This is my very first Doctor Who FanFiction, which I have been planning since- well, probably since I started the show in July 2015. As you can see, it's taken forever to get off the ground, and I owe a lot of that to my beta readers Cheesesack and Soufflé'd. Without their help, I'm absolutely certain that this story would not be here right now.

Basically, the idea for this story came about when I heard Amelia's epilogue, (and after I stopped crying) I started the next episode and he blatantly ignored what she said. Our Doctor did that. I didn't believe that, so here we are.

Cover image by Wattpad's Book Chook

Trigger warnings for child abuse, assault and suicide. Since I don't want to spoil anything at specific points, just assume it applies to the whole story and read at your own risk

I do not own Doctor who or any of its characters. I do own Doctor Who socks, though. If that helps.

Once upon a time, there was a couple. A perfectly lovely couple starting out in a perfectly lovely world with a promising future. They were madly in love and were looking forward to a very happy future.

The husband worked hard in school and established a good career, while his wife was pregnant with their first child, Jesse. During this time, they didn't have much money, but they were perfectly happy in their old, two-bedroom apartment. They couldn't afford most things they wanted, but that didn't matter; they had each other, which was enough.

They tried their best, though. They worked hard at giving their son everything he needed. The wife got a job at a convenience store just so they could get by. When their baby was six, and they had two more sons, Adam and Jacob, the husband got a promotion in his business.

They could afford all the nice things they wanted; a real house for their new family, to send their son to a good school, and even own their own car. As the husband's bank took off, the wife had another child, Riley. Their doctor warned them not to have another child, as it could threaten the woman's health.

And they didn't plan on another child, though the wife yearned for a daughter. They had absolutely no intention of risking the woman's life. But fell pregnant again. And, despite what she knew was best, she opted to keep the baby. The baby that would later be revealed to be a girl.

She prepared a nursery for her, preparing every little detail, everything would be perfect. She painted the walls of the nursery bright pink, with countless dolls and teddy bears.

Her own husband believed they were better off without the child. He feared losing her more than he feared his own death. But she was dead set on one more child, she had said. When she went into labor, she was still three weeks short of her due date. She called the paramedics, but by the time they got there, it was too late to move her. There wasn't much they could do but deliver the child in her own home, but they lacked the equipment they needed to help the mother. The woman died that night, at eleven thirty, with her husband next to her and her sons at the babysitters. She would never see her daughter.

The girl was named Adaline, and was born into a once happy family that was now suffering a great loss. The girl's father blamed her for the loss of his beloved wife. With all of the misplaced blame on her, she lost any chance of being happy. The wonderful life she was supposed to have was gone, stolen away from her in some cruel twist of fate. At night, left alone in her crib, she'd cry and cry and cry for want of food. But no one would come. Eventually, she just stopped crying. Stopped asking for what she wouldn't receive. Jesse would feed her before he went to school in the morning, and when he got home. But other than that, she was left alone.

She grew up like that, hated and blamed by her father, and to a much lesser degree, her brothers. She was the reason their home was so broken. She deserved every bruise, burn, slap, and any other means of punishment she received. It was all her fault. At least, that would be the answer of anyone in the family if they were asked. The girl even believed it. She was constantly told this, so what else was she going to believe?

I only know my mum from photos and the occasional story from Jesse, and maybe Dad. I love those stories. I live for those stories. She was pretty. And whenever she smiled, Jesse tells me it was like there were real stars in her eyes. Maybe that's why she was called Stella. The strange thing is, that's the only part of her I inherited. Her bright blue eyes. The ones with galaxies in them.

Dad was never the same after her loss, they tell me. He used to be happy, funny, kind. He used to be so much better. I wish he was still happy. He wasn't as family oriented as he once was. He became a workaholic, barely ever home, and when he was, he was either drunk, or he was

They don't really remember mum. Jesse does. Adam might remember her a little. Sometimes, I wish I could meet my mum. But most times I don't think I could handle it. I think I'd feel too guilty. Besides, whether I wanted to or not, there's no such thing as time travel.

At least, that's what I used to think.

I broke a vase when I was seven. It had been mum's. I didn't mean to, honestly, I didn't, but Dad still punished me.

"Please!" I begged. "Please, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I promise!" My voice was shrill, he started pulling me up the stairs and I knew we were going to his room. I started crying harder then, and it started getting harder to breathe.

That's the thing about dad's room, it was always dark in there. Looking back, though, I'm not sure if it was because of the dark oak wood and black furniture or if it's because of all the bad memories I had in there.

He hit me, throwing me onto the ground. I landed on my shoulder and let out a cry of pain. Tears were welling in my eyes, and I let out a choked sob, clutching my arm.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, closing my eyes and trying to block everything out. I felt his hand on my chin and he lifted my head so I was looking at him standing over me. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't you dare say anything else to me tonight," he hissed.

I sobbed and closed my eyes, feeling hot tears fall down my cheeks. I didn't open them again, even when I was certain he'd left. Probably to get a drink at the pub.

I don't know how long I lay there, my hands over my ears in a ball on the floor, my eyes still clenched shut, but I only opened them when I felt Jesse pull me into a sitting position. I remember that he looked sad. He offered me a tissue.

"Blow your nose," he ordered softly. He then handed me a wet rag to wipe my face with. I wiped all of the dirt and grimeaway, and tried to ignore the pain it caused me when I attempted to wipe the dried blood off of my arms.

"Why me?" I whispered, still worried that Dad might hear me. "I don't know what I did." He sighed, looking at me with pain in his eyes but his neutral mask still on.

"It's not your fault, Ada," he said in a hushed tone.

"What can I do to fix this?" I choked.

"Just do what he says."

"Will he stop hating me then?" I asked. I already knew the answer. Of course I knew. But the look in his eyes just confirmed it, and I think it broke my heart.

I didn't want to be in that house any more. I didn't want my brothers to be in the same house as me with their blame or their pity, I wanted to be able to breathe again. So I ran to the park and I sat at my favorite park bench. The one I did my homework on, the one Jesse took me to when I was small, and although I didn't know it yet, the one where I would meet the greatest man in the universe.

There shouldn't have been anyone else there, but there was. A man, looking disheveled and tired, walked out of a blue box a few minutes after I'd sat down. He turned around and shouted, "Extractor fans on!" It was then that I noticed the smoke coming out of his box. I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but my throat hurt too much and I was too tired. When he turned to face me, he looked confused for a moment, then very, very concerned.

"Well, who are you?" he demanded. I blinked, considering if I should tell this man. I supposed my name couldn't hurt.

"Ada," I whispered so I didn't strain my voice.

"Ah, Ada. Lovely name. Can you tell me what year it is, Ada?"

He was drunk. I knew this almost certainty. Dad got drunk sometimes. It was always scary, but Jesse said there were two kinds of drunks. Nice ones and violent ones. I had learned to trust my instincts and my instincts said that he was nice.

"Twenty-one seventy…mister, are you alright?" He simply grinned, smiling at me like I was the most brilliant thing in the world.

"Of course I am!" he exclaimed. "I've never been to this year before, is it nice?"

I blinked, slowly adjusting so I was sitting at full height.

"Sorry?" I asked.

"Is it nice, this year?" he repeated.

I shook my head. "No," I had said. "No, I don't think this year is very nice."

The man tilted his head. For a minute I thought he might ask me why I thought that, but then he asked, "How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Seven? Why are you all alone at night if you're seven?" he asked.

"You ask a lot of questions, don't you? And why is your box making that noise?" I raised my eyebrows at him, daring him to ask me another question. He turned to the box, and noticed the loud squeaking coming from it.

"Oh, no!" he exclaimed. He ran into the box and I started to wonder if it was cramped in there. What was squeaking in that thing anyways? How come he even had that box? I decided to ask him when he came back out, probably after he fixed whatever was wrong with it. But he didn't come out. Instead, the box started making a different noise, and then slowly disappeared.

"Okay," I breathed. "I'm going home."

Looking back on it, I was never absolutely sure that I hadn't imagined that. In all honesty, that was probably for the best.

I told Jesse about the man. I wasn't completely sure I had actually seen him. Jesse told me not to worry about it. I didn't know why he said that, but I was afraid to ask. In history, we learned that the blue box was used as a telephone over three centuries ago. What it was doing in my time was beyond me.

But this mystery didn't really bother me for long. After a couple months I just wound up forgetting about the entire experience altogether.

The next time I saw him was when I was nine. I was at school doing my work quietly and trying my best to get an A on the paper I was writing, when the intercom turned on. The headmaster told us school was finishing early, and to go straight home. Everyone was sort of scared by this, but I simply packed up my bags and left.

Most people's parents picked them up, some took the bus, but I walked home. I noticed when I exited the school gates that soldiers were standing outside of them. They were armed, like they were waiting for something. I didn't say anything to them, I was scared of soldiers. They never looked at me, though. I mean, who would pay the undersized nine-year-old any attention?

I was just thinking about what could possibly be happening, when someone ran into me, knocking me over. I didn't scream, I just gasped and covered my face with my arms. I was wearing my brother's old shirt, which was too big for me, so when I fell it revealed my shoulders. I looked up to see the man again; the man from the park, but he wasn't looking directly at me. His gaze was fixed on my bruised shoulder. I quickly adjusted my shirt, blushing furiously, and stumbled to my feet. He grabbed my arm securely, helping me up and asking, "Are you alright?"

I nodded "of course," and faked a smile, though I was fairly certain it didn't reach my eyes.

"Look, sorry about last time. Something happened with the T.A.R.D.I.S. and I had to dash. Really should stop doing that." I frowned, but decided that was the least of my problems. "What year is it now?"

I giggled at this. "Why do you ask me that? Just check the calendar."

He frowned. "Why would I do that? Calendars are rather unreliable. And besides, I trust you more."

It was my turn to frown. "But why would you trust me?"

"Why are you out all alone? Does your mum know you're out here?" he asked. I shrugged nonchalantly.

"Everyone got sent home from school early. My dad worksduring the day, so I walked."

"Well, it's not safe here. Let me walk you home."

I shook my head, "No, that wouldn't be good. I have to go, now..."

"Are you al-"

"Adaline!" I turned to see Jesse and Adam running towards me. "Ada, where the Hell have you been?" Adam panted, clearly not used to running.

Jesse knelt down in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. I flinched slightly but he didn't seem to notice.

"School, then I started walking home." I said. "I'll help make lunch when I get home. Promise."

He sighed. "God damn it, Ada, that's not what I'm talking about. Haven't you seen yet?" he asked.

"Seen what?"

"Aliens. There's aliens in London. Everyone has to be home, now." I nodded and shrugged his hands off my arms.

"Who's this?" he asked. I glanced behind me to see the man watching us.

"No one. C'mon, Dad'll be upset if we take too long."

"Ada," I turned to look at the man. "Don't be scared of the Aliens. I'll take care of 'em." I furrowed my brow, but decided not to say anything.

I never found out exactly what happened to those Aliens. I heard they tried to start a war, but I also heard that they were only here to steal our technology, so I didn't think much of those rumors. The news didn't include anything helpful either. They were aliens and they tried to kill us, it's over now so don't be scared.

But I liked to believe that that man had stopped them. That he had taken care the aliens like he'd said. I liked to believe that this man, whoever he was, was looking out for me. Like my guardian angel. How self-absorbed is that?

For months after that, I thought about that man a lot. I wanted to know why he thought he could deal with the aliens. Why he had a box that could disappear and reappear. He seemed important. He dressed in really old fashioned clothes, so maybe that was a clue.

I think he suspected something about me. About my home life. Some people have asked me if I was okay. Sometimes the other kids questioned me about my bruises, or the cigarette burns on my arms, or the cuts I sometimes had. I never said. He was probably thinking about that too. I didn't know why he would care. But he seemed like the type. The kind of person who cared about everyone, who honest to God cared. I'd never met someone like that before.

I learned to hide my injuries eventually, to push away people who would ask questions. They were annoying, anyways.

He kept popping up throughout my life, in the oddest places. Perhaps the oddest was when I was thirteen, and he came over for dinner with my dad of all people. He apparently worked with him, but I didn't quite believe that.

"This is very good, Ada," the man said, gesturing to the lasagna I had made. I shrugged.

"Just an old recipe." A thought struck me and I looked up at him.

"What's your name?" I asked. I felt dad's glare on me but I ignored it. This question was worth pissing him off.

"I'm the Doctor." I nodded, looking back at my food. "Not going to ask me anything else?"

I looked up at him. "Should I?" I said. It really wasn't. Everyone in my family had really old fashioned names, who cared if he was called the Doctor?

"Well there's a first," he muttered, a bit of disappointment evident in his face.

I was quiet for most of dinner while dad launched into a full on banking conversation with the Doctor. According to the Doctor, Dad shouldn't invest in the new restaurant chain springing up. Apparently it would go bankrupt within two years. He included everyone in his conversations, which was odd for a business partner of dad's.

"Where's the loo?" the Doctor asked.

"Down the hall, third door on the right." Riley said.

"Thank you." He grinned cheerfully. I wondered how anyone could be so cheerful constantly. As soon as the door shut behind him, dad turned to me.

"Do you know him?" he hissed fiercely. I shook my head quickly. "Then how does he appear to know you?"

I bit my lip. "I- I don't know," I whispered, staring at my hands in my lap. Dad slammed his fist on the table.

"Don't lie to me, girl!" he hissed. I whimpered slightly, feeling my throat go dry.

"I just… saw him in passing a few times…" I muttered.

"In passing? What the Hell does that even mean?" he demanded. I shook my head.

"I just… I've seen him a few times before." I whispered.

"In passing? Enough for him to know your name?"

"He asked! I swear I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"Let me tell you something, if this man doesn't sign the deal I want him to, it's on your head."

I swallowed hard, nodding and looking down at my plate. I suddenly felt like I wasn't very hungry anymore. The door opened but I didn't dare look up.

"Ah, it appears I've interrupted something," the Doctor said. "I can leave if you—"

"No, no. You're not interrupting anything at all." Dad flashed him one of those fake smiles of his and gestured to the Doctor's chair.

"So, Doctor," Dad began. "You are awfully young to be in such a high position at the bank."

"So were you," the Doctor said, frowning at the plate of beans that I placed in front of him.

"Ah, so you researched me then," Dad said.

"Yes…in a manner of speaking."

I sat back down at my seat and started picking at my food, not daring to look up.

"That's a very wise decision. So, Doctor. What do you think about signing that contract I mentioned earlier?" He probably thought he was being subtle. That's one of dad's weaker points. He's not subtle at all.

"Ah…yes, that." the Doctor coughed uncomfortably. "I…yeah, I suppose I'll sign it." He let out a sigh that sounded like it was a mix between exhausted and exasperated.

"Excellent, I'll just pull up the contract and you can sign it." He opened his brief case and dug around in it before sighing, closing his eyes, "I left the contract at the office. If you will just come with me to get it—"

"If it's all the same to you, I'll just stay here while you get it." Dad blinked in confusion, but quickly recovered.

"Of course. I'll only be a few minutes."

He smiled and disappeared through the door. I started clearing the table, picking up the plates and glasses. I stacked them up, trying to balance it all on one arm when the Doctor said

"Oh, Ada, let me help you with that."

I blinked in surprise. "Um…no, that's alright." But he was already on his feet, rolling up his sleeves and picking up the dishes. I didn't know how to turn him down at this point so I just let him. He set the dishes down in the sink and turned on the tap.

"Doctor," I called. "Dishwasher." I gestured to the dishwasher.

"You have to rinse them first." The Doctor sighed as if I were a disappointment.

"What is this, the fifteenth century?" I scoffed.

"The dishwasher." I repeated, emptying all of the plates into it. The Doctor frowned in suspicion, and pulled out a silver metal stick. He pushed a button and it made a strange noise, glowing green. He examined it and hummed.

"Last time I used a dishwasher it was in the twenty first century." I laughed.

"Sure. Anyways, are you really going to sign that contract?" I asked, typing some settings into the control panel of the dishwasher. The lights turned on inside, and I started loading it.

"Now, how is that any easier than a light switch?" the Doctor grumbled.

"You didn't answer my question," I said. I didn't look at him. I was afraid my selfish intentions would show with just one second of eye contact.

"I…" I turned to see him scratching his neck. "I don't know? I don't work for the company. Heck, I just showed up this morning to see where he worked and maybe steal a donut! I didn't think anyone would believe I actually worked there!"

I faced him to see he looked completely serious and obviously distressed. And I laughed.

"Oh, my gosh," I wheezed. "You're in some deep shit."

He waved him arms wildly. "What am I supposed to do?" he demanded.

"Follow your heart."

"Can I trust him?"

"Definitely not."

"Will I be letting my bank down by signing that contract!?" I laughed again.

"You don't work there!" I exclaimed through laughter. He rolled his eyes at me.

"Some help you are. I read the contract ten times and I still have no idea what it means! And I know everything."

I snorted. "Apparently not," I sighed. "In all seriousness, it's not your bank. You don't work there. They're going to scan your signature and realize that you don't work there. Your signature is null and void, so, regardless of whether or not it's the right decision, you should just sign it because it literally doesn't matter."

"Is it the right decision?"

I shook my head. "No, probably not. It'll ruin "your" bank. Probably why he was so pleased it's you he had to work with. You give off that innocent, gullible vibe."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Not very nice, your dad," he said. I nodded.

"No, not particularly. It's not his fault though. Now, he's going to be back in three minutes with the contract. Try and show some dignity. You're sweating, go wash up." He nodded and went to the sink to wash his hands and face.

I didn't see him for a while after that. I was worried that dad had scared him away forever. But in December that same year, I was crying in the same park as the first time I saw him. I was staring at the stars, thinking. Jesse once told me when someone dies they become a star, and since mum was so amazing she was probably the biggest one out there, watching down on us. I never believed him. But it was nice to think about sometimes. Comforting. Tears were still rolling down my cheeks when someone sat down next to me. Naturally, I flinched, scared for a minute before I saw who it was.

"Hello, Ada," the Doctor greeted softly.

"Hi," I whispered.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing… just thinking…"

"About?" he asked. I was quiet for a long moment.

"Ada, are you alright?" He asked.

No.

"Fine," I muttered.

"Ada…"

"My brother told me once that when you die, you turn into a star. And if you were really kind in your lifetime, you were a big star. He said that my mum is up there, watching down on us when things get dark, and brightening the path a little when we can't see. Do you believe that?" I asked.

He hesitated. "I… I don't think—"

"It doesn't matter anyways," I sighed. "It's just a nice idea."

"Are you ever going to tell me what makes you so sad?" he asked.

"Are you ever going to stop asking?" I countered. I hesitated for a moment.

"Who are you?" I asked. "I mean really, who are you? I don't mean what's your real name. The Doctor is fine, but what do you do? Where do you live? Have you got a family?"

"No," he said after a minute. I turned to look at him, a questioning expression on my face. "No, I haven't got a family. Not anymore."

I hated living with my family. I hated how unfairly I was treated in comparison to the rest of them. I hated how obnoxious my brothers were, even though they were probably just as unhappy as I. But at the same time, I still owed everything I had to my family, and I couldn't imagine living without them. Because, as much as I loathed living with them, I loved them to death.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "That's awful."

He was quiet for a few minutes, and I didn't bother to break the silence. If he needed a moment, I'd give it to him. I understood.

"What about your Dad?" he asked.

"What about him?" I countered.

"What's he like? Family guy? Cold business man? I'm thinking it's probably the second one…"

"He's doing the best he can." I said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true."

He sighed. "He doesn't seem to be trying very hard."

"It's not easy… He has a full time job and five kids. He misses my mum. That's a lot for one person."

The Doctor shrugged again.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"In my spaceship slash time machine."

I glanced at him, frowning. "You're completely serious, aren't you?"

"Of course."

I chuckled. "Alright, fair game," I sighed and got to my feet.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Home. I still have a downstairs to clean, and I'd like to get to bed before two am. School tomorrow."

"I told you, I have a time machine."

I chuckled again, turning to face him. "You're mad."

"Definitely," he smirked.

"See you soon, Doctor."

He kept in contact more frequently after that. Most of the time when I went to the store, he was there. He walked me halfway home from school at least three days a month, he'd be at the park half the time I was there, and he'd help me with homework. We had the weirdest relationship I could imagine.

I wasn't too disturbed by this, though. I know I should have been but I wasn't. I was lonely. I'd never had someone there who was just kind to me. Because the truth is, sometimes, when I was lonely, or scared because daddy was angry with me, the idea that he wouldn't let anything really awful happen to me kept me going. It's how I could breathe most days.

And when his visits just stopped, it was like my heart stopped beating.

She was a silent fighter,

With a demon in her lung,

And it stole her breaths right from her,

Before they'd hardly passed her tongue,

He was a silent fighter,

Who was always taught to share,

And held his breath when he was with her,

Just so she could have his air.

-E.H

Thoughts? Do you love it? Hate it? You've read this far, so I'm sure you have an opinion. So please share it with me! I absolutely adore hearing what people think! I will update in two weeks!