I've wanted to write this story ever since I saw "P.S." It took me awhile to get it right.

I wrote it partially for the purpose of answering two questions: 1) How did young Melody Pond get from 1970s New York to 1990s England? and 2) What would Melody's relationship with her adopted brother, Anthony, be like?

This work will consist of three parts, set respectively in 1970, 1991, and 2022.

Part 1: 1970

Anthony Brian Williams met his older sister for the first time in January, 1970. At the time, he was twenty four years old. His older sister was seven.

It was a chilly, icy evening. Anthony had the collar of his thick wool coat pulled up to his chin. His right hand was tucked firmly into his coat pocket, while his left carried a leather briefcase.

Anthony worked for a large, important newspaper in downtown Manhattan. Every day, he saw important men in important suits stroll in and out through the glass revolving doors. But Anthony's job was not important. He was a receptionist. He had held the job for more than a year, ever since his graduation from the NYU Journalism Institute, but the promotion to beat reporter had not come. He was thinking about this that night in January, as he walked the many blocks from the subway to his tiny apartment in Chelsea. He was thinking about this just before he met Melody Pond.

First, he heard a noise. A clattering, metallic noise, and then another underneath it, which sounded a bit like wind rushing in a confined space. He heard running footsteps. Anthony paused, curious.

A bedraggled man suddenly ran out from an alleyway just ahead of where Anthony stood. So intent was he on getting away from something that he smashed right into the young man, almost knocking him over. Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but the man didn't even pause for so much as an "excuse me" before he was off and running again, vanishing into the night. The other noise in the alley, the rushing, wind-like noise, continued.

Anthony took a cautious step forward, his breath catching in his throat. Curiosity was not the safest quality a person could possess in New York in 1970. Especially where odd noises in alleys were concerned. Anthony, however, was possessed of a strong imagination as well as a strong curiosity. For, from the time he was very young, his mother and father had been telling him stories. Fantastic stories. Stories that, in his most logical moments, he could hardly bring himself to believe, but that deep down he not only believed in, but hoped for.

So, Anthony peered around the corner of the brick wall and into the alley. It was a typical Chelsea alleyway in every aspect but one: it was currently filled with golden, pulsing light, and the light radiated from a small, standing figure. Anthony suddenly had trouble breathing normally. His parents' stories came back to him in even more of a rush. Words passed through his head—Time Lord, Regeneration, time travel.

Suddenly, the light cleared. Standing in its place was a very young girl, barely more than two years old, with soft features, coffee-colored skin, and short, frizzy hair. Anthony saw her hold up her hands, studying them intently, as if she'd never seen them before. She twirled in place, looking herself over from top to bottom. She giggled. Her shabby dress, Anthony noticed, was several sizes too big for her.

She took a step forward, and fell.

Anthony ran to her without thinking. He was too late to catch her, but he immediately knelt to see if she was all right. She lay sprawled face-first on the ground, out cold. Anthony was relieved to see that she was still breathing. He checked her pulse, just as his father had shown him, and turned her over just enough to ensure that she wasn't too injured to move. Once he was sure of this, he scooped her up and carried her, cradled in his arms, to his apartment.

His sister, Melody.

ooo

She slept for a long time. So long that Anthony began to worry. He checked up on her and was both relieved and concerned to see that nothing about her condition had changed. She did not appear to be hurt. Her face, which should have been scratched or bruised from her fall in the alley, was unmarked. No, she was just sleeping, her hair spread around her on the pillow. Deeply, deeply sleeping.

One of the first things Anthony did, after he'd settled Melody and checked her two or three times, was call his parents. Nearing their seventies, they had been retired for years in a small house in Queens. Anthony kept in regular contact with them. It was hard being a time traveler, or the child of time travelers, in Anthony's case. You knew and believed in things that the people around you were unaware of. This isolation had bred a strong closeness in the Williams family. The elder Williamses knew that they could trust their son with anything. Anthony knew he could always contact his parents in emergencies, especially ones of this particular nature.

Mrs. Williams answered on the third ring. Anthony allowed her one moment to fuss over him before sharing his news. Once his story was told, she fell silent for several long moments.

"Mum?" he said. "Are you okay?"

He heard her take in a sharp breath.

"I looked for her," she said, after a moment. "I knew I wouldn't find her, but still, I looked. Every time I was in the city."

She paused, sighing deeply. Anthony could imagine her gestures, how she would shake her head and look to the floor.

"I shouldn't be upset," she said. "It was all so long ago, and I know she's going to be all right. Is all right. Was all right. But, to think of her, so little. All alone…"

Anthony didn't say anything. He knew only vague details about the circumstances of his sister's birth, circumstances which had resulted in his sister's rather confusing timeline. His parents didn't like to talk about it. Among what little he knew was the fact that it had been painful and traumatic, and that it had left his mother infertile. He had been adopted in 1946.

"Maybe," said Anthony carefully, "maybe this is a second chance."

"A second chance for what?"

"To raise her."

His mother fell silent again. He thought he could imagine what she was thinking, for it was what he was picturing, too. Melody growing up in his parents' home. The whole family together for the first time, for always.

His mother gave another sniff.

"No," she said. "No. We have to send her… send her ahead. If we disrupt her timeline, your father and I might never get married. Too much will change, and I don't want it changed. Not one moment of it. Even the… painful things. They have to stay."

Anthony let his shoulders slump.

"What should we do, then?" he said.

"I'll talk to your father," she said. "We have some contacts. We might be able to help her go where she needs to go. I think that's what we're supposed to do."

"Right," said Anthony. "But, then, you're not going to see her?"

Another pause. He heard her swallow.

"I think if we saw her," she said, "we'd never let her go."

Anthony opened his mouth, tried to speak. He closed it slowly.

"So," he said, "should I tell her… who I am?"

"Maybe not," Mrs. Williams said, "even knowing you exist, in this time and place, might give her too much foreknowledge. It might change too much."

"Oh," said Anthony. "Okay, I understand."

"Good boy," she said. There was fondness in her voice. "Your father and I'll be in touch."

She hung up. Anthony stared at the dead receiver for several moments. He probably would have stared at it even longer, if not for what happened next.

Someone screamed—"Yaaah!"—and he felt skinny but surprisingly strong arms latch around his neck. He stumbled forward, trying desperately to disentangle the small, screaming person who was now pummeling every inch of him they could reach.

Finally, with a flail of his arms and a shake of his torso, the child came loose. She fell to the ground with a cry of "ow!" Anthony turned, and was not at all surprised to find Melody, already leaping to her feet and rushing at him again.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!"

He managed to stop her reaching him, pressing his hand to her forehead so that, like a character in a Saturday morning cartoon, she was unable to hit him with her fists. She screeched and pushed against him, a blur of limbs.

"Lemme go! Lemme go!"

To his dismay, she was pushing against him so hard that his arm was actually giving way. She really was quite strong.

"Melody Pond!" he shouted. "Stop it right now!"

If anything, this command only seemed to make Melody more furious. She wrenched free of his grasp and punched him in the stomach—hard. He gasped and crumpled to the floor, clutching his injured belly and trying to get his breath back.

"Who are you?" she demanded, standing over him. "How do you know my name?"

When he could only gasp at her, his voice gone with his breath, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and hauled him nearly to his feet so that they were at eye level. Her expression was fierce, angry and wary and not like a child at all. She shook him.

"Answer!" she said.

"I—I know your parents," Anthony managed to rasp out.

Melody's eyes widened momentarily, making her look more her own age. But her face quickly hardened.

"Are you lying?" she said fiercely.

"I'm not," Anthony insisted, wincing. He was breathing more easily now, but being held by the hair was definitely not a pleasant experience. And his ribs were starting to ache.

"Put me down," he said, as calmly as he could, "and I'll prove it to you."

Melody hesitated a moment, then released him. He got to his feet, rubbing his stinging scalp, and hurried over to the chest of drawers he kept in the apartment's living room/kitchen space. Melody followed close behind, watching him warily.

He opened the first drawer and dug through it. Beneath the many papers within he found what he was looking for—a photo, taken a few years ago on a vacation upstate. In it, Anthony stood with his parents in front of a gleaming blue lake. They stood close together, his mother and father on either side of him. Mrs. Williams' hair—red, streaked with gray—was pulled back from her shoulders. Mr. Williams, hair wispy and white, had a hand on a nineteen-year-old Anthony's shoulder. Skinny Anthony smiled shyly at the camera.

Anthony turned and handed the photo to Melody.

"See? There are your parents. And that's me."

Melody didn't seem to be listening. She studied the photograph. Her mouth hung open slightly, and her face was relaxed, unguarded. He saw her trace her finger gently over the right side of the image, where their mother stood.

"I used to have a picture of her," Melody said quietly. "Of my mother. She was so pretty. But I couldn't take it with me. Since I ran away."

She looked back at Anthony, eyes wide.

"You can keep that, if you want," he said.

She turned her gaze back to the photo. Solemnly, she nodded.

"Are you sleepy?" he said.

Her head had begun to loll, and her eyelids drooped even as she looked at the photo, tracing the image of her mother over and over again. She shook her head.

"Come on," Anthony said. "You've had a rough day."

He reached for her hand.

"You can sit up and look at the picture as long as you want, okay?"

She gave him a wary glance. Then, seeming to come to a decision, she reached up and took his hand.

He led her back into the room. She climbed into bed. Anthony fluffed her pillow, and she allowed him to tuck her in. Then, without further ceremony, her head fell back against the pillow, and she was asleep in an instant. The picture of her family was still clutched in one of her pudgy hands.

Anthony tiptoed backwards out of the room, clicking the light off as he did. He shut the door and went to sleep on the couch in the living room.

ooo

Anthony called in sick to work the next day. He was frying eggs by the time Melody came into the living room, yawning but looking far better than she had the day before. There was more of a shine to her skin and her eyes were brighter. She was still wearing, Anthony realized, the too-large brown dress she had been wearing when he'd found her. He would have to get her some new clothes.

She padded over and stared up at him. Her mouth was set in an un-childlike expression of suspicion.

"What are you doing?" she said.

Anthony glanced down at her. That was it, he realized. Her strangeness came half from not seeming like a child at all, and half from seeming like an older child. She looked like a toddler but spoke like a particularly intelligent grade-schooler. It was hard to get used to.

"Good morning," he said patiently. "I'm making breakfast."

"What kind of breakfast?"

"Eggs," he said. "I'm not going to poison you, if that's what you're worried about."

She frowned.

"I've never had eggs before," she said.

"Well, it's time you tried them, then," he said. "You're… how old, now?"

"Seven," she said.

She sighed.

"What's wrong?"

The eggs were nearly done. He flipped them and the yolks broke. Somehow, he always managed to break the yolks.

"I look like a baby," Melody grumbled.

"Huh?"

"I looked in a mirror," she said.

"Oh," said Anthony. "Your regeneration."

He slid the finished, yellowy eggs onto two plates. He carried them over to the table.

"Come and have some breakfast," he said.

Melody watched him as he sat down and began to eat. She came over and climbed up onto one of the chairs. Her head barely came up over the tabletop.

"Do you want something to sit on?"

"No."

She sat on her knees, which seemed to help a little bit. Then she began to eat, first carefully, and then with gusto. In a moment her eggs were gone, and the corners of her mouth were covered with yolk.

"Got a little something there," Anthony said.

He leaned across the table with a napkin to scrub at the stains, but she flinched away.

"Sorry," he said. "I was just going to clean you up."

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, glaring.

"I swear I'm not going to hurt you," Anthony said.

"You were with my mother and father," Melody said. It was half an accusation, half a question.

"Yes," said Anthony.

"In the picture," Melody continued. "They had their arms around you."

Anthony picked up on jealousy, even some sadness, in her tone. He nodded.

"Yes," he said carefully. "They're good friends. I've known them for a long time. Since I was a kid."

"But they're my mother and father," said Melody.

"Right," said Anthony, wondering if he'd said too much.

"I saw them," Melody said, almost conversationally. "In real life. Mother tried to shoot me."

"Is—is that so," Anthony said.

"It's because of the Doctor," Melody said, stabbing at her plate with her spoon. "He's a bad, bad man who makes people do bad things."

"Really?" said Anthony. "Who told you that?"

Melody stared at him. Her eyes seemed to glaze. She blinked.

"I can't remember," she said. "But it's true."

She said this with such conviction that Anthony decided that it would be better not to argue with her.

He stood up and cleared the plates away. Melody remained in her chair. He could sense her staring at the back of his head.

"You're not going to send me back?" she said suddenly. "Right?"

Anthony turned. She sounded, and looked, more vulnerable than she had in the entire short time he'd known her. She seemed scared.

"No," he said with conviction. "I won't."

For a moment, it was like she held her breath. Then, she visibly relaxed. Anthony could practically feel the tension drain from the room. Melody looked at the tabletop and kicked her legs, for all the world like a normal child.

"I like my new hair," she said, suddenly. "It's prettier than it was before."

Anthony smiled.

"Glad to hear it," he said.

ooo

He turned back to the dishes.

After breakfast, Anthony and Melody went out. She didn't want to go at first. She was convinced that the people she had run away from would find her. Anthony pointed out that she looked different now. They wouldn't recognize her even if they were outside.

"And," he said, as he locked and bolted the apartment door behind him, "you have me. I'll protect you."

Melody gave him a look that said she was thoroughly unconvinced about the feasibility of this latter statement, and he had to admit to himself that she had a point. With her strength, it was more likely she would protect him.

They headed down the stairs and out into the neighborhood, where they made their way to a thrift store where Anthony bought a lot of his own clothes. It was cheap, and not too dingy, and Melody really needed new clothes. Not to mention a coat. Already she was shivering.

In the store, Melody picked everything out mostly herself. She seemed excited about all the color. Anthony was glad to see her so happy. But when he reached over to fluff her hair, she pulled away, just as she had at breakfast when he'd tried to clean her up. She seemed unaccustomed to affectionate gestures. Not frightened of them, just… unaccustomed. It made him sad. Throughout his childhood, his parents had always hugged him, ruffled his hair, kissed him goodnight. Theirs had been a warm household. Melody obviously hadn't experienced much warmth.

They left the store, Melody wearing a new dress and a new coat. As they walked, she skipped and twirled. They detoured to a small park Anthony sometimes liked to walk through on his way to work in the morning. Melody played on the play structure while Anthony kept an eye on her from a park bench. Later, they shared a teeter-totter, and he pushed her on the swings, and on the merry-go-round, until they were too dizzy to swing or spin any longer. After that they bought hotdogs from a cart, went to a toy store Anthony had never noticed before, and he got her a stuffed tiger. By then it had begun to get dark, so they went home and Anthony made some tomato soup. It was from a can, and was not actually very good, but Melody seemed to like it.

"I like that it's red," she said, letting some of it fall from her spoon and back into the bowl. "It's like eating blood."

Afterward, Anthony half carried a thoroughly exhausted Melody to bed, where he once again fluffed her pillows and tucked her in, just as their parents had done for him once.

"Can I have my tiger?" Melody said.

He handed it to her. She clutched it tightly to her chest and looked up at him seriously.

"I like it here," Melody declared. "It's fun. I think this is the best day I've ever had. Ever."

Anthony smiled at her fondly. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead, and she didn't pull away.

"I think this is the best day I've ever had, too," said Anthony.

He meant it.

ooo

Anthony woke the next morning to the phone ringing right next to his ear. He turned over on the couch with a groan and answered.

"Hello?"

"Tony, it's your dad," said Mr. Williams.

Anthony sat up.

"Your mum and I just got back," he said. "From meeting some of our contacts."

"The time travel contacts?" Anthony said.

He felt a sinking sensation somewhere in his chest.

"Yeah. We were finally able to track down a man in Wales with a Vortex Manipulator. He's brought it to us. It's all programmed and ready for Mels to use."

Anthony said nothing. He took a deep intake of breath.

"Are you all right?" said Mr. Williams.

Anthony tried, and failed, to answer. He heard his father sigh.

"You know she can't stay with you, Tony," he said.

His voice was reasonable. Comforting.

"I know," said Anthony. He sighed. "I know."

"Well…" said his father, "one of us'll come into the city today. Give you the thing and the instructions. It isn't meant to be sent through the mail. You can get away?"

"Of course."

His father said goodbye, and hung up. Anthony put down the receiver. He pressed his face into his hands so hard it hurt.

ooo

Anthony was gone and back before Melody even woke up. He found her still fast asleep in bed, one arm spread over her face and the stuffed tiger on the floor. He didn't wake her. Let her sleep.

He started getting breakfast ready. Scrambled eggs, this time, and tried not to think about the unassuming package that now sat on his coffee table. Tried, and failed.

Really, he told himself, it was good that she was leaving. What would he have done if she'd stayed? Never gone to work again? Somehow hired a nanny? And what about food, school, all the things a kid needed? He could barely afford to keep himself alive, much less a small, traumatized, inhumanly strong young girl with alien DNA. It was all for the best.

He flipped the eggs and tried to pretend that his throat didn't feel so tight.

Melody came into the room just as he was setting the table. She climbed up onto her chair and began to rock back and forth on it. Anthony laid her plate in front of her.

"Don't do that," he said, though not unkindly.

She stopped rocking, picked up her fork, and began to eat with her usual eagerness. Anthony sat down as well. He ate very slowly, not feeling particularly hungry. The lump in his throat only got worse every time he looked at his sister.

"Melody," he said, suddenly. "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

Melody paused in her eating. She frowned.

"I'd probably go wherever the Doctor is," she said, mouth full. "Or." She swallowed. "I'd go see my parents."

She positively beamed at the very idea of this. Anthony felt something that was half relief, half terrible sadness.

"How would you feel," he said, "if you could go somewhere where you could meet your parents and the Doctor?"

Melody stared at him, suddenly interested.

"I could do that?" she said.

"Yeah," he said. "And you'd get to be friends with your parents, too, because they would be kids like you."

"Wow," said Melody. "Cool."

She was positively bouncing with excitement.

"How?" she said.

"I'll show you."

Anthony stood up and got the package on the coffee table. He brought it over.

"Inside this box," he said, "is something called a Vortex Manipulator. It can take you anywhere in time and space."

"Like the TARDIS," Melody said. "That's the Doctor's spaceship."

"Right," said Anthony. "Except it's a lot smaller, I think."

He opened the package, almost absentmindedly. He felt like he was in a dream, like his hands weren't his own. Carefully, he removed what looked like a leather wristband from inside the wrappings of the box. He laid it on the table between them, and flipped open the cover, which revealed a tiny, digital display. On it were pre-set coordinates, which Anthony knew from his father would take a person to Leadworth, England in 1991.

"That's a time machine?" said Melody.

"You wear it," Anthony explained. "This one doesn't have much power left. It will only take you to one place."

"The place where my mother and father are?"

"Yes."

Melody looked at the wristband, then back at Anthony.

"I want to go," she said.

"Okay," said Anthony quietly. "Why don't we pack your things, then?"

ooo

Everything Melody currently owned, except her stuffed tiger, fit easily into Anthony's briefcase. His actual suitcases were much too large for her to carry comfortably, and he could always find a new briefcase. They went out to the living room together, and Anthony fitted the Vortex Manipulator to her small wrist. She stood before him, suitcase in one hand, tiger under the other arm. Her mouth was set in a look of determination he thought he recognized from his mother. He bent down so they were eye level.

"Ready to go?" he said.

She nodded. He squeezed her shoulder.

"I'll miss you," Melody said solemnly.

"You'll see me again," said Anthony. He tried to smile. "I'm going to meet you there, remember?"

This was something he and his parents had agreed on. She would need someone to set her up in Leadworth, and his parents knew through foreknowledge that they would no longer be alive in 1991. It would have to be him.

"So, we'll meet again in just a few minutes," he said. "There's no need to be sad."

She nodded again. He leaned forward and gave her a swift, fierce hug, which she returned, her small arms wrapping around his neck. Then, without another word, he straightened and backed away. He waved at her from across the room, hoping she wouldn't see how red his eyes were.

Melody smiled. She waved back. Then she pushed the button on the display, and was gone.