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Chapter Text

The chipped mug warmed Rose’s hands, the lukewarm tea doing little to soothe the persistent unease that had settled in her bones. Outside the council estate window, a familiar London drizzle mixed with last dredges of Christmas snow the world in shades of grey and white, contrasting differences to the monotony that had been her life before… before him. Ever since that impossible, wonderful, and utterly preplexing man with his blue box had appeared in her world.

A couple days had become a week since the Doctor regenerated and saved them from the Sycorax. Between spats with Mickie and strained conversations with her mum, Rose was eager to start traveling again with the Doctor.

But he and the Tardis needed some to rest. Rose didn't know how she knew that the Tardis need time to rest, but she did.

And lately, Rose felt that something had shifted within her. Flickers at the edge of her vision – impossible dreams, swirling gold, the fleeting silhouette of a wolf mixed with the familiar blue box against alien skies. They were just that, flickers, gone before she could truly grasp them, leaving her with a prickling sensation that felt both like a memory and something terrifyingly new.

Tonight, however, was different. As she stared into the murky tea, the mundane kitchen dissolved around her. The chipped Formica table vanished, replaced by a swirling vortex of colours that defied earthly description. Sounds, too – a low, resonant hum that vibrated through her very being, overlaid with the distant clang of metal and a breathless, exhilarated laugh that echoed in her mind. His laugh. Then, an image coalesced. Not a flicker this time, but a vivid, almost tangible scene. She stood on a windswept, crimson plain, the air thick with the scent of ozone. Two suns blazed in a bruised purple sky, casting long, distorted shadows. And there, striding towards her, his coat billowing in a non-existent wind, was him. The Doctor. His face, etched with a familiar blend of worry and fierce determination, suddenly turned, his eyes – those brilliant, intelligent eyes – locking onto hers across what felt like an impossible distance. “Rose!” His voice, though unheard by her physical ears, resonated within her soul, a desperate plea laced with urgency. The vision fractured, the alien landscape shattering like glass.

Rose gasped, clutching the mug so tightly her knuckles turned white. The kitchen reappeared, the scent of damp concrete and stale biscuits replacing the exotic tang of the alien world. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden silence. This was… something new. Something far stranger, far more profound. A feeling, deep within her, began to stir – a sense of vastness. Bewildered by this image that was starting to fad. Rose left the kitchen to look for the Doctor.

Unbeknownst to Rose, in the library of a the Tardis, ancient scrolls whispered of a prophecy.

"Of a child born with hair like spun gold and a heart as pure as the brightest star. A child within whom the very essence of the Time Goddess would be reborn. And the first stirrings of that rebirth were now echoing across time and space, reaching out to the one who would stand as her champion."

The Doctor felt it too. A tremor in the delicate web of time, a resonance that tugged at his two hearts with a force he hadn’t felt since… well, since Rose looked into the heart of the Tardis and became the Bad Wolf. A flicker of hope, fragile yet insistent, sparked within the lonely expanse of the TARDIS console room. Could it be? Could she… He shook his head, banishing the impossible thought.

Guilt was a trickster, playing cruel games with his thoughts. Yet, the feeling persisted, growing stronger with each passing moment, intertwined with a sense of destiny he couldn’t ignore. Somewhere, something extraordinary was beginning. And he had a terrifying, exhilarating feeling that it involved his Rose.

Chapter Text

Rose's search for the Doctor led her back to her mother. "Mum," she interjected, cutting off Jackie mid-sentence, "have you seen the Doctor?"
"Yeah, love," Jackie replied, a touch too casually. "Little while ago. Mumbled something about it being a bit too… domestic, and that he was going home."
"Thanks, Mum." Rose couldn't shake the feeling her mother had indulged a little too much in the festive cheer.
A wave of amusement washed over Rose. He'd just wandered back to the TARDIS? She wondered how long it would last before he became restless. Though, she had to admit, even she felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere of their familiar celebrations.

A quiet understanding tugged at her as she made her own way back to the blue box.

Stepping inside, she instinctively looked towards the console, half-expecting to find his legs sticking out from underneath. But he wasn't there. Instead, a series of images flickered through her mind, a silent conversation with the ship, revealing the true reason for his retreat.

Gently stroking a coral strut, Rose thanked the Tardis and made her way to the Tardis's library. 

The Doctor was still resting from his regeneration. Even though Rose felt tired, so wasn't ready to go to sleep just yet. And the Tardis's library was one of her favorite rooms. Stepping into the library, Rose always felt like she was walking into the library inside her favorite fairytale Beauty and the Beast.

The first thing that strikes you is the sheer scale. Towering shelves of dark, polished wood stretch towards a vaulted ceiling that seems to disappear into the soft glow emanating from hidden light sources. These aren't just ordinary shelves; they curve and twist in fascinating ways, some spiraling upwards like ancient trees, others forming cozy alcoves perfect for quiet contemplation. Ladders on elegant runners glide silently along the shelves, beckoning you to explore the countless volumes that line them.
Sunlight, or perhaps a cleverly simulated starlight, streams through tall, arched windows draped with heavy, velvet curtains in shades of deep sapphire and emerald. These windows offer glimpses into impossible vistas – nebulae swirling with cosmic dust, the shimmering surface of an alien ocean, or the vibrant hues of a binary sunset.

Walking past the fireplace mantle on the left side of the room. Rose couldn't help but stop and look at the pictures on the mantle. Looking at the picture of herself, Jack and the Doctor in his old face. Rose remembered what the Doctor said about his regeneration. Rose also wondered how many times the Doctor had to regenerate before this new version of himself.

Hearing a thud, Rose turned to find a hefty tome on the coffee table behind her.

Sitting on the sofa, Rose picked up the book. Only to find that it was not only a picture album. But it was a album of all the Doctors previous incarnations. 

There are no dates, of course. Time is far too fluid for such rigid constraints. Instead, the pictures are grouped by feeling, by adventure, or perhaps by a connection only the Doctor truly understands. 

Laying down, Rose flipped through the pages. Rose couldn't help but smile at each face, and questioned some of the fashion choices.

"At least his brown suit better that the technicolor outfit", Rose thought before slowly succumbing to sleep.

Chapter Text

The Doctor jolted upright in his bunk, a strangled gasp escaping his lips. His eyes snapped open, wide and unfocused.

For a heart-stopping moment, the familiar wood-paneled ceiling of his TARDIS quarters swam above him.

He blinked rapidly, trying to banish the lingering shadows that danced at the edges of his vision. Suddenly, the comforting hum of the TARDIS shifted to a subtle discord. A delicate, almost mournful sound, a whisper of distress carried on the currents of the ship's own unique consciousness. The air itself seemed to vibrate with a subtle unease, a palpable sense of worry clinging to the metal and glass.

It wasn't shouting, it wasn't demanding. It was a gentle, insistent nudge, a worried sigh rippling through the very fabric of the TARDIS, conveying a single, urgent message: Rose is troubled. Rose needs you.

The Doctor leapt from his bed, quickly his put on his suit trouser and his Oxford shirt. Heading towards Rose's room, the Doctor was confused when he opened the door to her bedroom only to find himself in the library.

His confusion was quickly put aside, when he heard a whimper coming from the sofa near the fireplace. 

"Rose!" The Doctor thought as he rushed over, gently sitting on the ottoman be her side.

A low whimper escaped Rose's lips, a fragile sound lost in the vast emptiness of her dreamscape. Her brow furrowed, her face contorting in a silent struggle against unseen tormentors. Her breathing grew shallow and uneven, punctuated by soft, broken words that tumbled from her lips like shattered glass.

"No... stop... let me out!" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, thick with fear she couldn't articulate. Her head tossed restlessly on the pillow, as if trying to shake off the suffocating grip of the nightmare.

"Cassandra... let him go!" It wasn't a shout, but a choked cry.

The Doctor's eyebrows shot north, arching with a silent question mark above his widening eyes.

"Rose," the Doctor said quietly, as he delicately shook her shoulder. 

Another whimper, followed by a desperate plea. "Don't... I said don't do that..."

Her hands twitched, reaching out into the darkness as if to ward off a terrible touch. The name came again, this time laced with a heartbreaking vulnerability.

"Rose, wake up. It's alright." He gave her a small, persistent shake, his voice gaining a touch more urgency, "Come on, Rose. You're dreaming." 

Moving his hand to cup her cheek, the Doctor gently stroked the curve of her cheek, a silent promise of safety. 

"It's just a dream, Rose. You're here, you're safe, you're with me." His voice was a soothing balm, cutting through the lingering echoes of Cassandra's cruelty, patiently coaxing her back to the warmth and solidity of the Tardis.

"Cassandra... Stop!"  Rose gasped.

Rose's eyes snapped open, her breath catching in her throat as if she'd just surfaced from a deep, suffocating plunge. For a disoriented moment, the familiar contours of the Tardis's library swam into focus, a stark contrast to the twisted reality she'd just fled. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the terror that still clung to her like a damp shroud. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the lingering shadows of Cassandra's face that flickered at the edges of her vision.

The Doctor's gentle touch on her cheek registered slowly, a warm, grounding presence in the receding storm of her fear. Turning her head, her gaze found his concerned face.

"Doctor?" 

"Are you alright?" The Doctor asked.

Rose sat up on the sofa, the lingering unease of the nightmare still clinging to her like a chill. She looked at the Doctor, her eyes still a little wide and unfocused.

"I... I had a bad dream," Rose whispered.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"In that dream I felt trapped behind this locked Blue door, and beside this door was a window. And when I looked out of the window I saw Cassandra." she began, her voice a little shaky, as if the echoes of Cassandra's cruelty still resonated within her. 

"She was... different from last time we saw her. For some reason, she looked like me."

Rose looked up at the Doctor, her gaze searching his. "It felt so real," she said, her voice laced with a lingering fear. "Like she was really there, inside my head."

The Doctor listened intently as she recounted the remnants of her nightmare, his brow furrowing in sympathy. When she finished, he reached out and gently took her hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles, his touch a reassuring anchor.

"Nightmares," he said quietly, his voice a low rumble, "they can feel terribly real, can't they? Like shadows reaching out from another place." He squeezed her hand lightly. "But that's all they are, Rose. Shadows. Not real. Not here."

He leaned back slightly, his gaze thoughtful. "Cassandra... she was a peculiar sort of nasty, wasn't she? All that vanity stretched thin. It's understandable that she might linger in the darker corners of your mind." He paused, his eyes meeting hers. "But she's gone, Rose. Dust. Less than dust, probably. Scattered across the solar winds."

He offered a small, comforting smile. "Your mind, though... it's a fascinating place. Powerful. Sometimes, those powerful places can conjure up things that scare us. It doesn't mean they're true. It just means your imagination is working overtime."

He stood up, that familiar spark returning to his eyes.

"Now, how about a nice cup of tea? Or perhaps a trip somewhere utterly ridiculous to get your mind off things?" The Doctor suggested, holding out his hand.

Smiling, Rose let the Doctor pull her up from the sofa.

"Tea sound brillant right now." As she made her way our of the library and towards the galley.

The Doctor watched Rose leave the room, thinking quietly of something he noticed when he was trying to wake her up from her nightmare. He couldn't be sure, it was probably a reminder of his own nightmare. But, he thought he saw Rose's eyes glowing when her eyes snapped open from her nightmare.

He shook that thought from his head. Knowing for a fact that he made sure that he had taken care of that particular issue.

Moving away from the sofa, he felt the toe of his trainer lightly kick a book on the floor. 

"What this?"

His eyes widened,  when he realized what it was. 

"What?"

Before he could do anything, the photo album was snatched from his hands.

"That's where that photo album went." Rose said, as she started walking backwards out of the library.

"What?"

"Oh, and Doctor. I know a perfect way to start getting my mind off of my nightmare. Like,  why did you think that a vegetable was needed to be worn as an accessory?"

"Wait! What? Roossse, where did you get that?" The Doctor implored embarrassed, glaring up at the ceiling of the Tardis as he felt a joyous vibration as if his ship was laughing at him.

Chapter Text

"It's the year 5 billion and 23," the Doctor explained. "We're in the galaxy, M87 and this, this is New Earth." The Doctor grinned at Rose as she stared at the city in the distance and the cars flying overhead.

"That's just," Rose starts, at a lose for words.
"Not bad," the Doctor agreed as he laughed with Rose. "Not bad at all."
"That's amazing," Rose says in awe. "I'll never get use to this, never. Different ground beneath my feet," Rose jumps up and down to emphasis the point. "Different sky, why does it smell like apples?"
The Doctor bends down and picks some grass to show her. "Apple grass."
"Apple grass," Rose grins back, perplexed because she feels like she has said that before.

"Yeah, yeah," the Doctor agreed happily.
"It's beautiful," Rose exclaimed. "Oh, I love this. Can I just say," Rose moves closer and wraps her arms around the Doctors neck.
"Travelling with you, I love it." "Me too," the Doctor assures her before giving her a quick hug then grabbing her hand.
"Come on."

They find a nice spot over looking the city, the Doctor lies his coat on the ground. Rose sits on his coat and leans back on her elbows as the Doctor rests his head on her stomach. Rose was surprised at this New Doctor, as the old one would never had laid on her stomach.

"So the year 5 billion," the Doctor starts. "The sun expands, the earth gets roasted."

"That was our first date," Rose interrupted grinning at him.

"We had chips," the Doctor remembered. "So anyway," the Doctor continued. "The planet gone all rocks and dust but the human race lives on spread out across the stars. Soon as the Earth burns up, ooh yeah all nostalgic, big revival movement they find this place. Same size as the Earth, same orbit, lovely. Aliens move out, humans move in."

"What's the city called?" Rose questions.

"New, New York," the Doctor answers.
Rose can see the teasing in his eyes, "Oh, come on," she teases back.

"It is," the Doctor assured her. "It's the city of New New York. Strictly speaking it's the 15th New York since the original. So that makes it new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, new, New York."

Rose starts laughing quietly and he looks over to her. Happy that something's are the same, even though others were different.

"What?" He asks noticing her looking at him.

"Your so different," Rose responds. "Not bad different, just different."

"New new Doctor," the Doctor grinned back, a tad bit worried how she would respond.

"Can we go and visit New New York?" Rose asks. "So good they named it twice."

The Doctor and Rose stand up as the Doctor puts his coat back on. "Well," the Doctor hedged. "I thought we might go there first," the Doctor nodded at the hospital.

"Why?" Rose queried, feeling nervous, feeling a buzzing in her mind, like she's forgotten something important.

"It's a hospital," the Doctor tells her. "Green moon on the side, that's the universal symbol for hospitals. I got this," the Doctor shows Rose the psychic paper as the words ward 26, please come, showed. "Message on the psychic paper, someone wants to see me."

"You alright?" the Doctor asked, noticing Rose biting her thumbnail.

Rose pulled her thumb from her mouth, a furrow in her brow. "Yeah, I just... I feel like I've forgotten something important. Something about this place." She paused, then her eyes widened.
"Does this hospital have… Cat People?"

The Doctor blinked, genuinely surprised. "Cat People?" He looked around, then back at Rose, a quizzical expression on his face. "How would you even know that? I don't know that!"

Rose shrugged, a faint blush on her cheeks. "I don't know, it just… popped into my head."

"Well," the Doctor said, a thoughtful look replacing his surprise. "I suppose we'll just have to see, won't we?"

Rose raised an eyebrow at him. "And I thought we were just sightseeing." She sighed, then let him grab her arm. "Come on then, let's go buy some grapes."

The Doctor grinned at Rose as they headed towards the towering hospital building.

Chapter Text

The automatic doors of the hospital swished open, revealing a bustling interior. The Doctor, ever so slightly, faltered in his step. Walking among the humanoids were figures draped in habits, their faces distinctly feline. Cat Nuns.

"Having a good stare, are we?" Rose teased, nudging his arm with her elbow, a grin playing on her lips.

The Doctor blinked, shaking his head. "I feel like I should be telling you that." He gestured vaguely at the Cat Nuns.

"Oh, and watch out for the Disinfectant," Rose added casually, still with that knowing grin. "And, I'll be fine. Worry about the patients."

Before he could question her further, the Doctor, seeing an opening, was already striding towards a lift, the psychic paper clutched in his hand.

"Come on!" he called over his shoulder.

Rose tried to run after him, but the lift doors slid shut with a soft whoosh just as she reached them. She sighed, feeling a prickle of unease, and headed for the next available lift.

Inside the lift, the Doctor was trying to make sense of things. A calm, synthesized voice announced, "Commence stage one disinfection."

Disinfection? How did Rose know about that? And the Cat Nuns? It's like she's been here before, but she hasn't, has she? This is our first time here. Unless... unless this has something to do with that nightmare she had, the one where she was stuck in a room? She also mentioned Cassandra the other day, before he woke her from her nightmare, but that's impossible. Cassandra is still... well, she's not here, is she? There's no way Rose could know about any of this. It doesn't make sense. None of it adds up.

His thoughts abruptly ceased as the lift chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal his destination.

Chapter Text

Rose’s lift hummed to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal a dimly lit basement. The uneasy feeling that had been a faint prickle now intensified, a cold dread seeping into her bones with each cautious step she took.

She turned left, her eyes scanning the utilitarian corridor, and then she saw him. A small, fleshy creature with wide eyes and spindling limbs, attached to a life support system: Chip.

"Follow me," Chip squeaked, his voice reedy but clear, his eyes fixed on hers.

Rose, still disoriented, found herself doing as he asked. Chip led her into a small, windowless room.

The air was thick with the faint scent of antiseptic and something else, something metallic and stale.

A projector whirred in the corner, casting a flickering image onto the far wall – a vibrant, opulent dinner party. Rose froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Among the laughing, elegant figures, impossibly, unmistakably, was Cassandra.

Cassandra’s projected image seemed to shimmer, her voice, though coming from a speaker, dripping with its familiar, arrogant lilt.

"Well, well, well. Look what the Cat dragged in. Or rather, what the lift brought down. You're going to help me, dear Rose. You're going to help me uncover the Cat Nuns' little secrets. And the only way for me to do that is to... utilize you."

Rose’s bewilderment reached new heights as a shimmering pink cloud detached itself from Cassandra's projected form, drifting with an unnatural purpose directly towards her.

She watched, transfixed, as it enveloped her, a strange, sweet scent filling her nostrils. The world seemed to warp, the basement fading into a swirling vortex of color and sound.

The next thing Rose knew, she was standing in the TARDIS library. It was a vast, circular room, far larger than the exterior of the blue box would suggest.

Shelves upon shelves of books, ancient and new, stretched upwards, disappearing into the gloom of the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and dust, a comforting, familiar aroma. A soft, ambient light emanated from unseen sources, illuminating rows of leather-bound tomes and dusty scrolls. In front of her, set into one of the curved walls, was a blue door with an ornate, silver trim. It seemed out of place, almost ethereal, against the earthy tones of the library.

As she took a hesitant step closer, a chilling howling echoed from behind the door, and a sharp, piercing ache flared behind her eyes.

The Doctor stood opposite Novice Hame, a Cat Nun with intelligent eyes, by the glowing life-support system of a colossal, disembodied head – the Face of Boe. The air hummed with a quiet reverence.

"He is the last of his kind," Novice Hame explained, her voice a soft purr. "The oldest creature in the universe. A living relic."

The Doctor’s brow furrowed, his gaze fixed on the ancient face. "And he's going to tell a great secret? To one like himself?"

"That is what is foretold," Novice Hame confirmed, her eyes meeting the Doctor's. "On the day of his passing, he will reveal a truth known only to him, to someone... like him."

The Doctor felt a chill. "Like himself? What does that even mean?" He paced a small circle, his mind racing, trying to decipher the cryptic prophecy. A sudden, sharp anxiety pricked at him. Where was Rose? She should have been here by now.

Spotting a wall-mounted communication device, the Doctor snatched it up. He quickly dialled Rose’s number, the concern for her overriding the mystery of the Face of Boe. He held the phone to his ear, listening to the agonizing silence of the unanswered rings, his heart thumping.

Something's going on around here and he wants to know what it is. He was wondering around looking at all the various solutions when he notices Rose walking in.

"There you are," he exclaimed, relieved she's there. "Come have a look at this patient." He leads her to a red patient that looks like he's suspended in midair. "Marcronese disease, should take years to recover. Two days, I've never seen anything like it, they've invented a cell washing cascade, it's amazing. Their medical science is way advanced, and this one." He moves on to another patient who's all white. "Pallidon pancreosise, kills you in 10 minutes and he's fine." He waves to the patient as he realises that he heard him. "I need to find a terminal, I've got to find out how they do this. Cause if they've got the best medicine in the world then why is it such a secret."

"I can't Adam and Eve it," Cassandra-Rose responds.

The Doctor looks at her funny as he finally realises that something about her is off. "What, what's with the voice?"

"Oh I don't know," Cassandra-Rose responds. "Just larking about. New Earth, new me," he watches Rose look him up and down like she's never seen this him before.

Understanding, The Doctor grins, "well I can talk, new new Doctor."

"Hmmm, aren't you just," he hears her respond just before she grabs his head and snogs him while running her fingers through his hair.

He watches how ruffled she is from the kiss while his own mind has shut down. " Ter-ter-terminals this way."

"Yep, still got it," the Doctor squeaks before his mind turns back on. 

"Alright, what's going on with you?" the Doctor demanded, his voice low and laced with a new edge. He watched Rose, or rather, Cassandra-as-Rose, with narrowed eyes. The genuine smile he loved was gone, replaced by a calculating glint.

"Oh, just listening in on the locals, sweetie," Cassandra-Rose purred, a chilling mimicry of Rose's usual teasing tone. "These Cat Nuns, they keep chattering about 'intensive care.' But it's all so hush-hush, isn't it? Why hide a whole department?" Her gaze sharpened, fixing on the Doctor. "Now, you. Go search the sub-frame."

The Doctor paused, his mind racing. Sub-frame? How would she know about the sub-frame? Rose wouldn't have a clue about the hospital's internal architecture. This was the test. "What if the sub-frames are locked?" he asked, his voice deliberately casual, watching for a flicker, a hesitation.

Cassandra-Rose didn't miss a beat. "Then you try the installation protocols, darling. It's elementary."

The words hit the Doctor like a physical blow. Installation protocols. Rose wouldn't say that. She'd say, "Break it open," or "Find a way in." She'd be all bluster and charm, not technical jargon. This wasn't his Rose. Not anymore. The brief, terrifying hope that he was mistaken evaporated, replaced by a cold, hard certainty. 

The wall of terminals slid open with a low groan, revealing a dark, foreboding passageway. Without a moment's hesitation, Cassandra-possessed Rose descended a flight of stairs, and the Doctor, his jaw clenched, followed close behind. They emerged into a vast, cavernous room, its air thick with a cloying, sweet smell. Thousands of glowing green pods stretched out before them, row upon row, receding into the oppressive darkness. The Doctor looked over the balcony, his gaze sweeping across the unsettling panorama, and a cold, familiar anger began to simmer within him.

"Clones," the Doctor snarled, his voice a low growl, "Thousands of them. Bred. Designed. Not to live, but to die." He gestured wildly at the rows of pods. "These aren't patients, are they? Not really. They're just… raw material. Designed to generate every disease in the cosmos. Engineered to create new plagues. For profit, I assume. For the sake of… 'intensive care'." His eyes blazed with a fury that mirrored the green glow of the pods. "This isn't a hospital, it's a farm! A disease factory!"

Cassandra-Rose looked at the pods with a detached, almost bored expression. "Honestly," she drawled, a dismissive flick of her hand, "why won't they just die already?"

"What is this place, Novice Hame?" the Doctor demanded, his voice echoing with a controlled rage as he strode back into the main ward, leaving the horrific basement behind. Novice Hame, startled by his sudden appearance and furious demeanor, turned to face him.

"This is the heart of our mission, Doctor," she replied, her feline eyes wide with genuine confusion at his anger. "The intensive care unit. Where we tend to those in need."

"In need?" the Doctor scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "You're creating the need! Down there, in the basement, you're breeding them! Thousands of living beings, grown just to suffer and die for your 'intensive care'!" He jabbed a furious finger towards the floor. "These are not patients, they're clones! Genetically engineered for every disease imaginable! For profit! For... for what, exactly?!"

Novice Hame's composure wavered, her ears twitching in distress. "But... but they are the sick, Doctor," she stammered, her voice a soft, bewildered purr. "They are brought into being to bear the burden of all sickness, so that others may be cured. It is the greatest act of compassion."

The Doctor stared at her, his anger momentarily giving way to a profound bewilderment. "Compassion? You call this compassion? Creating life just to inflict it with suffering, to harvest its ailments? That's not compassion, Novice Hame, that's barbarism!" His voice rose, resonating through the sterile ward. "You're playing God with lives, and for what? To make a profit from misery?"

Novice Hame recoiled, her head shaking slowly. "No, Doctor, you misunderstand. It is a sacrifice. A necessary one, so that all others on New Earth can live free of sickness. They do not feel pain as you or I do, they are..."

"They are beings!" the Doctor interrupted, his eyes blazing. "And you have no right to decide their purpose, their suffering, their very existence! This isn't healing, Novice Hame. This is a hospital of despair!"

"Oh, Novice Hame, darling," Cassandra-Rose purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she glided closer, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "All these lovely little experiments down in the basement. So very... private. Wouldn't want anyone outside these walls to know about your little disease farm, would we?"

Novice Hame stiffened, her ears flattening against her head. "No one outside knows, nor will they ever. This is a sacred trust, a necessary undertaking for the well-being of New Earth." Her gaze was firm, unwavering.

"Of course, of course," Cassandra-Rose conceded, her smile widening into something truly unsettling. "But secrets, like diseases, have a funny way of spreading. A little whisper here, a helpful data-chip there... imagine the uproar! Your reputation, darling, reduced to tatters. And all those lovely donations? Poof! Gone." She extended a manicured hand, as if offering a friendly gesture. "Unless, of course, we come to an arrangement. A little exchange of information, perhaps? Say, access to your... resources?"

Novice Hame’s eyes narrowed, a steely resolve replacing her earlier confusion. "There is nothing you can take from this hospital. Nothing you can take from me. Our mission is pure, our methods justified. You will find no leverage here."

Cassandra-Rose chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Oh, my dear, everyone has something to hide, something to lose. And I am very good at finding it. So, what's it going to be, Novice Hame? Cooperation, or scandal?"

"There is nothing to be gained from threats," Novice Hame stated, her voice quiet but firm. "You will get nothing from us. Nothing."

"What have you done to her, Novice Hame?!" the Doctor roared, turning his fiery gaze back to the startled Cat Nun. His voice was a raw blend of fury and desperation. "Rose isn't herself! She's... she's cold, calculating! You've done something to her mind, haven't you? Some kind of mental conditioning? Reverse it! Now!"

Novice Hame recoiled, genuinely bewildered. "Doctor, we have done nothing to your companion. She arrived here quite well. We have no reason to interfere with her mind, nor the means."

"No reason? She looked at those clones, those poor, suffering beings, and she dismissed them! Rose would care! Rose would be horrified! Something is profoundly wrong, Novice Hame, and you're going to tell me what it is right now!" His voice was a low, dangerous growl, his eyes fixed on her.

Suddenly, a voice, dripping with impatience, cut through the tension. "Oh, for heaven's sake, this is getting tedious!"

The Doctor spun around. Cassandra-Rose stood there, her face a mask of disdain. The last vestige of Rose's warmth had vanished, replaced by a chilling arrogance.

"You really are rather thick, aren't you, Doctor?" Cassandra-Rose drawled, a smirk playing on her lips. "This body, this vibrant, healthy body, was simply too good to pass up. And your mind... well, your mind is a veritable repository of interesting information. I needed a vessel, you see, to navigate this rather fascinating establishment and uncover its little secrets. And you, dear Doctor, were the key to getting me where I needed to be."

The Doctor's blood ran cold. "Who... who are you?" he demanded, his voice barely a whisper, though it vibrated with a terrifying resolve.

Cassandra-Rose leaned in close, her eyes glinting. "The last human," she whispered, a triumphant, sibilant hiss.

Before the Doctor could react, Cassandra-Rose raised a hand. A burst of pink mist erupted from her palm, engulfing his face. He choked, a sudden, overwhelming dizziness seizing him. The world tilted, then spun into an inky blackness. He collapsed to the sterile floor, unconscious.

Chapter Text

The Doctor’s mind reeled. He knew Rose. Knew the way she laughed, the way she argued, the way she looked at him. And he knew how she kissed him. Well, he remembered how her lips tasted when the his previous self had kissed her. But, this wasn't it. This wasn't Rose.

A jolt of icy dread shot through him. The way she'd leaned in, the possessive grip, the sheer force of it – it was too much, too calculating. He would love to experience kissing Rose in this new form, more than anything, but this was... different. Not just different. Wrong.

Cassandra. The name screamed in his head, a horrifying realization. Rose’s casual mention of her, her strange knowledge of the Cat Nuns and the Disinfectant... it all clicked into place with sickening precision. Cassandra, reduced to a piece of stretched skin, would be desperate. Desperate enough to find a new host, a new way to live. And Rose, so open, so full of life, would be a prime target.

He felt a profound sense of violation, a cold anger coiling in his gut. Not just for himself, but for Rose. To be used like that, her body a puppet for someone else's arrogance and greed. His Rose. Trapped.

The kiss lingered, a metallic tang on his tongue that wasn't hers. A phantom pressure on his lips that felt like a mockery. He had to get her back. This wasn't about secrets anymore, or ancient prophecies. This was about Rose. And he would tear New Earth apart if he had to.

The Doctor's eyes fluttered open to a sickeningly familiar green glow. He was inside one of the pods, its transparent walls sealing him in. On the other side, looking in with a chillingly arrogant expression, was Cassandra-Rose.

"Cassandra! Let her go!" the Doctor's voice was raspy, filled with a desperate urgency. He pressed against the confines of the chamber. "You have no right to do this to her! Get out of Rose's body!"

Cassandra-Rose simply smirked. "Oh, I will, darling. When I find someone younger, perhaps. Less… common."

The Doctor's rage flared anew. "There's nothing common about Rose! She's extraordinary!" For a fleeting second, he swore he saw a flicker, a spark of recognition deep within Rose's eyes, before it was snuffed out by Cassandra's cold resolve.

Just then, the door to the chamber room opened and Matron Casp entered. Her gaze fell upon the Doctor in the pod, then flickered to Cassandra-Rose. "Can I help you?" she inquired, her voice polite but firm.

Cassandra-Rose turned, her demeanor shifting to one of conniving charm. "Oh, Matron Casp, darling. We need to have a little chat about your... intensive care unit. All those lovely little disease factories you're running down here. I'm sure the good people of New Earth would be fascinated to learn the truth about where their 'cures' truly come from." She paused, letting her words hang in the air. "Now, about the compensation. This information, you see, comes with a rather hefty price tag."

Matron Casp's eyes narrowed. "This hospital is a charity, Madam. A place of healing. We have no 'money' to give for such... fantastical claims."

"No money? How utterly quaint," Cassandra-Rose scoffed. "Very well. Then I demand transportation. To the city. Now."

"We cannot help you with that," Matron Casp stated simply, her expression unyielding.

Cassandra-Rose let out a theatrical sigh. "Honestly, you leave me no choice." She turned to Chip, who hovered dutifully nearby. "Chip, darling. Pull the lever. Open all the doors." 

A horrifying lurch. The pod door hissed open. The Doctor stumbled out, his gaze fixed on Cassandra-Rose. "What have you done?!" he demanded, his voice thick with alarm.

"Just giving the system a little adrenaline rush, darling," Cassandra-Rose replied, a wicked grin spreading across Rose's face. "Time to wake up the patients." With that, she grabbed Chip's life support and bolted, disappearing into the dark corridor.

The Doctor stared after her, a new horror dawning. The clones. He had to get Cassandra out of Rose's body. He had to save her. He broke into a sprint, following the fleeing figures.

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The Doctor, Cassandra-Rose, and Chip skidded to a halt, their eyes widening in horror. From every opening, from every corridor leading into the vast chamber, spilled a tidal wave of pale, fleshy forms. Thousands of them, the diseased clones, now awakened, stumbling and lurching into the open.

"Don't touch them!" the Doctor bellowed, his voice raw with urgency, grabbing Cassandra-Rose's arm. "Not one touch! These bodies are walking petri dishes! Every disease imaginable – concentrated, aggressive! You get a single scratch, and it's over! I want to keep this body safe, Cassandra! I need to keep Rose safe!"

Cassandra-Rose, for the first time, showed a flicker of genuine fear, her haughty expression replaced by wide, terrified eyes. "Down! We have to go down!" she shrieked, already turning and sprinting for the stairs.

"No, wait!" the Doctor yelled, but she was already half-way down. He had no choice but to follow, Chip's life support trailing behind them. They reached the bottom, and Cassandra-Rose made a desperate dash for the lifts.

"They won't be working!" the Doctor shouted over the growing moans and shuffling of the clones. "The hospital will have gone into quarantine! Locked down everything!"

As they ran past an intersecting hallway, a fresh wave of lurching bodies emerged, nearly cutting them off. The Doctor shoved Cassandra-Rose forward, and they squeezed through, just barely unscathed. But Chip, unable to maneuver his cumbersome life support, snagged on a stray piece of debris. The tide of flesh surged around him.

"Chip!" the Doctor cried, skidding to a halt, his hand instinctively reaching out.

"Leave him!" Cassandra-Rose screamed, her voice shrill with terror. "He's got a half-life anyway! Come on!" She pulled at his arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

The Doctor hesitated, his heart tearing. Chip's wide, pleading eyes met his. "I'm so sorry, Chip," the Doctor whispered, a grimace of agony on his face. But he couldn't leave Rose. He couldn't. With a final, agonizing look, he turned and ran, following Cassandra-Rose deeper into the labyrinthine hospital, the sounds of the infected horde echoing behind them.

The Doctor burst through the door after Cassandra-Rose, slamming it shut and throwing the heavy bolt. He spun around, only to see her already yanking open another door, revealing yet more of the grotesque, shuffling forms beyond. With a frustrated cry, she slammed that one shut too.

"We're trapped!" Cassandra-Rose shrieked, her voice tinged with panic. "Oh, what are we going to do?!"

"For starters," the Doctor snapped, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity, "you're getting out of Rose! That psycho-graft is banned on civilized planets, Cassandra! You're compressing her to death!"

Cassandra-Rose simply rolled her eyes. "Oh, do calm down, Doctor. Your little girlfriend is perfectly fine."

The Doctor's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, 'fine'?"

A smirk spread across Rose's face, cold and unsettling. "She's quite safely locked away in her own mind. Behind a rather sturdy blue door with gold trim. And honestly, every time I try to get too close to it, the door starts to glow and something in there—sounds like a rather ferocious wolf—starts to snarl. Quite inconvenient, really."

The Doctor stared, a whirlwind of emotions warring within him. Relief, sharp and sudden, that Rose was aware, that she wasn't simply a vacant shell. But that relief was quickly overshadowed by a burning indignation. Locked away? In her own mind? A snarling wolf? What fresh hell was this? 

"Get out of her!" the Doctor snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He lunged forward, grabbing Cassandra-Rose's shoulders.

A shimmer. A faint pink smoke wafted from Rose's body, swirling briefly before surging into the Doctor. Rose gasped, her eyes blinking rapidly, disoriented. She stumbled back, looking at the now Cassandra-Doctor.

"Oh! Oh, my stars!" Cassandra-Doctor exclaimed, her (his?) voice now a booming, unfamiliar baritone. He wriggled, stretching his long limbs. "So many… parts! And two hearts! It's like a samba! Oh, this is different. And so slim! And a little bit foxy, aren't you?" He winked at Rose, a distinctly un-Doctorish gesture. "You think so too, don't you, sweetie? You might have kept your thoughts shielded when I was in your body, but you couldn't shield your feelings. You like this body, don't you?"

Rose felt a blush creep up her neck.

Cassandra-Doctor chuckled, a rich, resonant sound. "And don't worry, darling, the Doctor apparently has the same attraction. Maybe even a hint of affection."

Rose's blush deepened, and she was about to demand that Cassandra leave the Doctor when the door they had just locked burst inward, a wave of grotesque flesh surging into the room.

"What do we do now?!" Cassandra-Doctor shrieked, momentarily forgetting her taunts.

Rose's eyes darted around, spotting a ladder leading upwards. "Climb!" she yelled, pointing. "Up! We need to go up!"

Cassandra-Doctor shoved Rose aside with surprising force and began scrambling up the ladder, surprisingly agile for the unfamiliar form. Rose quickly followed, her heart pounding.

"Cassandra! You have to leave him!" Rose pleaded, looking up at the Doctor's back. "We need him! He knows what to do!"

They reached the top, only to find a locked door. From below, the chilling whispers of the clones rose, mournful and echoing: "Help us..." Rose's heart ached with empathy.

"What do we do now?!" Cassandra-Doctor whined, stamping a foot in frustration.

"The sonic screwdriver!" Rose exclaimed. "In his jacket pocket! Use it!"

Cassandra-Doctor fumbled in the Doctor's inner pocket, producing the familiar silver tool. "I don't know how!" she complained, holding it uselessly. "He's hidden all his thoughts away from me!"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Cassandra, get out of him! Now! The Doctor needs to unlock the door!"

With a huff, a puff of pink smoke left the Doctor and re-entered Rose. "Ugh! This body again! So… common!" Cassandra-Rose whined, then turned to the Doctor. "Unlock it!"

The Doctor, back in his own body, raised the sonic screwdriver, pointing it at Cassandra-Rose. "Not until you get out of her! For good!"

"But we need you!" Cassandra-Rose insisted, gesturing to the sounds of the approaching flesh.

"Then get out of her!" the Doctor roared, his anger flaring again.

Cassandra's essence left Rose and re-entered the Doctor, who promptly groaned. "Honestly, there's no need to shout!" Cassandra-Doctor said, rubbing his temple.

"Cassandra, please! Just leave him!" Rose pleaded. "They're coming!"

Cassandra-Doctor looked from the door to the approaching flesh. "There must be another way!"

Rose's eyes lit up with a desperate idea. "Enter one of them!" she blurted, pointing at the diseased clones.

Cassandra-Doctor recoiled in disgust. "What?! No! They're... they're disgusting!"

"I don't care!" Rose insisted, her voice urgent. "It's the only way to get the Doctor to help us! He won't help while you're in him or me!"

With a shuddering sigh, Cassandra's pink essence reluctantly left the Doctor and shot towards one of the approaching flesh bodies. The diseased form stiffened, then sagged, a strange intelligence entering its vacant eyes.

The Doctor, now truly free, quickly aimed the sonic screwdriver at the door. It whirred, then clicked open. He turned to help Rose through, but as she stepped forward, a faint pink gas cloud hit the back of her head. Rose crumpled to the floor.

"Cassandra! That is your last warning!" the Doctor bellowed, fury contorting his face.

"They feel... so alone. In here." Cassandra whispers, her fingers grazing Rose'shead. "They just keep reaching out... just to hold us. For their entire creation, they've never been touched."

The Doctor's anger evaporated, replaced by a profound pity as he looked up at the fleshy face. He held out a hand, helping Cassandra-Rose to her feet. Together, they turned a corner and pushed open a final door, emerging into the bright, sterile expanse of Ward 26.

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The Doctor, having quickly shown his unblemished skin to the wary Cat Nuns, turned to Fron, a stern-faced member of the hospital staff.

"We have to get out of here!" Fron insisted, eyeing the hallway nervously.

"You can't," the Doctor countered, his voice firm. "Not without risking ten million people in the city. If that infection gets out..."

"I'm not dying here!" Fron exclaimed, desperation in their voice.

The Doctor's jaw tightened. "You've left me no choice." He turned to Cassandra-Rose and Novice Hame. "Get me the intravenous solutions. Every disease. All of them!"

As everyone scrambled to gather the requested solutions, the Doctor grabbed a pulley from a nearby winch, looping the thick rope across his chest. He and Cassandra-Rose began swiftly attaching the various solution bags to the rope. With a final nod, the Doctor rushed to the lift doors.

"The lift's not working, Doctor!" Cassandra-Rose reminded him, a note of panic in her voice.

Ignoring her, the Doctor jammed his sonic screwdriver into his mouth, its blue light a beacon of his intent. He ran forward and, with a powerful leap, launched himself onto the thick lift cable, expertly attaching the pulley to it. "I'm going down!" he shouted up to them, then looked directly at Cassandra-Rose. "Come with me!"

"Not in a million years!" Cassandra-Rose shrieked, but just then, Fron bellowed, "Seal the doors! They're coming around the corner!"

Seeing the incoming tide of flesh, Cassandra-Rose had no choice. With a choked cry, she ran and jumped onto the Doctor's back, wrapping her arms tightly around him. The Doctor had to clench his teeth to stop from groaning at the unexpected feel of Rose's soft body pressed against his back.

"You are completely mad!" Cassandra-Rose exclaimed, a strange mix of terror and grudging admiration in her voice. "I can see why Rose likes you!"

Without another word, the Doctor released the brake on the pulley, and he and Cassandra-Rose plunged downwards, sliding rapidly along the thick cable into the darkness below.

The Doctor and Cassandra-Rose landed with a thump on the roof of the lift, the cable still swaying. "Hold the lever! Hold it with everything you've got!" the Doctor commanded, already tearing open the solution bags and pouring their contents into the large disinfectant container mounted on top of the lift. "It's going to resist you, it'll try to pull away, but you must hold on!"

"What are you doing?!" Cassandra-Rose demanded, grappling with the heavy lever.

"I have an appointment!" the Doctor yelled back, a manic glint in his eye. "The Doctor is in!" With that, he squeezed through the open hatch and dropped onto the lift floor below. He immediately aimed his sonic screwdriver at the doors, which whirred and slid open, revealing the grotesque, moaning horde of flesh.

The Doctor stood his ground, a grim determination on his face. He beckoned the lurching forms closer. "Come on then! Closer!" he yelled, then roared up to the roof, "Pull the lever! Now!"

As some of the infected shuffled onto the lift, their confused eyes fixated on him, a calm, synthesized voice filled the air: "Commence stage one disinfection." A deluge of the Doctor's homemade solution began to pour down like a shower. The infected, caught in the downpour, stumbled, a dawning realization flickering in their vacant eyes. They turned, not to attack, but to embrace one another, sharing the cascading liquid.

"Pass it on!" the Doctor urged, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "Pass it on! Pass on the cure!"

From the roof, Cassandra-Rose's voice floated down, a mix of awe and horror. "Did you... did you kill them?"

"That's your way of doing things," the Doctor replied, a small, triumphant smile on his face. "I simply cured them." He watched as the treated clones slowly began to shift, their forms changing, becoming more defined, less monstrous. "This...this, is a new sub-species. A brand new form of life. New humans, grown by cats, kept in the dark, fed by tubes. But completely alive." He looked up at Cassandra-Rose, a challenging glint in his eye. "And you can't deny them, can you? You helped create it."

The Doctor and Cassandra-Rose burst back into Ward 26, the sounds of the re-cured clones stirring behind them. Novice Hame, looking utterly bewildered, was being led away by stern-faced police. Amidst the chaos, the colossal, ancient form of the Face of Boe remained, his eyes now fixed, it seemed, on Rose.

In the depths of her mind, still within the TARDIS library, Rose felt a warmth bloom. A voice, deep and resonant, yet incredibly familiar, echoed through the vast, dusty shelves. It was a comforting sound, like a memory just out of reach.

"Do not be afraid of the changes, Rose," the Face of Boe's voice resonated through Rose's internal world, gentle and profound. "Trust the curly-haired woman. Embrace what you are becoming."

Rose, bewildered, frowned. "Changes? What changes? And what curly-haired woman?"

Simultaneously, the Doctor was having his own telepathic communion with the Face of Boe. I had grown weary of this universe, the ancient being communicated, his thoughts clear in the Doctor's mind. But you, Doctor. You helped me to see anew. You brought light to the darkness.

The Doctor’s thoughts raced. The secret. You had a secret to tell me.

The Face of Boe chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the Doctor's consciousness. We shall meet a third and final time, Doctor. And then, the secret will be told. His essence began to fade. Until that day, give my love to Rose. And with a final, profound ripple of thought, the Face of Boe teleported away.

The Doctor, confused and disoriented by the sudden departure and cryptic message, turned to Cassandra-Rose. "Now about you."

Cassandra-Rose, oblivious to the telepathic exchange, waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, darling, everything's perfectly fine now! The little disease factories are sparkling clean! Why can't you just let me be?"

"Cassandra," the Doctor said, his voice firm, tinged with a deep weariness. "You've lived long enough. You need to leave Rose's body. And end it."

Tears welled in Rose's eyes, though the voice that emerged was still Cassandra's. "But I don't want to die!"

"No one does," the Doctor assured her softly, his gaze filled with a profound sadness.

Just then, Chip limped into the ward, his life support unit battered but functional. Cassandra-Rose's eyes lit up. "A volunteer!" she shrieked, and a pink mist erupted from Rose's body, shooting towards Chip.

The Doctor lunged forward, catching Rose as she swayed, about to fall. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. "Rose? Are you alright?"

Rose blinked, her eyes clearing, focusing on his. Her own warm voice, a blessed sound, emerged. "I'm... I'm okay."

"Welcome back," the Doctor murmured, a wave of immense relief washing over him.

From Chip's frail form, Cassandra's voice emerged, weak and reedy. "I am nothing but a walking noodle!" She coughed, and Chip's body began to slump. Rose, still disoriented but reacting instinctively, caught Cassandra-Chip as they stumbled.

The Doctor knelt beside them, his voice quiet, filled with a gentle compassion. "I could take you into the city, Cassandra. Give you a chance."

Cassandra-Chip's eyes, dimming, met his. "No," they whispered, their voice fading. "You were right, Doctor. There's no place for me out there. It's time to die. And... that's okay." With a final, shallow breath, Cassandra-Chip closed their eyes in Rose's arms.

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As they stepped into the TARDIS, a warm, gentle hum enveloped them, a familiar comfort. The console room glowed with its usual eccentric charm. As they walked towards the console, the Doctor's hand instinctively grasped Rose's elbow. Rose, surprised, turned to him, and he pulled her into a fierce, desperate hug.

A wave of profound relief washed over the Doctor. Having Rose back, truly back, in his arms was like breathing again after holding his breath for an eternity. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, feeling the familiar warmth of her body against his. She was safe. She was herself.

Rose, for her part, melted into the embrace. Being in the Doctor's arms felt like coming home, a safe harbor after a tumultuous storm. The lingering uneasiness from the hospital, the odd sensations of Cassandra's presence, all faded into the background, replaced by the comforting solidity of his presence.

Pulling back slightly, the Doctor's hand moved, gently brushing a stray strand of Rose's hair behind her ear. Rose couldn't help but lean into his touch as he cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking softly. His gaze, full of unspoken emotion, searched her whiskey-colored eyes, briefly flickering down to her soft, pink lips. He wondered, with a quiet intensity, what they would taste like without Cassandra's lingering presence.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice a low, rough murmur.

Rose blinked, a small smile playing on her lips. "Surprisingly, I'm okay. Just a slight headache, really."

The Doctor's brow furrowed. "Rose, Cassandra was in your mind. No one walks away from that kind of damage with just a slight headache."

"I know," Rose acknowledged, her smile fading slightly. "It didn't feel... appropriate, her being in me. But my mind... it felt safe. Protected."

"Safe?" the Doctor questioned, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "How could you feel safe with Cassandra in your head?"

Rose considered for a moment. "It's hard to explain. While she was... using me, my mind, my essence, felt like it was protected. Like I was in a room, a bit like the TARDIS library, with a blue door with gold trim. And every time I got close to the door, it would glow, and my head would hurt a little. I think... I think it was protecting me. Stopping Cassandra from getting too close."

The Doctor's hearts gave a jolt. The blue door with gold trim. Cassandra had said the exact same thing. A sudden wave of worry washed over him. "Rose," he began, his voice softening, "I know how you feel about people poking around in your mind, but... I won't be able to rest until I know you're truly okay. If there's any lingering damage..."

Rose smiled softly, a knowing glint in her eyes. She reached out, taking his hand, and allowed the Doctor to gently led her towards one of the TARDIS jump-seats and takes a sit. "Go on then," she said affectionately, her voice a warm caress. "I know you'll just beat yourself up if anything's wrong." She lifted his hand to her temple, a tender, silent approval of what he needed to do.

Humbled by her unwavering trust, the Doctor took a steadying breath. "If there's anything you don't want me to see," he said, his gaze locked with hers, "just imagine a hallway with locked doors."

Rose's smile was gentle, reassuring. "I'll be okay."

With a soft sigh, the Doctor closed his eyes and, with utmost care, entered Rose's mind.

The sensation was intimate and warm, like coming home after a long journey. Rose's mind wasn't a cold, clinical space, but a vibrant, living entity. It was a TARDIS hallway, stretching out before him, familiar yet profoundly personal. The walls pulsed with a soft, ambient light, made of the same organic, ever-shifting material as the console room. Instead of locked doors, however, some of the doors along the hallway swung open as he approached, revealing snippets of Rose's memories: her infectious laughter, her defiant spirit, moments of shared adventure, and flashes of pure joy. He saw her admiration for him, her amusement at his antics, her deep, unwavering affection, which made his hearts warm. And then, hints of attraction to his new body, fleeting glimpses of her eyes lingering, a blush creeping up her cheeks. It stirred something deep within him, this realization that he affected her so profoundly.

Soon, he reached the end of the hallway. And just as Rose and Cassandra had described, there stood a blue door with gold trim. It hummed with a quiet energy. He reached out to open it, but a soft, ethereal whisper drifted from beyond: "Not yet."

Perplexed, the Doctor tried again, but the door remained unyielding. "When?" he asked aloud, though no sound escaped his mental presence.

The whisper returned, faint but clear: "You will have your answers soon. After a little girl meets her angel."

Frustrated by the cryptic response, the Doctor carefully, gently, exited Rose's mind.

He found her exactly as he'd left her, curled on the jump-seat, her head tilted against the backrest. She had fallen asleep. Her face, softened by slumber, was utterly beautiful, peaceful. The Doctor's hand was still resting on her temple, and he felt a profound warmth, a deep contentment, just being near her.

Carefully, he slid an arm under her knees and another behind her back, lifting her effortlessly. He carried her through the humming corridors of the TARDIS to her bedroom. Rose's room was a reflection of her vibrant personality: warm and inviting, with splashes of bright color, a comfortable bed piled with soft blankets, and shelves adorned with various souvenirs from their travels. It was thoughtfully and strategically placed close to his own bedroom, which made the Doctor's internal circuits whir. What exactly are you up to?

He walked to her bed and gently laid her down. Pushing the loose wisps of hair from her face, his eyes were drawn, irresistibly, to her lips. For the first time, the Doctor gave into temptation. He leaned down and softly, tentatively, kissed Rose on the lips.

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Rose's eyes snapped open, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She sat up immediately, sweat clinging to her skin.

Images swam before her: a large, growling werewolf trapped in a cell, the stern, disapproving face of Queen Victoria, and a long, gleaming telescope. The sensation of running, a desperate flight down a long corridor, twisted into a tight knot in her stomach. Sleep had utterly deserted her.

Sighing, Rose slipped out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown. A soft, flowing garment, made of a rich, deep blue fabric that shimmered faintly, subtly patterned with the faint, swirling circuits of the TARDIS itself, a comforting design.

She needed a space where the air felt lighter, where the recent echoes of the hospital and Cassandra’s invasion could dissipate.

Usually, she'd go looking for the Doctor, but after having a weird dream about him kissing her – a dream so vivid it sent a hot blush creeping up her neck – she felt a sudden surge of shyness. The dream, combined with the intense events in New New York, made her think he might need some space too.

The TARDIS library, with its hushed whispers and the comforting weight of knowledge, felt like a safe harbor. Rose remembered how she used to love going to the local library as a young girl, losing herself in stories.

Growing up on the council estates, surrounded by people who often dismissed her, who treated her as if she wasn't smart, simply, because of where she lived, had chipped away at that joy.

Over the years, she'd learned to expect judgment, to brace herself against assumptions, and a subtle insecurity had settled deep within her.

It wasn't until she met the Doctor that she truly began to believe she could be something more than what others expected. His boundless curiosity, his unshakeable faith in her, had ignited a renewed interest in learning, a hunger to understand the vast universe he had shown her.

Entering the sprawling library, Rose wandered through the endless corridors of books, searching for something to read, something to ground her.

As if sensing her unspoken need, the TARDIS subtly guided her. A few books subtly shifted on their shelves, others seemed to glow faintly.

Guided by an unseen hand, Rose found a collection of volumes on Lupine-Wavelength Haemovariform – werewolves. Nearby, a weighty tome titled Regal Etiquette of the 18th Century rested beside A Biography of Queen Victoria. And finally, a slender book on crystals and telescopes practically presented itself.

Curious about the TARDIS's uncanny selections, Rose gathered the books and walked over to settle down on a plush sofa.

A shimmering object seemed to materialize from the very air behind her.

It was a beautiful blanket, woven from threads that seemed to capture and reflect the starlight of distant galaxies. Its colors shifted subtly, from deep indigo to swirling emerald, patterned with intricate, ancient symbols that pulsed with a faint, almost imperceptible light. The fabric itself felt impossibly soft to the touch, like spun starlight and compressed dreams, emanating a comforting warmth that beckoned Rose to pull it around her.

With the warmth of the soft, blanket surrounding her and crackling fire in the hearth cast a warm, cozy glow across the room, Rose felt like this was the perfect antidote to the lingering chill of her dream.

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The Doctor, back at the TARDIS console, hummed a tuneless melody, his fingers dancing across the controls.

But his mind was far from the mechanics of time travel. The events on New Earth, in New New York, swirled within him, a confusing maelstrom of fear, relief, and a burgeoning, unfamiliar tenderness.

He thought of Rose, her courage, her vulnerability. He thought of Cassandra using Rose's body. But, not being able to use her mind.

The way Rose had known about Cassandra's appearance, the Cat Nuns, the disinfectant – it nagged at him. A deep, unsettling familiarity that predated their arrival.

And then, the repeated mention of the snarling wolf and the blue door with gold trim, both from Cassandra and Rose, echoed in his thoughts. What was happening to his Rose? What was this deeper connection, this hidden knowledge? He'd seen the door, heard the voice in her mind, cryptic and unsettling. A "little girl meeting her angel." What did it all mean?

Mentally, he was a tangle of theories and questions, each new piece of information adding another layer to the enigma that was Rose.

Physically, he felt the lingering phantom warmth of her lips on his, the soft curve of her body as he'd carried her to her room.

His fingers, still stained with the metallic tang of hospital air, instinctively brushed his own lips. The kiss, stolen in the quiet vulnerability of her sleep, had been a moment of pure, unadulterated yearning. It was a warmth that spread through his two hearts, a silent confession of a feeling he was only just beginning to acknowledge. A feeling that both thrilled and terrified him in equal measure.

A sudden zap from the TARDIS console made the Doctor recoil, cradling his stinging finger in bewilderment.

His gaze shot upwards, as if silently questioning the old girl. Then, a flash – Rose struggling through a nightmare, her face contorted in distress. Another flash immediately followed, showing him Rose in the library, peaceful.

A wave of guilt washed over him. How could he have been so self-absorbed? Rose had been through just as much, if not more, on New Earth. Why hadn't she come to him about her nightmare? And why was she in the library again? Concern spurred him on.

He headed for the TARDIS library. As he entered, the warm, flickering glow of the fireplace bathed the room, illuminating a sight that stole his breath. Rose was asleep once more on the plush sofa, but this time, her slumber seemed truly peaceful. The firelight played across her features, highlighting the soft curve of her cheek, the delicate line of her jaw, the slight parting of her lips.

To him, she looked utterly beautiful, a serene vision amidst the ancient knowledge.

He considered, not for the first time, how this was the second instance he'd found her here, seeking solace after, or during, a nightmare.

Walking quietly to the sofa, his eyes fell upon the books scattered on the table beside her. His curiosity spiked.

Volumes on Lupine-Wavelength Haemovariform, 18th-century etiquette, Queen Victoria. What on Earth was Rose reading? Then he noticed the slender book slipping from her hand – a treatise on crystals and telescopes. He quickly caught it before it could fall and disturb her sleep.

As he did so, his gaze fell upon the blanket that had slipped from her lap. He picked it up, intending to cover her, and then he froze. It was a Gallifreyan blanket, woven with patterns he knew intimately, imbued with the very essence of his lost home. His hearts gave a jolt. How did the Rose...? The sheer thoughtfulness, the TARDIS'S understanding of what Rose needed, stunning him. The old girl never ceased to amaze him.

A gentle, warm smile touched his lips as he carefully covered Rose with the shimmering, comforting blanket. He paused for a moment, simply watching her sleep, a profound sense of affection swelling within him. Finding the book on crystals and telescopes intriguing, he quietly took it with him.

As the Doctor left the library, he was already heading back to the TARDIS console, his mind buzzing with an idea for a surprise trip for Rose. Something with live music.

Chapter Text

Rose's eyes fluttered open to the unmistakable, swaggering beat of Ian Dury and the Blockheads pumping through the TARDIS speakers. A wide grin spread across her face.

She sang along quietly, tidying up the library with a newfound bounce in her step.

She then rushed back to her room, eager to embrace the day.

Stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a fluffy towel, Rose paused.

Laid out on her bed was a simple 1870s Scottish commoner gown. It was a practical, modest dress in deep blues and greens, but subtly, beautifully interwoven with faint, shimmering threads of the TARDIS's signature electric blue and a deep, pulsing coral, creating a unique tartan pattern that seemed to hum with faint energy.

Confused, Rose, without consciously realizing it, sent a question out to the TARDIS. Instantly, an image bloomed in her mind: rolling green hills, dotted with ancient, majestic trees, sunlight filtering through a gentle mist. A landscape of timeless beauty.

Are you sure, old girl? Rose thought, a shiver running down her spine as she remembered the howling wolf from her dream. Are you really sure I'm supposed to wear this?

The TARDIS hummed a positive, resonant answer, and with a soft whoosh, the entire closet wall vanished. Humoring the old girl, Rose began to dress.

She arranged her hair into a loose, soft style, allowing a few wisps to frame her face, looking effortlessly natural yet elegant.

Walking into the console room, Rose couldn't help but giggle quietly.

The Doctor was in full swing, dancing around the console, pushing buttons and pulling levers with uninhibited joy. He was completely lost in the music, a whirlwind of flailing limbs and enthusiastic movements.

Apparently, she wasn't as quiet as she thought, because he suddenly froze, his back to her, a deep blush creeping up his neck and across his prominent cheekbones.

"Did you sleep okay?" the Doctor asked, his voice a touch strained, still not turning around.

Rose hesitated, feeling guilty said softly, "I... I had a nightmare, and when I couldn't go back to sleep, I went to the library."

He finally turned, his expression softening instantly. "Why didn't you come to me?"

Rose looked down, then back up at him, her voice quiet. "I felt like... you needed space. To process everything from New Earth. So... I gave it to you."

The Doctor's gaze fell upon her, and he was momentarily stunned. The simple 1870s Scottish dress, woven with the TARDIS's vibrant blues and corals, framed her perfectly. It emphasized the natural grace of her figure, the delicate curve of her neck, and the ethereal quality that sometimes seemed to cling to her. She looked utterly captivating.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, his voice tinged with perplexity, though his eyes held a clear admiration.

"The TARDIS set it out for me," Rose explained, gesturing vaguely. "And then she made the closet disappear, so I figured it was a sign."

Glancing upwards, the Doctor sent a telepathic query to the TARDIS: What are you up to, old girl? All he got in return was a mental shrug, an almost palpable sense of cheeky amusement. Exasperated, he walked up to Rose, cupping her face gently in his hands, his thumbs softly stroking her cheeks.

"Rose," he said, his voice earnest, " If you ever feel like you need to talk. You can always, always come to me. About anything. Always." He leaned forward, pressing a soft, tender kiss to her forehead.

A warmth bloomed in Rose's chest, spreading outwards like ripples in a pond. It was a comforting, profound connection, deeper than any words. She felt cherished, understood, utterly safe.

The Doctor, for his part, felt a quiet satisfaction. The soft press of her skin, the fragile trust she placed in him – it was a feeling more potent than any adventure.

Stepping back, the Doctor grinned. "So, fancy a concert?"

Chapter Text

The Doctor, a wide grin splitting his face, flicked a switch. Instantly, the thumping beat of Ian Dury and the Blockheads filled the console room once more. "Listen to this, Rose!" he exclaimed, bopping his head. "Number one hit from 1979!"

As he moved around the console, a whirlwind of flailing limbs and focused concentration, pushing buttons and pulling levers, Rose watched him, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "So, you're a punk now, are we, Doctor? A punk with a little bit of rockabilly thrown in?"

The Doctor paused his movements, turning to her with an eager glint in his eye. "Fancy seeing them live? I can get us there!"

Rose hesitated, glancing down at her Scottish commoner gown. "Am I properly dressed for a 1979 concert? Especially since the TARDIS was so adamant about me wearing this..."

The Doctor scoffed, already turning back to the console. "Nah, the TARDIS is wrong. I set the coordinates myself!"

Just as he said it, a sharp zap shot through the console, making him yelp and pull his hand back. "Ow! What was that for?!" he grumbled at the ceiling.

Rose coughed pointedly into her hand, a wide smile playing on her lips. "Twelve hours," she murmured, her eyes twinkling.

The Doctor whined. "Oh, don't bring that up! This time was different! Completely different!" He grabbed a nearby mallet, using it as a makeshift drumstick, and dramatically pulled a lever. "Hold on, Rose!"

He felt a distinct wave of annoyance from the TARDIS. Right, I'm hiding that mallet when he's not looking, a silent thought echoed in his mind. Then, strangely, he felt a faint transfer between the TARDIS and Rose – something Rose shouldn't be able to do. Before he could question it, a massive jolt threw them both to the floor.

The TARDIS settled with a final groan. The Doctor scrambled up, dusting himself off, a triumphant grin returning. "1979, Rose! What a year! Skylab walks the Earth, with a little help from me, nearly took my thumb off that time, but it's still attached!" He pulled on his trench coat, threw open the TARDIS doors, and stepped out, only to be confronted by a line of soldiers with period-appropriate weapons.

The Doctor blinked, his triumphant grin faltering. He looked around at the unfamiliar, far-too-old surroundings. "1879," he grumbled, casting a narrowed gaze back at the TARDIS. "Maybe the old girl was right."

"Explain your presence!" the Scottish captain demanded, his voice gruff, his kilt swaying in the breeze.

The Doctor blinked, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "Are we... in Scotland?" he asked, his voice slipping into a broad, almost exaggerated Scottish accent.

The captain frowned, clearly bewildered. "How could you not know where you are?"

The Doctor grinned, turning to Rose with a theatrical sigh. "I'm dazed and confused, Captain. Been chasing this, this wee child over hill and over dale. Isn't that right, ya timorous beastie?"

Rose, irked by the "wee child" comment, glared at him. A faint, almost imperceptible golden glow flickered in her eyes, unseen by the Doctor. She then turned to the captain, composing herself instantly.

"Good sir," she began, her voice clear and respectful, a subtle cadence of 18th-century etiquette guiding her words, "My sincerest apologies for our unannounced arrival. We find ourselves quite disoriented, having, through an unfortunate series of events, strayed far from our intended path."

The captain's stern expression softened. He found himself briefly captivated by her, standing there in the sunlight, her gown in its unique TARDIS tartan subtly enhancing her beauty.

He cleared his throat, a gentle, slightly flirtatious kindness entering his eyes. "No harm done, lass. A vision such as yourself is always a welcome sight on these bonnie hills." He offered a slight, chivalrous bow. "Captain MacPherson, at your service."

The Doctor, watching this exchange, felt a sudden, urked at the captain's overtly appreciative gaze fixed on Rose, steps in front of Rose.

The Captain's gaze, unwavering and appreciative, remained fixed on Rose's face. The Doctor, feeling a surge of irritation, stepped squarely in front of her and cleared his throat loudly.

The Captain, clearly annoyed by the interruption, sharpened his gaze on the Doctor. "Identify yourselves!" he demanded.

"I'm Doctor James McCrimmon," the Doctor answered, his Scottish accent thick, "from the township of Balmoral. I have my credentials, if I may." He gestured to his inner coat pocket.

The soldiers, at a nod from their Captain, lowered their weapons slightly as the Doctor produced his psychic paper. The Captain’s eyes widened as he read. "As you can see," the Doctor continued, "a doctorate from the University of Edinburgh. I trained under Doctor Bell himself."

The Captain's eyes softened, a faint smile touching his lips as he looked past the Doctor to Rose once more. "And what about yourself, lass?" he asked, his voice now a gentle purr. "Might I be so bold as to ask for the name of such a bonnie flower?"

Rose felt a blush creep up her neck, but she met his gaze with polite composure. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain MacPherson," she replied, her voice soft but clear. "My name is Rose Tyler."

The Doctor, watching Rose blush for someone other than himself, felt a distinct pang of something akin to jealousy. A low grumble started to rumble in his chest.

"Let them approach!" a voice called out from the carriage.

The Captain turned, addressing the voice. "Your Majesty, I don't think that's wise."

"Let them approach!" the voice commanded again, with more force.

The Captain, a mixture of irritation at the Doctor and interest in Rose in his eyes, turned back to them. "You will approach the carriage and show all due deference."

The Doctor, still annoyed, mocked a salute. He placed a hand on Rose's lower back, gently guiding her toward the carriage. The Captain pointedly ignored him, turning his attention to Rose. "Rose, might I introduce Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. Empress of India and Defender of the Faith."

Rose gave a small, respectful curtsy. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice soft and polite, "My most humble apologies for the nature of my attire, and indeed, for my companion's less-than-chivalrous manners."

Queen Victoria, regal and austere, looked at Rose. "You need not worry, child. I have five daughters; I am quite used to such girlish disarray." Her gaze then shifted, sharpening, to the Doctor. "As for your companion, I am accustomed to such crude manners from men. However," she added, her voice chilling slightly, "to refer to this young lady as a 'timorous beastie' is quite uncalled for." She extended a hand. "Your credentials, Doctor."

The Doctor handed over his psychic paper. The Queen examined it closely, her eyes widening. "Why didn't you say so immediately?" she exclaimed. "It states clearly here that you and your betrothed have been appointed by the Lord Provost as my protectors."

The Doctor flushed, glancing at Rose who looked just as confused. "Your Majesty, why are you traveling by road when there's a train all the way to Edinburgh?" he asked quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from the "betrothed" comment.

"A tree on the line," Queen Victoria replied, her expression unruffled.

The Doctor's mind whirled. "An accident?" he questioned.

"I am the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland," she insisted regally. "Everything around me tends to be planned."

"An assassination attempt?" the Doctor tried to work out, his brow furrowed.

Rose, unaccustomed to such disloyalty towards royalty, expressed her worry and confusion. "Your Majesty, why would anyone wish to harm you?"

The Queen sighed, a touch of sadness in her regal tone. "I have grown accustomed to it, my dear."

"Sir Robert MacLeish lives about ten miles hence," the Captain explained. "We've sent word ahead. He'll shelter us tonight, then we can leave by dawn tomorrow."

"This Doctor and Ms. Tyler will come with us," the Queen ordered.

The Captain nodded. "As you wish, Your Majesty. Let's go, it's getting dark."

"Indeed," the Queen agreed. "And there are stories of wolves in these parts. Fanciful tales, intended to scare the children, but good for the blood, I think. Drive on!" she ordered the coachman.

The coach lumbered forward, and the Doctor and Rose fell in behind it, flanked by soldiers.

"Ms. Tyler," the Captain said kindly, riding up beside Rose, "it's a long walk, and the path is uneven. Would you care to ride on one of the officers' horses?"

Before Rose could answer, the Doctor piped up. "She would! Thank you, Captain." He then swiftly helped Rose onto the offered horse, a distinct look of annoyance crossing the Captain's face at the Doctor's swift intervention.

Chapter Text

As they reached the grand, albeit somewhat somber, estate, the Doctor helped Rose dismount from the horse. His hands lingered at her waist for a moment longer than strictly necessary, a wave of warmth and a subtle, possessive satisfaction washing over him. He liked having her close, liked the feeling of her form against his.

They waited as a footman assisted Queen Victoria from her carriage.

Sir Robert MacLeish, a gaunt man with an anxious air, moved out of the doorway to greet her.

"Sir Robert, my apologies for the emergency," the Queen said, her voice regal but polite. "And how is Lady Isabel?"

"She's indisposed at the moment, I'm afraid she's gone to Edinburgh for the season," Sir Robert explained, a faint tremor in his voice.

Rose felt a distinct burst of anxious energy radiating from him. "And she's taken the cook with her, our kitchens are barely stocked. I wouldn't blame Your Majesty if you wanted to ride on."

"Not at all," the Queen dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I've had quite enough carriage exercise, and this is charming, if rustic. It's my first visit to this house, my late husband spoke of it often, the Torchwood estate. Now, shall we go inside?"

The Doctor's eyes narrowed as he watched a soldier retrieve a small, heavily bound box from the carriage and walk past him. "What's in there then?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Property of the Crown," the Captain said snidely, his gaze sharp. "You will dismiss any further thoughts of it."

The Doctor exchanged a quick, knowing look with Rose, his mind already racing through all the possibilities of what such an important, guarded item could be.

The Captain then barked orders, sending his soldiers to their posts around the perimeter of the house. As the Doctor and Rose moved to follow the Queen inside, the Captain stepped towards Rose, a final, chivalrous flourish before he left to his post.

He took Rose's hand, bringing it to his lips. His gaze, warm and appreciative, locked with hers as he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Goodnight, Ms. Tyler," he murmured, his eyes holding hers for a fraction too long.

Rose felt a familiar blush creep up her neck. The Doctor, standing just behind her, let out a low, distinct glare at the exchange.

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Queen Victoria expressed her desire to see the project her late husband and Sir Robert's father had been working on.

Sir Robert led them, Queen Victoria, the Doctor, and Rose, to the observatory. Walking in, Rose was immediately intrigued by the massive telescope. "This, I take it, is the famous endeavor?" the Queen guessed.

"All my father's work," Sir Robert replied sadly, his gaze falling upon the intricate machinery. "Built by hand in his final years. It became his obsession, I'm afraid. He spent more money on this than rather caring for the house."

"I wish I could have met him," the Doctor mused, his eyes already sparkling with curiosity. "May I take a closer look?"

Sir Robert nodded, and both the Doctor and Rose eagerly walked up to the telescope.

"What did your father base his model on?" Rose asked, her mind already dissecting the design, beating the Doctor to the question.

The Doctor, impressed, turned to her, a wide smile on his face. "Always asking the right questions, Rose!"

Sir Robert, however, looked perplexed. "I know nothing about that, I'm afraid. I always thought my father a little eccentric." He sighed. "I just wish I'd spent more time with him. Listened to his stories."

Rose felt a pang of compassion for Sir Robert's heartfelt regret. She understood the wish to spend more time with lost fathers.

Meanwhile, the Doctor was already peering through the telescope, muttering to himself. "How many prisms has it got? It's got way too many, the magnification's gone right over the top, which is kind of stupid."

He felt the Queen and Sir Robert staring, and Rose nudged his side. He leaned down, whispering, "Am I being rude again?"

Rose, with laughter in her eyes, nodded her head.

The Doctor quickly added, "But, it's pretty. Very pretty."

"But the imagination of it, surely," the Queen questioned. "This device is the infinite work of God. What could be finer? Sir Robert's father was an example to us all. A polymath, steeped in astronomy and sciences, yet equally well versed in folklore and fairytale."

"Stars and magic," Rose said appreciatively, her gaze moving between the telescope and the Queen. "It's incredible that someone could be so interested in both astronomy and science, and also folklore. That blend of logic and wonder."

The Doctor winked at Rose, whispering, "Kind of like me."

Rose rolled her eyes, but an endearing smile touched her lips, causing a warmth to creep into both of his hearts.

"Indeed," the Queen agreed. "Oh, my late husband enjoyed his company. Prince Albert himself was acquainted with the many rural superstitions, coming as he did from Saxony." The Queen then added, "When Albert was told about your wolf, he was ecstatic."

Rose froze, a shiver of distress running through her at the mention of a wolf.

The Doctor's interest and anxiety, however, peaked.

This was the third time the word "wolf" had been uttered in his presence since landing. Seeing Rose's worried expression, he gently squeezed her hand. Needing to get to the bottom of this mystery, he asked, "The wolf? What wolf?"

Just as Sir Robert was about to launch into a story, a servant entered the observatory. "Perhaps everyone would like to retire to their rooms, as it is getting dark."

Queen Victoria also suggested supper. She then turned to Sir Robert. "Sir Robert, do you think your wife might have any suitable dresses?" She saw Rose look down at her Scottish gown. With a regal, haughty air, Queen Victoria simply stated, "While Ms. Tyler's dress is fine for walking around the wilds of Scotland, it will not do for dinner in my presence. Dinner will be at seven, and we will talk more about this wolf. Especially with it being a full moon tonight."

As they left the observatory, the Doctor stopped Rose before she could head to one of the rooms Sir Robert had pointed out. He cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender and concerned. "Are you okay, Rose? Every time the Queen mentioned the word 'wolf,' you flinched."

Rose looked up at him, her eyes troubled. "I had a nightmare last night. About a wolf in a cell. It was chasing me down a long corridor."

The Doctor's alarm spiked. Not only was this new information disturbing, but the thought of her not being near him...

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I can try to convince the Queen that your current dress is fine. You don't need to change."

Rose smiled sweetly, a sad knowing in her eyes. She hugged him tightly. "No," she murmured into his chest. "I can't explain it, but I feel like we have to separate. Don't worry, Doctor. I'll be fine."

Pulling away, Rose made her way to one of the assigned rooms.

The Doctor, unsettled, walked towards the dining room. He didn't like this feeling, this sense of unease, with Rose not being close by. It felt… wrong.

Chapter Text

Rose looked around her room, the soft lamplight casting long shadows.

A faint rustling sound drew her attention to one of the wardrobes. Hesitantly, she opened it, revealing a small, terrified figure cowering behind a cascade of evening gowns.

It was a maid, her eyes wide with fear, her face smudged with dirt, and her simple cap askew.

"It's alright," Rose murmured, her voice soft and reassuring.

She gently led the trembling maid to the bed and urged her to sit.

Once seated, the maid finally spoke, her voice a reedy whisper. "They came to the house in silence. They took the steward, and the master, and my lady."

Rose squeezed the maid's hand. "I've got this friend," she said, her voice filled with quiet confidence. "He's called the Doctor. He'll know what to do."

The maid looking unsure, her gaze darting nervously around the room.

"What's your name?" Rose asked, hoping to offer a little more comfort.

"Flora," the maid replied, her voice barely audible.

"Flora," Rose repeated, offering a comforting smile. "We'll be safe. There are alot of people downstairs who can help us."

As they left the room, a chilling sight met Rose's eyes. Several of the Queen's guards lay sprawled at their posts, unconscious.

A cold dread seeped into her. "Flora, quickly!" she urged, trying to hurry the maid along.

But it was too late. A hand clamped over Rose's mouth, another silencing Flora, and they were both dragged away into the shadows.

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A sudden, chilling flash of fear rippled through the Doctor. His gaze snapped to the dining room door, willing it to open, praying for Rose to be on the other side.

He was momentarily disappointed when a servant entered instead, bowing slightly. "Your companion begs an apology, Doctor. Her clothing has somewhat delayed her."

The Doctor's heart gave a cold lurch. He tried not to show his distress, but a knot of suspicion tightened in his gut.

Through all their travels, through impossible planets and bizarre circumstances, clothing was the one thing Rose never struggled with. In fact, she was usually exasperatingly quick. The longer Rose was away from his side, the more a creeping dread settled over him.

"Do not worry yourself, Doctor," Queen Victoria interjected, her voice regally calm. "Your betrothed is merely attending to her toilette."

The Scottish Captain, ever watchful, raised an eyebrow. "Betrothed, Your Majesty? Surely Ms. Tyler is suited to someone... more fitting."

Queen Victoria’s gaze sharpened on the Captain. "Captain, the nature of Doctor McCrimmon's relationship is hardly a topic for discussion at supper. And I assure you, his behavior changes quite noticeably when Ms. Tyler is near him, which suggests a certain... suitability."

The Doctor glaring at the Captain, eagerly changes the subject, and clears his throat. "Well, we are just waiting on Sir Robert to tell us a story about wolves aren't we?"

"Indeed," the Queen agreed, a slight smile touching her lips. "Since my husband's death, I find myself with more of a taste for supernatural fiction."

"You must miss him," the Doctor sympathized, a quiet understanding in his voice.

The Queen's gaze softened, a hint of vulnerability in her regal composure. "Very much." She paused, then continued, her voice more reflective. "But that's the charm of ghost stories, isn't it? Not the scares and chills; that's just for children. But the hope of some contact with the great beyond. We all want some message from that place. It's the Creator's greatest mystery that we're not allowed a translation. The dead stay silent, and we must wait." She dispelled the somber mood with a wave of her hand. "Come now. Begin your tale, Sir Robert. There's a chill in the air, the wind is howling through the eaves. Tell us a story of monsters."

Chapter Text

While Sir Robert wove his tale in the dining room, Rose found herself in a dimly lit, cold chamber, chained alongside Lady Isabel and a couple of terrified servants.

The clanking of her chains echoed in the oppressive silence. Rose scanned the room, desperately searching for anything that could help them.

Her eyes landed on a large, sturdy cage, and within it, a magnificent, unsettling wolf.

A slight pressure began to build in Rose's head, a familiar thrumming.

"Don't make a sound!" Lady Isabel urged, her voice a terrified whisper. "They say if we scream or shout, he'll slaughter us."

Rose, bewildered, whispered back, "But he's in a cage. They'd have to unlock it for him to get loose, wouldn't they?"

Lady Isabel implored, her voice trembling, "He's not a normal man, lass. He's not mortal."

At that moment, the wolf in the cage slowly raised its head. Its eyes, impossibly dark, were a terrifying, midnight black.

Lady Isabel and the other servants instinctively recoiled, shifting back against the wall in fear.

Only Rose stared ahead, a strange stillness settling over her. Unbeknownst to her, a faint, golden glow entered her eyes, as the pressure in her head grew.

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Back in the dining room, a hushed anticipation filled the air as Sir Robert began his tale. "The story goes back three hundred years. Every full moon, the howling rings through the valley, and the next morning, livestock is found ripped apart and devoured."

The Captain scoffed, a dismissive wave of his hand. "Tales like that just disguise the work of thieves. Steal a sheep and blame a wolf, simple as that."

"But, sometimes," Sir Robert continued, his voice dropping slightly, "a child goes missing. Once in a generation, a boy will vanish from his homestead."

The Doctor, equally fascinated and increasingly concerned about the still-missing Rose, leaned forward. "Are there any descriptions of the creature?" he asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

Sir Robert looked directly at the Doctor, his gaze serious. "Oh, there are descriptions, Doctor. Not just drawings and wood carvings, but stories told by those who have glimpsed it. It's no normal wolf, they say. It can become like a man as well."

The knot in the Doctor's stomach tightened, a cold dread spreading through him. "Werewolf," he breathed, the word a heavy realization.

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Edging closer to the cage, Lady Isabel grabbed Rose's arm, her voice beseeching. "Don't go closer!"

Rose gently removed Lady Isabel's arm from her grasp and, with a calm she didn't entirely feel, guided her towards the terrified steward.

Then, drawn by an unseen force, she moved closer to the cage. In an ethereal voice, soft yet resonant, she spoke. "I know who you are."

The steward, eyes wide with fear, whimpered, "Don't address it!"

Ignoring him, Rose knelt down carefully in her dress, feeling a burn from the chain cuffs around her wrists as she angled herself to the creature's eye level. Again, in that strange, calming, ethereal voice, she continued, "I know what you want."

The creature, a mocking glint in its midnight-black eyes, replied, "Aaah, intelligence."

"I know that body is human," Rose stated, her gaze unwavering, "but the creature inside is not."

Slowly, the creature responded, its voice a low growl. "This body was born ten miles away. A weak, heartsick boy, stolen away at night by the brethren for my cultivation. I carved out his soul and sat in his heart."

A powerful, goddess-like energy seemed to emanate from Rose, filling the confined space.

Her voice, still soft, now carried an undeniable authority. "I am giving you one chance to leave, or I and the Doctor will have to stop you."

The creature watched Rose, confused. "Why would I leave this place? A world of industry and workforce and warfare. I could turn it into such purpose."

Drawn by Rose's raw power, the creature slowly began to creep closer to the bars of its cage.

Rose's eyes flared with a brilliant golden glow. Her voice rose, clear and absolute. "I will not allow you to hurt the Queen, nor will I allow the birth of the Empire of the Wolf!"

The creature rushed forward, gripping the cage bars, a groan escaping its throat. "I can see it in your eyes," it rasped, its gaze fixed on her. "You've seen it too. There's something of the wolf about you."

Rose leaned forward, feeling a strange power flow through her, a connection to something ancient and vast. "I have," she declared, her voice firm, "but no one will ever be harmed by me."

As if burned by her golden glow, the creature scrambled back from the bars, retreating to the shadows of its cage.

"You burn like the sun," it hissed, a frustrated snarl in its voice. "But all I require is the moon."

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"My father didn't treat it like a story," Sir Robert warned, his voice grave. "He said it was fact. He even claimed to have communed with the beast, to have learned its purpose." His shoulders slumping, as he says quietly, "I should've listened."

As Sir Robert spoke, the Doctor's eyes narrowed, catching sight of the butler moving subtly towards the window.

"It's what was hinted," Sir Robert continued, unaware of the Doctor's distraction. "That there's a monastery in the Glen of St. Catherine. The brethren opposed my father's investigations."

The Doctor heard a faint chanting begin to rise from the butler.

"Perhaps they thought his work ungodly," Queen Victoria proclaimed, her voice cutting through the growing tension.

Sir Robert turned towards the Queen, his face pale. "That's what I thought, but I wonder. What if they had a different reason for wanting us to be kept quiet? What if they turned from God and worshipped the wolf?"

The Doctor's gaze remained fixed on the butler, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with alarming speed. He implied, his voice low and dangerous, "What if they were with us right now?"

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The cellar doors above suddenly flung open, allowing a stark shaft of moonlight to stream down, bathing the cage and the creature within.

With a low growl, the creature began to tear at its robe, its form already beginning to shift.

Rose, feeling a cold dread, immediately moved back towards Lady Isabel, Flora, and the steward.

"Don't look at it!" Rose commanded, her voice firm despite the terror coiling in her stomach.

She grabbed her own chain, testing its resistance. "Start pulling! All of you! Pull with me!"

Lady Isabel looked at the transforming creature, her eyes wide with terror. "We can't! He'll slaughter us!"

"Listen to me!" Rose urged, her voice cutting through their fear.

The golden glow returned to her eyes, empowering her words. "I know you're scared. Believe me, I'm terrified too. But staying here, just watching it, means we're waiting to die! We have to help ourselves! We have to work together! This chain isn't going to break itself, and that door isn't going to open unless we make it! We have to get out of this room, away from that thing! Now, grab hold! Pull!" Her eyes locked onto Lady Isabel's. 

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Everyone in the dining room stood frozen, watching the butler, who was now menacingly chanting, his eyes vacant and unsettling.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Queen Victoria demanded, her voice cutting through the eerie incantation.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Sir Robert said, his voice thick with remorse, his gaze fixed on the butler. "But they have my wife."

A wave of intense anger, cold and sharp, washed over the Doctor. He surged forward, recognizing the butler's garb now as that of a monk. "Where is Rose?! What have you done to her?!" he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Just as he spoke, a powerful blast of fear, mixed with an overwhelming need to protect, slammed into him.

His eyes widened. It wasn't his emotions he was feeling. It was Rose's, raw and desperate, amplified and distinct. He could feel her, a beacon of terror and determination.

"Sir Robert, with me!" the Doctor commanded, his voice tight with urgency. He spun and left the dining room, following the invisible thread of Rose's fear.

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In the cellar, the creature in the cage began to scream and snarl, its body violently contorting and stretching as its transformation accelerated.

"Pull! Don't stop!" Rose yelled, her voice hoarse, directing Lady Isabel, Flora, and the steward.

She ignored the searing pain of the chain cuffs cutting into her wrists, a burning ring of agony that worsened with every desperate tug.

Frustration gnawed at her – the chain was slowly giving way, groaning and stretching, but it wasn't enough.

Then, just as despair threatened to set in, an unknown force seemed to surge through Rose. It felt like a current, a surge of raw, golden energy that flowed from deep within her.

With a final, desperate pull, miraculously, the chain gave way with a resounding clang, sending Rose and everyone else tumbling to the cold stone floor in a heap.

The cellar doors burst inward, kicked open by the Doctor and Sir Robert, just as Rose and the others were scrambling, ready to run towards the light.

The Doctor's gaze fell on Rose – disheveled, smudged with dirt, but alive. Her hair was loose, framing a face streaked with fear and grime, yet to him, she had never looked more beautiful. Her eyes, wide and relieved, met his.

Rose sighed, "Doctor," a single word laden with a profound sense of relief.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over the Doctor. Irritation flared at the sight of the cruel chain cuffs biting into her wrists, a testament to her ordeal. Yet, overriding it all was an overwhelming gratitude that she was safe, that she was here, alive.

Distracted, the Doctor watched in amazement as the creature in the cage completed its horrifying transformation, its form now a towering, lupine nightmare. "Incredible," he breathed, mesmerized.

Rose, seeing his distraction, gently nudged Sir Robert. "Sir Robert," she said politely, but with urgent pleading in her voice, "please, everyone needs to get out of the cellar, now!"

The creature, now fully transformed, let out a guttural roar and threw a part of the cage, a bent metal bar, towards them. Rose instinctively pulls the Doctor, ducking, they scrambled out of the cellar.

The Doctor, turning quickly, locked the heavy cellar door with a whirl of his sonic screwdriver just as they heard a chilling wolf howl echo from below.

They reached the ground floor, the sound of the howl reverberating through the house. The Doctor immediately began to work on Rose's chain cuffs. "Just a second, Rose..."

"No, Doctor, wait," Rose interrupted, pulling her hands back slightly. " Unlock Lady Isabel, Flora, and the Stewart's cuffs first. I can wait."

The Doctor paused, his hands hovering. She can wait. The simple words, spoken with such selflessness, sent a profound warmth through his hearts, cementing his admiration for her, for the truly remarkable person she was.

As the steward and some of the guards ran off to retrieve weapons, and Sir Robert, after a quick, loving kiss, urged his wife and Flora to find somewhere safe, the Doctor resumed his work on Rose's chains.

"It could be any form of light species," he explained, his fingers deft as they worked the lock. "Triggered by specific wavelengths." The last of the chains fell away with a soft clink. "Did it say what it wanted?"

Rose winced as the cuffs fell, revealing raw, broken skin and angry red welts on her wrists.

"Oh, you know," she said, trying to sound nonchalant, "the Queen, the crown, the throne."

The sight of her injured wrists made the Doctor's hearts clench. A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over him, mingled with a pang of regret. He should have been there sooner.

"Oh, Rose," he murmured, his voice thick with concern, his thumb tenderly stroking the broken skin. He quickly apologized, "Sorry," before ducking down, reaching under her skirt, and with a swift tear, ripping a small section of her petticoat.

He looked up, a slight blush on his cheekbones. "There's no time to heal them with the sonic screwdriver right now," he explained tenderly, his eyes fixed on her wrists. He then began to carefully wrap the torn fabric around her wounds.

Chapter Text

A sudden, deafening crash echoed from the direction of the cellar.

The Doctor swiftly tucked his sonic screwdriver into his jacket pocket and moved out into the corridor to get a clear look. Rose, ever vigilant, followed close behind, ready to pull him away from any immediate danger.

For a tense moment, an unspoken impasse seemed to hang in the air between the newly transformed werewolf and the Doctor.

But the stillness shattered as the creature let out a guttural roar and began to charge at them.

The Doctor instinctively grabbed Rose's hand, pulling her back behind the line of armed men.

"Fire!" the steward yelled. Rose covering her ears at the deafening blast of gunfire.

The werewolf seemed to recoil, then vanished around a corner, seemingly in retreat.

Rose felt the familiar pressure grow in her head, accompanied by flashes from her nightmare. Still slightly disoriented, she suggested, "We should go upstairs."

The steward, however, was puffed with pride. "I'll not retreat! The battle's done! There's no creature on God's earth that can survive such an assault!"

The Doctor and Rose followed, urging him silently to go upstairs, as the steward moved back into the corridor.

"You go!" he shouted. "I will sleep well tonight with that thing's hide on my wall." He peered around the corner, a satisfied look on his face as he turned back to them. "It must have crawled away to die."

Rose's eyes widened in horror. "Sir, above you!" she cried, lunging forward.

The Doctor, having also seen the creature lurking on the ceiling above, reacted instantly. He caught Rose around the waist, pulling her tightly against his chest, shielding her just as the werewolf dropped from above, snatching the unsuspecting steward and ripping him apart in a grotesque display.

Feeling Rose's wave of guilt, the Doctor whispered urgently in her ear, "There wasn't anything we could have done."

He understood her innate need to help, her compassionate heart. But in that moment, with the horrifying image of Rose in the steward's place, caught in the werewolf's claws, the Doctor's singular priority, above all else, was Rose's safety.

It was a primal, fierce instinct, eclipsing all other concerns. Nothing else mattered more than keeping her safe.

Rose, the Doctor, and Sir Robert burst into the dining room, where Queen Victoria was already descending the main staircase. "Sir Robert! What's happening? I heard such terrible noises!" she demanded.

As Rose and the Doctor rushed through the other doorway leading to the stairwell, Sir Robert explained, "Your Majesty, we have to get out!" He looked around, suddenly remembering. "What happened to the butler monk?"

"The Captain disposed of him," the Queen informed him, succinctly.

Rose and the Doctor, having quickly scouted for an exit, ran towards them. "The front door's no good, it's been boarded shut," the Doctor announced, his patience wearing thin. "Pardon me, Your Majesty, but you'll have to leg it out of a window."

The Queen, holding her head high, followed them back into the dining room.

"Excuse my manners, Ma'am," Sir Robert apologized, already moving towards a window. "But I shall go first, the better to assist Your Majesty's egress."

"A noble sentiment, Sir Robert," the Queen agreed.

"Yeah, any chance you could hurry up?" the Doctor muttered, his hands twitching with impatience.

Sir Robert climbed up and began to open a window when a volley of gunshots erupted from outside. They all instinctively dove under the heavy dining table, the Doctor pulling Rose close and covering her as bullets splintered the wood nearby.

Once the shooting stopped, the Doctor, hands casually in his pockets, moved back to the windows. "I reckon the monky monk boys want us to stay inside," he observed.

"Do they know who I am?" the Queen demanded, her voice sharp with indignation.

Rose, stepping forward, addressed the Queen respectfully. "Your Majesty," she began softly, "I believe it is you the wolf wants." She quickly added, relaying the terrifying information the creature had whispered to her, "He said he would turn this world of industry and warfare to his own purpose. He wants your crown, your empire."

A chilling wolf howl echoed from close by.

The Doctor and Rose instinctively ran back to the stairwell, hearing the heavy thuds of the wolf trying to break down the dining room door the Doctor had locked earlier.

"I think it's time to run, Doctor," Rose said, her voice urgent.

"Right, Your Majesty," the Doctor agreed with Rose, turning to the Queen. "As a Doctor, I recommend a vigorous jog. Good for the health."

He held out his hand to the Queen. Once she took it, he pulled her along as they ran up the stairs, with Rose and Sir Robert following close behind.

They made it to the second floor just as they heard the resounding crash of the wolf breaking through the dining room door.

Running down the corridor, the Doctor pushed the Queen towards Sir Robert and simultaneously ducked as the wolf lunged, narrowly missing him, just as the Captain appeared around the corner and opened fire on the creature.

"I'll hold this position while you keep going!" the Captain urged, firing another shot at the werewolf.

"Your Majesty, I went to look for the property but it had been taken. The chest was empty."

"I have it," the Queen assured him, her voice surprisingly steady.

"Then remove yourself, Your Majesty!" the Captain insisted. "Doctor, you and the lovely Rose stand as Her Majesty's protectors. And you, Sir Robert, you are a traitor to the Crown."

"Bullets can't stop it!" the Doctor butted in.

"No, but they'll buy you time," the Captain insisted, his gaze firm. "Now run!"

"No!" Rose cried, resisting the Doctor's attempts to pull her away. She looked at the Captain, her eyes pleading. "You don't have to do this! We can find another way! Please, you can't fight that thing alone!"

The Captain quickly took her hand, pressing a swift, tender kiss to her knuckles. His eyes, kind and resolute, met hers. "Thank you for your concern, Ms. Tyler. But this is my duty."

The Doctor, with a surge of desperate urgency, pulled Rose into the library with the others.

Rose, tears welling in her eyes, closed them tightly as she heard the Captain's guttural screams, abruptly cut short.

They quickly locked and barricaded the heavy library doors.

"Wait a minute. Shh, shh, shh, wait," the Doctor urged, his ear pressed against the door. He could sense the wolf on the other side, a palpable presence, but it wasn't trying to break in. "It's stopped." He listened intently. "It's gone."

"No, but listen," Rose urged, her eyes wide. They both heard it – a faint, distant scratching sound. The wolf was moving.

"Is this the only door?" the Doctor asked Sir Robert, his voice low.

Sir Robert almost agreed, then his eyes widened in sudden recollection. "No! There's... there's a hidden one, back here!"

He and the Doctor lunged, barely managing to barricade the other door just before the wolf could reach it.

"Shh," Rose whispered, quieting everyone as she heard the wolf's heavy movements receding once more. "I wonder what's stopping it?"

"Something inside this room," the Doctor thought aloud, moving around the library, his gaze sweeping over the shelves.

He slid his fingers across Rose's back as he passed her, a subtle, reassuring touch, as if making sure she was still there after her near miss. "What is it? Why can't he get in?"

Rose moved closer to the Doctor, a sigh escaping her lips. "I don't know, but I'll tell you what."

"What?"

"Werewolf." Rose said, a glint of genuine excitement in her eyes despite the danger.

A grin spread across the Doctor's face. He pulled Rose in for a hug, holding her tight. "I know. But, are you alright?"

Rose relaxed into his arms. "I'm okay." The Doctor cupped her face, pressing his forehead against hers.

Rose, without realizing it, began to send him bursts of assurance, a wave of calm and positive emotion washing over him.

The Doctor's eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as he felt the distinct emotional transfer. He stared into Rose's eyes, amazed by her unconscious effort.

Their moment was abruptly burst by Sir Robert. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. It's all my fault. I should've tried harder to send you away. I tried to suggest something was wrong, I thought you might notice. Didn't you think there was anything strange about my household staff?"

The Doctor pulled a face. "I just thought you were happy your wife was away." Rose rolled her eyes.

"I pray someone tell me, please," the Queen demanded, her voice rising in distress, "what exactly is that creature?"

"You'd call it a werewolf," the Doctor explained.

"But, technically," Rose clarified, "it's more of a Lupine Wavelength Haemovariform."

"And should I trust you two?" the Queen continued, growing more and more upset. "You, sir, who change your voice so easily? And you, young lady, with a vast knowledge of facts far beyond your years and station!"

The Doctor cringed, remembering his exaggerated Scottish accent.

Rose stepped forward, her hands clasped respectfully. "Your Majesty, we understand your concern. This is an extraordinary and frightening situation, far beyond the normal course of events. But we mean you no ill will. We simply wish to ensure your safety."

"I'll not have it! No, sir! Not you, not that thing. None of it!" Queen Victoria declared, her voice ringing with regal defiance. "This is not my world!"

Chapter Text

Silence descended upon the room as the Queen tried to calm herself, her earlier outburst fading into the tense atmosphere.

The Doctor, ever observant, walked over to the door they had just boarded. His fingers traced a subtle carving on the wood. "Mistletoe, Sir Robert. Did your father put this here?"

"I don't know," Sir Robert shrugged, looking confused.

The Doctor looked past Sir Robert, seeing the same carving on the other barricaded door. "It's on the other door too. No, a carving wouldn't be enough," he mused, dismissing the thought. "I wonder..." He leaned down to the door and, to Rose's intrigued but slightly repelled amusement, licked it.

"Viscum album!" the Doctor exclaimed, straightening up. "Oil of the mistletoe! It's been worked into the wood like a varnish. How clever was your Dad!" he said to Sir Robert, almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "I love him! Powerful stuff, mistletoe. Bursting with electrons and viscose toxins."

"So the wolf thinks he's allergic to it," Rose suggested, a clever implication in her tone.

The Doctor's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with appreciation for her quick deduction. "Right you are, Rose! The monkey monks needed some way of controlling the wolf. Maybe they trained it to react to certain things."

"Nevertheless," Sir Robert interrupted, a note of desperation in his voice. "That creature won't give up, Doctor. And we still don't possess any actual weapon."

"Ohhh," the Doctor grimaced. "Your father got all the brains, didn't he?"

Rose gently nudged him. "You're being rude again."

The Doctor gave a petulant sigh. "I meant that one."

Rose turned to Sir Robert, a kind smile on her face. "Sir Robert, we're in a library. Books are the best weapons in the world."

The Doctor's eyes lit up. "Right!" He put on his spectacles, grabbed a stack of books, and began handing them out. "This is the greatest arsenal we could have. Arm yourselves!"

As Rose started reading, she couldn't help but glance at the Doctor wearing his glasses. They made him look incredibly attractive, a blend of serious intellect and charming eccentricity. Unconsciously, she sent a flash of affection towards him.

The Doctor felt the surge of her emotion, his head snapping up. His eyes met hers, catching her in the act of blushing before she quickly ducked her head back to her book.

He remembered the bursts of emotion he'd felt from her all night. This was intriguing. He tried an experiment, sending a telepathic thought to her: Find anything?

"Not yet, Doctor," Rose answered out loud, her voice a little breathless.

The Doctor's eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot upwards. He was utterly intrigued. She could hear him telepathically!

He tries another experiment, focusing on a feeling. He sent her a powerful wave of his own attraction, mixed with a sincere thought of how beautiful she looked in the TARDIS-colored tartan.

He watched as her breath hitched and the blush on her face deepened. A wave of satisfaction washed over him.

Suddenly, his gaze fell on the page he was holding. "Oh!" He moved to the desk, the others following him. "Look what your Dad found." He placed the book on the desk, pointing to a diagram. "It appears that something fell to Earth."

"That must be where the creature came from," Rose realized, her voice hushed.

"A shooting star," Sir Robert read from the book. "In the year of our Lord, 1540. Under the reign of King James the 5th. An almighty fire did burn in the pit. That's the Glen of St. Catherine's," Sir Robert explained, "by the monastery."

"So that creature's been here over 300 years," Rose hinted, the implications settling heavily.

"Maybe just a single cell survived," the Doctor suggested, his mind racing. "Adapting slowly down the generations. It survived through the humans, host after host after host."

Sir Robert looked confused. "But why does it want the throne?"

Rose’s voice was low, foreboding. "Imagine it. An empire of the wolf. Imagine a world like ours, given over to something like that."

"Imagine it," the Doctor realized, his eyes wide. "Victorian age accelerated. Starships and missiles fueled by coal and by steam. Leaving history devastated in its wake."

Queen Victoria had finally had enough. "Sir Robert," she demanded, standing up, her voice firm. "If I am to die here..."

"Don't say that, Your Majesty," Sir Robert pleaded.

"I would destroy myself rather than let that creature infect me," the Queen explained. "But that's no matter. I ask only that you find some place of safe keeping for something older and more precious than myself."

"Funny time to worry about your valuables," the Doctor joked, a nervous laugh escaping him.

The Queen reached into her bag and pulled out a huge, dazzling diamond. "Thank you for your opinion," she said dryly. "But there is nothing more valuable than this."

"Oh, Your Majesty," Sir Robert uttered, his voice filled with awe.

The Doctor dropped what he was doing, staring in wonder at the gem.

"That's the Koh-I-Noor," Rose remarked, recognizing the diamond from the crystal book she'd been reading in the TARDIS library. "The greatest diamond in the world."

"Given to me as the spoils of war," the Queen explained. "Perhaps its legend is coming true. It is said that whoever owns it must surely die."

"Well, that's true of anything if you wait long enough," the Doctor dismissed, reaching out a hand to hold it. "Can I?"

"That must be worth quite a bit," Rose commented, her eyes wide.

"They say the wages of the entire planet for a whole week," the Doctor agreed, his gaze fixed on the magnificent jewel.

"Why do you travel with it?" the Doctor asked, his eyes still fixed on the diamond.

"This is my annual pilgrimage," the Queen explained. "I'm taking it to Halloran and Caru, the royal jewellers at Hazelhead. The stone needs to be recutting."

Rose stared in disbelief. "But it's perfect!"

"My late husband never thought so," the Queen explained softly.

"Now, there's a fact," the Doctor picked up, taking off his glasses. "Prince Albert kept on having the Koh-I-Noor cut down. It used to be forty percent bigger than this. But he was never happy, kept on cutting and cutting."

"He always said the shine was not quite right," the Queen quietly said. "But he died with it still unfinished."

"Unfinished," the Doctor's mind started piecing things together.

"Oh, yes," he realized, throwing the diamond back to the Queen. "There's a lot of unfinished business in this house. Your father's research," he said, pointing to Sir Robert. "And your husband, Your Majesty," the Doctor pointed out. "He came here and he found the perfect diamond. Hold on, oh oh oh, hold on." Rose grinned as the Doctor ran his hands through his hair in frustration, working furiously. "All these separate things, they're not separate at all. They're connected. What if this house... it's a trap for you? Isn't that right, Your Majesty?"

"Obviously," the Queen agreed, a hint of disdain in her voice.

"At least, that's what the wolf intended," Rose explained, adding her own insight. "But what if, what if, there's a trap inside the trap?"

"Explain yourselves!" the Queen demanded.

The Doctor continued Rose's idea. "What if his father and your husband weren't just telling each other stories? They dared to imagine all this was true, and they planned against it. Laid down the real trap, not for you, but for the wolf."

Dust particles started falling from the ceiling. Looking up, everyone saw the glass skylight, and looming above it, the wolf.

"Like that wolf there," the Doctor pointed out needlessly as the glass began cracking. "Run! Run! Run!" he yelled, and they frantically dismantled the barricade they'd put in front of the door.

They burst into the corridor just as the glass skylight finally gave way, and the wolf crashed into the library. "We have to get to the observatory!" the Doctor yelled.

Simultaneously, a searing flash from her nightmare slammed into Rose's mind – the image of the wolf, the desperate flight down the corridor. She froze, a statue of terror.

The Doctor, noticing Rose wasn't next to him, whirled around. His hearts seized with a cold terror as he saw the wolf, its massive form lunging, about to attack Rose. A primal, raw fear unlike anything he'd ever felt for himself surged through him. He wouldn't lose her. Not now. Not ever.

Rose felt the pressure in her head spike higher and higher, threatening to overwhelm her.

Then, out of nowhere, a pot of hot water sailed through the air, splashing across the wolf's face. Lady Isabel and a couple of servants, their faces grim but determined, stood with more pots. They began to hurl hot water mixed with mistletoe onto the wolf, causing it to run into the shadows.

"It was mistletoe!" Lady Isabel explained, her voice breathless.

"Isabel, great job!" Sir Robert exclaimed, rushing over, cupping her face, and kissing her quickly on the lips. "Now get back downstairs!"

"Just keep yourself safe," Lady Isabel demanded, her eyes wide, before leading the ladies back down to the kitchen.

Rose stood behind the Doctor as he cautiously checked the hallway.

A profound sense of relief, tinged with lingering adrenaline, washed over him. The sight of Rose almost taken... it had solidified something deep within him. His entire being was geared towards her safety, her well-being.

Suddenly, he turned, clutching Rose to his chest in a hug so tight she could feel the frantic beat of both of his hearts against her own.

"I'm alright," Rose said, trying to calm the Doctor, whose embrace was still fiercely tight. Reluctantly, she pulled back from him. The Doctor, claiming Rose's hand firmly in his, ran back to the others. "Come on!" he urged.

"The observatory's this way!" Sir Robert pointed out as they ran down the hallway and up the stairs. Once they reached the top and burst through the observatory doors, the Doctor shouted, "We should find something to barricade these doors! Because your father wanted the wolf to get inside, but I need time."

"Do what you must, sir, and I'll safeguard the door," Sir Robert insisted, planting himself resolutely in front of the entrance.

The Doctor ignored him, already scanning the room for objects. "If we can bind these shut with rope or something—"

"I said I'll buy your time, sir!" Sir Robert declared, his voice firm. "Now get inside."

The Doctor looked into the other man's eyes and saw his courage, his determination to make up for letting it get this far. "Good man." The Doctor then ran up to the Queen. "Your Majesty, I need the diamond."

"For what purpose?" she questioned, clutching the Koh-I-Noor.

"The purpose it was designed for," he answered.

Rose watched as Sir Robert bravely stood against the door, just as the monstrous wolf appeared around the corner, its eyes glowing with predatory intent.

A voice echoed in Rose's head, clearer now than ever before, telling her to "let go" as the pressure in her head surged, higher and higher.

Giving into the voice, Rose felt a sudden, exhilarating rush of power course through her. Simultaneously, with eyes glowing a brilliant gold, she flung her hand out, and an unseen force pulled Sir Robert inside with impossible speed, while simultaneously flinging the wolf against the far wall. The creature hit with a sickening thud and lay still, seemingly unconscious.

The Doctor, witnessing Rose's incredible feat, stood momentarily frozen, his jaw slack with astonished awe. The only time he saw her do anything like this before, was back on the gamestation.

Exhausted, Rose quickly closed the door and locked it with a resounding click.

The Doctor snapped out of his trance and ran to Rose, his hands immediately checking her for injuries.

"Rose, are you—?" as he pulls a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, as he notices her bloody nose.

Rose stopped him, her hand gently takes his handkerchief from him. "Isn't there something important for you to work on?" she reminded him, and unknowingly, sent another wave of assurance, a comforting calm washing over him.

Not wanting to let her go, the Doctor pulled Rose with him towards the massive telescope. "Lift it, come on!" he directed her, already beginning to turn the telescope up towards the full moon.

They struggled to move the colossal instrument as they heard the wolf outside slamming against the door again.

Sir Robert stood in front of the Queen, sword in hand, while the Queen held up the cross she had retrieved from her carriage earlier.

The Queen began praying to God just as the wolf finally broke down the door, towering over them, a terrifying silhouette against the moonlight.

Rose and the Doctor were still struggling to get the telescope into position. As they heard it powering up, they turned to see the wolf advancing.

The Doctor dove forward, sliding the diamond into place to catch the moonlight, aiming the beam at the wolf.

Rose watched, a sudden wave of dizziness attacking her.

The wolf was engulfed in moonlight, lifted into the air, slowly, painfully, turning back into the young man he would have been if not for the wolf. The young man turned his head slightly towards the Doctor, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. "Please, make it brighter. Let me go."

With sadness in his hearts, the Doctor moved back towards the light chamber and turned up the magnification of the moonlight.

As the light intensified, the man's form flickered, turning back into the wolf before, with a sad, mournful howl, the creature disintegrated into nothingness.

All was silent. The Doctor walked over to pick up the diamond, then went to hand it back to the Queen, but he stopped short.

He saw a small, fresh cut on her wrist. "Your Majesty, did it bite you?" he asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.

"No, it's... it's a cut," she insisted, quickly covering her wrist. "That's all."

The Doctor moved closer to her. "If the wolf bit you—"

"It's nothing! It was a splinter of wood," the Queen interrupted, her tone dismissive. "From when the door came apart."

The Doctor reached for her hand. "Let me see."

"It is nothing!" she insisted, pulling away.

The Doctor watched her suspiciously for another moment before turning back to Rose. He took in her pale complexion and the way she was leaning heavily on the light chamber.

His eyes widened. He lunged forward, catching her just as Rose lost the fight to stay conscious and collapsed.

Chapter Text

Rose drifted in a hazy, dreamlike space. It wasn't the TARDIS library, but an abandoned barn, bathed in an impossibly bright, warm sunlight that streamed through gaps in the wooden walls.

Dust motes danced in the ethereal light. In the center of the barn, a figure began to coalesce, shimmering with an internal luminescence.

It was a glowing wolf, its form majestic and powerful, yet radiating a profound sense of peace. Its eyes, though animalistic, held an ancient wisdom.

"Who are you?" Rose asked, her voice a whisper in the sunlit silence.

The glowing wolf responded, its voice resonating not just in her ears, but deep within her very being. "I am you, completed."

Rose frowned, the words echoing strangely. "Me... completed? Are you the reason, why I've been having these nightmares?"

"They are the only way, for now, for you to safely perceive the Time Vortex," the entity explained.

"The pressure, the pain in your head? It is simply the vortex, contained for your current capacity, until you grow stronger."

The glowing wolf narrowed its eyes slightly. "You always possessed the potential, the capabilities to understand more, to learn. It was merely the environment around you that held you back."

"You said... 'me completed'," Rose remembered, a flicker of confusion. "What did you mean by that?"

The entity smiled, a silent, knowing expression. "That information will come to you gradually."

"Why can't you tell me all of it now?" Rose pressed.

"The Doctor is pleading with you to wake up," the entity replied, a gentle amusement in its voice.

"Our time here is limited." It paused, then continued, a deeper resonance entering its voice.

"However, I will tell you this. Normally, a being is born with a full soul. However, you, Rose, were born with two parts of your soul separated. One part has been with you since birth. The other was returned to you when you saved the Doctor on the Gamestation."

Rose blinked. "I... I don't remember saving the Doctor on the Gamestation."

"That memory will come in time," the entity assured her. "And when it does, you must learn to forgive yourself. For you were always meant to do it."

"Forgive myself?" Rose asked, utterly bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"We will speak again, in another dream," the entity said, its glow beginning to recede. "For now, do not tell the Doctor about me yet. He has much to understand, before he is ready to perceive this part of you. Just wait. There is a right time for everything."

Rose didn't like the idea of keeping this a secret from the Doctor. "When will I be able to tell him?" she asked, a note of frustration in her voice.

"When the little girl meets her angel," the entity replied, its form fading further into the bright sunlight. "But for now, the Doctor is quite earnestly requesting that you wake up."

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

"Wake up, Rose. Please, wake up," the Doctor whispered, his voice thick with concern, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.

He watched, relieved, as the unnatural paleness slowly faded from her complexion, a healthy glow returning to her cheeks. Her soft, pink lips, now relaxed in slumber, beckoned him, a silent temptation he fought to ignore. He held her close, her weight in his arms a profound comfort.

Watching her collapse in exhaustion had sent a jolt of pure fear through him, a stark reminder of the danger she'd faced.

But now, as she lay cradled against him, she felt utterly right, perfectly fitted, as if she were made to be there. A deep, pervasive warmth blossomed in both of his hearts, spreading through his chest. He savored the feeling, wishing, with an aching tenderness, that she were waking in his arms for a different reason entirely – not from the aftershocks of a battle fought, but from a peaceful, shared slumber in a borrowed bed in one of Sir Robert's quiet rooms. The thought was a private, potent longing.

Slowly, Rose stirred in the Doctor's arms, her whiskey-colored eyes fluttering open to meet his dark brown ones.

Realizing she was in his embrace, a blush crept up her neck. "Good morning," she whispered, her voice still thick with sleep.

"It's better now," the Doctor whispered back, a relieved grin spreading across his face. He gently stroked her hair, his thumb caressing her cheek. "You had me worried, you know."

Rose offered a small smile. "Someone's got to keep you on your toes."

The Doctor grinned, his tongue pushing against his cheek. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her forehead, a soft, tender kiss.

Rose froze, a jolt of warmth spreading from the point of contact, blossoming through her chest. It was comforting, exhilarating, and utterly confusing all at once.

The Doctor pulled back slightly, his eyes flickering between her startled whiskey eyes and her soft, pink lips.

His control, usually so absolute, was waning, replaced by a yearning he could no longer deny.

His hearts hammered against his ribs, a fierce, desperate beat.

He wanted to close the small distance between them, to taste her lips, to finally give in to the magnetic pull that had grown stronger with every shared adventure, every close call.

Just as he was about to lean in, the door burst open. A maid, laden with a breakfast tray, froze mid-step, her eyes widening. "Excuse me, sir, ma'am!" she squeaked, blushing furiously before backing out of the room and closing the door with a click.

Both the Doctor and Rose looked at each other, mirroring the maid's blush, and awkwardly pulled away.

"How did we get here?" Rose asked, noticing their surroundings – a plush, if slightly old-fashioned, bedroom.

"Sir Robert allowed us to use a room," the Doctor explained, still a little flustered.

"Didn't he... question you being with me in the same room?" Rose ventured, a new blush coloring her cheeks.

The Doctor's blush deepened, tugging on his ear lobe, but he managed a small shrug. "Well, Sir Robert and Her Majesty still think we're betrothed, don't they? And seeing how concerned I was over your wounds and exhaustion... it was only natural for me to take care of you."

"Speaking of wounds," the Doctor said, his voice soft as he gently lifted Rose's wrists.

He unwrapped the makeshift bandages he'd fashioned from her petticoat.

Beneath, her skin was completely smooth, not a trace of the raw welts or broken skin from the cuffs. It was as if they had never been there.

Rose stared at her wrists, turning them over and back. The faint phantom ache was gone, replaced by perfectly unblemished skin.

A wave of awe, mixed with a touch of bewilderment, washed over her. It was incredible, almost magical.

The Doctor watched her, a curious intensity in his gaze.

He remembered, vividly, his own confusion just hours before. While Rose had slept, deep in the heavy slumber of exhaustion, he had crept closer, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. He'd aimed it at her wrists, ready to begin the slow, careful process of mending her skin. But as the sonic hummed, he'd seen it—the skin was already perfectly healed, as if the injuries had vanished on their own.

He'd pulled back, bewildered, a mix of profound relief and an almost scientific fascination swirling within him. What had happened? How was this possible? It was extraordinary, and yet another piece in the rapidly growing puzzle that was Rose.

"While, I'd love to understand how this is possible," the Doctor said, pulling her attention back, "it's probably best if, Her Majesty, or anyone else in this castle, doesn't know about it. Just for now."

They settled into an easy silence, eating their breakfast. Rose picked up a piece of fruit, its juice dribbling slightly from the corner of her lips.

The Doctor watched, his gaze drawn to the glistening drop. He leaned forward, reaching out a hand to brush it away. His thumb gently stroked her bottom lip, his focus entirely on her mouth. His posture was leaning in, the air between them charged.

Just as the gap was closing, a sharp knock startled them. The door opened and a servant entered, bowing slightly. "Her Majesty has requested your presence once you are awake, Doctor... and Ms. Tyler."

Both the Doctor and Rose pulled back, blushing furiously, the moment shattered.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

Walking into the drawing room, the Doctor and Rose found Queen Victoria standing regally in front of the fireplace, with Sir Robert and Lady Isabel positioned respectfully behind her to the left. Once they reached the Queen, she gestured for them to kneel.

"By the power invested in me by the Church and the State, I dub thee Sir Doctor of TARDIS." She laid a sword lightly on each of his shoulders.

Then she turned to Rose, her gaze intense. "And by the same power, I dub thee Dame Rose of the Powell Estate." As the sword touched Rose's shoulders, a flicker of pride and surprise lit her face.

After they were knighted, the Queen asked them both to stand.

The Doctor and Rose couldn't contain their smiles, especially Rose, who had never been knighted before.

"Your Majesty," the Doctor began, his voice earnest, "you said last night about receiving a message from the great beyond. I think your husband cut that diamond to save your life. He's protecting you even now."

Rose, however, was starting to feel a distinct uneasiness. Queen Victoria's face had adopted a stern, unyielding expression. Rose subtly nudged the Doctor, trying to get him to notice the suddenly chilling atmosphere in the room.

"Indeed," the Queen agreed coldly. "Then you may think on this also. That I am not amused. Not remotely amused." Her voice grew colder, more cutting. "And henceforth, I banish you."

The Doctor understood. The words stung, but he had anticipated this. It was the predictable, if disheartening, response to the unknown. He was saddened, yes, but not entirely surprised.

"I have rewarded you, Sir Doctor," the Queen stated. "And now you are exiled from this empire, never to return. I don't know what you either of you are or where you're from, but I know that you consort with stars and magic and think it fun. But your world is steeped in terror and blasphemy and death, and I will not allow it. You will leave these shores. And, I hope, you will reflect on how you came to stray so far from all that is good. And how much longer you may survive this terrible life. Now leave my world and never return."

The Doctor felt a familiar pang of resignation as he and Rose turned to leave the castle. It was a familiar pattern – help, then be dismissed, sometimes reviled.

He slipped his hand into Rose's, finding comfort in her warmth.

As they walked, Rose noticed a farmer with a hay cart heading in the direction they'd left the TARDIS. The farmer, a kind-faced man, offered them a ride to their destination. The Doctor was torn; part of him was sad, dismissed so harshly after everything they had done.

He sighed as Rose's head laid on his shoulder, feeling her attempt at sending him tranquility, a soft, soothing wave of calm that slowly unwound the tension in his shoulders. He was appreciative of Rose, who always seemed to know what he needed, offering comfort without words. There was also a flicker of relief that, with the Queen's banishment, no one in this timeline could now discover Rose's new, extraordinary abilities.

Seeing the distinct blue box in the distance, the Doctor asked the farmer to stop. After helping Rose off the cart, he handed the farmer a couple of shillings for his kindness.

Rose immediately picked up on it. "Can't pay for chips, but you'll pay for a hay cart ride?" she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

The Doctor smiled, a genuine grin replacing his earlier weariness.

"The funny thing is," he said, a more somber tone entering his voice as they walked towards the TARDIS. "Queen Victoria actually did suffer a mutation of the blood. It's historical record; she's a hemophiliac. They used to call it the Royal Disease. But it's always been a mystery, 'cause she didn't inherit it. Her mum didn't have it, her dad didn't have it. It came from nowhere."

Rose's eyes widened. "Do you think... do you think that means the Queen was bitten by the wolf? And she's a werewolf?"

"Could be," the Doctor agreed, his eyes gleaming with a touch of mischief. "And her children had the Royal Disease. Maybe she gave them a quick nip."

"So the royal family are werewolves?" Rose asked, skepticism warring with amusement as she caught the teasing glint in his eyes.

"Well, not yet. A single werewolf cell could take a hundred years," he surmised. "To mature. Might be ready by, ooh, early twenty-first century."

"I wish we could have seen more of Scotland," Rose said wistfully, glancing back at the distant hills, as they stepped into the TARDIS. "My teacher once told me how beautiful certain areas looked."

Chapter Text

"I'm going to go change out of this dress," Rose said, making a move towards the door of the console room.

"Rose, how long have you been able to feel emotions or hear the thoughts of others?" the Doctor asked, his voice unexpectedly serious.

Rose paused, turning back, a confused frown on her face. "What are you talking about?"

The Doctor looked at her intently, then, focusing his gaze, he thought, "To be, or not to be, that is the question..."

"...Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," Rose finished, her voice trailing off as she met his raised eyebrow.

Her eyes widened. He hadn't said that out loud!

A jolt went through her, a mixture of shock and a strange, almost unsettling excitement. She had abilities she was completely unaware of. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and deeply profound all at once.

"How long, Rose?" the Doctor repeated, his voice gentle but firm. "How long have you been able to feel my emotions, or hear my thoughts?"

Rose bit her lip. "I... I haven't, not really, until just now, with you. But the TARDIS... she's always showing me images, sending me feelings." She thought back to the blue door, the snarling wolf, the Gallifreyan blanket.

The Doctor's already wide eyes widened further. The TARDIS communing with Rose was one thing, but this was a whole new level.

He felt a surge of complex emotions – wonder, a protective concern, and a deep, almost overwhelming fascination.

Rose, seeing the look on his face, asked, "Should I be concerned?"

The Doctor rubbed his face, a deep sigh escaping him. "Honestly, Rose... I don't know." His mind raced, grappling with the implications. There were so many unknowns about what was happening to her.

Rose, unaware she was projecting her thoughts, wondered if this was what the entity in her dream had meant.

The Doctor's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly sharp. "What entity?" he asked, his voice quick and urgent. "What are you talking about? What entity, Rose? What did it look like? What did it say to you?"

Seeing how flustered Rose was becoming, the Doctor claimed her hand in his and gently led her to the TARDIS library. He had her sit on the plush sofa, and then he sat beside her.

"Rose," he began, his voice soft, almost a whisper, "I'm worried. Really worried. All this... the visions, the power, you collapsing. I just need to know if you're okay. I need you to be okay." His thumb gently stroked the back of her hand, a silent plea.

Rose met his gaze, seeing the raw concern etched on his face. "Do you... do you want to check my mind again?" she offered. "Just to see if there's anything strange or dangerous going on?"

The Doctor nodded. "Before we do that, though... this communication with the TARDIS. How long have you been able to talk to her, or feel her?"

Rose thought for a moment. "Since you told me the TARDIS was helping me translate alien language into English, way back when. At first, it was just a sort of background hum, but after a while, it felt like... like a friend greeting me. And then, after the Gamestation, it felt like the TARDIS was always there for me, always. Guiding me, showing me things."

The Doctor felt a wave of profound relief wash over him, immediately followed by an intense intrigue.

The TARDIS, his faithful old girl, had been protecting Rose, guiding her.

It was a testament to their unique bond, and to the TARDIS's incredible sentience. Rose's words confirmed his earlier suspicions. It was the TARDIS. Relief settled in, heavy and comforting, knowing there was a connection, a protective link. But the intrigue remained, stronger than ever.

"With the TARDIS helping you," the Doctor said, his voice a little lighter, "all I need to do is help you strengthen your mind so you don't suffer from headaches or nosebleeds." He gently placed his fingers near her temple. "Think of that hallway with all the doors again. And if there's anything you don't want to show me, just close the doors."

The Doctor found himself once again in the familiar, yet ever-evolving, TARDIS hallway of Rose's mind.

This time, however, it was more complex, a dizzying mixture of the TARDIS's sleek, organic lines, Gallifreyan symbols, and something ancient, something that resonated with the very fabric of time itself. This ancient time language, swirling like nebulae in the space between the doors, was utterly perplexing.

He'd never seen anything quite like it in a human mind. It filled him with a surge of professional curiosity and a deep sense of wonder about Rose's true potential. He filed it away, a mental note for later, far more pressing matters at hand.

A luminous golden path appeared in the hallway, beckoning him.

He followed it, his gaze fixed on the familiar blue door.

This time, however, the wall around the door had begun to crack, with shimmering golden sand, like stardust, spilling out.

The Doctor quickly set to work, mentally patching the cracks, shoring up the delicate psychic barriers.

Once he was satisfied, he turned to exit Rose's mind, a sense of quiet accomplishment settling over him.

But then he heard it – a faint, mournful wolf howling from behind the blue door.

His eyes widened. He swiftly turned back, pressing his ear to the shimmering surface. Nothing. No sound. The Doctor slowly reached for the doorknob, his hand trembling slightly.

"Not yet, Doctor," a voice whispered, resonating directly in his mind, just as it had in Rose's dream.

"I need answers!" he pleaded with the disembodied voice. "I need to help Rose!"

"All will be revealed in time," the voice whispered back, calm and unwavering. "But until that time, the TARDIS will help you with anything that Rose may need."

Slightly frustrated at not getting any direct answers, the Doctor gently exited Rose's mind, his hand still cupping her face.

"I've repaired any damage I found," he told her, his voice a little rough. "And plus, there doesn't appear to be anything that will harm you."

He then instructed her, "Now, I need you to imagine the strongest walls you can think of. Walls that you believe nothing or no one can get through."

With a deep sigh of relief, the Doctor felt Rose's telepathic walls strengthening, solidifying around the protected areas of her mind.

Rose, feeling the Doctor's profound relief, wondered why she could still feel him, even through the mental walls. "Why can I still feel you?" she asked.

"Because we're connected," the Doctor explained, his voice soft, "through the TARDIS. It's an... unbreakable link now."

Feeling the intensity start to grow between them again, a familiar warmth building in the space between them, Rose moved to stand. The Doctor followed her, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in atmosphere.

"I'm going to take a shower," Rose said, her voice a little breathless, "and change out of this dress. Then maybe take a nap." Before she could walk away, the Doctor gently grabbed her wrist.

"Rose," he said, his voice earnest, "if you have any more nightmares... please. Come to me. We'll figure it out together."

Rose met his gaze, a silent promise passing between them. She nodded. The Doctor then lifted her wrist to his mouth, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Chapter Text

While Rose was taking a shower, the Doctor found himself drawn to the TARDIS library, his mind buzzing with a thousand questions.

He needed to understand the ancient time language he'd seen in Rose's mind.

He strode towards the section of the library he suspected would hold the answers, only to find the shelves subtly shifting, blocking his path.

The TARDIS, it seemed, was actively preventing him from accessing that knowledge.

"Come on, old girl," he muttered, pacing back and forth. "Just a peek. I need to know what's going on with her. Is she alright? What was that thing? Is she... changing?"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. "You're supposed to help! You're supposed to give me answers!"

The TARDIS hummed gently, a deep, resonant vibration that seemed to fill the room, a clear message of reassurance. She is fine, Doctor. You must wait.

"Wait for what?" he grumbled, gesturing wildly. "For what? For more strange powers to manifest? For more headaches? For her to collapse again?"

His thoughts churned. The memory of the golden path in her mind, the cracking wall, the wolf's howl.

Her new capabilities, the way she'd flung the werewolf across the cellar. It was astonishing, exhilarating, and deeply unsettling.

The idea of not being alone in his mind anymore, of having someone else, Rose, hearing his thoughts, feeling his emotions, was utterly profound. It was a terrifying, beautiful prospect all at once. A connection unlike anything he'd ever known.

Then his thoughts drifted to his recent actions around Rose. The way he’d cradled her as she slept, the insistent urge to kiss her lips during their near-misses in the castle, the undeniable comfort of her in his arms, the almost unconscious tenderness of kissing the silky skin of her wrist.

He felt a blush creep up his neck, a warmth spreading through both his hearts. Was this... could this be something he secretly wanted with all of his hearts? A deeper, more profound connection between them? The thought, raw and vulnerable, both excited and terrified him.

A slight, unexpected movement from the TARDIS pulled him from his reverie. The whole console room gave a gentle lurch. Confused, the Doctor headed to the console to see where she had landed.

"The Isle of Skye," he muttered, reading the coordinates, a small frown on his face. He hadn't set these. Why are we here, old girl? he thought, sending a direct telepathic query to the TARDIS.

The TARDIS pulsed softly, sending him a warm, gentle image: Rose, standing in the Highlands, her face alight with wonder, the wistful tone in her voice as she wished they could have seen more of Scotland when they weren't running for their lives.

A spark ignited in the Doctor's eyes, a faint, growing warmth blooming in his hearts as the slight potential of their new location fully registered. He looked out at the rolling, misty hills of Skye, a sudden, soft smile gracing his lips. The TARDIS, it seemed, had a plan.

The rugged beauty of the Isle of Skye stretched before him, a landscape of wild, untamed romance.

A faint smile touched the Doctor's lips, a bloom of something soft and new in his hearts, something sparked by the TARDIS's thoughtful journey here for Rose.

But just as the warmth began to settle, a chilling wave of conflict washed over him.

This. Is this something I should want? Is this something I deserve?

His mind, ever racing, veered sharply, pulling up fragmented, searing memories of the Time War. The fire, the screams, the desolation. The echoes of decisions made, lives lost.

He, the last of the Time Lords, carried that burden, that legacy of destruction.

Did he have the right to drag Rose into that? To wish for a connection that went even deeper than what they already shared? Was it fair to her? Was it safe?

The possibility of her hearing the full, raw, unvarnished chaos of his mind, feeling the immense grief and guilt he carried, suddenly felt like a dangerous burden to place upon her.

Should I want her to hear my thoughts, to feel my emotions, at all?

Unconsciously, his hand drifted towards the TARDIS controls, a desperate, instinctive urge to change the coordinates, to run, to put distance between them and this burgeoning, terrifying intimacy.

But just as his fingers brushed the cold metal, a sudden, sharp shock jolted through him from the TARDIS's console itself.

Simultaneously, a wave of profound warmth surged through him, originating from the direction of Rose's room, a wave of pure, unspoken reassurance that seemed to settle directly into his very core.

The TARDIS, it seemed, had made her decision.

"Alright," the Doctor sighed, giving in to the TARDIS's insistent nudge and Rose's comforting presence in his mind. He shook a finger at the console. "But if this leads to anything... I'll hold you accountable."

He felt a distinct, almost smug satisfaction from the TARDIS in response. The Doctor rolled his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked at their new location. The Isle of Skye. He knew exactly what he wanted to show Rose. Excitement bloomed in both his hearts.

He headed to the kitchen, planning to pack some food for them, only to find a perfectly packed picnic basket already waiting for him on the table. "Oh, come on!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I do know how to be romantic, you know!"

The TARDIS responded with a skeptical hum, a deep, knowing pulse.
"Oi! I do so!" the Doctor protested, sticking his tongue out at the console.

Rose walked into the console room, a fresh shower leaving her hair damp and her skin glowing.

She stopped short, a soft laugh escaping her lips. The Doctor was standing in front of the console, hands on his hips, pouting dramatically at the controls, occasionally sticking his tongue out.

"Having a little tantrum, are we?" Rose teased, leaning against the doorway, a playful glint in her eyes. "Didn't get your way with the big beautiful blue box?"

The Doctor spun around, a pout still firmly in place. "She's being difficult!" he grumbled, then his eyes landed on Rose, and his expression shifted.

The pout melted away, replaced by a look of pleasant surprise, then outright admiration.

Rose was wearing a form-fitting, long-sleeved top in a deep, vibrant TARDIS blue, its fabric a breathable, flexible material perfect for movement. Over it, she had a waistcoat in a rich, almost inky black, tailored to highlight her figure. Her trousers were a dark, forest-green canvas, practical and sturdy, tucked into well-worn hiking boots. A thin, tartan scarf in blues and greens was loosely tied around her neck, adding a touch of Scottish flair. Her hair, still slightly damp, was pulled back in a loose, practical ponytail. She looked both ready for adventure and effortlessly stylish, a perfect blend of her own vibrant personality and the TARDIS's iconic colors.

The Doctor's gaze lingered. "Wow," he breathed, a genuine appreciation in his voice. "You look... brilliant, Rose. Absolutely brilliant." His hearts did a happy little flutter. "Perfect for where we're going." He grabbed the picnic basket. "Come on. There's something I want to show you. Something incredible. The Fairy Pools of the Isle of Skye."

Stepping out of the TARDIS, the Doctor and Rose were immediately graced with the midday beauty of the Isle of Skye.

The sky above was a vast, cerulean dome, dotted with drifting, wispy clouds that cast soft, fleeting shadows across the rolling hills. The air was crisp, carrying the invigorating scent of damp earth and the distant tang of the sea.

Around them, the dramatic, dark peaks of the Black Cuillins loomed, their majestic, formidable presence dominating the horizon.

Taking Rose's hand, while holding the picnic basket in the other, the couple set out on a picturesque hike through the rugged and captivating landscape. The trail beneath their boots was a mix of loose gravel and uneven, rocky terrain, leading them deeper into the embrace of nature.

They followed the gentle winding of the path, their conversation light, punctuated by the soothing sound of numerous waterfalls cascading down from the mountainsides.

Each one was a miniature masterpiece, their cool mist kissing the couple's faces as they passed. The landscape unfolded with breathtaking views, revealing wide-open spaces and the impressive, ancient rock formations of the Cuillins.

The farther they climbed, the more expansive the panorama became, showcasing the iconic peaks and the vast, untamed expanse of the Skye landscape.

Finally, they reached the first main waterfall, marking the start of the enchanting Fairy Pools.

The Doctor's eyes scanned the area, a wide smile growing on his face. He led Rose a little further, past the initial bustle, to a perfect spot nestled beside a smaller, incredibly clear pool.

It was sheltered by a cluster of moss-covered rocks, offering a secluded feel. A flat, smooth rock, warmed by the sun, served as an ideal natural table, and the gentle gurgle of the water provided the most serene of soundtracks.

The view from their chosen spot was magnificent, offering a panoramic sweep of the Cuillins in the distance and the vibrant, almost impossibly green moss and purple heather surrounding the crystalline waters of the pools.

"This is incredible, Doctor," Rose said, her voice filled with delight as they settled by the Fairy Pools. "My primary school teacher, Mr. Smith, used to tell us stories about places like this."

The Doctor, mid-bite of a sandwich, raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Smith, eh? Sounds like he knew a thing or two."

"He did," Rose confirmed with a grin. "He told us about the Fairy Flag of Dunvegan, a magical banner owned by the MacLeod clan, supposedly given to them by fairies. One version of the legend says a MacLeod chief married a fairy princess, and she gave him the flag when she had to go back to her realm. And these Fairy Pools, he said they're a gateway to the fairy realm, used by fairies to travel between their world and the human world. He even said you might catch a glimpse of a fae if you were lucky."

The Doctor, ever the man of science, began to theorize. "Fascinating. Well, 'fairies' could have been anything from a particularly advanced alien species with cloaking technology to a misinterpretation of a natural phenomenon, perhaps localized atmospheric distortions creating the illusion of movement. And the 'gateway' rumor could be tied to geological formations that create unique electromagnetic fields, or even just peculiar light refractions in the water, making it appear as if something isn't quite right with reality."

Rose lightly reprimanded him. "Oh, come on, Doctor. Don't spoil it. To some people, especially children, it's important to believe in the fanciful. Humans need stories of myths, legends, and magic. They help teach life lessons, sometimes better than plain facts. Like the stories in The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, they're full of magic but they teach you about bravery and sacrifice."

She gazed at the shimmering water, a wistful look in her eyes. "I remember when I was a little girl, I'd often wish I could find a doorway to a fairy kingdom. Just so I could escape the adults who were always judging me and my mum."

The Doctor's gaze softened. "Rose, I always knew people underestimated you. They never saw what you truly were capable of, not really."

He noticed the subtle changes to her beauty in the sunlight. The sparkle in her eyes as she told her story, the healthy flush staining her cheeks from the hike and the cool wind, the rare sunlight beaming down to create a shimmer in her hair. It was all so captivating, pulling at something deep within him. He found himself utterly mesmerized, a profound sense of admiration washing over him.

He grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, maybe if you jump in, we can see if it's real or not?"

Rose teased right back, a playful glint in her eyes. "Oh, really? And if I'm successful and find my way to a fairy realm, you'd be helpless without me, wouldn't you?"

The Doctor's smile faded, replaced by a sincere expression. "Yes, Rose. I would."

Chapter Text

Blushing from the intense emotion shining in the Doctor's eyes, Rose turned her gaze back to the shimmering Fairy Pools.

The Doctor, remembering something she'd said earlier, asked softly, "How often did you feel like escaping, Rose?"

"All the time," she remarked, a faint, wry grin touching her lips. "My mum always said I had my head in the clouds as a child. She'd find me on the rooftop of our home, just staring up at the stars." Rose paused, a nostalgic look on her face. "Looking back, all my favourite children's stories had some form of escape."

She thought of tales like Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, where a curious girl tumbles down a rabbit hole into a fantastical world; The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, where siblings step through an old wardrobe into the snowy, magical land of Narnia; or even Peter Pan, where children fly away to Neverland.

Hearing this, a familiar ache settled in the Doctor's hearts.

He, too, had used the TARDIS to escape – a far grander escape from a world that had become too stifling, too rigid, too... Gallifreyan. He understood that longing, that desperate need for something more.

"That's why children need stories of magic, and fairies, and even of werewolves," Rose said sadly, her voice dropping. "Because soon enough, the world's going to demand that they grow up and show them all the ugliness that the real world holds."

The Doctor's heart ached hearing Rose's wistful, almost melancholic reflection on her own childhood. He reached out, gently squeezing her hand. "Your teacher must have been a great man, to keep your imagination alive like that."

Rose smiled fondly. "He was. All the other kids thought Mr. Smith was scary because he always looked like he was grumpy. But I felt safe with him. Especially during a particularly hard day at school once. He caught me hiding in his room, reading." She remembered his gruff but kind voice. "He used to tell me that fear can bring you home, but imagination? Imagination gets you out of the house."

"Rose," the Doctor began gently, his voice soft, "what happened to that childlike imagination? When I first met you, you were so skeptical about the Autons, remember?"

Rose sighed, a distant look in her eyes. "Mr. Smith had to leave, unfortunately. After that, I didn't really have anyone to encourage me to dream or imagine. Instead, I had harsh voices reminding me of where my place in the world was. Even though my gran tried to keep my imagination alive, my mum was always insisting I grow up. So, I started to give up my stories of far-off places and hidden kingdoms. I started to believe more in the reality of things than the fantasy."

She looked at him, a soft smile gracing her lips. "At least, until I met a mad man in a beautiful blue box, who showed me that there was beauty among the stars."

The Doctor was profoundly moved by her words. His hearts swelled with a mix of awe and tenderness. He'd known she was extraordinary, but hearing her speak of her journey back to wonder, and his part in it, was overwhelming.

He helped Rose to stand, pulling her into a tight, comforting hug. "Those voices were wrong, Rose," he said passionately, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Those people were just small-minded, dull people who couldn't see past their own interests. After meeting you that one time in Henrik's, it showed me that you were capable of so much more than even I could possibly understand."

He pulled back just enough to brush an errant strand of hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. As his fingers lingered, a sudden spark of golden light bloomed in Rose's eyes, a fleeting, beautiful luminescence that mirrored the depths of the Fairy Pools behind them.

The Doctor gazed into her eyes, utterly captivated. A profound sense of wonder, a realization of the endless mysteries Rose contained, washed over him.

The world seemed to fade away, leaving only them. With the breathtaking beauty of the Fairy Pools behind them and no prying eyes, no interfering servants, the Doctor finally gave in to the torrent of emotions he'd been holding back. He leaned down, slowly, deliberately, and kissed Rose.

It was soft at first, a tentative brush of lips, then deepened, infused with years of unspoken longing, shared adventures, and the fierce, undeniable love that had grown between them.

Rose melted into the kiss, her hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer.

A wave of euphoria, pure and exhilarating, swept through her, chasing away every doubt, every fear.

For the Doctor, it was a culmination, a beginning, and a release.

Her lips were even softer than he'd imagined, tasting of fruit and fresh air, and something uniquely Rose.

His hearts sang, a symphony of joy and profound rightness. In that moment, surrounded by the ancient magic of Skye, they were home.

Chapter Text

Their lips met, a soft, slow dance under the deepening stormy sky. A gentle breeze rustled the nearby leaves, carrying the faint scent of rain.

Then, a single drop landed on Rose's cheek, followed swiftly by another on the Doctor's hand.

A low rumble echoed in the distance, a storm's undeniable approach. Suddenly, the sky seemed to crack open, and a deluge poured down.

The gentle kiss was broken as they instinctively pulled away, seeking shelter.

With a familiar whirring sound, the TARDIS materialized nearby, its blue police box form a beacon in the downpour.

The Doctor grabbed Rose's hand, and they dashed towards it, soaking wet and laughing.

The rain plastered their hair to their faces, streamed down their clothes, but they didn't care.

They tumbled inside, breathless, dripping puddles onto the console room floor, their laughter echoing in the comforting hum of the TARDIS.

They stood in the TARDIS console room, dripping wet and still laughing, the scent of rain and damp earth clinging to them.

Rose pushed a wet strand of hair from her face, her breath still a little short from their dash.

The rain had plastered her TARDIS-blue top and forest-green canvas trousers to her form, accentuating every curve. Her usually bright, vibrant colors now seemed deepened by the water, clinging to her.

The Doctor, equally soaked, pushed his own dripping hair back. His tweed jacket was heavy with water, and his shirt, usually a little loose, now clung to his chest.

As he looked at Rose, the easy laughter began to fade, replaced by a growing intensity in his eyes.

He noticed the way her clothes clung to her, the line of her legs, the curve of her waist, the way her soaked shirt defined her figure.

A different kind of heat, distinct from the warmth of their earlier kiss, began to bloom within him, spreading from his core. His dark eyes, usually bright with curiosity, deepened, smoldering with a newfound desire.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked towards her, the puddles squishing under his feet. He reached out, his hands gently cupping her face, his thumbs brushing lightly over her damp cheeks.

The laughter had vanished, replaced by a charged silence between them.

Just as the Doctor was about to lean down to kiss Rose, a sudden, soft sneeze escaped her. She shivered, a tiny tremor running through her soaked form.

The sound brought the Doctor back to reality with a jolt. He’d been so caught up in the moment, in her, he’d completely neglected her health.

Guilt pricked at him. "Oh, Rose," he murmured, his hands still cupping her face. "I should have realized. For all the incredible things you can do, you're still beautifully, wonderfully human. You need to get out of these wet clothes." He offered a kind, sweet smile. "Go on, get changed. Get warm. Meet me in the library when you're ready."

Rose frowned slightly. "The library? Why the library?"

"Because," the Doctor explained, a serious glint in his eyes, "we need to figure out what's going on with your new empathic and telepathic abilities. See how developed they are."

He paused, his gaze softening. "I want to help you train them. Especially," his voice grew more somber, "with other telepathic beings out there who might not be as friendly as I am."

Rose could feel the quiet intensity of his concern, how truly important this was to him. She nodded, understanding. "Okay."

With another small sneeze, she turned and headed towards her room, ready to shed her damp clothes, take a warm shower, and dress in something more comfortable for... training.

After a warm shower, Rose felt refreshed, her skin tingling. She slipped into a comfy yoga training outfit: soft, charcoal gray leggings that moved with her, and a loose-fitting, but still flattering, cranberry-colored tunic top made of breathable fabric. Her hair was pulled back into a casual knot, and she wore soft, grippy socks.

She headed to the library, pushing open the heavy door just in time to see the Doctor.

He was sans his usual suit jacket, tie, and even his trainers, wearing only a crisp, unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his dark trousers.

He was in the process of pushing the heavy coffee table away from the roaring fireplace, his muscles flexing subtly with the effort.

To Rose, he looked more relaxed, more approachable, yet still utterly captivating. The rolled sleeves hinted at a readiness for work, but also a certain undone charm.

Noticing Rose entering the library, the Doctor stopped what he was doing and turned.

His gaze swept over her, taking in her comfortable, yet elegant, outfit. Her fresh appearance, the lingering blush from their earlier moments, and the way her clothes subtly outlined her form, distracted him for a moment.

A spark of desire ignited in his eyes, a silent question of whether they could continue where they had so recently left off.

But then, with a subtle shake of his head, he visibly reined himself in, remembering the reason they were here.

He clapped his hands together, a bright, professional smile on his face. "Alright then! Let's get started, shall we?"

Rose, a little nervous, asked, "What do I need to do?"

"Well," the Doctor began, gesturing towards the cleared space in front of the fire, "we're going to sit on the rug here. For your empathic abilities, we'll start with focusing exercises. You'll try to identify emotions from simple objects first, then from me, gradually increasing the complexity. For your telepathy, it'll be a bit different. We'll try sending and receiving simple thoughts, words, then images. It's about control, Rose, about learning to filter and direct that connection."

He then hesitated, a hint of nervousness entering his expression. "And to truly help you, to strengthen your mind against... outside influences, I'll need to enter your mind telepathically. Create a temporary bond, if that's alright. It'll allow me to reinforce your mental defenses directly."

"Are you okay with this bond, Rose?" the Doctor asked hesitantly, his gaze searching hers. "Even if it's temporary?"

Rose reached out, her hand gently covering his where it rested on the rug. "I trust you, Doctor. If you say it's what we need to do, then I'm okay with it."

A profound sense of gratitude and warmth washed over the Doctor. Her unwavering trust, especially after everything, solidified something precious in his hearts.

Rose then asked, a slight frown touching her brow, "But... will you be okay with me being in your mind? I know how private you are about your past."

The question hit the Doctor unexpectedly.

The thought of Rose, his Rose, seeing the vast, complex, often painful landscape of his mind... It was terrifying and yet, in that moment, utterly compelling.

He felt a profound surge of vulnerability, but also a deep acceptance. If anyone could understand, it was her.

"Rose," he began, his voice soft, "my past... it's a long story. A lot of it isn't pretty. But if it helps you, if it keeps you safe, then yes. I'll be okay with it."

He couldn't help himself. He leaned forward, cupping her face once more, and kissed her softly, a fleeting, tender brush of lips that spoke volumes of his affection and his silent promise.

Pulling back, the Doctor cleared his throat, trying to regain his professional composure. "Right then. First, we'll work on calming your mind and focusing your thoughts. It's similar to techniques used to enhance telepathic abilities. By quietening the 'noise' of others' thoughts or emotions, you can learn to distinguish your own feelings from any external input."

He continued, his voice settling into a more academic tone. "To further refine your focus, we might even try practices like using white noise or blackout goggles, just to reduce external distractions and heighten your awareness of your internal experiences. Then, for your telepathy, we'll introduce controlled exercises where you'll focus on sending or receiving simple thoughts to me, gradually increasing complexity and distance. This might involve visualizing clear images or emotions and attempting to transmit them mentally."

"And for your empathy," he explained, his gaze softening, "we'll work on recognizing that overwhelming empathy can be detrimental. We'll establish healthy boundaries to protect yourself from emotional burnout."

With a shared breath, the Doctor and Rose sat down on the rug, facing each other, ready to begin.