This chapter is mostly about introducing how Rose's character and experiences have changed from the show. It's going to be pretty heavy with description and slow action, since it's Rose's life before the Doctor. (Plus, I need to reveal more about Rose.)

I tried my best to keep in line with the whole British thing, but I'm Canadian so I don't know all that much about British culture. Where knowledge garnered from watching BBC dramas, fangirling over British authored books/movies and reading fanfictions failed me, I had to do tons of research, especially on the English education system and British accents. If I get anything wrong, make sure to tell me so I can fix it.

I don't own Doctor Who or any corresponding characters/ monsters/ locations/ etc. Please don't sue me out of my one last sock, I need it for my mini puppet production!

An obnoxious electronic beeping filled the air for several minutes until a slim hand shot out and smacked the alarm clock. A tangled mess of honey blonde emerged from underneath a thick quilt with a disgruntled groan. The feminine body attached to the hair sat up straight for a moment, before slowly slouching forward, eyelids drifting shut.

Blonde hair shot up again in a panic as a piercing scream ripped through the languid atmosphere. The woman quickly identified the source as a small mobile across the room and untangled herself from her pile of blankets. With a grumpy huff of air, she dragged herself towards the device and turned it off before trundling over to the connected bathroom to take a shower.

20 minutes later found a newly invigorated Rose Tyler toweling off her wet hair in front of her vanity, musing silently on the state of her roots. She combed her fingers through the damp locks to tame it into a neat sidesplit, then finished up with her make-up. Rose glanced at the hair dryer and then at the clock, sighing at the bright red lights that proudly declared it was '7:30'. Resigning herself to going to work with damp, wavy hair again, she padded over to a large antique dresser.

Her childhood mate Mickey had given it to her on her eighteenth, as a combined birthday present and early good-luck-on-your-A-levels gift. He'd been driving over to his buddy's place for a round of beers when he'd seen the thing, and Rose's fondness for "raggedy old things" (his words, not hers) that were "brimming with history" (her words, not his) had apparently been brought to mind.

He'd called in a favour from a mate who owned a van and had brought the thing to his shop to fix it up until it was functional. The dresser remained a bit battered and bruised despite Mickey's best efforts, but Rose loved the old thing more for it - and she told Mickey so too, thanking him so wholeheartedly that he'd ended up blushing.

Rose pulled the heavy wooden doors open and grabbed a pale pink blouse that she tucked into a black skirt. She dallied agonizingly between flats or heels before grabbing her mobile and bag and striding out of her room.

She had to at least appear sophisticated and professional; as long as her boss didn't know that her classy shirt was a bargain sale item, or that her black cardie was something Bev gave her because it was too small for the woman, or that the skirt was her mother's, it was fine.

Dropping a kiss on her mum's cheek, she snatched up an apple and rushed out the door, eager to keep her reputation as a punctual, reliable employee.

The combined expenses of university and their usual costs of living were too much to handle without taking a gap year, and she needed to save up as much money as possible so she could continue with her education - considering she was barely finished with sixth form, Rose thought herself lucky to have gotten this rather well paying job. She couldn't give her boss any reason to fire her until she'd saved up enough money.

Rose was never so grateful for her greatest aspiration as when she was observing the shop girls in Henrik's. If her dream didn't require her to have fantastic grades, she wouldn't have gotten the A-levels she had. If she hadn't done her A-levels, she wouldn't be working as the personal assistant to a senior floor manager of a huge department store; instead, she'd be slaving away folding shirts, like those poor girls.

Now that she thought about it, Mr Perrella did have quite an eye for young, pretty women. That probably factored heavily in his decision to hire her despite her lack of experience - she had two out of the three down pat, through perhaps 'pretty' would be debatable according to the person asked.

Pulling out her PDA, Rose checked her to-do list. There was only two minutes left until everyone was sent home, and she still had to get the new inventory of electrical equipment to Wilson. Sighing heavily, she set upon the task immediately, walking back to her desk to print a copy of the list before setting off. Why Wilson wouldn't just accept an email attachment, she would never understand.

"Wilson? Wilson, it's Rose, I have the inventory. Wilson!" she called, knocking on the man's workshop door. She peered down the dark hallway, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't be murdered that night.

Rose readjusted her large saffiano tote - a Prada knockoff, but it looked real enough to earn her some respect with the office ladies - and gripped her clipboard in anxiety. She was rather uneasy at this unnatural silence. Why wasn't Wilson answering?

Hearing a clatter further down the corridor, the young woman treaded into the darkness, and entered a storage area full of boxed clothes and mannequins.

"Wilson, are you in here?" Rose pressed her ear against an employees-only door, hoping to hear the electrician confirming that he was, indeed, there.

She had left the double doors leading into the storage space open in case it locked automatically, but now they suddenly slammed shut. Alarmed, she rushed towards them. The doors wouldn't open no matter how hard she pulled and tugged; the endeavor merely left her with red hands, a slightly warped door handle, and no way out.

She walked further into the area to try to find another exit. Hearing the sound of squeaking plastic, Rose stopped and tilted her head slightly to the left. When she saw movement from the corner of her eye she whirled around to fully face the potential axe-murderer.

It wasn't a psychopath wielding a bloody knife.

Rather, one of the plastic dummies was advancing on her, somehow that much more threatening for its artificial features and pleasant expression.

"If this is a prank, it's not very funny," Rose informed the approaching plastic figures. She brandished her clipboard at the closest dummy, scowling furiously at it.

As dummies began to crowd her on all sides, the young woman found herself increasingly panicked.

"Whose idea was this? Is it Derek's? Derek, is this you?" Derek was the workplace prankster, and held a bit of a grudge against her after the fourth time she rejected him with a scolding for unprofessional behavior. Not that that had stopped him from a fifth, seventh, and tenth pass.

Rose tripped over a set of boxes and found herself plastered against a wall, her head pressed hard against a pipe as she furiously tried to find an escape path.

The only mannequin trying to outright hurt her was the one directly in her eyesight, so she inched to her left, where she could feel a draft. Hopefully, that meant there was an open doorway or window, and not a malfunctioning fan. If the guy were to strike, he would barely miss her face and hit her shoulder instead. Then she could pretend to be incapacitated and escape.

Just as the dummy raised its arm to attack, Rose found a large, warm hand fitting perfectly into her own. The world seemed to slow as she turned her head and drowned in electric blue eyes.

"Run."

The world sped back up and her attacker struck the pipe behind her mere moments after she was pulled away.

Rose and the mystery man deftly avoided the clear strips of plastic that briefly waylaid the dummies and sped down the dark hall into a service lift. Staring anxiously at the approaching plastic men, the two pressed themselves against the back of the lift as they waited for the doors to close.

One of the dummies managed to get its arm into the lift before it closed off completely. The stranger grappled with the arm, until Rose smacked the edge of her clipboard against the dummy's shoulder violently.

It finally came off with a pop.

She gaped at the item in the stranger's hands. "We pulled his arm off!"

"Yep. Plastic." He offered the arm to her.

"Okay, so I guess it's not students."

"What? Why not?"

She took the arm and examined it, allowing most of the adrenaline to drain away from her body. She could try to think logically now that she wasn't scared out of her wits. "At first I thought, 'must be students, to get that many people dressed up and being silly', but the arm detached much too cleanly... and it's solid plastic all the way through. Then I would have said, 'remote control', but as far as I know, remote control can't move around solid plastic limbs, especially not without framework, which there clearly isn't. Besides, that wouldn't account for the elbow, which was fluid earlier but apparently has no joint. The only remaining explanation that I can think of is highly improbable; shop windows dummies are not sentient like in Toy Story."

Rose looked up. The man had been staring blankly at her since 'I thought' (most people tended to phase out when she spoke her thought processes aloud), but now his face was split into a wide, delighted grin that made her feel tingly all over.

Stop it, she told herself, trying to keep her normally tractable hormones in check. He probably smiles this way at everyone. You aren't special.

She was horribly unsuccessful.

"Impressive! Not just your typical dumb ape then; you're actually quite clever. Good for you."

Rose crinkled her nose at the possibly patronizing compliment but let it slide.

"So the dummies are sentient?"

"Nah, not exactly. Your remote controlled theory was closer. But you'd be surprised."

She paused for a moment, remembering the reason she had been in the basement in the first place. "Wait, what about Wilson?"

"Who's Wilson?"

"Henrik's chief electrician."

"Wilson's dead," he told her gravely.

The lift doors slid open, but Rose couldn't bring herself to move. The man stood still and watched her.

"That's- that's sick! I didn't know him very well, but he... Wilson didn't deserve to die. He had a wife, and kids-" Rose grit her teeth against the tears in her eyes. "Whoever's controlling the dummies has to be stopped. You're gon' stop them, right? That's why you're here? I want to help, but I'm probably just gonna get in your way." She winced at the Cockney leaking out from her distress.

The stranger looked into her eyes and nodded. "I'll stop them. I promise."

His hand then shot out - impossibly fast - and caught the closing lift doors. He strode out and took a strange silver instrument to the lift mechanisms, making them spark brightly as he disabled the lifts with a high-pitched warble.

Rose decided she liked that curious noise.

When the stranger started walking again, she took a deep breath and hurried to catch up.

"Who are you, then? Will you explain what's happening?" The man glanced at her without turning his head.

"Those were living plastic creatures, though not sentient in the way you're thinking. They're being controlled by a relay device on the roof, which would put you in a spot of trouble if I didn't have this." He waved a small beeping device - a bomb, probably - that he pulled out of his jacket. "So I'm going to go up there and blow them up, and I might well die in the process, but don't worry about me. No, you go home. Go and live your clever little life, and forget all about what happened tonight. Don't tell anyone about this, because if you do, you'll get them killed."

He motioned her through a metal door. Stepping through it, Rose realised he'd led her outside, into a deserted alleyway. He waved at her and shut the door behind him, missing her wince.

She was going to worry about him. She couldn't help it.

"If i' means anything, I don' wan' you to die. Please don' get hur'," she told the door. Sincerity caused her native Cockney to come out thickly, despite her automatic attempt to modify it into an Estuary.

Just as she was about to turn and leave, the door opened again and the man peered out with another grin, just as wide as the other, but somehow more manic.

"I'm the Doctor, by the way. What's your name?"

"Rose."

"Nice to meet you, Rose. Run for your life!" She grinned at him and turned to rush out of the alley.

Rose heard the doors slam shut as she stepped onto the sidewalk, rejoining the rest of civilization. She reached the other side of the street without incident, and turned to stare at her workplace.

Nothing happened for about a minute.

Then the air pulsed with anticipation once, twice, three times...

The Henrik's building suddenly roared with a inferno that blazed first on the roof before speeding downwards, furiously destroying the infrastructure one floor at a time. The flames licked hungrily out the windows but thankfully remained within the confines of the building.

The people on the sidewalk screamed as glass rained down on them. Glad that Henrik's used tempered glass for all their windows, the young ex-PA scanned the bystanders for any nasty injuries, and, finding none, briskly walked back home.

Rose only remembered the arm still gripped tighly in her hand when she was already halfway there. Deciding that even if the plastic reanimated, it was far enough from Powell Estate for her mum and friends to be safe, she tossed the thing in a dumpster and went on her way, feeling silly when she zigzagged through different alleys, backtracked down a few streets and took a series of detours just in case.

"Mum, I'm home!" Rose called out as she slipped into the flat. She dropped her bag and clipboard beside the shoerack.

"Rose!" Jackie Tyler rushed over to her daughter and started patting her down for injuries. "What took you so long? I thought you were caught in the explosion! Don't ever scare me like that again!"

Rose gently grabbed her mum's wandering hands and placed them on both her cheeks, calmly meeting the woman's eyes as she allowed her to cup her face. "I'm fine, see? Not a single scratch. I'm perfectly fine. Now, how'd you know about the explosion?"

"Look at the telly!"

Surprised, Rose shuffled into the sitting room and stared at the television as it proclaimed, "The whole of Central London has been closed off as police investigate the fire."

She vaguely registered her mum saying, "I'll go make you some tea." The image of the burning Henrik's building on television somehow made the events of that evening seem more real, as if she'd been trying to pass everything off as a dream before now.

"Early reports indicate..." Someone pounded heavily on the front door, interrupting the newsreader. Rose went to open it, eyes going wide when Mickey attacked her with a hug. She hesitantly patted him on the back.

He pulled back to scowl at her. "I've been phoning your mobile like mad! Do you know how worried I was?"

"You and mum, seriously," Rose laughed. When Mickey's expression remained stern, she dropped the smile off her face. The blonde leaned in and reassured her best mate the same way she had her mum. "I'm fine. Look, no injuries, see? I was far enough to avoid all the falling glass and flames."

Sighing, the young man followed her into the lounge and flopped onto the settee. "You're gonna give me an early death, you are."

"You're such a drama queen," she chuckled. Jackie placed a mug in her hands. "Ooh, tea! Thanks mum, you're the best."

"And you'd do well not to forget it," Jackie told her, raising her own mug.

"So what happened?" Mickey prompted.

"I'm not really sure. I wasn't in the shop when it happened, thankfully. Maybe a gas leak?"

"They better give you compensation! You don't have enough to start university yet, and you know I can't help you with that. Do you want to talk to a reporter? I heard it's 500 quid for an interview." The telephone rang and Jackie rushed to pick it up. "Bev, call off the search party! She's alive, thank God, but she was in seconds of death. Do you think we should ask for a psychiatrist?"

Mickey turned to her and peered into her mug. "What're you drinking, tea? Do you need me to get you something stronger? I hear whiskey is good for people in shock."

"I'm alright though."

"No, no, you deserve a proper drink. You haven't gone down to the pub in a while. I'll treat you. How 'bout it?"

"Is there a match on tonight?"

"No, I'm just thinking about you Rose," Mickey replied, shifting his eyes.

"There's a match on, isn't there," Rose laughed.

"That's not the point, but we could catch the last seven minutes."

"Then get going already! I'm really fine." Grinning, Rose reached up and gave Mickey a peck on the cheek before playfully shoving him to the door.

As Mickey left, Rose gave the newsreader her attention again. "... fire then spread throughout the store. Fifteen fire crews are in attendance though it's thought there is very little chance of saving the infrastructure."

Having turned in early the night before, Rose easily woke to her first alarm and turned off her second before it rang. She stepped into the shower and let the hot water soothe her tense muscles.

She didn't have work now. What would she do today?

Well, proper breakfast for one. She would save her mum from her own cooking today, though no one could beat Jackie Tyler's tea. Maybe she'd spend more time with Mickey. She'd been neglecting the poor guy. She was an awful best mate. Oh, she could have that shopping spree Jackie had wanted so much. She had been neglecting her mother too. And she might as well fix the radio while she was home, though no one really used it.

Rose stepped out of the shower smelling of vanilla and jasmine. She dried herself quickly and sped through the rest of her morning routine, once again not bothering with the hairdryer. Today, she decided on a pink vest top, a thin pink jumper, and black leggings. It was wonderful, wearing the comfortable clothes she loved rather than the posh looking costumes she had to put on for work.

The young blonde was putting the finishing touches on breakfast when she heard rattling from the front door. She threw parsley on her mum's eggs and placed the plate of buttered toast, eggs and sausages on the kitchen counter before heading off to the door.

"Mum, do you remember if I nailed down the catflap last week?" Because she clearly remembered doing so.

"You must have," the older Tyler replied. "Why?"

"No reason," Rose said, staring at the screws on the floor. The flap wiggled. Frowning in confusion, she bent down and peered through the small opening.

Rose found herself drowning in electric blue eyes for a second time. She jumped up and yanked the door open.

"What're you doing here?" the man said, sounding put out. "And what is this flowery smell?"

Why in the world would he be put out, she wondered. And, more importantly, what was he doing here?

"Probably my shampoo. And I live here," she said instead.

"Well, what do you do that for?" he replied petulantly.

If her eyebrows went any higher, they would be caught in her hairline. "I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to answer that. Besides, I'm only at home because someone blew up my job."

The Doctor hmm-ed. "I must have got the wrong signal. You're not plastic, are you?" He rapped sharply on her head, making her wince. "No, bonehead. Bye, then."

The Doctor shied away from her adorably grumpy look. He didn't want to get attached and ruin someone else's life.

Before he could leave though, Rose reached out and gripped his sleeve.

"You. Inside. Right now." When the Doctor remained reluctant, Rose added a, "please?"

She finally managed to pull him into the flat.

"Who is it?" Jackie called out. Rose peeked into her mum's room.

"It's about last night. He's part of the inquiry. Give us ten minutes, mum. And, uh, cover up please?"

"She deserves compensation," Jackie told the Doctor as he appeared in her doorway.

"Oh, we're talking millions."

Jackie smirked coyly. "I'm in my dressing gown."

"Yes, you are."

"There's a strange man in my bedroom," she continued.

"Yes, there is."

Jackie fluttered her eyelashes. "Well, anything could happen."

Finally seeing where the conversation was going, he gave her a false grin. "No."

"Have you had breakfast yet? I'll make you some sausage and eggs," the younger Tyler interrupted from the kitchen.

The Doctor walked away from the now-glaring woman and into the lounge. "No I haven't. I really shouldn't, but I'm starving, so might as well. Thanks."

"How do you take your tea?"

"Coffee, actually. Just milk... I think? Or maybe sugar?" He wandered through the sitting room, trying to entertain himself as he waited.

He spotted a magazine on the coffee table. "That won't last, he's gay and she's an alien."

"What?" Rose asked, bemused. She stared at him through the window between the kitchen and sitting room. "Alien? How would you know that?"

He grunted uncommittedly and grabbed a paperback instead. He flipped it rapidly. "Hmm. Sad ending."

"Did you just- how could you possibly have gotten that from just flickering the pages like that?"

"Rose Tyler," he said, spotting her name on a trophy for gymnastics. "Fingers on lips."

She rolled her eyes and returned to her cooking, pointedly banging various cooking utensils as she worked.

While food sizzled deliciously in the kitchen, the Doctor caught his reflection in the mirror. "Ah, could've been worse. Look at the ears." He inspected himself, acting as if it was the first time he'd seen his own body.

He quickly bored of that and grabbed a pack of cards. After several unsuccessful attempts to shuffle the deck, he gave up and put it back.

Rose finally emerged from the kitchen balancing two plates and mugs. She placed the load on the coffee table and went back to grab a pitcher of water, some sugar and a milk carton. "You didn't sound too sure what your preference for coffee was, so I wondered if you'd perhaps never tried it before and was comparing it to something else you'd experienced, or were working with a suggestion someone else made to you. It's an americano in the mug. I thought maybe you should have something black and strong first, and then try experimenting."

The Doctor stared at her.

Rose winced - I shouldn't have said anything - and distracted herself by digging into her breakfast.

After deciding that this body preferred its coffee black (and this americano was delicious by the way, has Rose Tyler ever thought of becoming a full time barista) the Doctor found that starving himself for several days did not translate to good table manners. After devouring his entire plate and consuming one of her toasts and several forkfuls of her eggs, he was in the middle of sneakily stealing Rose Tyler's last sausage when the cat flap began to rattle a second time.

"What's that, then? You got a cat?"

"No," the young woman replied. "Maybe it's a stray? Can you go check it out while I clean this up?"

The Doctor groaned but got up. This was much too domestic for his liking. He snatched up the sausage - "Hey!" - and strode over to the short hall as he chewed and swallowed. Seeing nothing, he turned back... and was met with a plastic arm that flew to his throat and began to strangle him.

The loud choking sounds eventually drew Rose out into the sitting room. Alarmed at the sight, she thought quickly and ran back into the kitchen to grab her torch lighter. Rushing to save the Doctor, she began to melt the plastic fingers, clumsily burning him three times.

"Hot! Couldn't you have found another way?" he complained when he could finally speak. "But thanks, I guess."

He pointed his whirring silver device - it had a glowy blue tip, she noted - at the half melted plastic arm and it stopped flopping about. Sighing, the Doctor decided the attacking plastic arm meant he had overstayed his welcome. He turned and rushed out.

He'd hoped to do the damn girl and her fantastic smelling hair a favor by leaving.

But she was following him.

Why was she following him?

"Why are you following me?"

"Well I can't just let you go swanning off, can I?"

"Yes you can. Here I am, swanning off. And this is you, letting me. See you."

"But that arm was moving autonomously. It tried to kill you!"

"Ten out of ten for observation," he remarked sarcastically. "Bonus points for fancy words."

"But... don't just walk away. Can't you at least tell me what's going on?"

"No, I can't."

"You said if I told everyone what's happened, I'd get people killed. So in exchange for not telling anyone, you can explain the situation to me. Quid pro quo."

"Is that supposed to sound tough?"

"... A bit. Is it working?"

"No."

"Who are you, exactly? What do you do?"

"Told you. I'm the Doctor."

"Yeah, but Doctor what? And I still don't know what you do."

"Just the Doctor. And you don't need to know."

"So, just... 'The Doctor'."

"Hello!"

"Is that supposed to sound impressive?"

"A bit. Is it working?"

"Not quite," she smirked. "So why do those plastic things keep popping up around me?"

"Oh, suddenly the entire world revolves around you," he rolled his eyes. Humans. So full of self importance. "You were just an accident. It was after me, not you. Last night, in the shop, I was there, you blundered in, almost ruined the whole thing. This morning, I was tracking it down, it was tracking me down. The only reason it fixed on you is 'cos you've met me."

"So what you're saying is, the entire world revolves around you instead."

"A bit, yeah."

"You're full of it!"

"A bit, yeah." That made Rose laugh.

"But, all these strange occurances. Who else knows about it?"

"No one."

"What, you're on your own?"

She looked up at him with large, sad eyes. Not pitying, exactly, but as if she wanted to apologize that he had to experience such a thing. As if she was sincerely sorry she wasn't there to prevent it somehow. He glared at her.

What would she know?

"Well, who else is there? I mean, you lot, all you do is eat chips, go to bed, and watch telly, while all the time, underneath you, there's a war going on."

"Okay," Rose said, now determined to help. "Let's start from the beginning. The living plastic - how did you stop it?

"The thing controlling it projects life into the arm. I cut off the signal, dead."

"So that's the remote control you were talking about?"

"Thought control, more like. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, of course! I'm more than alright. So, who's controlling it, then?"

"Long story."

"Well what's this all for? I mean, living plastic, what's that about? Is it limited to shop window dummies or does it apply to all plastic things? Is someone trying to take over Britain? Or the world?"

"Yes."

"Yes? 'Yes', what yes?

"It controls all plastic. It wants to take over Britain. It wants the Earth. It wants to overthrow the human race and destroy you. Do you believe me?"

"Yes."

"Which explains why you're still here."

"Really, though, Doctor. Tell me, who are you?"

He didn't say anything for a few seconds.

"Do you know like we were saying about the Earth revolving? It's like when you were a kid. The first time they tell you the world's turning and you just can't quite believe it because everything looks like it's standing still. I can feel it. The turn of the Earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling round the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour, and I can feel it. We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go..." he drifted off for a beat. Then his gaze sharpened. "That's who I am. Now, forget me, Rose Tyler. Please. Just go home."

The Doctor continued walking towards a tall blue police box while Rose stopped to watch him. She wanted to follow him, so badly, but the man was almost begging her to go away. So she would do it. She could handle a few hours of not badgering the poor guy.

Right in front of her eyes the blue box began fading in and out with a strange vworping noise. Air rushed around her, swirling her hair and clothes as the box finally disappeared from sight.

Super long AN

So... how was it? Rose is the only changed person, the others are only affected due to her presence in their lives.

You can see that the Doctor, in response to Rose being less aggressive, is interacting with her on a more personal level. She is much the same character as in the show but more polite (education), more naïve, a bit nicer and with more logic.

With the dresser, I was trying to reveal more about Rose and Rose's relationship with Mickey through an insignificant detail. She adores things that are "bruised and battered and filled with history", so that's good news for our doctor, eh? Would you like me to add more such details?

For example, Rose's saffiano tote. It's meant to show that she can be tactical if she wants to accomplish something. Coworkers' respect is an invaluable thing in making your work easier, which is why she considered the kinds of people she was working with and made sure to carry an item that would earn their interest and respect, while making sure it's something practical that she actually needed. She can easily apply that kind of mindset for other things, like war. Yes, I know I tried to put too much thought into a random fashion item that no one would pay attention to.

Also, I thought, Rose + logic = Rose - Jimmy Stone = Rose - traumatising, life-changing experience = Rose + very naive + reckless (because Rose had to have been originally naive and reckless in the show, to just run off with a guy just because he was handsome and said he would be famous one day), which means Mickey and Jackie have become much more protective out of necessity. (A search party. Ha!) You'll see protective and less cowardly Mickey in the next chapter!

Please review, pretty pretty please!