A/N: I'm back! Was not expecting so many people to read the story! Luckily, there's time to write in school. I've got a new chapter already, and another is on its way.
Forgot the disclaimer in the last chapter. I am not Moffat, and therefore do not own Doctor Who.
Ashe POV:
I wait.
I know this won't be good. Martha called him the Doctor. That means poking and prodding and making me talk. And I hate all three of those things.
Of course, Martha's a doctor, too. But she knows I prefer no touching and little talking. I look at her, asking the silent question.
"I'll tell him, Ashe. Don't worry." I nod, hoping he's nice enough to listen.
I hear a faint whirring sound. Martha stands up from the spot she took next to me. Walking to the window, she smiles. "He's here."
"Not a car?"
"No, he doesn't drive. Come see." I approach her, confused. Looking out, I see an old police box. A man steps out of it, wearing a brown trenchcoat. He looks up at the window and waves.
"That's him. The Doctor."
"Not..."
"He's awesome. I'll go let him in." Martha goes downstairs, still happy.
As her footsteps recede into the distance, I think to myself. She's calling him the Doctor. A simple little word is very important in this case.
Maybe he just calls himself the Doctor. Maybe it's a joke between Martha and an old friend. I hope it is.
I hear them coming, and approach the door. Martha's words are clear.
"Now, remember, no touching her, no matter what. And if she doesn't want to speak, don't force her. Do you know any sign language?"
"Are you kidding? A secret hobby of mine for the past two centuries."
"What about American?"
"Why?"
"She grew up in New York. When her mother died, her father came back to work for UNIT. He investigated the deaths from the plague, and brought the trouble back to London. He died from it."
"But sign language?"
"She has trouble speaking sometimes. Today's been a bad day for her, too. She's absolutely exhausted after a nightmare last night."
"We can still talk?"
"Yeah, but quietly." I open the door, carefully looking out to where they stand on the landing.
The Doctor is really tall, unlike my petite frame. His dark hair, however, is a bit like mine. I look at him as he turns around, but quickly look away before his eyes meet mine.
"Hello, Ashe. It's very nice to meet you."
Nice to meet you, too, I sign. I don't want to give away how relieved I am, but I t hink it's pretty clear. He's nice enough that he doesn't bother asking why he can't touch. He hasn't yet insisted that I speak, even though I'm too exhausrted to try. He's far better than most people, that's for sure. He doesn't yet mind me being myself.
"Now, I don't want you getting sick, Ashe. Let's get your bags." Martha and I each take a suitcase, and the Doctor grabs my backpack.
We step outside, and I wait. I don't know where we're going. But the Doctor leads me over to the police box.
I freeze. It's way too small for both of us to fit inside. "No," I mutter, my head craning back as my mind searches for a way out.
Martha gasps. "Ashe, you go in. Doctor, stay out for a minute. Let her see. Give her time." I glance back at the before stepping inside.
It's huge.
"Trans-d." Martha looks at me as I slowly spin in a circle. At her questioning look, I sign, Trans-dimentional phone box. Neat. She laughs.
"Can we come in, Ashe?" I nod, and the two of them enter quietly.
I look around, wondering how it can be quite so huge. Three-way transdimentionality, something physics has proven impossible. Yet here it is.
Unconsciously, I slowly raise my hands until they're straight out in front of me. This has to be an illusion. Only black holes can break the laws of nature. And besides, trans-dimensionality is a pet project of one or two scientists. There's hardly anything involving it! This is-
"It's all real, Ashe." I spin around, my hands flying to my sides. The Doctor is standing what I would normally think of as a few feet behind me.
"How..."
"It's called the TARDIS. Short for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. She's my home."
"Earth?" I ask, already suspecting otherwise.
"No. You're pretty quick, Ashe." He approaches me, hand up as if to ruffle my hair.
My instincts kick in. This is not to be allowed. My hands ball up as I step back. My eyes go wide as hyperprocessing begins.
He freezes. I freeze. "Sorry," we mutter.
Martha looks at me for only a second before stepping in. "Let's get you settled in," she says quietly, anxious to get me away from the confrontation.
The two of them talk as we head through the TARDIS. I zone out as we walk, but after a couple of minutes, we reach a door. "Your room, Ashe," the Doctor says.
I step inside, wondering how it will be. I relax as soon as I see it. Light blue walls, no hint of yellow or red. A bed pushed into the corner with black blankets. A small piano in the opposite corner. One door into the bathroom, the other into my closet.
Perfection. This is my room.
"How?" I ask quietly, staring in wonder at the architectural drawings pinned up on the wall. Exact copies of mine.
"The TARDIS guessed. She's pretty good at figuring out what people like." The Doctor puts my backpack on my bed, then steps out.
Martha approaches me. "Do you mind if I stay for a few minutes? I won't see you guys for a while." I nod, sitting down at the piano.
My eyes close as I feel the keys. Each is familiar to me. The chip on middle c is even there, just like at home. I faintly smile. As my hands start playing, left hand taking bass and right on melody, I realize something.
Until I return to London, the TARDIS will be my home.
