Author's Note: I'm sure at this point, addressing the issue seems redundant, but – YES THE STORY CONTINUES. I said I would be writing "episodes". Right there in the description for the first episode, I said so. When I ended the first episode, I even said "this is the end of the first episode." 'First' is a meaningless word unless it's followed up by, at minimum, a 'second.'

As Conan says "Keep cool, my babies." The notion I had was writing my version of a sort of "spin off" series. So, yes, there will be more adventures, and yes nine is sticking around. Frankly, I'm glad there are others out there who're glad about that.

More to the point, I'm not going to write over 20,000 words defying the Canon and giving Rose back her original Doctor only to drop it there. Before things get fun? Are you shitting me?!

And so, here's Episode II (and much better than Star Wars Episode II as that shmuck Hayden Christiansen is nowhere in sight).

"That's just brilliant, that is," Rose beamed as she held up her right hand and wiggled her fingers in front of her face.

"Pins," The Doctor scoffed, "Titanium pins? It's just barbaric." It was much the same sentiment the nurses had expressed. When Rose had awoken on the TARDIS, she'd been more than a little disoriented. Between the blood loss, sleep deprivation, and adrenaline hangover, she initially thought it had all been a bizarre, opioid-induced dream. However, the sudden, jarring lurch of the TARDIS landing had knocked her off the jump seat and assured her she was very much awake. She' was also sore from head to toe, a condition The Doctor meant to remedy.

He'd landed them, though roughly, in London near the beginning of the 31st century. Late enough, The Doctor explained, to care for her wounds "properly," but early enough to not be astounded by her existence during the customary genetic cataloguing. Rose had been more than a little disconcerted with the notion of her DNA being catalogued in any fashion, but as she sat on the gurney in her pin-stripe hospital gown, fully mended and feeling like she was ready to run a marathon, maybe even three or four of them back-to-back, all doubts on the matter were gone.

"Did we have to come here, though? I've seen you – I mean, the other Doctor mended people in the TARDIS infirmary plenty of times."

"S'those blasted pins," his arms were crossed, "There's a lot I can do, a lot the TARDIS can do, but I'd have done more damage tryin' to take those pins out than if you'd just slapped a band-aid on it after you broke it and called it a day."

"Either way, it's brilliant."

"Feeling better, then?" he grinned, clearly quite pleased with himself.

"Much," she hopped down off the gurney in demonstration and headed for the wall of honeycomb-shaped aluminum cubbies where patients' personal effects were stored. The Doctor followed her with his eyes a moment before quickly looking away.

"Oi! Mind the gap," he chided, turning away from her and noticing several other patients on the ward leaning forward on their gurneys to get a better look. The older gentleman in Dock 7 was wearing a particularly lecherous smile, at least until The Doctor stepped between him and herself and gave him the intergalactic hand signal for 'I can see you, asshole.' Rose stopped a moment, confused, then hastily grabbed the back of her paper gown and held the flaps closed.

"One thousand years of medical advancement, but they still have the paper gowns. Who's barbaric, now?"

"It's a relative term," The Doctor dismissed, too busy glaring down any more potential gawkers. Rose grabbed her belongings and stepped behind the divider screen to get dressed.

"Oh, good, you grabbed fresh clothes, thank you." then, a labored pause, "you really thought these trousers and this top went together?" The Doctor rolled his eyes and turned around, now that his companion was safely behind the screen.

"How should I know?

"No, I know, I'm sorry. It was thoughtful, and I know style isn't really your – thing."

"What's wrong with this jumper?" he asked incredulously, and Rose choked on a startled laugh, her heart having leapt up to obscure her throat. "Besides," he continued, "The amount of – stuff – you managed to fit in that bag is astounding."

"This from the alien with dimensional pockets."

"They have limits. Your rucksack, evidently, does not," he surmised. Rose stepped out from behind the screen, looking far more at-home in her faded pink Chucks, a pair of charcoal gray cargo pants and her nicest white oxford blouse.

"You know, now that I have it on, it's really not that bad," she observed, pursing her lips.

"So, all that fussin' for nothin'. Typical apes," he offered his arm and she took it with an easy smile, though the familiarity of it all was a bit jarring.

"Well," she hedged as they strolled easily out of the ward, "it never occurred to me to pair bespoke linen with tactical gear."

"Visionary, I am." They walked past the nurse's station. It was humming with activity and manned by humans as well as three different species of alien that she could see. One looked very much human aside from being two feet taller than average and possessing a third eye directly between the other two. Two nurses looked very much like the blue-skinned staff of Platform One, and still another had distinctly reptilian features and appeared to be covered in luminescent green scales

"So, a thousand years into my future, we've not only made contact with aliens, it looks like we live together and work together."

"Indeed. Brought you out of the stone ages, technologically speaking. Why do you think I brought you here?"

"Bit harsh on us stupid apes," she poked him in the ribs with her elbow, "Shouldn't we, I dunno, sign out or something?"

"Nah, they'll figure it out." He reached over and unsnapped the aluminum admission bracelet from her left hand and tossed it into a receptacle as they passed.

"Hey, I was gonna keep that, you know," The Doctor stopped and looked at her, a mix of condescension and mirth visible on his face.

"What, you don't have enough of them?" he asked, walking back to the bin, taking the lid off and fishing out her bracelet.

"It's a souvenier," she shrugged, "And just how much of my bag did you rifle through, anyway?"

"So, where to?" asked The Doctor as he bounded around the control console. Rose leaned back against one of the foam pads duck-taped around the railing.

"Impress me," she shrugged, crossing her arms and assuming her best air of superiority. She wasn't much good at it. All the same, The Doctor stopped in his tracks to look at her, and a smile of smug determination came to his lips.

"All right, then," he started fiddling frantically with the controls.

"Year Five Billion?" she queried. He stopped in his tracks, looking very much like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Already been done, then?" he asked, standing upright, away from the controls as the ship drifted into the Vortex.

"Yeah, sorry." She wrinkled her nose in mock sympathy, "You're free to try again,"

"Any other adventures I should know about?"

"Sorry, that's cheatin'," she grinned, "You'll have to figure it out, for now. Trial and error." The look he gave her was a little mutinous, but he returned to his work without a retort. Rose sat back and watched him. She was still utterly astounded to see his face again. As much as she'd loved The Doctor, loved the eternally cheerful face and vibrant personality she'd been forced to leave behind, she'd never quite gotten over this one. The regeneration had been so sudden, so unexpected. She had felt like so much was left undone. To that end, the words he'd spoken near the end had bubbled up in her mind in those all-to-frequent moments when she'd not been quite sure she could, or should, take the new Doctor seriously.

I was going to take you so many places…

Not like this, not with this daft old face…

She'd missed that "daft" old face; that noble, if wounded, mind. She'd mourned his loss long before she'd been ripped out of her own universe and stranded here. Now, to see him again, so much the same Doctor who vacillated wildly between his guarded nature and his manic determination to shake everything up, to salvage what good was left in the universe in an effort to salvage himself. She'd seen it all, gazing unabashedly into those gray eyes in that cell in Cardiff. Some experiences had changed with the absence of a companion, but The Doctor was still there, and still secretly ached for redemption despite his doubts.

"There," The Doctor announced, jarring her from her revelry, "Naples, 1860" Rose's eyebrows lifted in surprise. She was about to point out that had also been done, but held off. That's where her Doctor had been aiming on her second outing, but he'd landed them in Cardiff in 1869. Technically, she still hadn't made it to Naples in 1860.

"Right, brilliant." She said, pushing away from the banister, "Now, wardrobe? Same place?"

"Probably," The Doctor shrugged, "Go find out." If she was going to be vague and withholding, so was he. For her part, Rose didn't seem to mind one bit and dashed off in search of clothing that wouldn't get her tied to a stake with kindling stacked about her feet.

Rose peaked her head out the TARDIS door. It wasn't night, it wasn't snowing, and it didn't smell "Welsh." It was old, but she wasn't versed enough in architecture to make any snap decisions. They'd landed in a narrow alleyway paved with rough, pale bricks, tucked in the shadows between two multi-story buildings. She could surmise, at least, that they weren't in the Stone Age. She stepped out onto the paving bricks, three layers of skirts swishing around her, and The Doctor followed her, locking the TARDIS behind him. Rose tilted her head up, turning a circle or two, and The Doctor couldn't help but admire the genuine joy on her face.

"Impressed?" he beamed, leaning against the TARDIS, his arms crossed.

"Always," Rose breathed, without thinking to temper her response. She shook off her distractions and offered her hand, "Shall we?" The Doctor crooked his arm around hers and they started off down the alleyway. Not far off, they could see a bustling thoroughfare, and as they stepped out from the shadows into the sunshine, The Doctor stopped short.

"This isn't right," he commented. He looked up and down the square, his brow knit in confusion.

"When is it ever?" Rose shrugged.

"That's Il Duomo. This isn't Naples."

"I don't care." The sun was bright, there were pigeons crowding the large open square that lay before a rather impressive-looking domed Cathedral, and the tower bells had just begun to ring.

"It's Florence," The Doctor spoke over the din.

"Close enough," Rose dismissed, but The Doctor started across the square, taking her along, until they'd reached the gorgeous domed building. There was a notice posted to the great wooden doors of the cathedral, and The Doctor studied it intently while Rose stared up at the towering stone edifice in awe. Finally, he stepped back.

"It's 1634," he stated. Rose tore her attention from the cathedral and looked up at him with amazement. He was about to ask her why that shocked her, of all things, when her lips started trembling with her efforts to contain herself and she burst out laughing.

Footnote: Yes, it's "duck" tape, not "duct" tape. Though "duct" tape used on heating ducts does now exist, the original product wasn't usable for such a purpose as the heat caused the tape to dry out and fail (or, in some variations, burn up and produce a toxic gas). The original tape was constructed using lengths of "duck cloth." Between that and the water-resistant plastic coating that was later added to help keep moisture out of ammunition boxes, soldiers started referring to it as "duck tape."

So, chances are, that silver tape in your cupboard, the stuff you use to confound all those who try to open Christmas presents from you and to stop the kids from screaming, is most like "duck" tape and not "duct" tape. In fact, it's likely branded "Duck Tape™."

End of lesson. As you were.