Disclaimer:

You just wait. Doctor Who will be mine one day. NYAH!

A/N:

While the normal people around me went on with their normal lives, I was plucking the petals off some doomed daisy, and I found myself chanting that silly little rhyme in my head, "He loves me, he loves me not…" About no one at all…and then I had to think of someone to fill it, coz' I didn't wanted my doomed daisy to die in vain. And I found myself thinking about the Doctor (Like that's ever gonna' happen) and then I thought that would make more sense if I was Rose…and thus, this fic was born. Simple, really. ^^

Full summary:

While Rose sits back amongst apple grass and daises, she reflects on her relationship on the Doctor while chanting an old rhyme from her childhood.

Daisy Chain of Thoughts:

The sweet smell of apples wafted in the calm air surrounding the hill top, ruffling Rose's hair gently. She didn't attempt to keep it down; she was far too relaxed to care about anything for the moment. She watched the bustling market below her in mellow amusement; people shouldered one another roughly in the rush to get from one place to the other, and stall workers called out their best deals, trying to drown one another out. She spotted a familiar figure amongst the loud huddle; the Doctor was haggling ferociously with a stall holder for a normal looking pumpkin.

She tittered quietly. She felt her eyes linger on the smaller details of his face, and then shook her head quickly.

No, Rose. Reprimanded a small voice in her head. You know you can't. It added miserably.

With a sigh, Rose lay back and watched the purple clouds. Purple clouds. She pondered, amused. Not your average clouds; purple ones.

Her hand rested beside her hip on the grass; Rose felt gentle bumps press into her skin. She looked down; daisies waved at her.
With a small smile, she picked one from its place in the ground, and examined it closely. It wasn't your average daisy, either; it had vibrant purple tips and the main bodies of the petals were of such a deep cream that they looked like milk. And the centre was coloured a cheerful pink. Rose preferred these ones to the daisies found on Earth.

She felt her eyes rest on the Doctor again, who had successfully haggled and was counting notes, which were coloured vibrantly. The annoyed stall holder was holding out his hand, tapping his foot in impatience.

Rose, look away. Said the voice again, but she found herself ignoring it. She looked to the daisy in her hand, and was vaguely reminded of the old chants from her school days and the clapping games that were reserved for only the best of friends.

And she remembered one rhyme in particular.

He loves me, He loves me not.

She looked to the daisy in her hand again. She couldn't see why not; she was perfectly secluded on her apple scented hill top, and there was nothing to stop her.

So what held her back?

You know what. Snapped the little voice, not so timid any more. The daisy never lies, you know. You're stuck with the result.

'I know.' Rose whispered aloud, miserable.

But yet, she found her fingers reaching out for the first petal and plucking it from its soft nest it shared with its brethren. She let it drop it to the ground; the wind carried it tenderly to the apple grass, laying it to rest.

He loves me.

Rose plucked the next petal, and let it drop to the ground again. She looked at the two petals sadly.

He loves me not.

And so she continued, mauling her chosen daisy, giving a half smile every time it told her that he loved her, and feeling her face drop when it informed her that he didn't.

'What that daisy ever do to you?!'

Rose started guiltily; she turned to find the Doctor grinning at her, prized pumpkin tucked under his arm. She plucked away at another petal.

He loves me.

He sat down next to her, and presented her with the pumpkin proudly. Rose took it with a long look, and turned it in her hands, examining it quizzically. Another petal fell away.

He loves me not.

'Nope. I dunno'. What's the catch? It seems all right…' Rose pondered.

The Doctor grinned devilishly, and took it back.

'Its banana flavoured.' He informed her, half laughing.

'Oh come on. You don't expect me to believe…' Rose drawled, plucking another petal from the flower absently, hardly keeping track.

He loves me…no, wait…does he?

'Look!' He insisted, holding it up for her to smell. She leant in and sniffed, trying to divide the new scent from the apple around them. She noted with a small pained expression that another petal had fallen.

He loves me…not? Oh well done, you've lost track.

She could defiantly smell it; banana. After meeting the Doctor, she would be able to recognise the scent anywhere.

'A banana flavoured pumpkin?!'

Rose dropped the daisy completely, putting it outside her attention range for a moment. She took it from him again and got another good whiff.

'Yup.' He said brightly, popping the "p", as was his manner. 'Come on!' He jumped up and offered her a hand. 'Back to the TARDIS. We'll have banana pumpkin for tea!'

Rose was about to take his hand, but she remembered her daisy with a small gasp of disappointment.

She found it with her eyes; one single petal remained. Bloody typical. Said the voice. Well, its your call.

And Rose found, as she looked up into his grinning face again, that she didn't need to know. Where was the fun in knowledge? Wasn't it better to guess?

'Yeah!' She said enthusiastically, taking his hand and letting him haul her up. She didn't look back for a moment as they walked back to the blue police box, parked in a secluded corner.

But, through the magic of the daisy, one fact remained unknown to Rose Tyler.

That the one, last remaining petal would never tell a lie.

And the blatant truth was that he did, indeed, love her, and that she loved him back.

But it knew that the words could never be spoken aloud, for like the daisy, humans whither and die, while the great oak tree on the hilltop opposite that provided its own daises with shelter would live on, like a Time Lord.

But it also knew that the words would be spoken aloud, through a whisper in her ear, to Rose Tyler.

But not by him. Not ever.

The remaining daises waved to them, pity in every petal.