The days went by, the clock kept ticking, and Jane Doe still remained a complete mystery. Martin moved her from his living room to the spare bedroom, and she continued to work with Pauline, and Al continued to visit her, his stay getting longer and his visits more frequent with each passing day. With him, she found herself talking easily, about anything and everything. They had hours-long conversations about their days, and he made her laugh until her sides hurt, as she did to him. And after that day at the beach, he never again asked her who she had been before she came to Portwenn.

Though he wanted to. The question was on the tip of his tongue every moment he was with her (when he wasn't busy listening to her talk endlessly about nothing or thinking about how beautiful she was in that light) but something kept him from asking. Sometimes he thought maybe he just didn't want to upset her, but other times he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to know. He'd overheard what the doc said to his dad that first day, about the abuse, and it gave him an odd sort of sick feeling to think about it. So he didn't ask her, and instead made her laugh, because when she laughed that sick feeling went away and she wasn't a mystery. She was just a wonderful girl with no name.

But it wasn't all long conversations and laughter. She had days where the fog was so thick, even Al couldn't bring her out of it; days when all she could do was sit still and stare at the wall, retreating far into her mind where nothing could touch her.

The bad days weren't the worst, however. It was the days that began good and ended bad. The days when she laughed, then went and dropped a cup of tea and her first instinct was to cower and plead.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she would whimper as she tried to sweep up the shards with her hands, "Please, I won't do it again, please…"

And Mark would cry and Martin would clam up and Al would try to soothe her and Pauline would ask her why she was so upset, and Joan would just look at her like she was the broken teacup.

It was days like those that made her desperate for them to never find out who she was, but at the same time, desperate for them to know and understand why breaking a cup was such a big deal.

But the days passed. And every day she didn't tell them, it got a little bit further into the past, a little bit further away from her. She hoped that maybe, someday, it got so far away it felt like a bad dream.

After a few weeks of being called 'Jane Doe', the girl confided to Joan as they were picking vegetables on the farm, that she didn't particularly like being referred to as though she were a corpse.

"Well you could always tell us your real name," Joan said, placing a cabbage in the basket in the girl's arms. The girl gave Joan a pained look and Joan frowned. "I know you remember it," she told her, "You remember a lot more than you let on, don't you."

The girl hesitated before nodding slowly. Joan softened a little.

"You can't run from it forever, dear. Sooner or later, you must face it."

"Do I have to?" the girl said, grimacing slightly.

"Not just yet." Joan smiled.

The girl was quiet for a few minutes as she followed Joan through the garden, then said carefully, "I don't want to be who I was."

Joan looked at her. She elaborated, "That girl…she was weak. She…let bad things happened to her. I don't…I don't want to that girl anymore."

"Well," Joan said, "Who do you want to be?"

The girl thought about it. "I want to be like you. And…like Louisa and Pauline. Strong…independent." She pushed her hair behind her ear, blushing. "Sexy…"

Joan laughed. "Oh, you'll get there."

Sighing, the girl thought, not while I'm still Jane Doe, fading in and out, barely able to function.

"I suppose so."

Later that evening, the girl found herself alone in the surgery. She switched on the radio and grabbed a broom to sweep up (Pauline had asked her an hour ago and she still hadn't gotten around to it) and before she knew it she was dancing to the unfamiliar songs. She liked the upbeat ones, the ones that made her want to jump and swing her hair around like she saw on TV once.

She danced for a good ten minutes before she slowed down, breathless. A soft, sleepy tune had come on, one of those songs that seem to fill you up and lull you into a trance. She began spinning in a circle slowly, her eyes closed, head tilted back. It was then that Al stopped in the doorway, staring, mesmerized by the beauty of the moment. She spun on the spot, as gracefully as a ballerina in a music box, completely at peace. The song stopped and still she kept spinning until Al said,

"Julia."

She opened her eyes. "What?" she inquired. She went over to the desk and turned the volume down low. Al smiled, coming further inside. "The song. Julia by the Beatles."

"Oh."

The girl stared at the radio for a moment, her eyes far away, then she looked up at him and said, "Do you think…do you think I could be Julia?"

Al smiled. "Suits you."

The girl – Julia – grinned beautifully. She'd just taken her first steps towards becoming a real person. She looked up at Al, her eyes focusing on the curve of his lips. She was so close she could see the golden glint of stubble along his jaw. She desperately wanted to kiss him in that moment, and she knew by the way he was looking at her that if Pauline hadn't just walked in, he would've let her. Instead they jumped apart, cheeks turning pink, trying not to look guilty.

"Oh, hey Al," she said, sounding a little suspicious. "What's going on here?"

Al perched by the window, smiling. "Our girl's just given herself a name," he informed Pauline.

"Oh? What is it, then?"

"Julia," the girl said, her stomach feeling fluttery just saying it. "I want to be Julia."

Pauline settled herself behind the desk, giving Al a sideways look. "Well, I guess that's your prerogative."

Al walked Pauline home later that night. She walked with a foot of space between them, her arms folded, mouth set in a frown, the tension building until Al finally said,

"Alright, Paul, what's wrong?"

Pauline stopped, her eyes shining in the evening light. There was a moment as she built up the courage, then she blurted, "Do you like her?"

Al blinked. "Who?"

"Julia, that's who!" Pauline shouted, then, lowering her voice, she said shakily, "I saw you two today, standing inches apart gazing into each other's eyes. I've seen the way you've been looking at her since the day she arrived."

Al hunched his shoulders slightly, trying hard not to look fearful. He hated confrontation, especially with a tearful woman. "I-I haven't been looking at her any way –"

"Oh, stop it Al!" Pauline put her hand to her forehead, scuffing her boot on the ground. She hated crying just as much as Al hated confrontation.

"You realize you haven't kissed me in weeks?" she said. "You used to be all over me and now I can't even get a kiss goodnight. Is it because you want her? Is that it?"

"No, Paul…" Al couldn't meet her eyes.

"If it is, just tell me now!" Pauline said harshly, "Because I don't want to be with a man who would rather be messing around with little girls!"

A twinge of anger made Al look up sharply. "Pauline, just shut up for a minute and listen!"

He stepped up to her, taking her head in his hands, and – lying through his teeth – he said forcefully, "I don't want Julia. She's just a girl, just a friend. I want you. Only you."

And he kissed her, shutting his eyes, and seeing Julia.