The Doctor doesn't smile back. Rose: "Okay, look. I'll tell him you're not my boyfriend." But the Doctor's checking the wish for any suspicious spots that might explain why it's gone off: "When we met, I said travel with me in space -- you said no. Then I said time machine." There are the wishes we know we're making, and the wishes we don't. Adults try for the over/under on that one. Rose protests: "It wasn't some big plan, I just saw it happening, and I thought...I can stop it." Can you imagine being accused of something that large? Of someone you love like him even thinking that? The Doctor presses his lips tightly together, his forehead indrawn: "I picked another stupid ape.... I should've known. It's not about showing you the universe, it never is; it's about the universe doing something for you." And maybe this is just him showing the wear and tear of the Adam debacle, which he pretty much totally put on Rose's shoulders anyhow. But we're also heading into resentment territory, and it's surprisingly alarming. Like, the Doctor's thinking things you shouldn't even think. She hasn’t even begun to fuck this up to the degree that she's going to, and he's acting like she should know this stuff. Rose protests: "So it's okay when you go to other times, and you save people's lives, but not when it's me saving my dad?" And the Doctor replies that he knows what he's doing, and she doesn't. Which is valid. "Two sets of us being there made that a vulnerable point," he says. I like how the levels of screw-up take the story apart: it's not just about "you can't change your history" this way, because there are several factors involved, so you can't just give the simple answer and get going; you can't click it closed like a box and say you've learned a little something about time travel. A lot of dominos in this one -- and that means that you can focus on the emotional and developmental issues a lot easier than you could if it were just a write-off.