It was cold outside. Much colder than her tiny frame could withstand. But she had come this far, and there was no turning back now. With blue lips and numb legs, she pushed forward. At this point, it was only desperation driving her, the need to get away. To get free.

A strong gust of wind nearly blew her over. She hadn't even realized it was winter until she'd left. It was hard to keep track of the weather when you were always stuck indoors and away from windows. But it wouldn't have stopped her even if she'd known. Nothing in the entire universe could have kept her from taking her chance now that she was alone.

The girl breathed on her hands and rubbed them as she walked. The hot air hurt, like a hundred little needles all pricking her at once. The pain wasn't even worth it—her fingers refused to bend. She tried not to worry about the state of her hands, but it was hard when her imagination kept getting the better of her. Fingers weren't like the back teeth missing in her mouth or her hair that time she acted out. They didn't grow back.

Her palms were fiery red, her knuckles white like bone, and her fingertips were turning blue like the box falling out of the sky—

She threw herself to the side just in time to avoid getting crushed. The shed she had been walking past wasn't so lucky. Scattered, splintered bits of wood were sprayed across the ground. Walking across that wasn't going to be fun. She wished she had something tougher than a pair of house slippers covering her feet.

The box had fallen on its back with the doors facing up. For a moment, it just sat there. If she ignored the ominous sounds and the dark smoke slowly drifting from the cracks, she could almost say it was peaceful. The wind had begun to die down, and the jumpstart given to her heart had breathed new life into her cold limbs.

She pushed herself up, dusting off woodchips and grass from her thin bottoms, and ambled over to the box. It was very blue. Pretty, even with the numerous scratches littering the sides. The paint had faded and chipped in places, but it was still the brightest blue she had ever seen. "POLICE BOX" was displayed in neat white letters at the top, with "PUBLIC CALL" in smaller writing between the two words. There was even a little light at the tip, the star on the small Christmas tree one of the nurses had brought last year for their station down the corridor.

The doors flew open. She jumped back, wary of the sudden movement. The thick smoke billowed out of the larger opening and nearly obfuscated the grappling hook that shot out. It dragged along the yard until it found purchase on a lawn roller.

After a few seconds, a hand grabbed the edge of the box from the inside. Then another. Then a head, and what a strange head it was, popped up. A mop of brown hair, clammy white skin, and the largest chin the girl had ever seen before. It was like looking at an alien.

He didn't notice her as he pulled himself out with what seemed like an unnecessary amount of effort. The box wasn't all that big. In fact, he should've been able to stand and simply step out. Unless the inside was deeper than the outside, but that didn't make any sense at all.

"Are you a doctor?"

"Arugh!" He tipped back and fell back inside. She waited to hear a telltale crash, but it never came. Instead, there were grunts of effort that were growing increasingly louder and more strained as the man climbed back out. Straddling the edge between his legs, he wiped his forehead. "Blimey! Warn a guy next time, would you? I nearly fell back into the pool."

He couldn't have meant a swimming pool, could he have? How did he manage to fit a swimming pool in there? No, she was losing focus. The doctors always said that a wandering mind was one of her problems. "Are you," she asked again.

"Why would you ask if I was a doctor? I mean, I am a doctor, I'm the Doctor, but the box says 'police.' Why not ask if I was police?"

She shrugged. "They're always sending new doctors to try and fix me."

It was a child's logic at its best—the girl had never met a police officer, but she had met plenty of doctors. So of course it would make more sense if the funny man was one too, even if he looked nothing like any doctor she'd seen before. His clothes looked sort of like the suits they all wore, but it was wrinkly and smudged and even ripped in some places. It also looked a little stretched out, like it was too small for him. And he was missing the white coat.

"I don't like doctors. Their hands are always cold."

"Not mine!" He stuck his hands out to show herm wobbling a little in his haste. "Mine are always warm. Or they were, not sure if this me has warm hands, my hand-holding buddy isn't here to tell me. But I don't see why not. And they're definitely warm from all the climbing you made me do again."

The girl took a hesitant step forward. The man wiggled his fingers, inviting her closer. She took another step and stretched her hand out. Her fingers ghosted over his palms, causing him to shiver. Part of her expected him to make a grab for her and was emboldened when he didn't.

His hands were warm, just like he said. They glowed orange when she laid her palm flat to his, and she flinched back. But the wisp just floated up from his hand and followed her arm. It made her skin tingle when it brushed against her, like a little wave of heat, before it floated up to the sky.

"See? Warm hands."

She giggled and nodded.

"Can I have an apple," he suddenly asked. "All I can think about—apples. I love apples. Maybe I'm having a craving. That's new—never had cravings before. Whoa! Look at that!"

"Look at what,"

The Doctor swung his other leg over so that he was no longer straddling the edge. "Actually, probably best you don't. The smoke might make you sick and then you'd really need a doctor, ha!"

Disappointment settled in her gut. Actually, she was itching to see the inside of his box, to see if it really was as big in there as he made it seem. "Are you okay," she asked instead. If the smoke was bad, then maybe he wasn't feeling well. It would explain his odd behavior.

The girl knew all about being given things that made you feel terrible.

"Just had a fall. All the way down there, right to the library. Hell of a climb back up."

"But you're soaking wet. Is the swimming pool in the library?" She wrinkled her nose. What a terrible idea! The books would get wet, and the chemical smell would sink in, and what if you wanted to enjoy your book but people were splashing around and bothering you?

"Yup."

"Are you a policeman," asked a Scottish voice before the girl could think of more questions.

Amelia Pond was feeling curious. She had asked Santa to come about the crack in her wall, and when she heard the ruckus outside she'd thought that it was his sled landing. But that didn't explain the blue box, the weird man and other girl, or the crushed shed. Aunt Sharon was going to be so mad.

Good.

"Why? Did you call a policeman?"

The man was weirder than the other girl, but she was still plenty weird. Who wore short sleeves in April? She didn't even have a jacket on, or proper shoes. No—she was losing focus! "Did you come about the crack in my wall?" They could be as weird as they wanted so long as they fixed it.

"What cra… Agh!" The man fell to the ground.

"Doctor," the girl asked.

Amelia watched them closely as the man who the girl called Doctor pushed himself to his knees and insisted he was alright. Gold light came out of his mouth when he spoke. "Who are you?"

"I don't know yet. I'm still cooking. Does it scare you?"

"No, it just looks a bit weird."

The other girl nodded in agreement.

"No, no, no. The crack in your wall. Does it scare you?"

"Yes."

He jumped to his feet. "Well, then, no time to lose. I'm the Doctor. Do everything I tell you, don't ask stupid questions, and don't wander off." He started headed towards Amelia's house and walked face first into a tree that sent him back to the ground.

The other girl puttered to his side. "That was dumb."

"Early days. Steering's a bit off."

What a funny pair. Amelia had been upset when she found out that she had to spend the night alone, again, but maybe it wasn't going to be that bad if she had these two for company.

The Doctor was a little disgusting. He'd finally gotten the apple he'd been craving, and then he spit it out after one bite, spewing partially chewed up bits on the ground in front of him. The girl, who was starting feeling a hungry herself, felt her appetite wane a little. Gross.

Next, he demanded yoghurt. He poured the contents of the container straight in his mouth without bothering with a spoon, then spit that out as well. "I hate yoghurt. It's just stuff with bits in it."

"Isn't everything just stuff with bits in it," she asked.

"You said it was your favorite," Amelia protested.

"New mouth, new rules," he said, as if that explained anything, and then demanded that they fry him something.

Amelia turned to the stove with a huff, but obeyed. The girl took a seat at the table.

"Why don't you like doctors?"

She shrugged. "They're always sticking things in you. And they talk about you like you're not in the room, or like you're too stupid to understand. It always hurts after."

The Doctor ruffled his hair with a towel. Amelia served him bacon, which he also rejected after a bite, spitting it back onto the plate. "I had a friend like you," he said to her while Amelia fried up some beans for the next try. "She hated doctors too. But, well, doctors are supposed to make people feel better, they're supposed to help. Any person who doesn't isn't a doctor, even if they claim they are."

"I don't like doctors," the girl reaffirmed stubbornly. "But you're okay, I guess," she added in a quieter voice.

The Doctor's bright smile didn't last very long. He called the beans evil, and he threw the plate with toast with butter out the front door like it had personally insulted him. Defeated, Amelia slumped in a seat at the table. "We've got some carrots," she offered with no expectations.

"Carrots? Are you insane? No, wait, hang on." The Doctor started poking around in the refrigerator like it was his own. "I know what I need. I need… I need… I need…"

Twenty minutes later, the Doctor dipped a fish finger directly in a bowl of custard, used it to scope some of the sweet goop up, and took a small bite. The girls watched in anticipation as he seemed to test it on his tongue. For a moment, she was sure that this was going to be another rejection, but then he stuffed the rest of the fish finger in his mouth and gave them a thumbs up.

She sighed. Amelia giggled. To celebrate, she took out a tub of ice cream from the freezer. She offered the girl a spoon and they all dug into their treats with gusto.

When the Doctor finished the last of the fish fingers, he lifted the bowl of custard bowl and drank the rest. It left a yellow mustache on his upper lip, which he wiped away with his hand.

"Funny."

"Am I? Good. Funny's good. What's your name?" Amelia introduced herself as Amelia Pond. "Ah, that's a brilliant name. Amelia Pond, like a name in a fairy tale. And your's?"

The girl fidgeted. "You're not supposed to give your name to strangers," she mumbled.

Amelia looked crushed.

"But we're not strangers," the Doctor protested. "We've introduced ourselves and eaten together—we're practically a family!"

Oh. That made something warm bubble up in her stomach. Which was strange, since she was just eating ice cream and that was very cold. Then again, the house was much warmer than outside, so maybe it was that.

He had a point, she supposed, that they weren't strangers anymore after everything that had happened.

She gave them her name.

"Are we in Scotland," the Doctor asked.

Amelia made a face. "No. We had to move to England. It's rubbish."

"So what about your mum and dad, then? Are they upstairs? Thought we'd have woken them by now."

"I don't have a mum and dad. Just an aunt," Amelia replied.

"I don't even have an aunt," the Doctor said.

"Me neither," the girl added.

"You're lucky," Amelia told them. Her aunt was hardly ever home. She was always working or out with her friends or doing grown-up things that Amelia wasn't allowed to know about.

"She left you all alone?"

"I'm not scared," she insisted.

"'Course you're not." The Doctor sounded like he actually believed her. "You're not scared of anything! Box falls out of sky, man falls out of box, man eats fish custard, and look at you, just sitting there. So you know what I think?"

"What?"

"Must be a hell of a scary crack in your wall."

Amelia's house was big. The Girl didn't have much of a frame of reference to compare it to, but it felt big to her. There was a lot of room for just two people. Looking around reminded her of her own room because they were nothing alike.

The crack in Amelia's bedroom was directly above her bed, and it was indeed an ominous crack. She couldn't explain why she thought so, just that it felt wrong. The Doctor examined it with his fingers and a pen-shaped probe he called his sonic screwdriver. In the doorway, Amelia held onto an apple. The Girl took her free hand, surprisingly even herself. She was about to let go when Amelia squeezed back.

"I used to hate apples, so my mum put faces on them." She handed it to the Doctor, showing him the crudely carved smiley face.

"She sounds good, your mum. I'll keep it for later." He tucked it safely in his pocket before going back to examine the crack.

The Girl hovered in the background, unsure of what to do. She eyed the wall with apprehension. Even though the crack felt wrong, she was still insanely curious about it. Why was it wrong, and how did it get there in the first place? The urge to flee warred with the desire to know more.

That was another of her problems. She was too curious for her own good, the nurses said. Curiosity killed the cat...

"This wall is solid and the crack doesn't go all the way through it," the Doctor explained. "So here's a thing—where's the draught coming from? Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey. You know what the crack is?"

"What?"

The Doctor's fingers ran along the edge. "It's a crack. I'll tell you something funny. If you knocked this wall down, the crack would stay put, 'cos the crack isn't in the wall."

"Then where is it," the Girl asked, unable to help herself.

"Everywhere. In everything. It's a split in the skin of the world. Two parts of space and time that should never have touched, pressed together… right here in the wall of Amelia's bedroom. Sometimes, can you hear…"

He pressed his ear against the wall. The Girl copied him. Kneeling on the bed, her head came up right beneath the crack. She understood what the Doctor said about a draught, and the wall itself was colder than the rest of the room. This close, there was an almost hollow quality to the sound of the wind.

"Prisoner Zero has escaped."

The Girl jerked back.

"Prisoner Zero," the Doctor asked.

Amelia repeated the message, then asked, "What does it mean?"

He took a step back, staring at the crack uneasily. "It means that, on the other side of this wall, there's a prison and they've lost a prisoner. Do you know what that means?"

"She needs a better wall," the Girl guessed.

"No. Well, yes. It also means the only way to close the breach is to open it all the way. The forces will invert and it'll snap itself shut. Or…" He trailed off. She glanced back at Amelia, who caught her gaze. They shared a nervous realization that the other option was very not good.

"What," Amelia snapped, when it became evident the Doctor wouldn't continue unprompted.

"You know when grown-ups tell you everything's going to be fine and you think they're probably lying to make you feel better?"

"Yes."

"I hate that," the Girl added. She didn't understand it at all. What point in there was lying when the person you were lying to knew that you were lying? The truth, however unfavorable it might be, was easier to deal with than wondering if she was constantly being fibbed to.

The Doctor caught her eye. He looked at her weirdly. Not like how the other doctors or nurses in the hospital looked at her, or even how the Madame looked at her. His gaze was more… searching, but it didn't make her feel overexposed, just slightly uncomfortable.

"Everything's going to be fine." He held out his hand for her, the other tightening its grip on the sonic screwdriver. The Girl took his hand—his skin was a little rough but his hand was still warm—and offered her other one to Amelia again. They stood in a line, the three of them against whatever the crack had in store.

A bright bluish-white light shined through as the Doctor used the sonic on the crack. Through squinted eyes, the Girl saw the crack widen. Her heart dropped to her stomach and tried to rise up her throat at the same time. There were prison cells on the other side.

"Prisoner Zero has escaped."

The Doctor took a step closer as the message repeated. "Hello," he called. "Hello?"

A giant blue eyeball, cornea still connected to whatever the long nerve would lead to, peered at them from the other side. It was, simultaneously, the second coolest and second grossest thing she had ever seen. Second coolest because she had a feeling the inside of the Doctor's box would take the top spot when it was done smoking. His eating habits won the gross category.

A small lightning bolt shot out and stuck the Doctor. He fell against the bed, dragging the Girl and Amelia with him.

The crack snapped shut.

"There. You see, told you it would close. Good as new."

"What was that thing," Amelia asked. "Was that Prisoner Zero?"

He shook his head. "I think that was Prisoner Zero's guard. Whatever it was, it sent me a message. Psychic paper, takes a lovely little message. 'Prisoner Zero has escaped.' But why tell us? Unless…"

"Maybe they think we know where he is," the Girl guessed. "Or they think we helped him."

"Or…" The Doctor stood and looked around, panicked. "Prisoner Zero escaped through here. But he couldn't have. We'd know."

He ran out into the hallway, spinning around so fast, she was surprised he didn't make himself dizzy. "It's difficult. Brand-new me, nothing works yet. But there's something I'm missing… in the corner… of my eye…"

"Doctor, I think there's something wrong with your box." She could hear a wheezing sound in the distance.

No sooner had the words left her lips that a deep bell went off. The Doctor flew down the stairs, long legs eating up the distance. All the while he kept chanting the word "no," like doing so would stop whatever he didn't want happening.

He burst out the front door towards his box. It was spewing out even more smoke than before. "I've got to get back in there! The engines are phasing. It's going to burn!"

"But… it's just a box! How can a box have engines," Amelia called after him.

Quickly, he freed the grapple from the lawn roller and gathered up the rope. "It's not a box. It's a time machine."

"A real time machine," the Girl asked. The Doctor lied a lot. He lied about all the foods he wanted to eat, and about doctors being good people. It wouldn't be a stretch if he lied about having a time machine too.

"Not for much longer if I can't get her stabilized," he said. "Five minute hop into the future should do it."

"Can we come," she asked. A time machine sounded like the most fun a person could have, ever. And there was no way the hospital people could drag her back if they couldn't find her.

"Not safe in here, not yet. Five minutes. Give me five minutes, I'll be right back."

"That's was people always say," Amelia said dejectedly.

The Doctor paused. He had finished winding the rope through the door handles and had climbed on the edge, about to leap back inside. Hopping back down, he walked over and looked the two girls in the eyes. "Am I people? Do I even look like people? Trust me, I'm the Doctor."

A small smile crept onto her face. The Doctor climbed back up, gave them one last look, and jumped with a shout of "Geronimo!" The doors slammed shut behind him and, like magic, the blue box faded from view with the most terrible sound she had ever heard.

And that was the last the Girl had ever saw of him.

Amelia, she soon found out, was bossy. But that didn't mean she was unkind. To the Girl, who had spent her life around people who were both bossy and mean, or people who only pretended to be nice but were actually mean, Amelia was like a breath of fresh air. She even gave the Girl her old jacket and a pair of shoes she'd outgrown. They were both a bit big—she suspected Amelia was older than her—but they were much better than what she had.

Amelia packed quickly and messily, stuffing clothes and toys in her suitcase. She had so much stuff! The Girl had no idea what she did with all of it. Lots and lots of clothes in different colors, books she was allowed to keep, toys that played music.

They headed out to the garden when she was finished, huddling together to conserve heat as they waited. And waited. And waited. Five minutes had long since passed, and still they waited. They passed the time chattering about all the places they would go and see. Amelia wanted to visit ancient Rome, the Girl wanted to see if there really was a bridge that connected Europe to America. Both girls wanted to see the future.

Eventually, they wore themselves out. The Girl woke up tucked into bed next to Amy with no clue how either of them had gotten back inside. They were still wearing their coats, which Amelia's Aunt Sharon protested greatly about when she came home. She seemed to barrel straight past the fact that there was an extra girl in the house and fixated on them being "irresponsible children with no regard for the hard work of others."

She didn't like Aunt Sharon much, but at least she let the Girl stay.

The following months were the happiest she ever remembered being. School was extremely boring. The teachers reminded her of the hospital nurses, but not as bad even though they got mad when she read ahead of the class.

The other kids picked on Amelia and the Girl. None of them believed it when they told the story about the Doctor, except for a boy named Rory. He was nice—a bit of a pushover, but nice. He didn't protest when Amelia made him try on her dad's old clothes and pretend to be the Doctor. And even though he looked uncomfortable, he also looked like he was having fun. For a while, it was just the three of them against the world, and even though the Doctor had lied and was late, the Girl didn't mind.

Change came as it always did: so slowly no one saw it coming, then so quickly that no one could do anything about it. With the addition of Mels, their trio became a quartet. She reminded the Girl of her friend that she hadn't seen in a long time, except Mels didn't seem to like the Girl very much.

She got along famously with Amelia. It was a little odd. The Girl expected them to clash, two headstrong people with very willful personalities, but they didn't. Amelia looked tame in comparison to Mels, and not even she could control her. The pattern went like this: Mels acted out, Amelia and sometimes Rory took on the role of comforting or admonishing her, and then she acted out again.

Sometimes, the Girl felt left out of their activities, but that because, according to Amelia and Mels, she was too quiet. Because she was too quiet, they often forgot about her, and then it wasn't really their fault she wasn't included because if she wanted to be involved, she should have said so, shouldn't she have?

Much of spring passed this way until one day, on the cusp of summer just two months after Mels had joined them and a week after they had finally told her about the Doctor, the Madame came for the Girl. She must have cried. She must have begged to stay. She didn't want to go back to the terrible hospital with the doctors that stuck things in her and the nurses who said mean things. Amelia might've cried too, shouting that it wasn't fair.

She didn't belong with them, Aunt Sharon explained in a gentle voice. The Girl had her own family—didn't she miss her mum and dad? She had to go with the Madame if she wanted to get better, and then she could come back and visit. Over the months, Aunt Sharon proved not to be the mean lady the Girl had originally thought she was. Instead, she was a young adult, overwhelmed with work and looking after a child—two children—on her own.

Not that it mattered now. For the Girl, it only mattered that Aunt Sharon was saying she had to go.

In the end, no amount of crying or begging made any difference. No amount of wishing for the Doctor made him come. The Madame still took her away, and the Girl never saw Amelia or Rory again.