"In fact, I am in the process of explaining Doctor John Smith and his instant attraction to Rose and vise-versa, so quit muttering. You recall what I told you about the TARDIS? How powerful it is? Keep it in mind. That's good advice in general, and not just for now, by the way.

"Now we come to Rose's stint as the Bad Wolf. When she took in the Time Vortex, she became what more than a few cultures would consider a god. In practical terms, there were no limits to her power. Merely wishing for something made it so. She wanted to save me from the Daleks, and she did. She wanted to end the Time War, and it was over--at least until more confounded Daleks found their way out of the Void, but that's another story altogether. She wanted Jack to live, and he did. And how. The one thing she could not do was to save her own flesh. It would have disintegrated the same way the Daleks did.

"That, of course, was where I came in. I took the Vortex from her, wanting to save her life, and thus, her life was saved. Being as there was no one left to save me, I died and regenerated, but that was a small price to pay for her. You learn the value of life when you have a few to spare and those you love don't. That's another good thing to keep in mind.

"Are we up to speed thus far? The next part is much more complicated."

John proved himself yet again to be a very different kind of man when he phoned Rose the next morning.

"Can't believe it," she said as she pulled on a shoe with one hand. "Usually, 'I'll ring you tomorrow' is bloke-speak for 'I'll think about it and maybe pick up the phone the twenty-first of next month.'"

"I think I'm a little old to be a bloke yet," said John. He sounded tired.

"Nah. My dad's still a bloke. Says he'll be one 'til he dies."

"Well, now that we've established my blokehood," said John, "I was hoping we could discuss perhaps having dinner together at some point."

"I can do that." Rose realized her cheeks hurt from smiling and hoped the feeling was mutual. "Work's just gone crazy, I'm afraid, but I should be able to beg off the worst of the overtime this weekend. Saturday okay with you?"

"Saturday should be fine. Weber's on call this weekend, and he doesn't dare disturb me. Can I pick you up at six, and do you like seafood?"

"Six is fine, and I love seafood."

"Good," said John. "I know the head waiter at the Privateer--I operated on him once--and if I ask, he'll make certain we're seated somewhere private. I have the feeling there'll be things you don't want overheard."

Rose hesitated briefly. "Yeah, you could say that. Suppose we have a lot to talk about, an' better in person, yeah?"

"Definitely better in person," said John, yawning.

"You sound so tired," said Rose.

"I was at the hospital all night. I'm still on call, but the good news is that they're letting me go home, so I have at least a chance to catch a few hours' sleep."

"Good. Rest up, then. I've got to get to work myself now." She stood and grabbed a jacket. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"I . . . meant every word of what I said yesterday." She swallowed. "Just want to be clear on that."

"You're an amazing woman, Rose," said John very softly. "I meant what I said, too."

"Good," she said again. "Saturday at six, then. Don't be late."

"Never am. Have a good day, Rose."

They said goodbye and hung up. Captain Jack padded over and sat at her feet, looking up at her expectantly. She patted his head and stroked his soft ears.

"One of these days, Captain Jack," she said, "that man will be your new daddy."

"I once mentioned that little phrase to Captain Jack Harkness. He hasn't yet run out of the resultant dirty innuendo. Word to the wise: never give him an opening like that."
The meeting Rose got pulled into as soon as she stepped into Torchwood was an exercise in frustration as various directors and team leaders all took their sweet time to expound on variations of "We don't know what the hell happened." Scientific terms and hypotheses were tossed around the room with merry abandon, but the upshot was always that no one had anything resembling a clue. Rose was just glad there was plenty of tea available, and someone had thought to bring biscuits.

The two bits of useful information she gleaned were first, that Mickey would be fine and was recovering at Albion Hospital; and second, that Torchwood had called in its entire complement of psychiatrists and counselors to deal with the psychological fallout from the incident. Seeing Cybermen again opened up old wounds for a lot of people on staff. Rose sent an instant message to Jane asking if she had some time open, and a few minutes later, they were sitting together in a private office.

"I had an awful dream last night," began Rose. "I was at my parents' house, and we were having a party--I was waitstaff, for some reason--and the Cybermen suddenly invaded. They got my mum. They . . . changed her." She shuddered at the all-too-vivid memory of the dream. "And then my dad rejected me, saying something about how I wasn't his daughter, and Mickey left, too. The only person I had left was--was the Brown-eyed Man. He took me to the flat we lived in when I was little, and my mum was there. Last thing I remember from the dream was holding onto her and crying like I'd never stop." Rose bit her lip, trying to stop herself from crying again. "And there was one other thing--all through the dream, I kept hearing the words 'bad wolf' again and again. Even the Brown-eyed Man said it."

"It sounds like an awful dream, all right," said Jane.

"That your professional opinion?" asked Rose, grinning a bit.

"Yes. That'll be fifty pounds," said Jane, and they both chuckled. "More seriously, it sounds to me like the Cybermen incident stirred up a lot of issues for you. I understand that you were on scene, and your friend Mickey was among the wounded." Rose nodded. "Let's divide out the elements of the dream. First, why do you think you were waitstaff?"

"Well . . ." Rose thought for a minute. "Maybe because now I've moved out, I'm not so much a part of my parents' lives anymore?"

"Sounds plausible. Also, you do a lot for other people, Rose. You put yourself out there for your family, your friends, your work, and then there are the charity events and volunteering you do during the summer. You keep yourself very busy."

"I don't want to be one of those empty-headed socialites with too much money and not enough sense," said Rose, a bit defensively. "I've got a lot. Shouldn't I give back?"

"I'm not questioning what you should do," said Jane. "I'm only questioning why. Do you keep yourself busy in order to prove something to the world? To get your mind off the depression you suffered? It's no sin to fear its return, Rose; depression is incredibly painful. I once had a patient who'd gone through cancer treatment as a young woman and years later fell into depression after her marriage broke up, and she told me she'd sooner have the cancer back."

Rose bit her lip. "Guess I am scared of that, yeah. I . . . hated feeling that way. Hated myself for not being stronger."

"Which we've discussed, and I remind you that depression has nothing to do with strength of will." Jane's voice brooked no opposition. "But we'll stay on the dream for now. Why do you think your mother was the one taken?"

"I've always been closest to Mum," said Rose. "Not that I love my dad any less, but I'm closer to Mum."

Jane nodded. "And your deepest fear concerning the Cybermen would be that she'd be taken away." At Rose's nod, Jane continued. "As for your father rejecting you, you told me during our first session that your parents separated several times when you were younger, and you always stayed with your mother. Did it feel like your father was rejecting you then?"

"It did, yeah," said Rose, her eyes moist. "He really tried--he'd come by with gifts or to take me out to a movie or to eat--but there was always this nagging feeling that if he really wanted me, he'd have stayed. I didn't understand why he left. Now I can look back and know that these things are complicated, and he always wanted to do the right thing by me, but back then, it hurt." She wiped away a stray tear. "Guess it's the same for Mickey, in a way, except that's more my fault. I broke up with him, not the other way around, and I sometimes wonder why he's still my friend. And seeing him yesterday like that . . . I thought he was--I was afraid he was gone."

"We've discussed your abandonment issues before, Rose, and it sounds to me like this incident brought them to the fore again," said Jane. "Believe it or not, that's actually a good thing. It helps you to work through these things. And this time, it sounds to me like your subconscious fought back."

"The Brown-eyed Man," said Rose.

"He took you back to your childhood home and reunited you with your mother," said Jane. "No mistake there; we tend to go back to very basic things when stressed. Now: what do the words 'bad wolf' mean to you?"

"Guess the first thing is the Big, Bad Wolf--oh, of course!" Rose smacked her forehead. "Right before the explosion, I was in a bookstore. I ran into this chap who had a book called The True Story of the Big, Bad Wolf. Must've worked its way into my dream." She laughed. "He asked me out. The chap with the book, that is."

"And what did you say?" asked Jane, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth.

"Didn't say anything. Something went boom just then." Rose gave Jane a sly smile. "But I do have a date for this weekend. Guess who?"

Jane cocked her head. "Don't tell me it's your mystery man."

"It is!" Rose giggled. "It's terrible to be so happy about this, but he was at the explosion site, too. Said he'd been having lunch up the street and decided to lend a hand. We worked together and . . . it's like we've known each other forever. I don't know how to explain it."

"Well, stranger things have happened," said Jane with a shrug. "My aunt met a man when she was nineteen and got married to him a month later. They just celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Four kids. It's not exactly what I recommend, however."

"I know, I know," said Rose. "He'll probably be more sensible about this than I am, even though he's admitted he feels a--a connection as well. He seems very practical. Even his name is practical--Doctor John Smith." Jane suddenly fumbled her pencil. Jane didn't do things like that. "What?" Rose asked, eyes narrowing.

"Tall, you said? A runner?" asked Jane. "Don't suppose he has blue eyes and big ears, too."

"You know him?" asked Rose.

"Yes, we were colleagues at the same hospital in Leeds for a number of years," said Jane, just a bit hurriedly. She wasn't meeting Rose's eyes.

"Oh, my God," moaned Rose. "Oh, my God, you and he were--you were, weren't you?"

Jane deflated a bit. "John and I were together for almost two years, yes. We never lived together or anything--he always said that if you were going to ruin the romance by sharing a sock drawer, you should stop mucking around and just get married already--but we were a couple. It's been five years since we broke up."

"Oh, God." Rose lowered her face into her hands. John and Jane--beautiful, elegant Jane, with her gorgeous eyes and perfect brown skin and cultured accent and education. Rose suddenly felt even more like a silly little girl. "I'm over the moon for my shrink's ex. I'm not going to ask how this could get any more awkward."

Jane gave a half-laugh and a sigh. "It is awkward. If you want to find a new therapist--"

"I don't, that's the thing," said Rose, lifting her head. "I trust you. You know all about my issues." She gestured helplessly. "Can this--can this work? Even if John and I get together?"

"Of course it can," Jane reassured her. "As I said, it's been five years. I would encourage you to be up-front with him, but you should know that anything I know about him is strictly off-limits."

"Of course," said Rose. "I wouldn't even ask."

"Good." Jane's eyes softened a bit. "He's a good man, Rose. He and I just didn't work out. But he is a very good man, and you could do a lot worse. And so could he."

After work, Rose dropped by Albion Hospital. To her disappointment, John wasn't on duty, but then, her primary objective was to see Mickey. She poked her head into his room. "Busy?" she asked cheekily.

"Takin' a break," said Mickey, grinning. He looked a little tired and dopey, but she was relieved to see his smile. "How are things at work?"

Rose came in and sat at Mickey's bedside, digging into the bag she'd brought. "Everyone's going crazy. Million theories, no answers. It's fun." She pulled out an iPod and a couple of DVDs. "Thought you might like some entertainment. Jake brought those to work and asked me to bring 'em to you, since he's going to be slaving away all night, probably. You're getting out of a lot of work."

"That was my evil plan," said Mickey, picking up the iPod. "Speaking of evil, did you know your new friend Doctor John Smith works here?"

"Um, yeah," said Rose, digging especially vigorously in the bag and avoiding Mickey's gaze. "Ah. Chocolate!" She produced a Cadbury bar.

"Brilliant!" Mickey grabbed the chocolate, wincing a little as the movement apparently pained him. "Yeah, he came in with a whole herd of students. They call him the Destroyer of Grades. Charming bloke."

Rose decided to just get it over with and be done with it. "Ah, Mickey? I have a date with the Destroyer on Saturday."

"What?" Mickey hauled himself up against his pillow, ignoring his broken ribs. "But Rose, he's something like twice your age! And sarcastic!"

"Lie back, you," said Rose. She took his shoulders and gently pushed him back. "Don't want you hurting yourself more."

Mickey crossed his arms. "Explain."

Rose sighed and told him about her encounters with John, wrapping it up with, "He's a wonderful man, and we just--we have this connection. I know he's older and, yeah, sarcastic, but when I'm around him, I'm happy. Happy like I haven't been since before this whatever started with me. I've gotta go with it, Mick."

"Okay," said Mickey a bit reluctantly, taking her hand. "I just don't want you getting hurt. I care about you a lot, an' you know I'm always there for you, right?"

Rose's eyes glistened with tears as she leaned forward and dropped a little kiss on his lips. "I do know. You're too good for this world, Mickey Smith."

"I really am." Mickey grinned. "Now, maybe you could tell that to this cute nurse . . ."