Kennedy Humphries trotted along the sidewalk on her way back from a psychology class. Wayward strands of hair dangled in her face as she struggled to keep her eyes open. It had been another long, sleepless night of worry and stress and fear for the future.

Nothing that wasn't unexpected of a typical college freshman.

She dragged her feet along the path, reaching for the cell phone in the pockets of her shorts. Someone else was walking towards her from the opposite direction, and she didn't want to talk to him. She didn't talk to guys. She didn't talk to anyone.

Kennedy struggled to type in her passcode with one hand, balancing a lanyard jingling with keys in the other. Once she'd finally managed to type in the four digit code, she pulled up Twitter and scrolled through her timeline listlessly, keeping one subtle eye on the tall, lanky man as he approached her.

"Ello!" A jovial British accent greeted her from six feet in the air. The man waved, smiling brightly as the distance between them began to close.

"Hi," she offered a small wave, keeping her attention mainly on her screen.

"Excuse me, but you don't happen to know where the Joseph residence hall is, do you?" he inquired, straightening the red bow tie that adorned his simple suit.

"Um, yeah, actually," she answered shyly, not meeting his eyes as she slowed her pace. "I'm headed there right now."

"Brilliant!" Spinning on his heels to change directions, the man matched Kennedy's stride step for step. "Oh, you don't mind if I tag along, do you?" He fumbled in his pocket for a moment before presenting her with an ID card. "Maintenance! New to the campus, I'm afraid."

"That's fine," she mumbled, slipping her phone back into her pocket as she hoped and prayed she knew what she was getting herself into.

"I'm the Doctor, by the way," he tittered on, making pointless conversation as they neared the residence hall. "Do you have a name, or anything else that you go by?"

Just the Doctor? she wondered, though she didn't say anything aloud. It was a college campus, after all. To each his own. "Uh, Kennedy. Kennedy Humphries."

"Kennedy Humphries!" he declared, smiling as if the name were a delicious sweet. "Brilliant name!"

"Um, thanks," she nodded, adjusting the straps of her backpack.

"So, Miss Kennedy Humphries, what brings you here this fine Friday morning?" the Doctor asked.

"I live here," she replied matter-of-a-factly. "I mean, I'm a Sunshine Southern State College student. Journalism major. Freshman."

"Ah, receiving an education! The most brilliant of aspirations!" The Doctor beamed with the idea. "Tell me, Kennedy Humphries, why have you chosen journalism as your field of study?"

"Because I like to write," she shrugged.

"That's as good a reason as any," he replied. "I would have studied history myself, but we didn't have college where I'm from. Everyone just knew everything already. And what you didn't know, you learned from experience. I did study medicine in Glasgow, and I have an honorary degree from Cambridge. A friend of mine studied archeology. She's a professor now, or she will be when she gets out of prison. But that's sad. I don't like to be sad. Why be sad when you could be happy? What makes you happy, Kennedy? Let me tell you what makes me happy: books, adventures, and jammie dodgers! I also enjoy a bit of karaoke now and then. Do you like karaoke?"

"When I'm by myself in my room," she laughed. "Or when it's Taylor Swift."

"Taylor Swift," the Doctor repeated, a smile lighting up his face again. "I shake it off, shake it off, shake it off!" he sang loud and off-key, busting out in a dance move that involved waving his arms high above his head. He laughed in delight.

Kennedy cast him a side-eyed glance before she, too, laughed. "You certainly are an interesting guy," she told him. "You're the first one I've met who reacts to Taylor Swift the same way that I do."
"Why, thank you!" the Doctor replied. "I do enjoy good music."

"So do I," Kennedy laughed, knowing full well that he was probably just making fun of her. Returning to her somber demeanor, she watched her feet as she continued the walk to the residence hall. "Okay, here we are." Fishing out her student ID card from her pocket, Kennedy swiped into the building and opened the door. "It was nice meeting you, Doctor."

"And it was nice meeting you as well, Kennedy Humphries," the Doctor replied, kissing the air beside each of her cheeks in a decidedly awkward European manner. "I hope to see you again someday."

"Thank you, I think?" she replied, keeping a watchful eye that he didn't follow her as she walked inside the residence hall and closed the door deftly behind her.

She shook the odd man from her mind as she trotted down the hall to her dorm room. "Clara, I'm back," she called out as she pushed open the room's heavy door. "Oof!" A selection of textbooks and notes spilled from the backpack that she dropped onto the rug. "Gosh. Sorry."

"Oh, it's no bother, love," Clara assured her, jumping down from her desk chair to help her roommate clean up the mess. "What are flatmates for?"

"Thank you, Clara," Kennedy smiled to her British roommate. Hmm. There seemed to be a lot of British people in her life today. She took a deep breath. "I think I'm going to watch Sherlock before class, if you would like to join me."

"No thank you," Clara replied. "I'm going to do my revisions, like you should be doing."

"But I just got out of class," Kennedy moaned.

"And you have a psychology test Friday!" Clara reminded her. Kennedy groaned. This was what happened when your roommate was an education major. "Here, I'll help you." As Kennedy complained some more, Clara pulled out the psychology textbook from her roommate's backpack and sat cross legged atop Kennedy's messy bed. Brushing her short, dark hair out of her eyes, Clara said, "Alright, Kennedy, Tell me about the socio-cognitive approach to personality."

"Umm… it views personality as, like, a label that summarizes the unique patterns of thinking and behavior that a person learns," Kennedy replied, kicking off her Vans and hopping up onto the bed beside Clara. She had to try twice before she made it. "Gosh, why am I so short? Anyhow, the socio-cognitive approach places an emphasis on the role of learned patterns of thinking in guiding behaviors and the fact that personality is learned in social situations."

"Brilliant!" Clara beamed. "So, in summary, the socio-cognitive approach is all about learning."

"Pretty much," Kennedy shrugged.

"Now, tell me three of the prominent socio-cognitive theories," Clara continued.

With a deep sigh of boredom, Kennedy replied, "Julian Rotter was one, with his expectancy theory. He suggested that you decide to behave in a certain way because of learned patterns of thinking and the fact that we learn our personality by watching other people in social situations. Then, he divided people into two categories based on how we expect rewards and punishments to work in life. Internals expect that they control things through their own efforts, whereas externals expect that things are controlled by outside forces that they can't control."

"You're doing well," Clara nodded. "Now, who's next?"

"Ummmmm… Bandura's social cognitive theory," Kennedy continued. "He saw personality as shaped by the ways that thoughts, behaviors, and the environment interact with and influence each other. He called the way that these three are constantly changing each other in a web of mutual influence reciprocal determinism. It's like a trio of best friends who help each other grow and shape each other's lives, like, if there was a third one of us. Self efficacy, the learned expectation of success, was also important to him."

"Very good," Clara smiled, "And could you imagine if there were three of us? We cause enough trouble as two!"

Kennedy laughed. "Okay, the third prominent theory is Mischel's Cognitive/Affective Theory. He calls learned beliefs, feelings, and expectancies that characterize us as individuals cognitive person variables, and he says that these outline the dimensions on what makes us different. Mischel has a list of the most important cognitive person variable: encoding, our beliefs about the environment and other people; expectancies, our self-efficacy and what results we expect from certain behaviors; affects, our feelings and emotions; goals and values, the things that we believe in and what we want to achieve; and competencies and self-regulatory plans, the things that we can do and our ability to thoughtfully plan behaviors."

"Good, good," Clara nodded, flipping the textbook pages. "Now, how do personal and situational variables relate, consistent with Bandura's reciprocal determinism?"

"Okay, there's another list," Kennedy began, scrupulously scanning her memory. "(1) Personal dispositions influence behavior only in relevant situations, like, an anxious person will be more likely to act anxious when he feels threatened. (2) Personal dispositions can lead to behaviors that alter situations that in turn promote other behaviors, meaning that a hostile guy can start a fight by triggering aggression in his friends. (3) People choose to be in situations that are in accord with their personal dispositions, like how introvert me prefers the library and our extravert neighbors go out and party all the time. And, finally, (4) Personal dispositions are more important in some situations than others, like, for example, at a party, the introverts are more likely to stay back by the snack table while the extraverts are out tearing up the dance floor. But, if they were at a funeral instead, then everybody would be quiet and sad."

"Good, once again," Clara laughed. "And remember that the socio-cognitive approach blends learning theories with concepts from cognitive psych. Its principles are translated into cognitive behavioral treatment procedures, too." She tapped a section of the page. "But they leave no room for the unconscious. Everything is learned."

"Yep," Kennedy nodded. "Thanks for helping me study, Clara."

"No problem!" the British girl smiled. "Now, the humanistic approach-"

Cut off by the sound of the doorbell they had installed, Clara exchanged a confused glance with Kennedy. "Are you expecting anyone?"

"No…" Kennedy answered carefully. "I don't have friends."

"Yes you do," Clara laughed. "Here, I'll get it." She hopped off the bed and opened the door. " 'Ello, mate! May I help you?"

"Yes! I'm maintence. I just need to inspect the crack in the wall. I'm here from maintenance! See my card? Hello!" A familiarly irritating voice followed Clara back into the room. "Miss Kennedy Humphries!" the Doctor beamed. "How good to see you again!" Stepping inside of the dorm, he patted the top of her head. "Who knew you were in 221? Coincidences! I don't believe in 'em. Now, where's that crack in the wall?"

"Bach here," Kennedy answered, jutting her thumb towards the wall behind her. "But I reported that crack month ago, at the beginning of the term. They're just now getting to it?"

"Well, I'm getting to it!" the Doctor replied, jumping up beside her to inspect the crack. "You see, I'm a crack expert. No, not like that- forget I said that. I am an expert at inspecting the cracks in walls. Especially the unexplainable ones! I love to explain unexplainable things" He scanned the long, thin crack with a buzzing green flashlight. When it beeped, he stopped and checked the flashlight. "Uh huh…."

Kennedy jumped down from her bed and sat on Clara's. She wanted to distance herself from this weird man who was quite possible a stalker. "Anyhow, Clara, you were saying?"

"What is the humanistic approach to personality?" Clara inquired, hopping up next to her roommate once again.

"It says that our behavior is motivated mainly by our innate drive to grow to our full potential," Kennedy answered.

"That is quite right," the Doctor inserted, scanning the crack in the wall another time. "It is called self-actualization, and it is going to drive the human race out among the stars."

"Okay," Kennedy shrugged. "Clara, it also says that to explain people's actions, we have to understand their worldview, which is called the phenomenological approach. The humanistic approach emphasizes a positive self-concept, which is how you think about yourself. Also, the conditions of worth are the circumstances in which we experience positive regard from others only when we display certain attitudes or behavior. They're created when people are evaluated instead of their behavior."

"Oi, that was brilliant!" the Doctor smiled. "You two really know your-" He stopped short, staring at Clara. "Have I seen you before?"

"I don't think so," Clara answered, scooting a hairline closer to her roommate.

"It's me that showed you how to get to Joseph," Kennedy reminded him. To Clara, she added, "Perhaps that was a bad idea."

Stifling a giggle, Clara told Kennedy to tell her about Maslow's growth theory. "Remember that Maslow viewed personality as the expression of a basic human tendency toward growth and self-actualization."

"Those weren't his ideas originally, you know," the Doctor cut in. "He got them from a handsome man in a bow tie." With a prideful smile, he straightened the little red bow tie that he wore. "He originally didn't have self-actualization as the highest on his hierarchy of needs. He had 'Netflix and chill…' That is why you should never take a notable psychologist time travelling!"

"Okay," Kennedy laughed. "In real life, Maslow said that most people are controlled by a deficiency orientation, which is a preoccupation with perceived needs for material things. His hierarchy of needs starts with these physiological needs, and then it goes up to safety, belonging and love, esteem, and then self-actualization. But instead, if we have a growth orientation, we draw satisfaction from what we have, what we are, and what we can do rather than focusing on what we want. And then, we have peak experiences, which are where we feel joy in the mere fact of being alive and being human."

"You should feel that way every day!" the Doctor interrupted once again. "Being human is the most beautiful part of existence."

"The humanistic approach is consistent with the way that many people view themselves," Clara said, rerouting our conversation back to studying. "Its best-known application is client centered therapy, and it's consistent with positive psych."

"But some people think that it's too romantic and unrealistic," Kennedy added. "We don't know for sure that people are innately good."

"Oh, yes you are!" the Doctor replied. "Humans are innately good. You just don't believe in yourselves enough. But just wait until you see the rest of the universe!"

"Excuse me, but I don't know why you're still here," Clara snapped at him. "We are trying to study, and you are- what are you even doing? What is that thing?"

"Oh, this? This is my sonic screwdriver!" He tossed the green flashlight in the air and caught it in his other hand. "I'm using it to scan this crack in your wall. here, listen."

The Doctor pressed a button on his sonic screwdriver, and a strange voice tittered through the awkward silence. "Deviance, distress, dysfunction. That's what I measure 'em up as. Deviance, distress, dysfunction."

"Those are the possible criteria for abnormality," Kennedy breathed.

"Abnormal? There's no such thing as normal. Explain those words to me," the Doctor whispered, bending his ear towards the crack in the wall.

"Well, deviance is statistical infrequency and norm violation, as in they're deviating from the normal," she began. The Doctor nodded. "Distress- personal suffering. And then there's dysfunction, which is impaired functioning in daily life."

"Mmhmm…" the Doctor replied, his eyes distant as he concentrated his attention on his ear at the crack. "And what causes these… abnormalities?"

"My favorite model is the diathesis-stress explanation," she answered. "It recognizes the roles of both genetic predisposition and situational factors in psychological disorders. Basically, it says that those with a genetic predisposition towards a certain disorder will be more likely to get it if they're under a lot of stress than someone without the predisposition is."

"Wait, did you say psychological disorders?" the Doctor exclaimed, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice low.

"Ezra-785, do you hear voices?" the same voice as before echoed through the crack in the wall.

"No, I do not," a second, deeper voice answered. "Perhaps you should go in for an exam, Polly-73."

The Doctor quickly zapped the crack with his sonic screwdriver once again, and the voices disappeared. He swung his long legs out from under him, landing on the bed with a boing. "I think that you girls should tell me everything you know about psychological disorders. What causes them? Where do they come from?"

"Well, there's the sociocultural model," Kennedy began. Clara stared as her as if she was suddenly displaying symptoms of a psychological disorder. Kennedy just shrugged. What reason did they have not to? It was just studying, really. "According to the sociocultural model, mental disorders have to be looked at through factors like gender and age, physical situations, cultural values and expectations, and historical era. You have to look outside of the person to see what they define as abnormal and what symptoms they associate with a certain disorder."

"History! Brilliant! I love it!' the Doctor beamed. "Kennedy, do continue."

Kennedy smiled. For some reason, she was glad to have made him proud of her. "Well, the neurobiological model says that psychological disorders are caused by physical illness or by imbalances in bodily processes, hence the 'bio.' It includes disturbances in the anatomy and chemistry of the brain- 'neuro'. It's basically the medical model."

"Brilliant. Still love it. Good job, Kennedy. Clara, your turn," the Doctor declared in rapid succession, pointing from one girl to the other. When Clara stared at him in surprise, he gestured for her to continue.

"Well, I suppose you could also look at biopsychosocial model, too," Clara replied. "It says that psychological disorders are the combined result of biological, psychological, and socio-cultural factors. It's kind of like throwing all of the other models into one big sandwich and taking a bite."

"Brilliant! I love it! Yes, brilliant, you are!" the Doctor declared, pointing to his nose with one hand and to Clara with the other. "Biopsychosocial- I love it! I love big words!" He repeated it a few more times, butchering the name worse with each try.

"Personality disorders are the worst, you know," Kennedy inserted, not liking the feeling in her chest when he smiled at Clara. She shook it off. These creepy maintenance man needed to go. "And now, Doctor, I think they probably need you back in maintenance."

"Nope, I'm not a maintenance man," he replied, extracting the ID card from his suit jacket. What he showed her was simply a scrap of paper. "Psychic paper. Makes you see what I want you to see."

She hopped off of Clara's bed and stood in front of the Doctor. "It says, 'Let's go on an adventure'," Kennedy read the paper, her eyebrows rising in confusion. "Um, excuse me?"

Hopping down beside her, Clara read the paper to herself. "No, it says to run."

The Doctor jumped to the floor and stuck his wallet and his sonic screwdriver back in his jacket pocket. He tossed the girls their lanyards and their cell phones. Then, offering a hand to each of them, he whispered, "It's not safe here. If anything gets through that crack, then your entire campus is in danger. Or possibly the whole world. I can take you somewhere safe, or you can help me save the world. Either way, I'm going to need you to trust me."

Kennedy grabbed his hand. Her heart pounded inside of her chest. "I trust you, Doctor."

And they ran.

"Oi! What is that?" Clara exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the big, blue box the Doctor led them to. "Police box?"

"That's my TARDIS," the Doctor smiled, unlocking the door. "And-"

"It's bigger on the inside!" the girls declared in unison.

The Doctor laughed. "I love that bit."

Kennedy stared at the control room in amazement. Gears and levers and buttons of every sort lined the octagonal control panel on the pedestal in the very center of the room. She ran up to it and ran her fingers along the edges. "This is beautiful."

"Thank you!" the Doctor replied. The Tardis made a noise. "And she says thank you, as well." He ran up the stairs to the controls. Standing next to Kennedy, he declared, "Alright, now hold on! The vortex can be a bit bumpy! Geronimo!"

Kennedy screamed, clutching at the arm railings for support. "What's going on?"

"We're travelling through the time vortex!" the Doctor answered over the loud screeches of the Tardis taking off. "We're going to see whatever's on the other side of that crack!"

"We're going to WHAT!?" Clara yelled, slowly clawing her way to the controls. "What are you, an alien?"

"Yes!" the Doctor smiled. "I am a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, last of my species, here to save yours!"

"All right," she nodded. "I like it."

The Doctor fixed his bow tie. "Kennedy?"

"Yeah, it's cool!" she agreed. She spent so much of her life reading about adventure and watching movies about heroes. Maybe now was her turn.

"Cool!" the Doctor exclaimed. "I like you! And my bow tie? Is it cool?"

"Sure," Kennedy laughed, taking a deep breath as the Tardis finally landed.

The Doctor led the way to the doors, poking his head outside. Motioning for them to follow him, he crept out of the supply closet that they'd landed in. "Nova-6 Institution for the Mentally Ill," he read from a sign that hung in the hallway. "I know this place. This is where… Never mind." Painting a smile on his face, he took the girls by the hands again. They shuddered when a woman with a cat where her face should have been walked by. "Excuse me, Sister?" the Doctor inquired, stopping her.

The woman paused, offering him a kind smile beneath her strange hat. "Yes, my friend? How may I be of service?"

"Um, you see, my friends and I are here to visit our Uncle Chutney," the Doctor told her. "Could you please help up find him? We seem to be lost."

The cat-lady smiled. "Of course, Mr-"

"Doctor," he finished for her. "Just Doctor."

She nodded. "I believe I remember a Mr. Chutney from the Tivoli unit."

"Oh, boy," the Doctor sighed as they followed after the Sister. "Tivoli."

"What's a Tivoli?" Clara inquired, keeping her voice low enough that the cat-lady wouldn't hear her.

"Tivoli is the most-conquered planet in the universe," the Doctor replied, sounding exhausted of this planet already. "Its people, the Tivolians, are intensely fearful and dread everything. It's so terrible that it's disruptive to their daily functioning."

"Sounds like anxiety," Clara replied. The Doctor nodded.

"This is our Tivoli unit, where we specialize in anxiety treatments," the Sister explained. "Please, feel free to look around for your uncle, just do not disturb the patients. I must get on with my duties. Goodbye."

"Thank you," the Doctor replied over his shoulder, guiding the girls down the halls of the Tivoli ward. The halls were lined with glass enclosures, each housing a rat-like humaniod and what appeared to be a cat counselor. "One-way mirrors," the Doctor explained. "We can observe them, but they can't see us. Old fashioned technology, but it works."

Kennedy peered through the glass at a Tivolian who was crying in the corner while his counselor dangled a spider in his face. "Specific phobias," she murmured to herself. "Phobias that involve fear and avoidance of specific stimuli and situations."

"And there's social phobia," Clara added, pointing to a Tivolian who stood on a podium in front of a crowd, stumbling his way through a speech. "Strong, irrational fears relating to being in social situations." She cocked her head towards a Tivolian clinging to the doorway of a bedroom. "Agoraphobia. Scared to death to be either alone or away from the safety of home."

The Doctor gaped at another Tivolian who was sweating profusely. A heart moniter screen on the glass showed that his heart was palpitating profusely. The alien looked dizzy, too. "Panic disorder," Clara told him. "Anxiety that comes as severe, random panic attacks." The Doctor shuddered.

"And we can't forget generalized anxiety disorder," Kennedy reminded them, pointing out a Tivolian who wrung his hands in his glass room. "Long-lasting anxiety that isn't focuesed on any particular object or situation. You just worry, all the time."

"That one must be Obsessive-Compulsive," Clara whispered, gesturing towards a Tivolian counting to fifteen before he took a drink of water. "Person becomes obsessed with certain thoughts or feels a compulsion to do certain things, and they deal with it through little rituals. Counting, knocking, stuff like that."

"All Tivolians have a genetic predisposition towards anxiety," the Doctor began. "There's also something funky with their brain structure and their neurotransmitter systems. It's biological for them, poor fools."

"Isn't it psychological and environment, too, though?" Kennedy suggested. "I mean, you said that they're the most conquered planet in the universe. That's got to be rough environmental stressor. And then they learn this history, which teaches them to be anxious. And it's got to mess with their cognitive processes, too."

"You are exactly right," the Doctor replied. He did a quick scan of the ward with his sonic screwdriver. "And this isn't the source of our crack in the wall. Let's keep looking."

The Doctor strode through the halls, searching for another possible source of the crack in Kennedy's wall. "Ow!" he yelled, smacking his forehead against a hanging sign that he hadn't noticed. Backing away just enough to see the sign, the beanpole of a man read, "Dream Crab Department. Enter with caution." He beamed at the idea of danger. "C'mon, then! Let's go!"

"What's a dream crab?" Clara asked as the Doctor pushed open the door to the war.

"They induce a dream state while they eat your brain," the Doctor explained. "No one likes a meal that runs away."

"That's awful," Clara exclaimed.

"Shhh!" the Doctor reminded her. "Dream crabs- sleeping! You don't want to draw attention, either."

"Then why is that one awake?" Kennedy cut in, gesturing towards a fainting Tree of Chem. She hit the ground and got right back up. "And what is that thing on her face?"

"It's a dream crab, but it must be dysfunctional," the Doctor replied. "It's making her think and act like she has some reason to be fainting, when in reality, there's nothing wrong."

"Like a somatoform disorder," Clara added. "They're a psychological problem that makes a person show the signs of a physical disorder when there's no physical cause."

"Precisely," the Doctor nodded.

"And look at that one," Kennedy breathed, pointing out a spiky Vinvocci who wore a full space suit and sprayed disinfectant over everything, muttering about being sick. "Hypochondriasis- a strong, unjustifiable fear of physical illness."

"And why is that one wearing a hat on its- neck?!" Clara gaped at a Headless Monk who wore a Stetson where his head wasn't. "Body dysmorphic disorder, maybe. He can't stop thinking about a flaw in his appearance, whether it's actually there or not."

The Doctor murmured in agreement. These girls were clever, a trait that would make them the perfect pair of companions. And the Tardis liked them, too. "See that Tritovore there? All that buzzing he's making is physical complaints, and he's really just being dramatic, because he can't really verify any physical illnesses."

"Like somatization disorder," Kennedy replied. "And there- that other bug one is acting like he can't hear anything. He must have conversion disorder, where someone appears to be but isn't actually blind, deaf, paralyzed, or insensitive to pain."

"And the third buggy thing looks like he's in pain," Clara added. "It's like somatoform pain disorder, where a person complains of severe pain without physical cause."

"These dysfunctional dream crabs can make you imagine anything, I suppose," the Doctor sighed. He shuddered. "Let's get out of here."

"Good plan," Clara agreed, slipping her hand into his. Using his other hand to grab onto Kennedy's, the Doctor quickly guided his new friends out of the dream crab ward and into the memory worm care unit.

"Okay, explain what that is," Clara demanded in disgust, pointing at a long, squishy lifeform hanging from a Hath's head. "Why is the worm eating the fish? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

"That's a memory worm," the Doctor explained. "One touch, and they remove your memories. Give them long enough, and they can wipe you entirely blank." He peered down a hallway of glass rooms, every other one marked with a red X. "Looks like some of the worms are ill, though. "They can disrupt memory, consciousness, or even identity."

"Like dissociative disorders," Clara replied.

The Doctor nodded. "You see that Hath there? He's acting like he's a Peg Doll. The worm must have caused him to forget himself and create a new identity for himself. Happened to me once. Well. a man assumed my identity. Crazy stuff. He tried to build a Tardis out of a balloon."

"Like dissociative fugue," Kennedy remarked. She studied another patient for a few moments. "And that's an actual human being! But he was one of the fish people a minute ago, and now he's like… like a monster!"

"He's a Pyrovile, actually. Well, a Zygon who can't keep his form," the Doctor corrected her. "What disorder would you compare this one to?"

"Dissociative identity disorder, I think," she sighed. "He appears to have more than one identity, each of which behaves in different ways."

"But I don't think that multiple personalities can actually exist," Clara replied. "How does that make sense? Surely it's just an overreaction to stress."

"And there's the controversy over DID," Kennedy stated. "These worms are giving me the creeps! Can we l-"

"This way!" the Doctor declared, suddenly scuttling down the halls as his sonic screwdriver whirred.

"Everyone in here looks so sad and alone," Clara sighed in compassion, wishing that she could reach inside every glass room and give each alien a comforting hug. "It's like they've got mood disorders- conditions in which they experience extremes of moods for long periods, shift from one extreme mood to the other, or experience moods that are inconsistent with events." She led the way down the dark, gloomy hall of the Depression Unit, lingering her gaze over each unfortunate patient.

"She looks like she has major depressive disorder," Kennedy whispered, gesturing towards a Vinvocci who sat alone in a corner. "She must've felt sad and hopeless for weeks now, maybe even months. She's probably lost interest in everything, too. And she can't find pleasure in anything. If it gets too extreme, she could even experience delusions."

Clara nodded solemnly. "And this one might have dysthymic disorder," she said, peering through the glass at another less miserable, but still jaded, Vinvocci. "That's a pattern of sad mood, lack of interest, and loss of pleasure associated with major depressive disorder, only it's to a lesser degree. But it last longer."

"Look at him- he's manic," Kennedy whispered, nudging Clara towards a Zocci who dashed about his room as if he was training for the Olympics. "To be in the Depression Unit, he must've been diagnosed as bipolar."

"Alternating between depression and mania," Clara sighed. "Poor thing. Elated and active for some time, and then suddenly the world's about to end."

"Or, to a lesser degree, he could just have cyclothymic disorder," Kennedy added. "It's like being bipolar, only the mood swings are less extreme."

"What causes them to be this way?" the Doctor mused. "Biologically, they might be genetically predisposed, like in the studies with the Amish communities or the twins."

"You know about the Amish studies?" Clara smiled.

"Of course. I know everything," he muttered, waving a hand at her dismissively. "Of course, it's an imbalance in the neurotransmitters of their brains, too. Or malfunctioning of the endocrine system, disruptions of biological rhythms, yes, Clara, like seasonal affective disorder."

"Well, it could also be psychological or social factors," Clara added. "Environmental stressors, or how they think about their stressors."

"Learned helplessness," Kennedy suggested. "Like those Trivolians, they may have learned to be so dependent on someone else that they feel out of control."

Clara nodded. "Or a negative attributional style, always blaming every bad thing on themselves."

"Or a ruminative style of thinking, where they think about the bad stuff over and over," Kennedy added. "Or a distracting style, where they push off the bad stuff by doing something else."

"I couldn't work here, that's for sure," Clara sighed. "Too much suicidal ideation floating about. Did you know that suicide is the second leading cause of death for people in college?"

"But the rate is higher among men than women," Kennedy replied. It wasn't much consolation, though. It was, well, depressing. "Women attempt three times as often as men."

"And suicide rates in the US are highest among Native Americans and European Americans," Clara told her. "Why are we ruminating over this?"

"Yes, please, let's not talk about the possibility of suicide," the Doctor shuddered, "because I won't let you do it." He looked from one girl to the other. They were his friends now, and the Doctor would lay down his life for his friends. To anyone in the universe that might be listening, he warned, "Under my protection."

"Ooh! Schiz-Ward: Enter with Caution!" Catching the Doctor's reckless curiosity like the common cold, Kennedy bolted through a door at the end of the Depressive Ward.
"Kennedy! Do not run off!" the Doctor yelled, running after her, dragging Clara beside him.

"Who says?" Kennedy laughed dangerously. She pushed open the door, and she froze in place.

"What is it?" the Doctor demanded to know, rushing to her side. The way she stared, he worried that there might be a Weeping Angel… He followed her line of sight, but there was nothing. "What is it, Kennedy?"

"The voices," she whispered, reaching behind her until she found his hand. Holding onto him tightly, she whispered, "I can hear the voices that keep me up at night."

The Doctor waited, listened.

Agra look at the bollli lelleleelele…. Hashwit Jurgoon found a big awwiiii….

"It doesn't make any sense," he spat, irritated that the Tardis was only translating half of the words. "What does it mean?" He shook his head, but nothing clarified.

"Neologism," Kennedy murmured. "Making up new words." She squeezed his fingers tightly. And loose associations- nothing relates to the other thoughts."

Agra run away…. Bopp dul they hate me… Bopp dul they hate me….

"Make it stop!" Kennedy exclaimed, shoving her hands over her ears. "They hate me! They hate me!"

"Kennedy, shhh, love, it's just ideas of reference," Clara assured her, patting her shoulder. "Remember? The notion that everything, every coincidence, has to do with you personally?"

Kennedy took a deep breath. "Right. Just ideas of reference."

Bopp dull they hate you…. Ashjer go eat at the zoo…. Jabba juice jabba chess….

"Kennedy, do you understand what they are trying to say?" the Doctor asked her quietly, worried that the voices she heard every night might be coming from the Schiz Ward."

"They're in my head," she gasped. "And you can hear it, too! You're intercepting my thoughts!"

"Now, Kennedy, shh, love. There's no thought broadcasting going on here, I promise you," Clara assured her best friend. "It's okay, love."

"But I hear them every night!" Kennedy declared.

"Auditory hallucinations," Clara assured her.

"No," the Doctor corrected her, glaring at a crack in the wall in one of the glass rooms near the end of the hall. "Welcome to the other side of the crack in your wall." Holding Kennedy by the shoulders, the Doctor looked her straight in the eye. "Look, Kennedy, I need you to concentrate. I need your help. I know that it's scary, but I need you to trust me. The voices that you've been hearing are very real, and they are threatening the security of your world. I need you to concentrate on them, track them down. You know them best. Where are the voices coming from, Kennedy?"

"Umm... " she shivered.

"She's terrified!" Clara declared, tugging Kennedy away from him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm saving your world," he answered, "and I don't really have time to explain. Those voices, they get inside your head. They drive you mad, and when they've driven you mad, they can control you." He gently shook Kennedy's shoulders. "Don't let them control you, Kennedy. Every night sleeping by that crack- the voices are inside of you now. Put them under your control, Kennedy, because you're inside of them, too. Now, tell me, where are they coming from?"

"Umm… uhh…." Squeezing her eyes shut, Kennedy latched onto the Doctor's arm. "That way!" she pointed down one of the hallways. He followed her lead, guiding the girls past the rows of glass rooms.

"Paranoid schizophrenia," Clara remarked, gazing at a Tivoli who was hiding underneath a chair. "Delusions of grandeur or persecution, anger, anxiety, argumentative. Extremely jealous, too. It's often onset suddenly, and signs of impairment can be subtle 40% of all schizophrenics have this one. It appears late in life, after 25 or 30."

"Thank you, Clara, for your input," the Doctor sighed.

"No, let her talk," Kennedy countered, leading the around a corner. "It helps me concentrate."

"Disorganized schizophrenia." Clara pointed to a Kahler who chattered and giggled incoherently as a sad film played on his television. "Delusions, hallucinations, incoherent speech, facial grimaces, inappropriate giggles, and neglected personal hygiene." The Kahler let out a fart to emphasize this last point. "5% of the lot, mostly in the homeless. It's a shame."

"Keep going," Kennedy told her, pulling them around another set of rooms. The Doctor held onto her tightly, trusting this girl he barely knew to help him save her planet. He wondered for a brief moment if he belonged in this Institution.

"Catatonic schizophrenia right there," Clara said, pointing to a giant, rhinoceros-like Judoon who was frozen in the position of a ballerina. "Disordered movement, alternating between total immobility and wild excitement. In the stupor, they don't talk or even respond. It's 8% of them."

She watched a Tree of Cheem change her face from happy to sad to confused. "She's an undifferentiated schizophrenic, like another 40% of them. Patterns of disordered thought, behavior, and emotion that don't fall easily into any other subtype. They just can't quite classify her."

In another glass room, an Ood sat peacefully, singing to himself. "Residual schizophrenia," Clara decided. "That applies to people who've had prior episodes of schizophrenia, but they're not currently displaying symptoms."

"And tell me about dopamine and schizophrenia," Kennedy requested, flapping her hand towards the next turn she wanted them to make.

"There's a theory that too much dopamine in the brain can contribute to schizophrenia," Clara told her. "And in addition, the positive symptoms add undesirable additions to their mental life, like the voices, and the negative symptoms take something away."

"There it is!" Kennedy stopped cold. "The voices- they're coming from in there!" She pointed straight at a crack in the wall of a Dalek's glass room. "And they're screaming your name, Doctor! Doctor! Doctor!" She shivered again. "Exterminate!"

"Kennedy, no!" the Doctor exclaimed, buckling her arms behind her back and hold her tightly to him. "Let her go, Dalek! Stop the voices!"

Eyestalk pointed at the crack in the wall, the Dalek slurred, "Bobli hate… Agra dubbi eat at the agra…. Agra… EXTERMINATE!"

"A schizophrenic Dalek," the Doctor declared in disbelief. "How did you ever end up here?"

"EXTERMINATE!" Kennedy screamed, tears running down her face as she shuddered. "EXTERMINATE THE DOCTOR!"

"Has he infected her with his voices?!" Clara exclaimed in utter horror. " 'Cause that thing is losing it, and now so is she!"

"This Dalek must've gotten damaged when the Pandorica exploded," the Doctor said, more to himself than to Clara. "He must've gotten caught up in the universe, ended up here… Daleks have some of the most powerful minds in the universe. The voices must've gotten shoved in somehow, and now they're spreading through that crack."

"But they've only gotten Kennedy," Clara replied.

"Then only Kennedy can stop them!" he declared. He held her tightly. "Miss Kennedy Humphries, I need you to help me, and I need you to trust me. Kennedy, I need you to be strong for me." She stopped shuddering. "Kennedy, make the voices stop. Put them under your control."

Her eyes squeezed shut as she began to shake again, and she gasped. "EXTERMINATE THE DOCTOR! NO!" she screamed. "No exterminating! No exterminating anyone! Shut up! Just…" She cried harder and harder.

"Kennedy!" Clara declared. "Use your shut up stick!" She handed her a mop that was propped in the corner of the hall.

"The what?" the Doctor exclaimed.

"The shut up stick," Clara repeated. "It's what we bang on the ceiling when the lads who live above us are being too loud."

"SHUT UP!" Kennedy screamed, beating the mop against the glass wall. "Shut up, voices! No exterminating! No more talking! SHUT UP! Leave. Me. Alone." She took a deep breath, and, with a mighty swing, she cracked the glass wall. "SHUT UP!"

Everything went silent.

"Well, that'll do it," the Doctor smiled, cradling Kennedy in his arms as she slowly returned to her own consciousness. "Shh, Kennedy. It's okay now. The voices are-"

"Mine," she finished for him. She said it as if she was reporting the weather. "I control the voices now. They're not gone, so don't lie to me, Doctor." She looked at the Dalek. "I control the voices…." The Dalek spun around and rolled over to her outstretched hand. "And anything that the voices control." She laughed when its plunger touched her hand. "He's mine now." The Dalek's lights twinkled. "And his name is Sven."

"Sven?" the Doctor grimaced. "Everything that is evil in the universe concentrated into one little robot squid, and you call it Sven?"

Breaking out of the Doctor's hold, Kennedy planted a kiss on the Dalek's head. "He's my pet."

"You cannot keep a Dalek as a pet," he sighed. "They're the worst, most vile-"

"Who's a cutie patootie?" Kennedy cooed, making faces in the Dalek's eyestalk. "Who's my angel baby?"

"DALEK-SVEN!" it declared in excitement. "DALEK-SVEN IS YOUR BABY!"
Kennedy chuckled. "That's a good boy, Sven. Can you tell the Doctor that you're not evil, just misunderstood?"

The eyestalk rotated to the Doctor. He glared back at it. "I…. AM…. DAMAGED…." the Dalek choked out. "I...NEED….LOVE."

"And I'll love you, Sven, baby," Kennedy assured the Dalek, wrapping her arms around it. When the Doctor shot her a look of confusion, she explained, "I've been inside his mind. Doctor, remember? Sven and I are a part of the Voices, and I need to take care of him now."

"Kennedy, do you still hear any voices in your head?" the Doctor inquired.

She shook her head. "I only heard one, really, before they gave out: You are our Queen. I quite like it."

"And you're sure…"

"Absolutely, Doctor," she nodded, protectively clinging to the Dalek. "I know what he is. I learned a lot from the Voices, and from Sven's mind. But it's different now. I'm a part of him, and I'm a part of something bigger."

The Doctor took a deep breath. He would have to keep an eye on her.

And Clara, too. There was still something so familiar about that girl…

"Excuse me… Doctor?" one of the Catkind gently tapped him on the shoulder. "I have a message for you."

The Doctor accepted the slip of paper that she handed him. It read:

Hello, Sweetie

Room 13B

xxx

"What's that?" Clara inquired. "First she hears voices, now you're getting strange messages."

The Doctor looked at both girls with a nervous, pensive expression. "We're going to the psych ward."

"Personality disorders, perfect!" Clara laughed, pushing open the door to the closed-off wing on the thirteenth floor. "Nothing better than a long-term, inflexible way of behaving that creates dysfunction in your life!"

"They're divided into clusters, too," Kennedy added. "First is odd-eccentric: paranoid, schizoid, and schizotypal. So, basically, Sven."

"SCHIZOTYPAL!" Dalek-Sven declared, wiggling his appendages. Kennedy giggled.

"Second cluster is anxious-fearful," she continued. "Dependent, obsessive-compulsive, and avoidant. That's me and Clara without each other." Clara laughed along with her. "And the third cluster is dramatic-erratic: histrionic, narcissistic, borderline, and antisocial. So, in other words, the Doctor." Both the girls and the Dalek laughed.

"I am not antisocial," the Doctor murmured. "But it is my type…"

"That overreacting flooding person thing is histrionic!" Clara declared, pointing to a Flood who was waving his arms about in anger while three Sisters worked to calm him down. "Excessive emotionality and preoccupation with being the center of attention, emotional shallowness, and overly dramatic behavior."

They watched a Tivolian jump in fright when a nurse entered his room. "He's paranoid," Kennedy decided. "Suspicious and distrustful of other, assuming that everybody's hostile."

In the next glass room, a Vinvocci held hands with her boyfriend but pretended not to look at him. "Schizoid," Clara suggested. "Detachment from social relationships, restricted range of emotions."

In another room, a Zygon in its natural form cast another Zygon shifty looks, as if giving it the "it's not you, it's me" talk, "SCHIZOTYPAL!" Sven declared.

"Detachment from, and great discomfort in, social relationships," Kennedy finished for him. "Odd perceptions, thoughts, beliefs, and behaviors."

Clara pointed out a Tivolian who clung to his Catkind nurse, sobbing for her not to leave him and swearing that he would do anything to make her stay. "He's dependant. Helplessness, excessive need to be taken care of, submissive and clinging behavior, difficulty in making decisions."

They continued on through the psych ward a bit further. "I think she may be obsessive-compulsive," Kennedy said, gesturing towards a Siren who was having a staredown with a Sister who threatened to set foot inside her perfectly sterilized room. "Preoccupation with orderliness, perfection, and control."

A Tivolian in the next room cringed as his counselor diagnosed him. "Avoidant," Clara suggested. "Inhibition in social situations, feelings of inadequacy, oversensitivity to criticism."

They were almost at the end of the ward now, following the rooms in descending alphabetical order. Catching his reflection in a glass wall, the Doctor paused to smile at himself. "Hello, handsome!"

"Narcissistic," Clara laughed. "Exaggerated ideas of self-importance and achievements, preoccupations with fantasies of success, arrogance."

"I am not!" the Doctor scowled at the giggling girls. "I can't help being brilliant."

They were interrupted by the sudden angry shouts of a Tivolian in the room opposite the Doctor's reflection. "Borderline," Kennedy sighed. "Lack of stability in interpersonal relationships, self-image, and emotion. Impulsivity, angry outbursts, intense fear of abandonment, recurrent suicidal gestures."

They walked passed a little Vinvocci clinging hopelessly to its mother. "Internalizing childhood disorders, like separation anxiety disorder, involve over-control. These children experience significant distress and are most often socially withdrawn," Clara explained. As they passed a different Vinvocci child who worked very distractedly on a coloring sheet, stopping every few seconds to ask his counselor another question, she furthered, "There's also externalizing childhood disorders, or undercontrolled, where they have behaviors that disturb people in their environments. ADHD is one of these disorders."

In another room, a baby Vinvocci toddled away from her mother, unresponsive to her caregiver's loving calls. "Autism disorder usually shows up in the first couple of months," Kennedy explained. "Children on the autism spectrum show severe deficiencies in communication and impaired social relationships. As babies, it shows up first as detachment to their caregivers."

They watched the adorable baby for a few moments before the Doctor led his small band of friends to Room 13B.

"What's in there?" Kennedy asked.

The Doctor inhaled sharply. "Shameless regard for, and violation of, other people's rights."

She gasped, "Antisocial personality disorder."

"Hello, sweetie," River song cooed from her hospital bed as the Doctor pushed open her door. "Long time, no see, eh?"

"River!" he gasped, rushing to the side of her bed. Taking his wife's hand in his own, the Doctor asked her, "What's wrong?"

She glanced down at her flower-patterned bed sheets. She just couldn't look at him, not when she felt like this. "Doctor, do I have a genetic predisposition towards alcoholism?"

'What? River? No…" he trailed off. "Why are you asking me this?" In the corner of the room, two girls and a Dalek stood quietly clustered together.

River hoped and prayed that she hadn't already been replaced.

"Did either of my parents abuse alcohol?" she asked. "Or drugs?"

"You grew up with them," he offered her a small smile.

"And you're right, they didn't then," River replied. She traced the edges of one of the flowers on the pink sheets with a red fingernail. "But what about… when they were going to divorce? What about my grandparents?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, River, not that I know of."

"Alcoholism, or alcohol abuse, is a combination of both genetic and socio-cultural factors," the girl with shorter hair offered in a squeak from the corner of the room.

A single tear ran down River's face. Finally looking the Doctor in the eye, she told him, "I got caught, well, Melody Malone did. Grand theft spacecraft. I just needed a lift, and someone special wasn't getting my messages. I tried to get off on a plea of insanity, and I did, but…I couldn't get off for good. They locked me up in this Institution, and..."

"Insanity is only a legal term," the other girl, the one petting the Dalek, cut in gently. "It's not a psychiatric diagnosis, just a legal protection for defendant with severe psychological disorders." Her eyes held compassion in them. "They can be declared either mentally incompetent to stand trial or judged not guilty by reason of insanity."

Looking into her husband's eyes, River blinked back tears. "Doctor, I'm afraid."

The Doctor lowered himself onto the edge of her bed. He thought for a moment. "What kind of psychotherapy can they provide for you here?"

"The treatment of psychological disorders through psychological methods," the girl with the shorter hair murmured. "Such as analyzing problems, talking about possible solutions, and encouraging more adaptive ways of thinking and acting."

"Well, they have clinical social workers," River began. "They can provide therapy. They hold master's degrees," she scoffed. "I hold a PhD." She listed the other professionals who were supposedly there to help her. "The psychologists have advanced training in clinical or counseling psychology, and the psychiatrists are medical doctors who have completed special training in the treatment of mental disorders." She choked back a sob, squeezing his hands tightly. "But all I want is my Doctor."

He kissed her forehead, wrapping his arms around her. The girls inched closer to the end of the bed. "Hi, I'm Clara," the one with shorter hair offered her a small wave. "I just wanted to ask if your professionals used the eclectic approach. Because eclectic therapists employ multiple methods in their treatment plans, they're probably what's best for you."

River watched the way the Doctor watched the girls. He trusted them.

She trusted them.

"Can you tell me about these different approaches to psychotherapy, Clara?" she asked. "And, you, too-"

"Kennedy," the girl whom the Dalek followed around like a puppy finished for her. "Hi."

"I'm Dr. River Song," she replied. Laying her curly head against the Doctor's chest, she added, Dr. Doctor."

Kennedy smiled. "Well, the psychodynamic approach is centered around Freud's psychoanalysis, which is a method of psychotherapy that seeks to help clients gain insight into, and work through, their unconscious thoughts and emotions. Freud thought that all this unconscious stuff was the cause of psychological problems."

"I met old Sigmund once," the Doctor remarked. "What a twat!"

"Doctor," River chastised him. He frowned repentantly, and she kissed his cheek as a sign of forgiveness. "How does it work, Kennedy?"

"They use a lot of free association, which just has patients lie on a couch and report whatever thoughts, images and memories come to mind," Kennedy explained. "They also use transference, where they analyze the client's reactions to the therapist to help the client gain insight into her problems. However, in modern psychoanalysis, it's more short-term psychodynamic psychotherapy that aims to work more quickly than classical psychoanalysis. It also uses object-relations therapy, which focuses on the idea that we need human contact and support and believes that most of the clients' issues stem from problems in their relationships with their mothers or other early caregivers."

"Don't I know that all too well," River smirked. She blamed the Silence every single time that she was called a psychopath. Amy and Rory Pond were what saved her.

"There's also humanistic therapy," Clara suggested. "It emphasizes the ways in which people interpret the events in their lives. It views us as capable of consciously controlling our own actions and taking responsibility for our decisions." She watched the uncomfortable way that River shifted her weight. "Humanistic therapy operates on four assumptions: (1) treatment is an encounter between equals and not a "cure" given by an expert. (2) Clients will improve on their own, given the right conditions. (3) Ideal conditions in therapy can best be established when the client feels accepted and supported in the therapeutic relationship. And, (4) Clients must remain responsible for how they think and behave."

"Sounds too lovey-dovey for me," River smirked. "It's all that 'everyone is innately good' nonsense. Did he come up with it?"

"No," Clara laughed. "It mostly comes from Carl Rogers and his client-centered therapy, which is when the client decides what to talk about and when without the therapist's direction, judgment, or interpretation; and Gestalt therapy, which was developed by Frederick and Laura Perls."

"Don't forget the unconditional positive regard," Kennedy reminded them. " In client-centered therapy, the therapist's attitude must express caring for and acceptance of the client as a valued person."

"Oh, give me a break," River laughed good-naturedly. These little girls seemed to know everything, as if they were miniature versions of the Doctor himself.

"They also offer you empathy, where they attempt to appreciate the way the world looks from your point of view," Clara added. "And they have to be genuine about everything, too."

"That sounds very lovely," River sighed, "if you believe in fairytales."

Petting the Dalek's head again, Kennedy asked, "Don't you believe in the good in everyone? That's not a fairy tale."

"I only believe in one things, girls," River replied, "and that is this man." She squeezed the Doctor's hands. "Alright, Prince Charming, where's your big, blue steed? I've had enough of this place. Ripping off her hospital bracelet, River jumped to her feet. She pulled the Doctor up with her. He stared at her in astonishment. "What? You really think I called you here to listen to me cry?" She laughed. "Why else would I choose the one Institution in the universe with an infestation of the Voices? So my Prince Charming could come and watch me make my great escape!" She whipped a gun out of nowhere. "Stick close with me, girls, and don't get left behind." She linked her arm through the Doctor's. "To the Tardis, sweetie!"

They ran out of the Institution as if it was a scene in an action movie. River led the way, holding her gun out in front of her to clear the way. The Doctor held onto his wife with one arm and shepherded the girls with the other. Dalek-Sven rolled behind them, keeping a watchful eye for security behind Kennedy's back.

The ragtag band of time travellers made it to the Tardis in one piece. Throwing open the door with a snap of her fingers, River grabbed the controls, whooping loudly as they zapped out of that dimension. She landed perfectly just outside of Joseph residence hall, parking the Tardis cleverly behind the AC pipes.

"Thanks for the help, girls," River smiled. "We'll pick you up at the same time tomorrow."

The Tardis made its funny noises, disappearing back into the dreamworld from whence it came. Kennedy and Clara only stared on in awe, entertaining the possibility that they had both just fallen asleep studying psychology and had the same dream.