Man fade from her dreams. Their talk eventually turned from the past to the future and how Rose saw her life going.

"I feel a little stuck," she said one week. "I like my work, and it doesn't bother me that everyone thinks I'm working for my dad, which I'm not, really, but still . . ." She sighed a little. "I keep feeling like there's more."

"Everyone feels like that from time to time," said Jane. "It's part of the human condition to want more. We can certainly discuss some ways to turn that feeling into action. In fact, I have one for you now."

"What's that?" Rose asked.

"I think you need to get out of your parents' house," said Jane. "I think you need to get a place of your own, and a dog. Or a cat. I'm not prejudiced against species. The bottom line, Rose, is that you're a young woman coming into adulthood, and I believe you need to feel more independent. It would make you feel like you have more control over your life to have a place of your own and something to care for."

Jane's words made sense. After thinking it over for a few days, Rose approached her parents and let them know that she was going to move out.

"You'll want the space, with the new baby and all," she said. Her mother was almost seven months along. "I'll be living in London, so I'll be around, but Jane's right. It's time I grew up."

She dipped into her trust fund and purchased a town house, which she shared with Shannon and Darcie, two friends from work. Then she went down to a local animal shelter and adopted a medium-sized brown mutt that she named, for no reason she was aware of, "Captain Jack."

"Did I mention that while she doesn't have conscious memories of the life she shared with me, Rose does, on some level, feel it? That's the thing about experience; you can never erase it completely. Thus, she dreams about me, and she names her dog Captain Jack.

"Yes, I do find it funny, as a matter of fact. Don't you?"

By the time Pete Jr. was born, Rose had come out of her depression. She felt like she was moving forward and enjoying life again. Work was fulfilling, and she adored her little brother. She'd also decided to live only off her Torchwood salary for at least a year, which Jane thought was a good idea.

"I don't want to be one of those rich girls who doesn't know what it's like to live on a budget," said Rose during their weekly session.

"What about friends?" Jane asked.

"My roommates are great," said Rose. "Of course, Mum keeps telling me I need to 'Get out there and meet new people,' which is code for 'the father of my future grandchildren.'" She laughed. "You'd think having a new baby of her own would be enough, but no, she wants me to get settled and start having a family of my own. I keep telling her I'm only twenty-one and nowhere near Crazy Cat Lady territory."

"When do you think you'll want to settle down?" asked Jane.

"Dunno. Happens when it happens, I guess. Taking care of Captain Jack is hard enough right now."

Jane looked at her, thoughtful. "What about the Brown-eyed Man?"

Rose hesitated. "I still dream of him, yeah."

"Tell me, when you date, do you find yourself comparing your dates to him?"

"A little, maybe," Rose admitted. "But is that really bad? I mean, I want to feel safe and accepted like that."

"And you should," said Jane. "The thing you need to keep in mind, though, is that the level of intimacy you're talking about takes time to build. You may not feel it immediately from any man you date. In fact, it's highly unlikely. Consider that feeling of safety and acceptance to be the goal of a relationship—not a condition for entering into one."

What Rose didn't tell Jane, what she never brought up if she could avoid it, was that the feeling of loss that had driven her into depression had never gone away. She could ignore it now, bury it under work, family and friends, but it still lurked under the surface.

And if at night she dreamed of living mannequins, seas frozen in full fury, black holes looming over her head, and a hand holding her own—well, what could one expect from dreams? It wasn't anything to bring up to one's therapist, was it?