Rose sat on the jump seat reading a magazine, while the Doctor tinkered on the opposite side of the console. He glanced at her often, though, pleased to see the rosiness of her cheeks and serene expression on her face.

He'd performed a detailed scan of her head and chest as soon as they were back inside the ship and had been relieved to find nothing amiss. There'd been a little tissue damage to the lungs, and of course there was the wound on her head, but he'd repaired those in no time. There appeared no long-term effects from the mind control, but in truth there was no device that could really confirm that. Oh, her brain had been undamaged, and neurological function was unimpaired, but still, it was possible—slimly, remotely possible—that a tiny kernel of influence could remain. He'd seen that before, years ago, with a powerful being called the Mara.

But Rose was strong, determined, and resilient. She'd be fine; she always was.

"So," he said just a little too jovially, "where would you like to go next?"

Rose looked up with a smile. "You pick."

"You sure? You could look through the intergalactic atlas again if you like—"

She shook her head quickly. "No thanks! I don't even want to be tempted." She stood and walked over to him, sliding her hand into his. "But thanks for taking me there; I know you didn't want to, didn't feel comfortable, an' look what happened because of it—"

"We had no way of knowing, Rose. So let's just forget it, move along, onward, upward, and outward."

"How 'bout somewhere warm an' sunny? Maybe with a beach?"

"Ooh, I know just the place!" He was already spinning one of the dials. "Pale blue sand, mauve water, and three suns."

"Hmm. I'll be right back." She hurried down the ramp.

"Hey, where're you going?"

She waved a hand toward the stand beside the door. The hat from Yquee-Mun 7 still hung from one of the pegs. "Three suns! 'M gonna need a hat—a goodhat."

"Indeed you are." The Doctor completed the sequence as Rose disappeared through the door.

Love, Hope, and Joy, fair pleasure's smiling train,
Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of pain,
These mix'd with art, and to due bounds confin'd
Make and maintain the balance of the mind.
-Alexander Pope, Essay on Man