Who's Afraid of Rose Tyler?

5

Friday

There was only one homeless charity operating in the immediate vicinity of Brighton Borough Cemetery, and that tracked with the maps the Doctor had made months ago charting the progress of the underground tunnels. They could plot out, roughly, what a potential route for the serial killer must be. But rather than risk him running away by trying to catch him in his base, Rose decided to take the subtler approach. Checking with Benji when she'd called to warn him about lizard people committing murders, he'd said that the Downs Anglican Church was a stomping ground for most, if not all, of the victims – but that the police hadn't had any luck talking to the clientele or the staff. It turned out homeless people didn't like speaking to the fuzz much.

Rose thought she'd have better luck. So, she'd talked Clara into tagging along, and that was how the two of them found themselves heading down to the church where a soup kitchen gathered every Friday night to provide a warm meal to anybody in need. Clara had made the introductions, over the phone, and had gone shopping with Rose to gather a list of supplies they'd been given by the organisers. With those ingredients and an old biscuit tin of cookies the Doctor had baked overnight, they parked down the road in Clara's bright blue, 1960s Westfalia.

"Not a very low-key car for a bit of ad hoc police work, is it?" said Rose.

"I do have to sometimes make compromises with the Doctor, you know," Clara told her, getting out, "She desperately wanted this thing, and it had to be TARDIS blue."

"I reckon it's a bit too light to be TARDIS blue," said Rose, unloading bags full of fresh food. "You want to repaint it."

"It looked the right colour on the tin. She's happy enough, I won't complain." Clara carried a bag, aided by telekinesis, and Rose the other, aided by super-strength. Locking up the camper they headed up into the church, as instructed by text, but something caught Rose's eye and she stopped.

"Hey," she said. Clara kept going. "Clara, look at this."

"What?" she turned around.

"That graffiti, on the wall there," said Rose. It wasn't very large, sprayed on there in a dark colour near the base of the church. "Bad Wolf," she read it out, "Fancy seeing that, all the way out here."

"I thought you scattered that message into your past?"

"It's everywhere, it follows me," said Rose, "Maybe it's important to see it here, though."

"Important why?" asked Clara.

"I don't know yet. I saw it at the graveyard, too. On one of the headstones. I wonder how long it's been there…" It was only retrospectively that those messages could be properly deciphered.

"Isn't it about the Doctor, though?" said Clara as they kept walking, Rose leaving the graffiti behind, coming up in goosebumps. "A message to yourself to save his life."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's a message to myself to absorb the time vortex, for its own reasons. So that I can be this, who I am, now. Haven't you already got the whole 'saving the Doctor across all of time and space' thing covered?"

"I'm not sure what one of my echoes could have done against a fleet of thousands of Dalek ships."

"Oswin could've thrown something together, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't want that responsibility to be put on her. People rely on her too much, they forget she's fragile."

Rose couldn't keep talking about Oswin and the echoes, though, because they'd gotten to the other side of the church, where a door was propped open leading into a surprisingly spacious kitchen full of stainless-steel appliances. There were voices drifting out.

Upon entering, they were greeted by a middle-aged Black woman with dreadlocks wrapped up in a bun on top of her head.

"You two are the new volunteers? We spoke on the phone?"

"Yes, that's us," said Clara, who'd handled the call, "I'm Clara, this is Rose. You must be Deborah?"

"I am indeed. Did you bring everything on the list?"

"Yep, got it all in here," said Rose, taking her bag into the kitchen and setting it on the floor to unload. "Got milk, stock cubes, instant coffee – all of it, I think."

"We all pitch in here when the donations don't cover everything."

"I've got some biscuits, too," said Clara, "They weren't on the list, but my wife bakes a lot. She couldn't come out – childcare, you know."

"Clara!" A South Asian man chopping up tomatoes called, waving at Clara.

"Sanjay, hi!" Clara was pleased to see him, "I didn't know you volunteered here, Tom's never mentioned. You two haven't met, have you?" she looked at Rose, then explained, "This is Tom's husband, Tom Miller, Mattie's English teacher, you met him the other night."

"Oh, right. Hello," Rose smiled.

"And this is Rose," said Clara, "She's my sister-in-law, she's staying with us for the moment. It was her idea to come out here today, actually."

"Never thought I'd see you in a kitchen," said Sanjay, "All the Doctor says whenever we have dinner together is how dreadful you are at cooking."

"I am, I'm a menace," Clara admitted, then added, "But I'm great with drinks. If you need a big vat of tea or coffee doing, that's my forte." At that, Deborah took her over to two enormous, two-foot-tall industrial flasks, to get to work concocting enough tea for a hundred people. There was only one more person in the room, a young, redheaded girl, who hadn't said a word yet and had her eyes on the stew she was stirring.

"Hello," Rose approached her, "I'm Rose, it's nice to meet you."

"Yeah, hi," she said.

"This is Cassie," Deborah introduced, "She's on a year out, volunteering."

"I did a lot of volunteering when I was your age," said Clara, making conversation, "I was driving around for this charity, doing meal deliveries, mostly. There were these nuns." Then she paused, thinking. Rose looked at her, waiting for the X-rated anecdote she was sure was coming. "I don't think I should tell that story, actually. The nuns were really very angry about the whole, uh… well, what it was, there was this girl, it – and she wasn't a nun yet, so-"

"I don't think anybody wants to know," Rose stopped her.

"Mm," Clara just nodded, thinking, and then she moved on, going back to the kettle.

"I've got onions here that need chopping for soup," said Sanjay when Rose had unloaded the bags. She nodded, washed her hands, and then got to work on a clear counter peeling and chopping up all the white onions she'd brought.

"We're not usually so short," said Deborah, "But lots of people haven't wanted to come the last few weeks, with the police visiting – I don't know if you caught the press conference."

"I did, yeah," Rose said, "Nasty murders, by the sounds of things."

"Four of them now, four of our regulars. I said to Sanjay when Ronnie went missing, I think the worst might happen."

"That's Veronica Lowell, is it?"

"Yeah, that's her. Our Ronnie. She'd been coming here for years," Deborah sighed, "Couldn't get housing from the council – drug problems. Anything like that and they keep you at the bottom of the list." Rose remembered the track marks on her arms.

"What about the others? What were they like?"

"Well, Mina, bless her, she'd just gotten back on good terms with her ex-husband and had been visiting her little boy again. He's only five. She was the first one, she disappeared, and the police didn't want to release any details. Then when they found out she was a manifest, they wouldn't release her body, either.

"Then there was Ade," Deborah went on, "War veteran, he was a drone pilot during the Australia Crisis, ten years ago now. Couldn't get the medical treatment when he got back and ended up sleeping rough. Lots of our usuals used to be soldiers."

"And then the last one?" asked Rose, "Lucas?"

"Little Lukey, we sometimes called him," said Sanjay, "Not to his face, he didn't like it. He was only nineteen."

"Nineteen…" Who Rose had been when she was only nineteen. "How does a nineteen-year-old end up homeless like that?"

"More drugs, I think," said Deborah, "And another manifest. Something unstable, he always said, to do with fire. There was an incident when he was doing his A Levels, and he couldn't finish. Couldn't get a job with a Manifest Order Charge on his record."

"Imagine that, homeless superheroes," said Rose. The whole thing was sad. She'd never thought this was what the world would be like for manifests when they'd been created in 2013. "The police never say any of that stuff, though, do they? Nothing humanising whenever something awful happens."

"No," said Deborah, "Those poor people. And they still won't tell us who to look out for, they won't send any protection around here. They don't really care, even that one who pretended to – what was his name? Benny something?"

"Benji, I think," said Sanjay.

"He seemed polite enough," said Deborah, "But still hasn't caught this killer, has he? I only hope this lost soul sees sense, somehow, and stops. Makes Ronnie the last."

"Yeah," said Rose, "I've got a feeling that'll be the case."

"Enough sadness," said Deborah, managing a smile, "What do the pair of you do for a living?"

"Clara's Tom's boss," said Sanjay, "She's the head of English down at Turing."

"Oh, really? And you're not too busy to come here?"

"I am quite busy, yeah, but my wife told me to do something other than paperwork for the evening."

"She couldn't wait to see the back of you," said Rose, "Threw you out of the house practically." Clara gave her a look.

"She said she wanted to spend the night showing Mattie some ancient, director's cut of Night of the Living Dead on one of her film reels," said Clara.

"Sounds thrilling," said Rose.

"What does your wife do?" asked Deborah.

"Also a teacher at Turing, but she's in history," said Clara.

"My daughter was thinking of applying to work at Turing," said Deborah, "She's just finishing her training to be a teaching assistant, she'll qualify in a few months."

"Oh, really?"

At that, Rose stopped listening. Deborah wanted to pick Clara's brain about what it was like at the school, how good the pay was, whether the other staff were nice – everything she could relay back to her daughter for this prospective job application. Rose had been wearing the thermal glasses the whole time, which Clara had been particularly excited about. Now, she turned them on to double-check everybody in the kitchen. She didn't find anything, though; everybody was yellow and warm, decidedly human. Even quiet Cassie.

Soon, though, Cassie did talk, to ask if somebody would swap stirring the big vat of soup with her because her wrist was beginning to ache.

"I'll do it," Rose offered.

"We stir in shifts normally," said Deborah, "Gets exhausting."

"Nah, I'll be alright, I've got the superstrength."

"Pardon?"

"I'm a manifest. You said you get lots of manifests here, right?" It could be some of the same people who attended the support groups Adam Mitchell had mentioned, for all she knew.

"We do, yes, but never a volunteer," said Deborah.

"I'm not in that different of a situation to some of them, I'm sure," said Rose, "Don't think I'd have anywhere to go to get away from things without Clara putting me up."

"You're always welcome," said Clara automatically. The same thing she always said.

"And you're super-strong? I've never met anyone with superstrength," said Sanjay, "What's the heaviest thing you can lift?"

"Lift? I don't know. Lifting things is more about getting a good balance. I think I could do a jumbo jet, though."

"You could lift a jumbo jet?" he was amazed.

"Probably. Not that it would come in useful. It's good for picking up the sofas to hoover underneath, mostly," said Rose.

"You've never thought about helping people with it?" said Deborah.

"Aren't I helping people now?" she said, "I've no desire to put on a costume and follow the Lightning Girl around."

"I think more manifests should do that," said Deborah.

"They tried before, and it didn't work out well for them," said Rose, then she hastily added, "From what I've read. In books."

The rest of the cooking time was taken up with Clara, at Deborah's request, regaling them all with the story of how she'd met the Doctor after Deborah had asked whether they'd met at work. It was vague and heavily edited, revolving around 'IT support' and a 'coffee date'. But by the time she wrapped it up, people were beginning to arrive.

It was down to Rose, after confessing her powers, to carry out the soup and the flasks, while everybody else occupied themselves with the small, sandwich to-go packs Deborah had been making so that the homeless would at least have another meal they didn't have to worry about. Rose was happy to take care of all the heavy lifting; the soup was like nothing to her. Like carrying an empty, cardboard box.

It was soup and bread first, then hot drinks, then sandwiches.

"Can you do me one of those teas, please?" Rose asked Clara when they started.

"Sure. You keeping an eye out?"

"Yeah. It's disorienting, though, everything yellow and purple."

With Rose on the lookout for her lizard friend, Clara was much more talkative. Rose was thinking, trying to work out her plan, what she would do when she found him. She must have still introduced herself dozens of times, though, over and over again, asking people whether they wanted the chicken soup or the vegan tomato soup. Then it was whether they wanted tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, and finally, whether they wanted a ham, cheese, or egg mayonnaise sandwich, with the warning that the egg mayo might not keep as well. Clara, typically, offered to take any egg mayo that was left since it proved to be the most unpopular. Cassie was inside, washing up.

"You just can't say no to mayo, can you?" said Rose.

"It's the best food there is," said Clara. It wasn't real food, but Rose really didn't want to get into an argument with Clara Oswald about mayonnaise. She'd lose hours to that.

A handful of the visitors mentioned the murders. Asked Deborah if she'd heard about Ronnie, wondered if anyone was doing anything for the family. But it turned out Ronnie Lowell didn't have any immediate family. Of course, Benji had told Rose nobody had claimed her body.

"What happens to unclaimed dead in this decade?" Rose asked Clara quietly. "They don't still do pauper's graves, do they?"

"Not graves, but a pauper's funeral arranged by the council," said Clara. "They're aquamated now, usually."

"What about a plaque? A memorial? Someone should do something. It's not right for people to be forgotten."

"You could always talk to Benji about it."

"I will," she decided, "Everybody here, they'll miss her, they'll miss all of them. There should be something, a place to go. No one ever remembers the victims of killers like this, or that they were people too."

A handful more came by, asking about Ronnie, asking Deborah if they could take extra sandwiches for some others who had been too scared to visit the kitchen that week. Rose was amazed. Here were all these people, struggling and sleeping rough, who knew when and where and how they were being targeted, and the police were doing nothing. They weren't there at all.

If they had, maybe this could have been stopped after the first one, poor Mina Highgrove. Because Rose, not long into her stake out, found him. He moved like a human, was the same shape and size, and looked human enough. But to the thermal glasses, the slim man who'd just approached the church looked purple. Not as purple as ice-cold Adam Mitchell, but cold enough.

He was bundled up in many layers. Rose switched off the glasses to get a proper look at him, and saw he was burned – or trying to look burned – with a pink, shiny face. But he had a hood up, scarf wrapped around him tightly, and didn't make eye contact.

"It's nice to see you again, Tony," said Sanjay, on Rose's left, with the chicken soup.

'Tony' only mumbled, noncommittal, and got a hefty portion of the soup from Sanjay and an extra slice of bread. Sympathy for his burns. He went down the line and got a hot chocolate from Clara, who had no idea who he was. Ham sandwiches for Tony.

"Sanjay, can you cover this tomato for me?" said Rose quickly, watching Tony take his food to go and sit on the church wall nearby. There wasn't much real seating. "I think I recognise that bloke, Tony – I think we grew up together, maybe," she lied.

"Really? Well, of course."

"Will you be alright?" asked Clara as Rose left, taking her tea.

"I'll be fine. I'll text you."

She abandoned her station and approached Tony carefully, taking off her glasses now they'd served their purpose. He sipped the soup slowly. Nearing, Rose saw he was wearing a mask, latex. A keen disguise.

"The thing about burns like that is that people always look away, don't they?" she said, "They won't look right at you, because they don't wanna be rude." He said nothing, grunted. "I'm Rose. You're Tony, right? That's an odd name, isn't it?" For a Silurian. Dead silence. "It's funny, I was just thinking, I have a friend who looks just like you. She's called Vastra, you might know her?" He stopped drinking his soup. "Sorry, is it a bit wrong of me to assume all Silurians know each other?"

"I don't know what a Silurian is."

"Really? That's strange. Because I've got these thermal glasses, and you show up as freezing cold. Suppose you could be a Sea Devil, instead? Or maybe a snowman?"

Rose sat down on the wall next to him.

"I'm not a Sea Devil. And it's not a crime to be a Silurian."

"No, I suppose not. Killing four people is, though, isn't it?" she said quietly. "I've got a friend who has a rough map of Brighton's new, underground network, passages between this church and the Borough Cemetery. Just far enough for a body to be carried without being seen. Don't try to run." He'd tried to get up. She pulled him back down by his arm and stopped him.

"What are you going to do? Arrest me?"

"I'm not police, and I won't be giving you to the police. That's the last thing anybody needs, the first time they meet a Silurian and he's a grubby little serial killer."

"I'm not a serial killer."

"Really? Those four dead people would beg to differ, I think. Course, they're not here to speak for themselves, are they?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No. It's not in my nature to kill. Not like you."

"You don't understand."

"Then why don't you explain it to me? Because you're not going anywhere. And you're not going to kill anyone else, either. You know it's against Galactic Law to attack a Level Five Civilization like this? I could get the Shadow Proclamation down here."

"How does a human know about all that?"

"I'm not just any human. Maybe I'm not a human at all."

"What are you, then?"

"Something else. Something you don't want to get on the wrong side of. And you'll never get away from me now. I can see you. Start to end. Everywhere you've been, everywhere you'll go, and even…" She stopped talking. There was something about him. His future, it was approaching quickly. "There's something else. You don't have much time left. I'm sorry." She held her tea in her hands. He didn't have many more choices left to make. "Why'd you do it? Kill them?"

"I didn't want to. If there was another way – I did it for my species."

"They asked you to? They're plotting?"

"It's just me. I'm trying to save them."

"Save the Silurians by killing homeless humans. What a way to survive."

"I needed subjects. I didn't intend for-"

"What? You're experimenting on them?" Rose was aghast.

"The Silurians need to wake up soon, the rest of them," he hissed at her, getting frantic. "They all need to-" That time, he interrupted himself. He went into a nasty coughing fit, wheezing, and then spat blood into his hand, wrapped up in a winter glove. Between the glove and his sleeve, Rose saw a glimmer of green scales. He breathed deeply, pained. "The planet isn't in the right condition."

"What do you mean? They stopped climate change years ago here," said Rose.

"Yes. And now it's getting colder and colder." He spoke hoarsely. "It needs to be warm for the Silurians. We're not adapted for this. It was so hot, where I came from – this is hell."

"Silurians are supposed to be hibernating, aren't they? In pods? When did you wake up?"

"Those trees. They carved up the Earth and destroyed my clutch, but woke me up. I arrived unto this, this cursed future – we put ourselves to sleep for millions of years, and for what?"

"And why homeless people?"

"I'm only being pragmatic. I need people nobody will miss."

"Nobody, right. Not Mina, with her little boy? Not Ade the war veteran? Ronnie, who everybody here liked so much? And Lucas Seward, only nineteen? Nineteen."

"They'll all live on. They'll bring about the future of the Silurians. A golden age of Silurian and ape collaboration, a convergence."

"What do you mean?" she asked seriously.

"I'm not a serial killer," he insisted again, "I'm not a psychopath. I don't want to hurt anybody, it's for the greater good."

"Like I've never heard that one before. What's the graveyard about? Always the same one, even with the police sniffing around?"

"It's customary, isn't it?" he said, "They'll be going to the graveyard no matter what, the nearest one."

"You're being polite? You're a polite murderer? Jesus. You're delusional. And that cemetery hasn't been used for fresh burials in decades, by the way. Everybody's turned into water now."

"I didn't realise that."

"And why naked?"

"Like the day they're born. That's the Silurian custom."

"Well, humans in this country are usually clothed when they're having their funeral. Not stripped off and left there, naked and freezing cold, for everybody to see walking past – it's sick. It's disgusting."

"Sometimes science is unpleasant up close," he said.

"And now you're here. Looking for another one to kidnap."

"That's not why I'm here. It's much too soon." Again, he coughed violently for a moment. "I'm just…" Wheezing. "I'm here for some food."

"Food?"

"They're giving it away. Something so important. Believe me, I never meant to attract the attention of… whatever you might be. A god, an agent of gods. We have a lot of gods, in my culture."

"I'll tell you a story of Earth culture, shall I?" said Rose, "About a monster, a proper monster, not like you. The Big Bad Wolf."

"What's that?"

"This Wolf is obsessed with a girl, Little Red Riding Hood. She walks through a forest to visit her grandmother, and the Wolf follows her, then goes ahead – arrives before she does. Eats the grandmother. In disguise, he tricks Red Riding Hood, too, and eats her. The Wolf gets cut open by a lumberjack and Red Riding Hood appears, and she's fine. The strange part, though, is that the Wolf always wakes up from being cut open.

"It's the girl and the wolf, see. Over and over again, the wolf is killed and reborn. And over and over again, the little girl is killed and reborn. Personally, I don't think the lumberjack is important, or the grandmother. I think Red Riding Hood claws her own way back out every day."

"You're saying that's you? A wolf?"

"I'm both. The girl and the wolf. Always fighting, always at odds – I have power I was never meant to, and it could eat me alive if I'm not careful. But who do you think you're talking to now? Rose Tyler, or the Bad Wolf?"

"I think a god wouldn't bother itself with such trivial matters, so I'm talking to a little girl." She laughed.

"You might be right. What's your real name? It's not Tony, I'm sure."

"Tidrin. Tidrin of the Eastern Lands."

"And this is what's left of the Eastern Lands, is it?"

An underground chamber. Earthen walls, empty hibernation pods lining them. Tidrin in a chair. He hadn't even noticed the teleport, but then, she hadn't wanted him to. She'd followed his timeline, all those strands of himself, back there, to this cavity in the ground, where so many people were knotted together. A big ball of time mixed with lives cut too short; those victims. All fluctuating, still. Not allowed to rest. She could sense it, as if the air was bleeding.

It was cramped in there, full of test tubes, canisters, medical instruments, blood stains, a slab built haphazardly from a wonky table half-buried in the ground. It looked like he'd found it in a skip. Dead tree roots hung down from the ceiling, and cheap electric lanterns and a few glow sticks were providing all the light.

Upon realising they'd shifted, Tidrin got up, alarmed, spilling his soup.

"Careful, there," said Rose, "You don't know how many more meals you're capable of getting down. Don't want to lose one."

"How did you do that?"

"Moving through spacetime for me is like walking down the street for you. The easiest thing in the world. This is your lair, then? It's not very nice."

"It's a laboratory."

"Where you hide. Where you do your killing." She saw a sleeping bag on the floor, in a corner. "These tunnels won't last forever, the authorities have been filling them in with concrete."

"It just needs to provide until I finish my work."

"And what is that, then? Precisely? The future of the Silurians? Go on, tell me, Tidrin of the Eastern Lands."

"The Silurians weren't perfect organisms. But the apes aren't, either." He took off his mask, unravelled his scarf, and peeled off his gloves, revealing himself. Rose didn't know a lot about Silurian biology, but she'd never seen one with blotchy, purpling skin, peeling scales, and bloodshot eyes. Not to mention the wheeze. "Your apes – homo sapiens – live in cold temperatures the way we never could. But they don't care about Earth. They almost cooked it once, I read about it in your library books."

"Library? You'll be telling me you've been down the Jobcentre next."

"Our two species, they evolved here, separately. We were already gone before you started to thrive. If we could combine the two, become something more, that's the truth of Earth evolution." He was taking off the rest of his clothes, his layers, everything from his top half.

"You're trying to combine mammals and reptiles? I don't think that's possible."

"Anything's possible. Aren't you proof of that?"

"I'm a black hole, they exist in nature – what you're talking about doesn't. It's perverse. What are you doing with the organs? Using them as DNA samples? Trying to grow some horrible embryo?"

"No. I'm trying to see which are compatible, with a live test subject."

"A live test subject…? You don't mean you've got someone down here?"

He didn't mean that. He meant himself, she realised in horror, as he peeled off his clothes and revealed a dozen organs grafted onto his skin. His whole torso was covered in incisions, many with lumps underneath, some with pieces of flesh – human flesh – bursting through. Over his abdomen was a human heart, half the size it should be, beginning to turn black. It twitched, but didn't beat properly. Everything was attached to him internally, through bolts and tubes and human blood.

"Oh my god… Why have you done this to yourself?"

"The others are all dead. I need to do something to save my species."

"You shouldn't… this isn't necessary – you're down here, cutting into yourself? You're going to get an infection." If he hadn't already.

"For the Silurians! For their future!"

"There is no future! You're dying, don't you know that? You don't have long left, you're running out of time. It's over."

"No. I'm changing. The experiment will be successful."

"It won't. You're sick. I'm sorry, but this is an affront – it's indecent. You can't spend the time you have left doing this."

"You don't understand!" In his fury, he had another coughing fit, this one much worse. Trying to steady himself on the table, he proved to be too weak, collapsing. Rose was at his side immediately, helping him to sit down on the ground, kneeling next to him.

"I understand enough," she said, "You have to stop this, please."

"You have to stop it. It won't end while I'm still breathing, while I can still save them."

"I can't…" She didn't know what to do. She couldn't take him to the Shadow Proclamation, with their harsh laws. They'd kill him, or at best, leave him in a cold, lonely cell to die. "I can take you back. Back to the Silurians, before the hibernation. Maybe they can help you."

"They'll execute me."

"A hospital, then. New New York, how about that? They'll be able to make you comfortable, save your life, even – and you'll be able to see what happened to the Silurians, they won't all die here on Earth. They've got a future without all this."

"My work isn't complete." She could see enough that if they were able to save him at the hospital, his 'life's work' would continue. It wasn't his destiny to go to any hospital, but she fought against it.

"These humans didn't ask for this, none of them should have to die for this cause, leaving family behind, friends. You can't keep preying on them."

"They live on," he told her again. Lived on in their dying, desiccated organs, stapled across him.

"If you don't want to go to a hospital, and you don't want to go back to the Silurians, then there's only one place I can take you," she decided, "Where you can't hurt anybody else. Where you can live out your days." Where she wouldn't be condemning him to be executed, or running the risk of him returning to humanity, stronger and healthier, and starting again.

Rose had to take him to the TARDIS.

Her TARDIS.