Author's Note: Here's Episode III! Thank you all for your patience! I hope you all understand that, given the parameters of this little tale, I can't just throw them together and be all "And they instantly realized their love for one another, she drank some magic unicorn blood to become immortal, and they lived happily ever after in their big, blue box." The journey is half the fun, right?! Right? I mean, it can be fun…

As previously stated, I do not own the characters, themes, plots, settings, or alien technology from Doctor Who. I probably shouldn't even be allowed to use the same alphabet… So, from here on out, everything will be written in Sanskrit. Have fun!

Rose awoke gradually, stretching out under the down comforter on the camp bed that flexed and molded itself to her every move. The chittering, almost laugh-like calls of Kookaburras rang from far away. The air was chill, and she snuggled herself more deeply under the plush covers, hair spread across the pillow in sleep-pressed curls and waves. Off to her left, a streak of indigo was spreading across the horizon, and the subtle scent of dusty earth, still water, long grass, and eucalyptus drifting intermittently on the air. She looked up to see the false stars gradually fading as "dawn" approached inside her room. The TARDIS, she'd been reminded upon falling into her bed for the first time several days ago, was one hell of a ship.

Reluctantly, muscles aching in protest and skin breaking out in goose bumps, Rose threw off the covers and forced herself to sit up. She rubbed her hands roughly over her face and yawned, pushing herself to her feet. She staggered into the bathroom, turning on the light and terminating the charming ambiance. Her first night sleeping in her room, TARDIS had welcomed her with the scent of Acacia, the distant gurgle of the Limpopo River as it traversed through Kruger National Park, and the ever so familiar constellations of South Africa in April. She'd fallen dead asleep in the warm cradle of the camp bed. The next night, it had been the Amazon Basin in Ecuador. After that, it was the Catalonia region of Spain, complete with salty sea air.

It felt very much like the TARDIS was putting a great deal of effort into making her feel at home, and part of her wondered just how screwed up she'd become that she slept more peacefully on a camp bed surrounded by the sounds of wild animals than on the 3,000 quid mattress at her parents' house. Last night, the ship had lulled her to sleep with the eerily familiar sounds and smells of southeastern Australia, and Rose wondered if the TARDIS was pulling from Rose's own memory. All she knew for certain was that after years of aching for a better, clearer view of the stars beyond the light pollution endemic to nearly every corner of the Earth, the crisp, brilliant "night sky" in her room was breathtaking.

Rose turned on the faucet and quickly splashed water on her face. For lack of any appreciably better frame of reference, TARDIS had created the bathroom as a mirror image of the one she used in her parents' home. It was clean and bright with understated elegance, but hardly as inspiring as her bedchamber. To be fair, the only competing examples Rose's memory could immediately provide were the ladies room at Torchwood Tower, a dozen different sky harbor restrooms, and various shrubs. The last of these required a trowel; none of them provided a shower. Rose had no intention of showering just, yet, however. First, she required caffeine.

Slipping her bare feet into her unlaced Converse, Rose stumbled out her door and into the coral-framed corridor. She really needed to stop and pick up slippers on one of these trips. The grating in the hallways was hell on her feet and wearing her jim-jams with her sneakers just felt like something a crazy person would do. Her journey to the kitchen was completed largely on autopilot, and when she walked into the brightly-lit room, The Doctor was already sitting at the small round table with a cup in one hand, scribbling those indecipherable circles and lines on a notepad with his other. As she entered, he glanced up, smiling just a bit too brightly for that hour of the morning.

"Mornin'" he greeted, returning his attention to his work.

"Mmmph," Rose replied, making straight for the coffee pot. She took the stainless steel carafe out of the machine and immediately noted it was empty. She turned to The Doctor, but he wasn't paying her any attention. "Pardon," she said, and he looked up at her, somewhat distracted, "There's somethin' wrong with this picture."

"Oh," he said, suddenly focusing and looking sheepishly at the steaming mug in his hand, "Sorry, been up for awhile." Rose narrowed her eyes at him before turning to rinse out and fill the coffee pot. When she lifted the lid on the counter-top canister where the coffee was kept however, she noticed one lone bean rattling around the bottom. With a groan, she dumped the water out of the carafe.

"We're out of coffee," she announced with a little more acerbity than she intended.

"Sorry, been meanin' to get more."

"Out of tea, too." She declared after going through all the tea tins.

"Nonsense, there's –"

"Chamomille," Rose finished, "What good is chamomile?"

"Right…" The Doctor allowed, somewhat chastened. Rose looked around and eyed the coffee grinder for a long moment. When she found herself seriously contemplating opening the thing up and licking the grounds off the insides, she realized she may have chemical dependency issues. Not wanting to appear as desperate as she was, she moved to the refrigerator. Perhaps a good, hearty breakfast would clear some of her mental fog. When she opened the doors, however, her heart sank.

"A bulb of garlic, a nearly empty, wait, make that an empty jar of horseradish, a head of wilted lettuce, aaand a grape vine with one grape left on it." Rose announced, shutting the door and turning to face The Doctor with her arms crossed. For his part, now turned around in his chair to face her, he had the good grace to look abashed.

"Uh, right, sorry. That little trick of mine, expelling the cyanide from my system, uses a lot of energy. Makes me a bit – peckish," he smiled by way of apology. Rose did not smile back. Being so very familiar with the desperate, driving energy this Doctor possessed after the Time War, and particularly after not having anyone to travel with all this time, she'd allowed him to take them, careening, from one crisis to another the last several days. The stop in the 1920s was meant to be a bit of a break – until they got tangled up in a murder mystery featuring none other than Agatha Christie herself and a giant space wasp.

During this little escapade, The Doctor had managed to get himself poisoned, and Rose had been in a bit of a panic until he assured her he could cure it. After chugging ginger beer, dousing himself in the same, eating handfuls of walnuts, and choking down a tin of anchovies, he'd demanded Rose give him a shock. Ever her mother's daughter, and working off past experience, Rose had wound back and slapped him like a recalcitrant mule. It had worked, and the look on his face had been priceless. Rose, though not regretting any measure taken to save his life, had felt a bit bad about it. Until now.

"There's nothin' left!" she exclaimed, "Not a drop of milk, not a single egg. Nothin!"

"There's the food machine," he offered, a bit defensively, but the look on her face told him that was, most definitely, not the correct answer.

"Where did it all go?!" she motioned, genuinely flabbergasted, at The Doctor, "Last I looked, there was still half a dozen eggs in there, not to mention the better part of a quart of milk, three sticks of butter, leftover greens, two full packages of bangers, and at least, at least ten pounds worth of leftover roast."

"It all burned up," he defended, "Like I said, that whole process takes energy. Burns up my metabolism. I hardly even noticed I was doin' it… Three sticks of butter, really?"

"And a full quart of coleslaw," she nodded.

"Bit frightening, that," he mused. Rose shook her head and stepped away from the fridge. As she stormed out of the room, she nicked the coffee cup out of his hands.

"I'm takin' this," she announced, "and you're takin' us to a grocer." The Doctor watched, speechless, as she swaggered out in her striped flannel pajama pants and snug fitting white vest, sleep mussed hair swept back in her wake. The Doctor picked up his notes and headed for the control room.

Rose opened the TARDIS door to the familiar bustle of the streets of central London. It was mid morning, and reasonably sunny as London went. Her mood had improved marginally after half a cup of coffee and a shower, but as her stomach rumbled discontentedly, she still found herself unwilling to look at The Doctor with anything resembling a smile. For his part, he kept things strictly business, landing them in a discreet location near a popular market area. Rose had made a list of everything needed, from the freezer to the pantry, and given The Doctor his half.

"Oh is that all?" he'd commented when she handed him his list. Rose had merely raised her eyebrows, and he'd shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. Now, she was debating where to start as he locked the door behind them. She knew well The Doctor couldn't tolerate such a mundane chore for long, but she very much needed some time to herself. At least, as much to "herself" as she could be in a crowd of strangers. Really, she just needed some time away from the manic depressive alien she'd been traveling with nearly a week. Then, drifting on the breeze, she smelled the greasy, starchy aroma of a chippy, and her eyes rolled back just a bit, groaning under her breath. She was decided.

"Right," Rose announced, humor suddenly restored, "Meet back here by noon, yeah?" She didn't bother looking back as she walked away, too busy scanning the storefronts for a chip shop.

"Oi!" The Doctor called behind her, and Rose reluctantly turned around as he trotted up to her, "Here." He held his fisted hand out, and Rose just blinked at it a minute in confusion. Did he want to fist-bump her? Since when did The Doctor fist-bump? Who was this Doctor? Then, shaking his head at her, he took her hand and dropped something into it from his closed hand. Looking down, Rose saw it was the TARDIS key, and her heart skipped a beat feeling its familiar warmth in her palm once more. "Just in case."

"Sorry," she smiled at him for the first time this morning, "Not quite awake, yet. See you at noon?"

"Noon," The Doctor smiled and nodded. Then, he turned and walked away, toward the butcher's, and Rose watched him a minute. As much as she kept expecting him to be different from her first Doctor in some appreciable manner, almost wished him to be, there were so many moments like this that struck her dumb. Little things; the way he moved, the subtle expressions on his face, the way he phrased things; those were unnerving enough, but the moments like this, like the one back in the hospital when he'd asked, oblivious to her shock, 'What's wrong with this jumper?', both thrilled and terrified her. Finally, she wrapped her fingers around the key, tucking it carefully into a zip up pocket in her cargo pants.

Footnote: With the understanding that, like the TV show, there will be adventures between the "episodes", I elected to utilize trips from the TV show that Rose didn't go on, simply so that you, my fine readers, don't feel too bereft. I don't like the notion of rewriting old episodes, even with new characters, but at least this way you all can imagine what happened in between episodes.

As for altering the manner of the "shock" needed to cure The Doctor's cyanide poisoning, well, I couldn't have them share their first technical kiss and not show you, could I?