A / N : This is a new project for me – a collection of Doctor Who oneshots – and it's my first attempt at Doctor Who fanfiction, so reviews would be brilliant, I'd love to know how I'm doing. Also, I don't have the DVDs, so I apologize for any mistakes – please tell me if I make any. That's about it for now . . . Oh – I will accept requests but it might take a while to get around to it, because as I said, I don't have the DVDs yet – they cost something like a hundred euro per boxed set where I am. But feel free to request characters, just be patient! Thanks for reading.

This first one is dedicated to GwenxxOwen, as a thank you for reviewing my Harry Potter oneshots. Thanks again!

Rose Tyler (shortly after the events of Journey's End).

The first time she met the Doctor, he told her he could feel the world turning.

That was a different Doctor, of course, and a different world, but still . . . . she believed him. She always believed him, though most of the time, she didn't really understand.

Standing in Bad Wolf Bay, she feels it for herself. The sky overhead is grey and the wind is biting. It whips at her hair and tugs at her clothes – a thousand tiny, invisible hands plucking at every inch of her, trying to pull her away. To whisk her off on an adventure, far away . . . she closes her eyes, and turns her face to the sky. So much has happened today, and her head hurts, trying to make sense of it all. Davros, and the Daleks . . . but they don't matter, not really. It isn't the wasted face of Davros that haunts her, or the screams of human beings, innocent people, turned to ash. No. What hurts the most, what confuses and bemuses her the most, is the Doctor. It has always been the Doctor, she thinks wryly. And today is no exception.

Gone. The Doctor – her Doctor – is gone again, and yet . . . not gone. Because he's still here, isn't he?

Back at the B&B, with Jackie and Pete and everyone else. She escaped, because she needed time and space to think. Time and space. Time and Relative Dimension in Space . . . TARDIS. Even now, when she has laid the ghosts of the past to rest, the word hits her like a kick in the guts. The Tardis is gone, and her Doctor is gone too. She won't see him again, not ever, and she knows it now, really knows it, in a way she didn't before.

She knows she should be pleased. After all, she has everything she ever wanted, doesn't she? A human Doctor, one who will stay with her forever, who won't ever leave, and best of all, who will love her, and never be afraid to tell her that. She should be pleased. But she isn't, somehow. Because somehow, he doesn't feel real. He isn't her Doctor, as silly as it sounds. He might look the same, and act the same, and talk the same, but something is different.

Her Doctor would never commit genocide. He couldn't kill a whole race, not even one as despicable as the Daleks. Her Doctor could never settle down, could never stay in one place for long. She doesn't think her Doctor could even exist without the Tardis. She's not just a ship to him, she's a living, breathing companion, his oldest companion, and Rose honestly can't picture him without her. The ship is a part of him – he needs her like Rose needs air, and adventure, and excitement – and to seperate them . . . well, it would be like splitting conjoined twins. They might function just fine apart, but there will always be the niggling sense that they ought to be together. Because her Doctor – he was a part of the Tardis. All the little things – that theactrical way he had of flinging the doors open, when neither of them knew what they would find on the other side. The soft, crooning note in his voice when the ship made strange stuttering sounds that boded ill for all of them. The way he would run his hand lightly over the battered knobs and levers, his touch as soft as a mother's caress. She had always laughed at him when he did that, but secretly, she loved him for it. Even the way he shied away from that word, the L-word, as though it might burn his tongue. He had never told her, not once, but . . . .

Rose groans. There is so much to think about, now, and she can't make sense of it all. On the edge of her hearing, the waves crash against the shore, and when she digs her trainers into the ground, the sand shifts under her feet. There is so much to think about, so much to puzzle out, that it makes her dizzy. The sky spins above her head, and the sand shifts beneath her feet, and suddenly the world doesn't seem so solid anymore. It is spinning, turning, wobbling beneath her feet . . . and she wonders, then, why she didn't notice before.

"Rose."

She turns around, and there he is, just like before. It takes her a moment to realize he is real, that the wind won't steal him away in the time it takes a dead star to burn out of existence. He looks smaller somehow. Lost and confused, and she realizes he doesn't know where to go from here. He isn't in control anymore. She wonders if that scares him.

So she puts out a hand, and she smiles.

"I can feel the world turning . . . ."