You can't be the future if you're too busy looking for it.
You had to learn that the hard way, unfortunately.
Your grandmother was one of many companions to the Doctor.
Yes. The Doctor.
Exhilarating, right? For years, You've heard countless tales of valor and courage, each never equally quenching your thirst for adventure. When you were a "wee-little beastie", as your mother liked to call you, you drew countless drawings of the TARDIS, each with the same dashing, strange man outside the box. Your grandmother's interests were... quite piqued when she realized that the man in your artwork was not the current Doctor. In fact, the Doctor had never regenerated in that form... yet.
That was when you were 5... It's been 21 years.
Hard to say, but you reckoned you were not the same wee-little beastie anymore.
At least, you hoped...
"(Y/n), honey. Why don't you get the door?" Your grandmother called from the kitchen, where she and your mother were preparing Christmas dinner. You narrow your eyes at the door, confused as to who would knock at the hour. Setting your book aside, you cautiously approach the door, baseball bat in hand. Inside your boot, you felt the unsettling lightweight feeling of the gun that Captain Harkness had given you in case of an emergency. Sure, at the time, you were horrified at the thought of shooting any organism, whatsoever... A lot of things happen in 21 years. Opening the curtains a bit, you gasped, quickly sliding down the wall. Both hands holding your head, you try to regain your normal breathing pattern. It was the man. From your artwork. The man with splendid features, and dreamy eyes- No. He couldn't be-
'Only one way to find out,' you figured, quickly opening the door, "Doctor?"
"Jack Harkness? Pfft... " you stutter, astonished at the accusations.
"You're as red as a tomato," Rose chided, an amused glint in her eyes.
"Not funny, Rose. Stop it, Doctor. Just stop being so... so... immature," you falter, setting the turkey in front of your unexpected guests. Rose offered a kind smile, and much to your annoyance, the Doctor refused to make eye contact. You scoff, leaving the dining room. Only, the Doctor pushed back his chair and followed you outside into the dark. You frown, shivering. All you wanted was to get some fresh air, yet he followed you here too. To say the least, you were quite dissapointed. The Doctor was your hero, and the first time you actually meet him, he was bonkers! Footsteps approached, and you turned around, to see a worried face.
"(Y/n), you'll get a cold-"
"Listen, Doctor! I don't care if you're a Lord or something-"
"Time Lord," he cut in, offering a smile.
"I honestly don't care," you rebut, frustration seething through your veins. You vaguely diminished the hurt look on his face, for it was gone as fast as it appeared.
"But you cannot, no matter how handsome your stupid face is, just expect any girl to waltz straight into your arms-"
"I don't."
"Exactly! You- Wait," you stop, somewhat confused.
"You... don't?" You ask, looking up at him with curiosity. He chuckled, tucking in a loose strand of your hair.
"No, I don't," he repeated once more, gazing fondly into your dazzling eyes, so filled with wonder and awe. He felt the need to hold you in his arms, to murmur the dark secrets of the universe into your ear, to show you everything you've ever wanted to see. He wanted to show you the stars, and introduce you to the world beyond the Torchwood Institute. Carefully, he took both your hands in his, leading you away from the warmth of your old life. He smiled gently, guiding you through the dark and in front of the TARDIS. He smiled when he realized the excitement in your heart, the questions that pounded through your head. The Doctor opened the door of the police box, a smile so warm and welcoming that made you question whether or not you were dreaming.
"Allons-y," he whispers into your ear, brushing against you to get to the controls. You grin ear to ear, anticipating the adventures that were sure to await.
And without hesitation, you repeat his words with surging confidence, "Allons-y."