It was a mild spring day and the Doctor was sitting in his TARDIS, feet propped up on the dash, smiling over a copy of "The Doctor's Wife" and nibbling on a tea-soaked Jammy Dodger. There was absolutely no space or timey-wimey he'd rather be, at the moment. He had recently taken his newest, Eleventh form, and was discovering what passions and tastes he had- particularly in the culinary arts. His first major discovery was that he didn't apreciate apples anymore- to say it lightly- and this was quickly followed by a general disgust and distaste of and for yoghurt, bacon, beans and bread 'n' butter. The next great discovery was that he loves Fish Custard- his own recipe, which involved merely dipping fish fingers into English custard. His third, and rather recent, discovery was of his great love for the British biscuit 'Jammy Dodgers'. They were shortbread, really, with jam in the middle- a simple snack, but the Doctor simply could not get enough of them. As he polished off his eleventh Dodger of the morning, he wiped his fingers on his pants, smiling at the symbolization of his regenerations. But it was really twelve Jammy Dodgers that sat best with him, and he was just reaching for the last lonely one on the crumb-sprinkled plate, when there was a knock on his TARDIS. Instantly, down came the feet, up went the head, and wide open came the ears, listening for a clue as to his intruder's presence. For an intrusion it most certainly was. The Doctor slipped the last 'Dodger from the plate and, biting gingerly into it, walked over to the door of his bigger-on-the-inside Time Machine. In one fluid movement, he opened the door, revealing the person who had thought it appropriate to knock on the door of what was apparently a 1960's Police Office Call Box. The intruder turned out to be a girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, with strawberry blonde hair, an impish face, wearing a simple grey frock.
"Alright then, and who would you be?" he asked, looking down at her, half cuiously, half irritated as he polished off the last of his last Jammy Dodger. A Police Box in the middle of a tranquil garden was perhaps not the most obvious sign of hermituide, but the Doctor had parked it in such a way as, he felt, signified his desire to be left alone for the time being- that is, he parked it facing a tree, so that now, his little visitor was squished half against it as she tried to see in.
"My name is Carol Pool." she said, causing the Doctor's large ears to pick up at the sound of her slight Scottish accent.
"Ah, you're a kilt then, are you?" he said, smiling a bit tenderly upon the wild mass of unruly hair that criwded her brow.
"A what?" she asked, her accent in exactly the same place as young Amelia Pond's had been.
"Scottish! I don't suppose you like to fry things?" he asked hopefully.
"...what?" the girl repeated. "I'm not sure what you mean, mister. But...I was only coming to ask you, if I could use the call box. You've been in there a long time."
The Doctor smiled. "Oh, well, you see...this box isn't...it doesn't exactly make calls. Well, not the usual ones..."
Carol folded her arms across her thin chest. "I'm sorry, mister, but it's not exactly a place where you usually eat cookies. It's meant for placing calls."
"What makes you think I've been eating cookies?" the Doctor asked, somewhat defensively.
"You've got jam on your face and there are crumbs on your shirt." she pointed out.
The Doctor immidiately wiped his hand against the corner of his mouth, where jam was prone collect, and brushed absent-mindedly at his tweed suit jacket. "Oh, yes, well...love me some Dodgers. Anyway! A call, yes? Come right in, but be careful, it's...well, you'll see."
He moved out of the way so the girl could slip inside, but she didn't seem at all surprised at the TARDIS interior. The Doctor stared at her, waitingfor her to make his favorite comment, but she did not.
"Say...isn't it bit unusual for a call box?" he asked at last, proddingly.
"Yes, I know, it's bigger on the inside." she said, waving it away. Hearing her say it like that seemed to dampen the fun in it, the Doctor thought.
"Well, you can place your call here." The Doctor picked up his phone and handed it to Carol. "That is, if it works today..." he mumbled. Carol picked up the phone and put it to her ear for a moment, before shaking her head.
"No. Doesn't work."
The Doctor set it back down and studied her. "You're a strange little girl."he mused.
"And you're a funny man." she countered. "I've learned not to judge based on appearences. Peronal experience."
The Doctor smiled. "Right you are. Well. Then. What can I do to help you, since my phone is dead? Anything? Or will you be getting back off home?"
Carol blinked. "I don't have a right home. Only...I live at the orphanage." She fidgeted. "I don't have a Mum or Dad."
"Neither do I."the Doctor said, studying the girl's sad face with a mirrored look of sympathy on his own. "I don't even have an Aunt."
The girl blinked. "Why did you say that? I haven't an Aunt either."
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Well! No reason. Entirely no reason. So...the orphanage, hey? Don't they have a phone, or am I not the only one who's apparently lost the connection?"
Carol shook her head. "They have a phone, but we can't use it. And...I had to pretend to be a begger to get the quarters. But I really need to place this call. I'm trying to find my parents."
The Doctor frowned. "You said they were dead."
Carol shook her head, her orange-ish hair flying into her eyes for a moment. "No, I said I didn't have and parents. Not having them and them being dead are entirely two different things." she insisted.
"Quite..." the bemused Doctor agreed. "Well...how are you going to get up with them?"
Carol held out a frayed peice of cloth, upon which were several groupings of hash marks. The Doctor's brow furrowed as he studied it, turning it this way and that, as though to get a batter angle on it, before letting it drop from his hands, exasperated. Carol caught it and laughed at him.
"You know, you don't always have to know everything to be smart. There's lots of things I don't know. But I'm going to find out. And you're going to help me, right mister? You asked if I needed anything, and I do. Can you help me?"
"Um...yes?" the Doctor said, shrugging in question. "I suppose so..."
"Good. I'll hold you to it."
There was something about her grin that assured him that she, indeed, would.