"Oh, my, what a dilemma we have here! If Rose had been offered this chance right after our last meeting, she'd have jumped at it, no doubt. But now that she's spent another year here, made friends, gained a brother and fallen in love? It's not so easy. It wouldn't be even if her memories were intact.
"Of course, we must now discuss this mysterious Aiden. Who is he, is he telling the truth, and what's his interest in this, anyway?
"No, no, no--I'm not going to answer the who or the what. That would be telling. Never accuse me of being a bad storyteller! Wait and see.
"As for the question of whether or not he's telling the truth, you already know that some of what he said is true. The rest? I'm afraid he'd have to use the old Obi-Wan Kenobi defense of 'from a certain point of view.' He has a vested interest here, I'll tell you that much. The real question is if he's out for Rose's good, the universe's--or just his own.
"That, of course, is where we left Rose. Does she trust this man or not? What's the right decision, and does she have the strength to make it?
"Dear Rose. I'd have spared her all this pain if I could have."
Rose got absolutely no sleep that night. She barely even tried. Aiden's words had sparked something within her. It was almost a sense of relief, in a way; she'd felt something was wrong for such a long time that having someone validate that feeling was downright gratifying. And to see actual photographs of the Brown-eyed Man, the Doctor, and to know that he was real . . .
She shut that thought down. She didn't know, when it came down to it. This all could have been some sort of hoax. The Tylers had made powerful enemies, as had Torchwood. There had to be some way she could verify even a little of what he'd said.
But if the Doctor was real, if her dreams were actually memories, if all that had been stripped away from her . . .
It was a thought fit to drive her mad. What was she, if she wasn't Rose Tyler, heiress? Who was she really? And her family, who were they? Her friends?
John.
She tossed in bed, tears leaking from her eyes. He'd made that sense of loss disappear. When she was with him, she felt so right, so perfectly whole, and the thought of being locked away from him--she couldn't do that.
But hadn't she already been torn away from the man she loved?
Eventually, it was time to get ready for work, and she went through the motions, trying to avoid her housemates. She knew they'd ask questions she wasn't ready to answer. The best she could muster was a slight smile and saying she didn't sleep well before heading off to Torchwood, and the first thing she did there was to put a call in to Jane. She had to talk to someone, and Jane, at least, might be able to tell her if she'd gone completely crackers.
"Am I crackers?"
Jane looked at her, a little wide-eyed from the story Rose had just told, but taking it surprisingly well. "No," she said after a moment. "No, I don't believe you're insane, psychotic, crazy, or any of those other good words. I think that you're very confused right now, very torn, and you don't know what to make of the information that's been handed to you--information which, incidentally, may be completely true, partially true, mostly false, or entirely false." Jane sighed. "You know, there was a time in my career when I'd have prescribed anti-psychotics to anyone who even considered that this all might be true. My, how times have changed."
"So what do I do?" Rose begged. "On one hand, these feelings and these dreams--it's all so real. I close my eyes and I can see the Doctor, I can hear his voice, I can even smell him. And there's part of me that is so desperate to get back to him it's choking me. But then another part of me says that I've got everything here. I've got family, friends, work . . . John. How could I leave all that? And am I really making things dangerous for all of them?"
"First things first," said Jane. "We need to find some way of verifying what he said. You live with Shannon McShea, correct? She's an expert at examining photographs. Give her one or two of the photos this Aiden gave you and ask her if she can find any evidence of fakery."
Rose nodded. "Good idea. I can count on Shannon to keep things quiet, too."
"The next thing to do is to use some of Torchwood's resources," Jane went on. "The suggestion about checking the background radiation in your body is a good one. It would give you a quick answer as to whether he was lying about everything, certainly. I'd also suggest you make an appointment with Maggie Callaghan."
"The psychic?" asked Rose, wrinkling her nose.
Jane shrugged. "She's tested higher than anyone we've found in the United Kingdom in terms of extra-sensory perception. If there is psychic manipulation here, she's your best chance of rooting it out."
It felt somehow better to have a plan of action. "All right, then. I can grab Shannon today. What'll I need to get tested for radiation?"
"I'll write out an order," said Jane. "Mind you, the results will take several days to a week to get back. I'll also give you Maggie's number." She paused a minute and smiled gently. "May I ask how your holiday with John went?"
Rose smiled back. "It was perfect. I didn't want to come back. I'm--I'm terribly in love." She gave a laugh. "Couldn't guess that, I'm sure."
"Good," said Jane. "I'm glad it went well. I've seen you two around each other, and from my perspective, it looks like you're very good for each other."
"He's certainly good for me," Rose blurted, and her eyes widened. "Oh, God, did that sound like I think it did?"
Jane laughed. "It did. But I know what you meant."
Rose shook her head and squeezed Jane's hand. "I'm just so glad you're taking this all seriously. I feel like I'm going crazy."
"Rose, I pride myself on being able to spot signs of mental illness," said Jane reassuringly. "Not once have I thought you delusional, not in all the time I've been your therapist. Knowing what I know about the world now I've come to Torchwood, I believe that whatever is happening to you is real." She pressed her lips together for a moment before going on. "I also believe you're being manipulated by this Aiden. Mind you, I don't know what his motivations are; he may genuinely believe he's doing the right thing. Nonetheless, it's important that you learn as much as you can before making any decisions."
"I agree," said Rose. "Thanks, Jane."
Rose went into action the moment she left Jane's office. First, she found Shannon and pulled her into an empty room.
"What is it?" Shannon asked, pushing her thick red hair off her face.
"I need you to keep this quiet." Rose handed her the photographs of the Doctor and herself. "Can you check these out? See if there's any fakery?"
"Sure." She looked at the photos. "He's delectable, whoever he is. Speaking of, who is he?"
Rose hesitated before plunging in. "That's the Brown-eyed Man. The one from my dreams."
"Thought you said he wasn't real," said Shannon, eyeing her housemate.
"I didn't think he was," said Rose. "Now . . . I don't know. I don't remember ever meeting him, much less holding hands with him." She tapped one of the photos. "I just need to know anything you can tell me about the pictures, all right? Whenever you get the chance, of course."
"Okay. I'll look them over." She held one up to better light. "If they are faked, it's a good job; there's nothing obviously wrong here. Still, I'd need to go over them more thoroughly to really know anything. I'll figure it out. Always do."
"Thanks," said Rose. "I owe you one."
"That you do," agreed Shannon. "Gonna tell me what this is about, love?"
Rose gave her a tight smile. "I'll tell you when I know."
"I'd like to briefly draw your attention to the fact that Rose's friend called me 'delectable.' Isn't that a wonderful word? Delectable!"
After giving up a little blood to the lab, Rose put in a call to Maggie Callaghan. To her chagrin, Callaghan urged her to come right over.
"I have some time this afternoon," said the psychic. "I have this impression I should fit you in as soon as I can."
Rose agreed, groaning internally, and checked out of Torchwood. As she exited the building, she bumped into Mickey, who was coming in.
"Where are you headed?" Mickey asked.
"Got a bit of business to take care of," said Rose.
Jake, on Mickey's heels, said, "Be careful out there. We just took down two Cybermen over at Powell Estates."
"Downing Street got shaken up, too," added Mickey. "Literally. Whole place rattled like my old car for about two minutes. Next street over didn't feel a thing. Looks like things are picking up again."
I leave, and everything's fine for two weeks, thought Rose. I come back, and this happens.
She swallowed hard. "I'll be careful."
Rose nearly turned around a half-dozen times as she drove to Maggie Callaghan's studio. This is ridiculous, she told herself. The woman's probably a certified nutcase, and she'll just tell me a bunch of vague things I could've told her. The only reason she didn't turn around was that she was desperate for any answers. Finally, she arrived.
The door opened before Rose had a chance to knock. Maggie bore a vague resemblance to Darcie, with her dark hair and big brown eyes, but was a good deal taller and not nearly so fashionable. She looked like she was dressed more for comfort than anything else.
"Hi," said Rose.
"Come on in," Maggie said. She had a very slight Irish accent, like she'd been born in Ireland but had spent most of her life in England. Rose stepped into the studio, not sure of what to expect. "I poured you a cup of tea. I think you'll like the blend. Please, make yourself comfortable."
The studio actually was a very comfortable place, with dark wood paneling and furnishings with an art deco flair. Rose took a seat and the cup of tea Maggie pushed toward her. She'd been right; the tea, an herbal blend that tasted of lavender and citrus, was quite good. Maggie sat down across from her and gave her a penetrating look. It was a little unnerving.
Rose cleared her throat. "Um, I'm here because--"
"--someone told you something that you've suspected for a long time, but you don't know if you can trust him," finished Maggie.
"Did--did Jane tell you that?" asked Rose, startled.
"No. That was just a surface impression. You're practically shouting it," said Maggie. "I also see that you're very close to your family, very protective of your friends, and very much in love. I could even tell you his name, but considering my addiction to the Sun, I believe that would be cheating."
Rose had to laugh at that. "A psychic who reads tabloids."
"They amuse me, and I always like to see if my impressions as to which stories are true pan out in the long run. I have a ninety-five percent success rate. You're not pregnant, by the way."
"Didn't think I was. Thanks, though." Rose decided Maggie wasn't anything like she'd expected. "I need to know if I'm being manipulated psychically."
"You're not," said Maggie decisively. "I doubt you could be. You're far too strong-minded for that. However . . ." Maggie leaned forward, studying her. "There is a duality to you. Very strange. I haven't seen anything like it. Almost as if you've lived two lives. Something within you is fighting to break free." She held out one hand, and Rose took it. "Breathe." Maggie closed her eyes.
Not quite sure what was happening, Rose decided to do one of the meditation/relaxation exercises Jane had taught her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing and let her thoughts flow out of her head.
Bad Wolf, something whispered. A golden glow tickled at the edge of her consciousness. Bad Wolf. Bad Wolf, Bad Wolf, Bad Wolf Bad Wolf Bad Wolf--
Maggie gasped, dropping Rose's hand, jerking her out of the moment.
"What is it?" asked Rose.
"Follow the Bad Wolf, Rose," Maggie told her. "Follow it. It will tell you all you need to know."
"But what is the Bad Wolf? What does it mean?" Rose felt more confused than ever.
"Once you know what it means, you'll know who you are," said Maggie. "That's the limit of my vision, Rose Tyler. I can tell you nothing more."
"--and that's it. Bad Wolf--again!" Rose gave a sigh of impatience as she talked with Jane on her cell phone. "How the hell am I supposed to make any sense out of this? I feel like I'm chasing my own tail!"
"It does seem to be a persistent theme, doesn't it?" said Jane. "All right, if you can take another of my suggestions, I'd recommend that you speak with Dr. Henry at Torchwood."
"Who's he?" It was very rare that Rose didn't know a Torchwood employee by name, if not by face.
"Peculiar chap. Doesn't often get out of his office. However, he's a bloody genius," said Jane. "He's a connections man. He sees patterns in things other people think are random. Mention 'Bad Wolf' to him, and he might be able to come up with something none of the rest of us can see."
"All right," sighed Rose. "I'll see if I can track him down tomorrow. Thanks, Jane."
The minute she clicked off, her phone rang again. It was John's number. She instantly felt better. "Hello!"
"Hello, love," said John. "Good news: I'm going to be free this evening. I don't suppose you'd like to meet for dinner?"
Rose practically started crying. "Oh, God, John--there is literally nothing in the world I'd like more. It's been . . . it's been a day."
"Good. I mean, that you'd like to have dinner; I'm sorry you've had a bad day," said John. "I'll have to see what I can do about that."
"It's a thousand percent better already," said Rose. "Can we--can we just meet at your flat and order in? I'm so tired, and the thought of going out anyplace . . ."
"Excellent idea." They discussed the time and the menu, and after Rose hung up, she headed home. She spruced herself up a bit, not wanting to look like the walking dead for John, and then she packed an overnight bag. Tonight, she'd sleep in John's arms.
The evening was just as relaxing as Rose had hoped. They ate Chinese and watched some Jeeves & Wooster on DVD, and the combination of cuddling and comedy helped Rose to let go of some of the tension she'd been carrying.
"I remember watching this at University," sighed John. "Of course, when I mentioned it to my father, he just handed me a volume of Wodehouse and told me rather stiffly that I should read the source material rather than losing my brain to the 'idiot's lantern.'"
"Mmm," was Rose's only reply as she snuggled closer.
John's arms tightened. "So, what was so awful about your day?"
Rose tensed a little. She didn't want to tell John about any of what Aiden had told her. If it wasn't true, he didn't need to know; if it was true . . . . But she didn't want to lie to him, either.
He saved her from having to say anything. Sensing her reticence, he said, "Let me guess: it's one of those work things you can't talk about?"
"I'm sorry," said Rose, closing her eyes and allowing the lie of omission to stand. "I just want to forget all about it tonight. Can we do that?"
"Of course," John murmured. He drew her into a slow, deep kiss. "I know it's only been a few days, but Rose--I've missed you."
"Missed you, too." Rose kissed him again. "I haven't been sleeping."
John gave a husky laugh. "I'll bet I can do something about that."
Follow the Bad Wolf, Rose.
She walked through the woods wearing a red hood. The woods were deep and dark, and there were no paths. There were monsters here.
Rose waited, listening.
The Wolf howled. The sound was lonely, angry, challenging, mournful, free. The Wolf howled, and the woods fell silent.
The Wolf howled, and Rose came running, hair flying behind her, fierce joy in her smile.
Follow the Bad Wolf, Rose.
The dream haunted her the following day. She'd slept very well--John had made good on his promise--but the dream of the Bad Wolf refused to let go in the light of day. She sent a message to Dr. Henry asking if she could meet with him. As she was awaiting his reply, Shannon entered her office.
"Anything on the pictures?" Rose asked.
"I got some free time yesterday," said Shannon. "The verdict is that I can't find anything that would tell me they're fakes. That leaves two possibilities: first, that they're real; and second, that someone faked them so well that even my equipment can't detect anything wrong with them. I'm not saying that's impossible, just very, very difficult. If they are fakes--and if you don't ever remember meeting this man, it's hard to see how they couldn't be--then someone went to an awful lot of trouble."
Rose took the pictures back, shaking her head. "I don't understand. I know him, but he's just a dream."
Shannon sat down. "There is one little thing about the pictures that's, well, peculiar."
"What?"
"See these two?" Shannon pulled out two of the pictures. "Both of them show a good slice of sky, see? Now, do you see anything missing?"
It took Rose a minute. "No zeppelins."
"Exactly," said Shannon. "The skyline is London, but there aren't any zeppelins. What are the odds of that?"
Rose shook her head and was about to answer when her computer beeped. It was Dr. Henry, saying she could come down anytime.
"Thanks for your help, Shannon," said Rose. "I've got someone I've got to meet." She stood to leave, but Shannon caught her arm.
"Rose, what's going on?" She looked worried.
"I don't know. I genuinely don't know," said Rose. "But I'm going to find out."
Had Rose gone down to Central Casting and asked for an Eccentric Genius, they'd have sent her Dr. Quentin Henry. It was hard to place his age, though Rose thought he might be somewhere in John's vicinity. He was short and skinny, the kind of skinny that led Rose to believe he forgot to eat more than occasionally, and he had thinning brown hair that looked like it hadn't seen a brush or a pair of scissors in about the same amount of time. Thick glasses and a stained button-down shirt completed the image. His office was in total disarray, piles of papers held down by half-full cups of cold coffee on every surface. Sitting on his desk were two computers. Little plastic cartoon characters sat thickly upon and around each.
"Dr. Henry?" she said as she entered.
His head snapped up and he blinked at her owlishly. "Oh, hello, Miss Tyler. What can I . . ." He frowned at something and then swapped around a couple of the cartoon characters. "There." He nodded in satisfaction and turned back to Rose. "What can I do for you?"
He really was a peculiar one, Rose decided. "Um, I've a bit of a strange question," she said. "What can you tell me about the words 'Bad Wolf'?"
"Bad Wolf," he said. He reached out and snagged a plastic figurine, which turned out to be Disney's Big Bad Wolf. "Bad Wolf?"
"Yeah, like that, I suppose," said Rose, bemused.
"Right, right, right." Dr. Henry tapped away at his keyboard. "Well, aside from the obvious fairy tale connections, there's, let's see, an independent record label company in America, an acid-rock group in Wales called Blaidd Drwg that disbanded a few years back, a defunct terrorist organization in China--the heads are, well, dead now--ah, and a startup corporation in England that folded, um, right about the time you were born, actually. The same month and everything."
"You know my birthday?" asked Rose. He pointed at a sheet of paper pinned to a nearby corkboard that had all the employee birthdays listed on it. "Why do some of them have stars next to their names?"
"They're likely to bring cake." Dr. Henry hit a few more commands on his keyboard. "A local primary school is doing a performance of 'Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?' and a number of scholarly papers on the meaning of the Big, Bad Wolf in fairytales, erm, oh, and place names! Not many of those. There's Darlig Ulv Stranden in Norway--that's Bad Wolf Bay, translated--and the village of Fellows in England, which used to be Yfelwulf."
"Fellows?" Rose interjected. John's birthplace.
"Yes, Fellows. Bastardization of the Old English name of Yfelwulf. As a matter of fact, Doctor Thomas Smith of Fellows wrote what is considered by many to be the definitive scholarly work on the Big, Bad Wolf," said Dr. Henry. "Is any of this helping?"
"Yes," said Rose. "Yes, I think it might be." Without another word, she left Dr. Henry's office.
Follow the Bad Wolf, Rose.
The path of the Bad Wolf appeared to be leading straight back to John. Rose decided on her next step.
She would go to Fellows and meet Doctor Thomas Smith.