A/N: Hello, readers! Sorry about the lack of updates, but my tablet is hard to type on. For anyone who knows Ashe's secret, please contact me via PM and don't put it in a review, just so there aren't any spoilers. Anyway, here's the February update!

Disclaimer: I no own DW. Otherwise, River and Eleven would have children running around on Gallifrey today. (Go ahead and use that plot idea if you want, just PM me first.)


"No."

"Why?"

"Just no."

"Explain."

He sighs. "Ashe, any other language. Se habla Espanol," he says jokingly.

I wish I didn't have to pull this card, but I'm breathing well enough to use it. "Listen. I taught myself Spanish. I took French in school. My friend speaks Indonesian as his first language. And Dad was full-blooded German. Yet you refuse to teach me a language I don't already know?"

The Doctor looks at me, stunned. "You're bluffing."

"Nope."

"But you're only twelve!"

"No difference for me."

"Ashe, what else do you know?"

"Well, let's see." I count on my fingers as I mention each thing. "I started theoretical physics at eleven. I'm doing precalculus in my spare time. Give me any day of the year, I can tell you history that happened on that day."

He looks away, thinking. "What about a specific year?"

"Maybe."

"The twentieth of July, nineteen forty-four."

"The Valkyrie plot of Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg."

He looks at me, and I look away. "But how can you know so much? Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

"Eidetic. All five senses. I remember everything from before my third birthday. Sometimes it's out of order, but I can figure it out well enough."

"That's why UNIT and Torchwood want you?"

"Yeah, I'd end up as their Mycroft Holmes."

"What?"

I giggle, glancing up. "Bruce-Partington Plans. He has, directly quoting, 'the greatest capacity for storing facts of any man living.'"

The Doctor gets up, smiling. "So, Ashe, you want to learn how to read Gallifreyan? It's complicated. I'll get some paper to make a schedule." He runs off, leaving me laughing in his wake.

I just hope he doesn't see the face behind this mask of facts. If he realizes how much I struggle on a daily basis, he may just bring me back to London. But he knows so much-I'd love to stay.

I hear the Doctor's footsteps in the hallway, approaching once more. "Got some paper and one book, Ashe," he calls. I force my thoughts back to the topic as he enters.

He sits down. "Okay. Let's start with Gallifreyan for half an hour each day. Then there's schoolwork." He scribbles on the paper. "How much do you have to get done?"

"I have the whole year's curriculum based on a four-and-a-half hour day, because I'm so far ahead. So five hours total, then we eat?"

"Fair enough," he agrees.

After eating at one, we agree on an hour for writing and music so I can focus. Then, he plans on teaching me to swim (or something else, if we want to). At three-thirty, we'll spend some time exploring the TARDIS before dinner with a video game or movie.

"Don't you think this is a little ridiculous?" I ask, wary of showing him my true self.

"I don't know. Is it for you?"

"No."

"Then let's keep it." I smile lightly at his response. "Are you hungry, Ashe?" At my nod, he helps me up and we head to the kitchen.

"Let's see. Biscuits...pizza...and pop. Seems like the TARDIS wants us to have a party! All we need is a banana!" I shrug, sitting down at the table.

"Unless you don't want to?" I glance in his direction, trying to see which type of cookies-no, he knows the British way, I have to think biscuits-which type of biscuits he has. They don't look to be prepackaged, so I smile.

"No, it's fine. That sounds good." I play with my hands for a minute, enjoying myself as he cooks the pizza. Finally, I can't sit still anymore, and begin to pace the room.

"Two doors down to the left. Go pick a movie." I nod, stepping out of the room quickly.

My face goes blank, and my hands relax, wrists loose. I run on my toes for a few steps before spreading my arms and swerving through the doorway.

That felt good.

But I know that I can't let him see. He won't be as forgiving as Dad was. So as I pull a James Bond movie off the shelf, I make a decision. The Doctor will never see another day of me struggling to speak. He will have no clue how hard it is for me to appear coordinated at any given time. And most of all, he'll never know that I'm-

"Ashe? Got one?" I jerk out of my thoughts, nodding as I put the disc in and sit down, picking up a slice of pizza.

The movie keeps my attention fairly well. Sadly, though, I begin to nod off after the first hour. I finally fall asleep on the couch, tired from my coughing earlier. I don't register the Doctor carrying me to my room.

Like most nights, I have six hours of sleep. But like last night, I have a nightmare.

At school in New York, Dad would help me some days before Mom died. Otherwise, the older kids would tease me to no end. But there was one week between Mom's death and our transfer to Britain...the worst week of my life.

Dad wasn't around to protect me. Three of the senior boys in my SAT class approached me before class, shoving me into the lockers. I ducked under the largest one's arm to get into the classroom. But they didn't stop there.

When class was over an hour later, the two smaller ones grabbed me. The third one aplroached me, an evil smile on his face. He grabbers my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to kiss him.

I screamed for a teacher, but the boys had already run off before anyone came out. That was my last class without protection. Being a tween in high school is not a good thing if you're vulnerable.

But like last night, the dream continues. On occasion when I was little, Dad would go into fits of rage upon hearing my speech. I still don't know why, though I suspect it had something to do with my lisp. Anyway, the fit of rage made an awful return in my dream last night. Dad wasn't actually home when I arrived that afternoon, but the dream version of me deals with his presence.

And he beats me.

I wake in a cold sweat, panting. The one trouble with having both extraordinary memory and overactive imagination is the nightmares which ensue.


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