He doesn't want to go there, of course he doesn't; he runs to see beautiful things, to pick up pieces of hope from the eyes of those he meets, perhaps trying to restore the flickering flame inside himself.
The memory of Rose standing on that beach is still vivid in his mind; the desperation in her features as the connection died. Just let the words be said- and then she was gone. And they weren't.
Now, although he can feel the turn of the Earth, see the Universe spread wide before him, he feels the warm fire dim inside him. He wishes to ignite, to find something to believe in.
The screen flashes the words in large letters.
AMSTERDAM, 1944.
This place will only make it worse. He expects uniforms and solemn faces; he expects corpses, some of them walking around in a haze, holding on to every piece of life they can believe in; he expects fear and fire and a deep hatred, the kind that seeps into your bones and crushes you.
Instead, he finds himself in a girl's bedroom.
She watches him, eyes wide like those of a trapped deer, breathing fast and silent. She's used to being silent.
It takes him a moment to realise where he recognises her face from, and then it's a rush of pieces from the future: she'll be afraid for the rest of her life. They'll come for her, merciless to a child's wide eyes. Hope will whither and die, and then she'll surrender, and there's nothing he can do about it.
It's cruel of the TARDIS to bring him here. Very cruel.
"Who are you?" she whispers, her voice quivering.
"Anne Frank-" he says, then shakes his head. "No, that's you. I'm the Doctor."
"The Doctor? What Doctor?" Her voice is still quiet, and she's keeping a safe distance from him; her body is a silent earthquake, fear still alive in her eyes. His friendly demeanor doesn't cause her to take her guard down, not yet, not when a strange man appears in the only place that's almost safe from her murderers. Besides, he knows, she's used to disappointments.
"Just the Doctor," he says brightly, face masked with a smile.
"Are you here to arrest us?"
He shakes his head. No, I'm not, I'm so sorry you have to ask that.
"Then... what?"
"I think I got here by mistake," he says. She shushes him, looking around carefully, and he continues in a whisper. "My ship can be a bit unreliable sometimes."
"Your ship?"
He gestures towards the TARDIS. She says nothing, and he supposes she's seen it materialize and it's too much for her to comprehend, so she's left staring. Her body's still in fight-or-flight mode, positioned in a way so she can quickly run to the next room, or defend herself.
"It's a spaceship," he says, and is met with another look of doubt and confusion.
"You're here to arrest us." Her voice holds no other option; since she came here she's seen a select number of people. A police box materializing in her room was a threat before it was an object of fascination.
"I'm not, Anne. I'm really not."
"I- I'll call for them. We're more than you! We're not letting you take us."
"Look," he says, spreading his arms and waving them around. "I've got nothing, not even a gun. I promise, I'm not trying to trick you."
Her gaze moves from his hands, to his face, to the TARDIS and back.
"I'm sorry for startling you," he tells her sincerely. "I honestly didn't mean to come here." He turns toward the TARDIS, then hesitates and looks back at the girl.
"Do you want to have a look?"
She stares, curiosity and caution waging war inside her head. Children should be careless, he thinks, watching her. He pushes open the door, allowing her a look inside.
"There's nobody there." She's genuinely surprised no one is waiting to kill her, for daring to be a Jew. For daring to stay alive. Curiosity gets the better of her - he watches it win the battle in her eyes, noting with relief the child rising through the fear - and she steps inside. "It's bigger... So much bigger. There are doors! And... and, what's that?"
"What's what?"
"That... machine."
"It's the console," he explains, "of my spaceship. A wonderful thing, last of its kind! Choose somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhen."
"Somewhere... safe," she says.
He frowns. "Safe? No such thing as safe. Anyway, safe is boring."
"Then somewhere beautiful. Outdoors, somewhere with people... And birds! And- and plenty of trees."
He grins. "Your wish is my command."
And then he's running around the console, pressing buttons and pulling levers. The ground shakes; the wonderful noise of the TARDIS engine and she's running with him- running to her freedom. He doesn't have the heart to tell her this will be the last time.
The shaking stops. The Doctor opens the door.
The sky is clear; clouds are scattered like bits of cotton, though the sun is blinding - she gasps and covers her face, and it takes a minute for her eyes to adjust. The street is busy with people, and there are buildings, and trees, and the faint chirping of birds.
"We're not in Amsterdam."
"Spaceship, told you."
There are soldiers here, but they look different. They wear olive coloured uniforms, and the people don't steer away from them. The people... he knows she's never seen people wearing clothes so short. She takes in every detail of a future world; not even seventy years in the future and the people have more freedom than she ever will.
"Where are we?"
"Somewhere promising. Not perfect, not even close." He chuckles to himself, a private joke he wishes he didn't have - humanity's fantastic imperfection is as clear here as it is anywhere else. "We're in 2013. This is where your people went when the war was over."
"You mean, we survived?"
"Not everyone." Not you. "But so many did... Humans, after all. You always survive against all odds. Some went back home, tried to rebuild their lives in the lands that betrayed them. Others came here. They needed a new beginning, a new home. Oh, it was a mess. Still is, actually."
He wishes he could describe the look in her eyes, as if he, or the sunlight she thought she'd never see again, had lit a flame inside them. She steps outside the TARDIS, taking in the world, paying no attention to the heat or the people staring at the girl in the winter clothes and the strange hairdo. (Some are certain they've seen this girl somewhere - maybe she's in costume?)
She watches for a moment, takes another step into the world. Then she's running, filling the air with her laughter.
"Hello, sir!" she says to a stranger passing by. The man nods to her with a smile and continues on his way. "Oh, you must think I want money. Have a good day!" she calls, watching the man walk away. "Hello, miss. I hope you're feeling well today."
She turns back to the Doctor, a smile on her lips and shining through her eyes. "Is it alright if I shout?"
He nods, and she does, immediately; a single syllable escaping her lips, that turns to a string of gibberish and then she's spreading her arms and twirling in circles and her shout turns to laughter.
He watches her with a small smile, wishing things never had to end and children never had to feel the burn of hatred on their skin, wishing beautiful moments could turn into forever, and wash away the terror woven into human lives.
He wishes hope could drown out the voices of hatred, but at least it's still there, burning through both of them - at least it's more contagious than its enemy.
She's a fixed point in time, he's known it from the start; so when he takes her back, she asks, "Will I live?", and he half-lies through gritted teeth and a sad smile.
(Because she will, in the hearts of millions.)