Rose had known the moment she decided to pilot the TARDIS that she'd be in trouble. She knew that the Doctor would be angry with her, but she'd had no idea just how much. She'd seen his fury when they arrived on Earth, but she'd pushed it aside in order to fulfill her plan. He was hard and silent, hiding the severity from her. She knew though, the second they entered the TARDIS, just how furious he was: he didn't say a word.

She'd expected more yelling and, as he began piloting, she even began to hope for it. The way he looked at her was far worse. The heartache and sorrow she'd inflicted was spoken through his soulful eyes. He felt betrayed. Not only did she steal the TARDIS from under him and take him to the last place he wanted to be, she disobeyed him and played him like a jackass, pulling his strings and forcing him to stay there against his will. And in that time, she discovered that he blamed her for the choices she made and the state that she was in. If there was any word stronger than betrayal, she knew it'd be for her. To the Doctor, there was nothing worse.

And that was her punishment – his silence. He was so repulsed by her that he left the room. Rose began to cry the moment he left. He'd given her the silent treatment before, but she always returned it, as angry with him as he was with her. With all the years they travelled together, it was impossible to go on without the occasional spat. They'd have a row, do their shouting, and they'd walk off to avoid each other for awhile. She'd never seen him like this though. She'd never hurt him so deeply. So overwhelmed by tears of guilt that she could hardly stand, Rose made her way to their room where she could collapse on their bed and have a proper cry.

It took her a little over an hour to stop crying, but it was another couple hours before she found the strength to climb out of bed. Her stomach had been growling for ages, insisting on lunch, and she was finally giving in. She'd expected that she would have to prepare her own lunch, but she found a filled plate and cup on the table. The juice was room temperature and the bread of the sandwich was starting to get hard. She must have missed lunch by quite some time. Her watch was on the bedside table, but she hadn't thought to look at it. It didn't really matter. She ate her lunch and then did what she was dreading most; she went to find the Doctor.

He wasn't hard to find. In fact, he was in the first place she looked. He sat in the workshop with his back to the door. She had the feeling that he knew she was there, but it took fifteen minutes for her to find the courage to speak.

"Are we going to do the treatment today?"

He acted like he hadn't heard her, but after a moment, he put his sonic screwdriver back in his pocket, got to his feet, and led the way to the infirmary.

Rose took her place on the bed. The Doctor knew that she no longer need an explanation, so he gave none. She knew he would let her take his hand if she needed too, but she feared the grip would be without true comfort, so she gripped the bed sheets instead. She cried during the treatment, not out of fear, but because there was no story. He still didn't look her in the face.

When the treatment was finished, all Rose wanted to do was return to bed. She told herself that she was stronger than that and forced herself to believe it. She went, instead, to the library. She laid out on the couch and sought to lose herself in the lives of fictional characters, but she only ended up reading the same paragraph over and over. The words simply wouldn't stick. Giving it up, she retreated to the tv room to catch up on the shows she'd missed over the last week. It didn't take the pain away, but it dulled her thoughts. That would have to be good enough.

Rose didn't have a clock, but she knew that it was quite late, past her bedtime, when she finally went to the kitchen for dinner. The Doctor had laid out a meal for her again. It was cold, but she didn't bother reheating it. She went along with her normal bedtime routine and was nearly in tears again when she tucked herself into their bed. She had hoped to see him before the day was through. She'd known better than to expect it, but she'd still hoped. It was because of that expectation that she was surprised to feel his weight settle onto the bed later that night. He didn't need to sleep and she thought that he would simply skip it that night. He didn't. He chose to come to her, to be near her. It spoke volumes.

Rose was testing her luck when she moved to cuddle beside him, but, not only did he accept her, he wrapped his arm around her to hold her closer. She wept again, this time in relief.

"I love you," she said weakly.

The Doctor leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "You know I love you, too."

He greeted her the next morning when she entered the kitchen. He wore a smile, but it couldn't fully hide his sadness. He'd rarely given her a genuine smile since she'd lost her memories, but it took her awhile to figure that out. He'd tried then and he was trying again now. He'd forgiven her and put everything behind them, but that didn't stop him from worrying about her. He wouldn't stop worrying until she was fully herself again. She'd do her best to cheer him though. She would keep her smile in place, too, and make sure they still had fun together.

That day, they resumed their normal routine, stating the day with breakfast, followed by a trip to the infirmary. When the treatment was through, the Doctor went off to the workshop while Rose was free to wander. Lunch was taken together and the afternoons were filled with one activity or another. The Doctor tucked her into bed each night and returned hours later to sleep beside her.

Two days later, Rose was almost certain that every memory was in place. She remembered everything. Another two days passed before Rose finally decided that they needed to talk. When she entered the workshop, the Doctor was reviewing his notes yet again.

Rose approached slowly and placed her hand on his arm, effectively gaining his attention.

After glancing at his watch, he informed her that it wasn't quite lunch time. "Soon though. I just have to-"

"It's finished, Doctor," she stated evenly. "You finished it days ago."

"Yes," he said quietly, turning to give it a little once-over. "I just have to check-"

"You have checked it. Many times. You've been assembling and reassembling. You've looked over your notes dozens and dozens of times. No matter how many times you look at it, you can't find a mistake that isn't there."

"I know, but I just can't chance there being-"

"It's time, Doctor," Rose insisted.

The Doctor watched as she moved to an open spot across the room and began undressing. He turned his head the moment she began removing her knickers. It felt indecent to look at Rose in such a state when she was so small. He knew exactly what she was doing; she was taking away his choice in the matter. When she returned to her adult body, her child's clothing wouldn't fit. She was preparing for that change. She was ready now and was insistent that he do what he'd been putting off for days.

"You're going to have to look at me. It's okay. I'm still me, just smaller."

"I can't do it," he replied despondently. "Not yet. One tiny miscalculation... I can't risk it, not with you."

"You're going to have to," she told him firmly. "You can't keep me like this because you're scared. I trust you and I trust that it's going to work, and if you can't have faith in yourself, then you'll have to rely on mine. Now do it."

The Doctor rose to his feet, hesitantly picked up the gun, and simply stared at it. He thought of his adult Rose and how he longed for her. Then he thought of the little girl on the other side of the room and aiming the gun at her. It wasn't a weapon, but it felt like one. He imagined her as an elder, crippled by old age. He imagined her as an infant which needed care day and night. And worse, he imagined her deformed, not aging properly at all. Whatever happened, it would be his doing.

"Doctor, stop thinking and just do it!" Rose ordered him fiercely.

"What if it doesn't work?"

"It will," she insisted vehemently.

"But what if it doesn't?"

"Then you try again. You're going to have to do it, so just do it. You know that if you don't, I'll find a way to do it myself."

The Doctor looked up at her then. That fierce, stubborn attitude; it was his Rose. She was right. He couldn't keep her like this.

The Doctor stood in front of her, a few paces away, and slowly lifted the gun. She had no fear, but he shook with it. He steadied his hands and took aim. His eyed closed tight as he pulled the trigger. He didn't need to look to know that his aim was true and he couldn't bear to watch whatever transformation took place.

A few moments passed, but he still didn't dare to look. He hadn't known what would happen, whether she'd scream or groan or cry. What he hadn't expected at all was the silence and it scared him even more. What if it killed her? What if she was going to regenerate? He'd never be able to live with himself.

"Doctor?"

Rose's voice. Not the voice of a child, but of his Rose.

"Doctor, it's me. Open your eyes," she said encouragingly.

When he finally opened them, he caught her in the middle of her self-assessment. She looked over her arms, chest, and shoulders and then finally looked back up at him. "I look alright so far as I can tell, but what do you think?"

The Doctor stood silently as he stared at her, grinning brightly.

"I don't look older, do I? Do I look younger?" When he didn't answer, she began feeling her face nervously for any sign of wrinkles. She huffed when he still didn't answer. "I mean it, Doctor, how do I look?"

"Glorious," he proclaimed.

Rose saw his eyes begin to mist and she knew she was herself again. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around her waist and she pulled him into a passionate kiss. His hands moved up and down her sides as her fingers combed through his hair.

She chuckled and pulled back to look at him. "I've wanted to do that for a couple days now, but I thought it might be awkward."

"Yes, definitely. It was awkward enough having an eight-year-old cuddling me at night." He couldn't stop smiling. It was the genuine, joyful smile that she'd missed so much. She blushed at the way he was studying her face so intently, like he couldn't believe she was really there.

"Miss me?" she teased.

"More than you'll ever know."

Rose became tired of the sonic treatments, claiming she was alright, but the Doctor insisted that they continue them for another ten days. In addition, their adventures would be light, sticking to destinations that he knew were peaceful. By the end of the tenth day, Rose was going mad with boredom. If the Doctor took her to another beach or spa, she thought she might have to hurt him.

On the eleventh day, she was awake before him and walking circles around the console as she considered what destination she desired.

"Chomping at the bit, I see," the Doctor commented with a grin. "Any good ideas?"

"No," she sighed heavily. "I checked your messages to see if there were any distress calls. Not a single one."

"How many times have I told you to stop answering that phone?" he scolded.

"Well, someone has to," she argued. "No distress calls, but you did get an invitation from Lord Grivall."

"Who?"

"Lord Grivall of Sartiyon?"

"No! No, no, no, no," the Doctor adamantly refused. "I've had more than enough of the Sartiyonites."

"They've just invited us to a banquet. A banquet in our honor." Rose was beaming. This might be the perfect revenge for placing so many restrictions on her.

"It was supposed to be a banquet last time, but it was canceled because of an energy plant that was about to blow. They set us up! They invited us to a party when all they wanted was a fix-it man! I don't know why I went to that 'banquet' anyway. The first time I was there, they tried to behead me!"

"They may have called you because they needed a fix-it man, but you were brilliant. You saved the day. Now they want to thank you," Rose said with a shrug.

"They can thank me by stop calling me," he grumbled. "I seriously have to stop giving out my number."

"You have," she reminded him.

"Then maybe I should change it."

"Can you?"

"Probably not. Just stop answering it," he ordered, pointing a demanding finger in her direction.

"Well... If you really don't want to go to Sartiyon, we could always go visit Marilyn," she suggested with a taunting grin. "She left a message, too."

"Marilyn who?"

"Marilyn Monroe. You remember her, don't you?"

"Grab a ball gown," the Doctor grumbled. "We're going to Sartiyon."

Rose might have been a handful when she was a child, but this Rose was altogether impossible to handle. That was his Rose though and he wouldn't have her any other way.

Well, there it is. What did you think? If you liked the story at all, please let me know. I love reviews. Reviews are the best.

Though this story is done, I've got a few more sequels for "An Old Friend" that I'm working on. In a day or two, I'm going to start posting one called "Proof of Ownership". I've even got a story idea for one after that. I'm always open to any suggestions you guys have, too. If you have any plot ideas, send me a message. ^^