Chapter Text
When Sarah Jane Smith received the letter about the fire at her brother’s house, resulting in the tragic loss of him and his wife Charley, she’d been saddened, of course, though not despairingly so. They’d grown apart since John had married and moved away from the family home, affectionately known as Blue Balustrades, in Leadworth. They would be missed, but after living alone for so long, the sun would still go on rising and setting on Sarah Jane.
However, when she read the bit about being their surviving son’s only living relative, making her his new guardian, she’d been shocked. She wasn’t elderly by any means, but she was along in her years, the lines in her face more pronounced and gray just beginning to touch her dark brown hair. She was a widow with no children of her own. What did she know about raising a young man?
When she’d gone to pick up John Smith Jr. from the train station, she’d been surprised, because she’d been expecting a slightly smaller version of her brother, with his broad shoulders, bright blue eyes, and wavy dark brown hair that shone with auburn in the sunlight. Instead, the boy was skinny, gangly, all elbows and knees, and long limbs he had yet to grow into. His jaw was well defined, he definitely had his parents to thank for that, but his hair was a light brown, something of an in-between of his mother’s blonde hair and his father’s dark color. It was a little too long, as if it had been a while since his last haircut, and flopped over his right eye, but for all that, it was combed neatly. He was wearing an old brown pinstriped suit that was much too big for him, too long in the trousers and too short in the jacket sleeves. It also appeared ripped in places and badly singed, as if he might have pulled it from the wreckage of the fire. He had nothing with him but an old carpet bag that was similarly damaged and a half-burned paperback book. Her first impression of him was the boy hunched over, his elbows on his knees that were drawn together while his feet were set apart, both hands clutching the book, his eyes glued to the content it held.
She stopped when she walked on the platform and saw him sitting on the wooden bench there, just taking in the reality of him. This person was her responsibility now, depending on her for guidance. She took a deep breath, tossed the end of her late husband’s striped scarf over her shoulder, and cleared her throat.
He looked up at her with wide green eyes and, surprising her again, smiled with a flash of even, white teeth. He jolted to his feet, tripping over the carpet bag in the effort to come over to her quickly, and the worn leather handle promptly fell off. He scrambled around, fumbling to pick it up and reattach it, a nervous laugh escaping him. He stuffed his book into the bag and came back around, holding the carpet bag carefully in both hands.
“Hello, so sorry about all that, it’s a very old bag and the handle falls off if I don’t hold it just so.” He stood up straight and tall before her, already dwarfing her height though he couldn’t be too old. “I suppose you’re Ms. Sarah Jane Smith?” He stuck out one long-fingered hand, his thumb standing straight up like a soldier at attention. “I’m John, though I prefer to be called the Doctor.”
Sarah Jane paused in shaking his hand and looked at him curiously. “The Doctor?”
He grinned, proudly. “Doesn’t that sound impressive?”
“Well, yes, but… you’re not a doctor.”
“Not yet!” he said, brightly, punching the air with his index finger. “But I believe a person should have something to aspire to. Besides, ‘John Smith’ is such a horribly dull and boring name, and I’m not dull or boring.” His eyes widened and he hastened to add, “Not that my father was boring! Not at all!”
She smiled lightly to put him at ease. “I think I understand what you mean. Though it’s hardly a name you should be ashamed of.”
“Oh, I’m not ashamed!” he insisted. “But I am the second John Smith to come around in our family and I’d like to stand on my own merits. So, if you could possibly see your way to calling me ‘the Doctor,’ I’d like that very much.”
Sarah Jane bit her tongue to keep from laughing. Her brother’s son was certainly different, but she was coming to like him already. “Very well, John-called-the-Doctor,” she said in an amused tone, “why don’t we set off? We’ve got a good bit to drive before we reach home.”
“I’m glad, because I love driving! And you have such beautiful countryside here in Leadworth,” he said as he followed her to the horse-drawn buggy behind the train station and climbed up beside her. “So many sheep and cows and horses!”
“You’re quite enthusiastic, for a boy so recently orphaned,” Sarah Jane observed as they started down the road. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen,” he said, looking down at his hands as they gripped the handle of the carpet bag tightly. “And I suspect it’s just because it hasn’t really hit me yet. I feel like I’m on some kind of holiday, visiting a distant relative, which you are; it doesn’t really seem like I’m coming to live with you and belong to you. I suspect I won’t really know what’s happened to me until later. Isn’t that odd? How you can have something happen and still not quite realize it?” He paused for breath and glanced at her. “Am I talking too much? Oh, Mother always says I do and I can stop if I put my mind to it.”
Sarah Jane’s throat grew a bit thick as she noticed he referred to Charley in the present tense. He really wasn’t aware of his situation yet. “You go on and talk all you like,” she said, after swallowing past the lump. “I don’t mind.”
His face lit up with his daft smile once again. “I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine, Ms. Smith.” He lifted his eyebrows, which were blond like his mother’s and nearly transparent. “Oh, may I call you ‘Aunt Sarah Jane?’”
“If you like,” she said. “Though I’m not used to being anyone’s aunt. I fear I have no practice with children, so we’ll both be learning as the days pass.”
“I’m not worried,” he said, confidently. “I think you’re going to be brilliant.”
She smiled, her cheeks flushing pink with pleasure at his compliment. “You may call me just plain Sarah Jane for now, if the title seems too affected.”
He nodded, then turned his attention to the passing countryside, the rolling hills of green grass and puffy white clouds drifting through the clear blue sky. “I love it here already. I heard that Leadworth is one of the prettiest stretches of land in all of Gloucestershire.”
“That’s a nice way of saying ‘the village that time forgot,’” said Sarah Jane, wryly. “One would think we’re still living in the 1890s. The General Store doesn’t even have a telephone yet.”
“I don’t mind, I like writing letters,” he said. “And it’s always been a dream of mine to live near the sea! Now it’ll only be a few towns over. It’s the first dream I’ve had that’s come true. That doesn’t often happen, does it? And, despite everything, I feel so happy, just because of that dream. Not perfectly happy, you understand, I could never be perfectly happy, not even when I was with my parents because…” He sighed and ruffled his hair. “What color would you call this?”
She glanced at him in surprise at the sudden change of topic and eyed his hair. “Brown? Light brown, I suppose.”
He sighed again, one of deep heart-felt misery, and let his arm dangle back down in front of him. “Brown,” he repeated, drawing out the word in a low voice. “That’s why I can never be perfectly happy. It has been my life-long sorrow that I was not born ginger.”
“How could you be ginger?” she asked. “Neither of your parents were.”
“It doesn’t stop me from wishing for it. Sometimes I like to imagine myself ginger, with a sprinkling of freckles.” He wiggled his fingers near his nose, as though pretending to speckle himself with the desired complexion. “I read about a boy in a novel once who was devilishly handsome. Can you imagine what it would be like to be devilishly handsome? I can never decide if I’d like to be devilishly handsome, or dazzlingly clever, or angelically good. Can you?”
She pursed her lips for a moment, thinking about it. “Well, does being one mean you have to be the opposite of the other two?”
“See, that’s why I don’t know!” he said, pointing at her. “I know I’ll never be angelically good, it’s far too easy to be wicked without knowing it. And mother says I talk so much that…” He trailed off, his mouth gaping open as the buggy turned down a country lane lined with flowering white cherry trees, the blossoms perfuming the air as they drifted down in the breeze. “Oh, Sarah Jane,” he breathed. “What is this place called?”
“The Avenue,” she said, with a smile, knowing it was a beautiful road. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Pretty?” he said, still looking at it in awe. “That doesn’t seem like the right word, nor beautiful. It doesn’t go far enough. But it is wonderful, just wonderful! They shouldn’t call this lovely place ‘the Avenue,’ there’s no meaning a name like that!” A slow, dreamy expression came across his face. “They should call it… Lover’s Lane. Wouldn’t that be romantic? To stroll along--” here, he spread out his hand as though spacing out a sign-- “Lover’s Lane with a sweetheart? The white blossoms falling on her parasol, and you reach out to pluck petals from her hair?” He mimicked the very gesture with his fingers and smiled. “It’s far more glorious than anything I could have imagined.”
As they came to the end of the road, Sarah Jane nodded to the large body of water they were passing on the left. “That’s Pond’s Pond.”
He blinked. “Pond’s Pond? It belongs to itself?”
“No, no, the family who lives down Orchard Slope, they’re the Ponds. And most of the lake is on their property.”
“And they couldn’t think of anything more creative than Pond’s Pond?” He shook his head and looked back at the water. “No, this… this is the Lake of Shining Waters,” he said in a reverent tone before nodding decisively. “That’s it’s rightful name.”
She pulled back on the reins and stopped the horse to point over to the right. “And over there is home. Blue Balustrades.” She waited for him to come up with another, more fanciful, name for the white house with its wrap-around porch of deep blue balustrades, but he said nothing. She watched as he stared into the distance, his expression becoming somber.
“Perhaps this is the point where I should pinch myself to wake up,” he said quietly. He looked at her, his green eyes pensive and sad. “But I’m not going to wake up, am I?”
Sarah Jane pressed her lips together and wrapped an arm around the slender lad, feeling her brother’s loss more acutely in that moment than when she’d first heard about it. He looked down at the ground for the remainder of the journey.
His curiosity showed itself again when she showed him inside. She removed her hat and scarf, hanging them on the antique hall tree, while he looked around the downstairs. Blue Balustrades was furnished with the trappings of three generations, so there was quite a bit to see, and Sarah Jane had always kept the place in top condition.
She went to the staircase, saying, “Come on up, I’ll show you your room and then you can wash up for dinner. I imagine you’re hungry.”
He followed her, but said in a despondent voice, “I can’t eat. I can never eat when I’m in the depths of despair.”
He said it with such gravity, that she stopped, turned, and looked down at him where he stood on the first step. “The depths of despair?” she repeated, lifting an eyebrow.
“Well, can you eat when you’re that way?” he asked with a shrug.
“I’ve never been that way,” she said, turning back and ascending the steps once more.
“Couldn’t you imagine what it’s like to be in the depths of despair?” he persisted as he followed her.
“I suppose,” said Sarah Jane. “I’d just rather not. It sounds unpleasant.”
“Oh, it is,” he assured her. “Dreadfully unpleasant.”
“Then perhaps you should endeavor to come out of ‘the depths’ and eat something.” She pushed open a door in the upstairs hallway and allowed him to enter. “This will be your room.” It was sparsely furnished, but had everything a young man would need, a bed, washing stand, wardrobe, desk and chair, and the windows let in plenty of light. She didn’t tell him it had been his father’s room when he was a child. “Wash up and come down to dinner.”
“Yes, Sarah Jane,” he said, mildly, as he set the carpet bag on the single iron wrought bed.
He was quiet during dinner, which, admittedly, he didn’t eat much of, but he carved something remarkable out of his mashed potatoes. “What is that?” she asked, unable to help herself.
“Oh, it’s what I imagine the Nautilus to be like,” he said, in a dreary voice. When she didn’t say anything to that, he glanced up once and elaborated, “It’s a submarine from Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea.”
“Ah,” she said, and he went back to smoothing his potatoes with his fork, adding little peas along the side of the tubular shape while he muttered about it ‘needing some round things.’
Despite the relatively early hour, John-called-the-Doctor went right back upstairs to get ready for bed afterward while she did the washing up. She went to his door to check on him, but paused, her hand raised to knock. His tears were soft, muffled, but unmistakable. Sarah Jane almost withdrew, but she didn’t want the poor boy to feel abandoned, alone in the world.
She tapped lightly on the door and the sounds ceased immediately. “Good night, child,” she called, not wanting to embarrass him by going in.
“How can you possibly call it a ‘good’ night?” he asked in a watery voice. “What’s ‘good’ about it?”
She frowned, sadly. He had her there. “Good night, just the same.”
“Good night, Sarah Jane.” A brief silence. “That rhymed.”
A tiny smile quirked the side of her mouth. He hadn’t fallen into ‘the depths’ completely, it seemed. She rather liked this child, the Doctor. He had his own peculiar ways and could certainly talk the hind leg off a mule. As her shoes clacked on the wooden stairs she pondered what a change that would be around her quiet house.
* * *
The next morning, as she presented the Doctor with a bowl of oatmeal, Sarah Jane advised him that she would be placing him in school, as it would be starting up again soon. “There’s also a picnic this week that I’ll take you to,” she said. “So you can meet some children your own age beforehand.” His pale and wan face perked up a bit at this news.
“Do you think I might meet a bosom friend?” he asked.
She paused in the act of setting the kettle on to boil and looked over her shoulder at him. “What kind of friend?”
“A bosom friend,” he repeated. “A really kindred spirit. I’ve dreamed of meeting one all my life.”
Sarah Jane pointed out the kitchen window down the hill toward the lake. “Amelia Pond lives down on Orchard Slope and her parents are sponsoring the picnic. She’s about your age.”
The Doctor’s green eyes took on that dreamy quality as he intoned, “Amelia Pond. Sounds like a name from a fairy tale. Amelia of the Lake of Shining Waters.”
She shook her head, but couldn’t resist an amused smirk as she measured out their tea. “You set your heart too much on silly names, child.”
“Don’t you ever imagine things to be different from what they are?” he asked around a mouthful of oatmeal.
“No.”
“Oh, Sarah Jane,” he sighed, sympathetically. “How much you miss.”
They took the buggy down into town that day and purchased fabric from the general store. Most of the Doctor’s clothes had been destroyed in the fire, so he was wearing whatever he had left as well as what he’d salvaged of his father’s clothes. Sarah Jane wasn’t about to let him appear at a Sunday picnic looking like a beggar, so she’d purchased some good, sturdy material to make him some trousers and jackets, as well as some new bracers and some long underwear. She also allowed him the purchase of a dark gray cap, which she had to admit looked rather well on him, with his fringe poking out from underneath.
After lunch, they laid out the fabric on the table in Sarah Jane’s sewing room and she turned him this way and that, taking his measurements and making notes on a piece of paper. He watched, fascinated as she marked out the patterns, explaining that he’d never made clothes before. Then, after dinner, she showed him how to bring in the cows from the pasture. He seemed eager to learn how to do the chores she set him, and she had to admit he would be a great help to her once he was confident in the execution.
That night, when she didn’t hear any crying coming from his room, she checked in on him. He was sitting up in bed in his long white nightshirt, reading his singed book. He offered her a small smile, which she returned. It was a distinct improvement.
“How are you feeling this evening?” she asked, cautiously.
He pressed his lips together briefly and appeared to be thinking about the best way to answer. At last, he said, “Better. Not all the way, but… the pain will lessen with time. I have to believe that.”
She nodded. “That sounds quite sensible of you. But… if you ever want to talk…” She let the sentence trail off, letting him assume she would be there for him without embarrassing him. “Do you say your prayers?” she asked. She didn’t know if John and Charley had brought up their son with religion and was unsure if she should impose her own beliefs on him.
He set the book on his night table, wrinkling his nose. “Well, I’ve read about God,” he said. “In fact, I’ve read about lots of gods; fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods, and do you know what? Out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, whether there’s actually one God or many, if I believe in one thing, just one thing… I believe he made me not-ginger on purpose.” He crossed his arms over his chest, lifting his chin. “I haven’t cared for him since.”
Sarah Jane stared at him with wide eyes, trying to determine if he was being serious. But rather than enter a heavy theological debate with a thirteen year old boy, she said, lightly, “Do you think that God might have done it for a reason? That it might be vitally important for you not to have ginger hair and you just don’t know it yet?”
The Doctor tilted his head. “I hadn’t considered that. It must be quite important, if I want it so much and yet he couldn’t allow me to be born that way.” He shrugged. “I suppose I must reevaluate my position on the subject.” He looked at her more closely. “Did you want me to say my prayers?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to force you,” she said. “But I do find that it offers a measure of comfort, to be able to speak to someone who doesn’t respond in words, who keeps all secrets, and doesn’t offer immediate judgement.”
He nodded, slowly. “That does make a lot of sense.” He plucked at the quilt covering him. “And I suppose having someone to talk to might be nice…” With a decisive nod, he looked back up at her and said, “All right. I’ll do it. How does one pray?”
She moved further into the room. “Well, you kneel down beside the bed,” she said, sitting on the edge of it.
He scrambled out of the bed and knelt down, leaning his arms on the mattress and folding his hands carefully. “This was the part I never could quite understand. Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray, I'd go out into a great big field, all alone, and I'd look up into the sky. I'd imagine it was the dome of a great cathedral, and then I'd close my eyes and just feel the prayer.” He looked up at her expectantly. “What am I to say?”
Sarah Jane thought it a bit silly to teach a boy his age the old ‘Now I lay me down to sleep’ routine, so she said, “Well, I think you’re old enough to think of your own prayer. You thank God for his blessings and humbly ask him for the things you want.”
He nodded. “I’ll do my best.” He leaned his chin against his folded hands and closed his eyes. “Dear most Gracious, Heavenly Father,” he said, reverently, though she couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit at his theatrics. “I thank you for everything. As for the things I especially want, they're so numerous it would take a great deal of time to mention them all, so I'll just mention the two most important. Please, help me to be of some assistance to the kind Sarah Jane.” Here, she was touched by his statement, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by his follow-up request, “And please, make me handsome when I grow up. I remain yours, respectfully, John Smith.” The barest of pauses, then he added, “The Doctor.” Opening his eyes, he looked to Sarah Jane with a smile. “Did I do alright?”
“Yes, if you were addressing a business letter to a catalog store,” she said, wryly. “Get into bed.”
He did as she bid, settling down under the quilt while she blew out his oil lamp. “I should have said ‘amen’ instead of ‘yours, respectfully,’ shouldn’t I? Do you think it will make any difference?” he asked, frowning.
“I expect God will overlook it,” she said as she went to the door, but she turned back a moment later to add, cheekily, “This time.”
* * *
Over the next few days, in between chores and meal times and the occasional visit from a neighbor, Sarah Jane worked on the Doctor’s new clothes. When they stopped looking like pieces and began to resemble articles of clothing, she called him into the sewing room to try things on and do a bit more pinning.
She noticed him looking at the various items with his brow slightly furrowed and it occurred to her to ask, “How do you like them?”
“I can imagine I like them,” he said, obviously trying to infuse optimism and gratitude into his voice.
She frowned, but kept her hands busy with the small amount of hand sewing she needed to do while he had the jacket on. “What’s the matter with them?”
“Well…” He looked over his shoulder at her, his green eyes wistful. “It’s just that… they’re a bit dull.”
Sarah Jane looked at the tweed jacket he currently had on, then over at the dark trousers all cut from two different lengths of broadcloth, and the two other jackets spread out on his bed. They were simple, designed to go together so he could mix and match all the pieces, and would fit him well, which was more than she could say for the clothing he’d brought. She remembered what he’d said about ‘dull and boring’ the day he’d asked her to call him the Doctor, so it shouldn’t have surprised her that he had feelings about his clothes.
“I’m sorry, but I simply don’t have the time or funds to waste on your vanity,” she said. “These are good and sensible clothes, and they’ll be ready in time for the picnic on Sunday and school on Monday.”
“Oh, I am grateful,” he said, turning as she fetched her pincushion. “But I’d be even more grateful if you could make me one jacket with a frock tail and a matching waistcoat!” He spread his hands out behind him, as though imagining the frockcoat, a big smile on his face.
However, she shook her head. “I just don’t have the extra material,” she said, but her expression softened when his face fell. “Well, I did have a little leftover. Perhaps you can content yourself with these.” She went to her sewing table and produced a half dozen slender ribbons of fabric, each about two feet in length. “They’re for bow ties,” she explained at his confused look. “Here, turn up your collar, I’ll show you how to tie one.”
He did as she said and she steered him in front of the mirror, placing one of the lengths around the upturned collar and putting her arms around his shoulders to show him how to tie it from his perspective. As she straightened the finished bow and flipped his collar back down, she watched his face in the reflection. The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, the light coming back into his eyes. He tweaked the edges of the bow tie between his thumbs and index fingers.
“I like it!” he declared.
He turned around and embraced Sarah Jane. She blinked in surprise, returning his hug a moment later, her own smile returning. He was certainly an affectionate young lad. She patted his cheek fondly when he pulled back.
“Now, now,” she said. “Enough foolishness. You’re lucky you didn’t stick yourself with a pin. Let’s get that jacket off and try on the others.”
* * *
That Sunday, the Doctor was practically vibrating with excitement as he and Sarah Jane walked through the vine covered arch that led into the Pond’s back yard. He’d donned a dark gray bow tie that matched his cap and trousers, a shirt of demure stripes, and his new tan wool coat that fit him perfectly. Even though the clothes were plain, he’d made sure to thank his aunt numerous times and to praise her fast sewing skills. She took his hand as they made their way across the grass to a small group of people he recognized as neighbors.
“For goodness’ sake, calm down, Doctor,” she said in an undertone. “And try not to make any of your fabulous speeches. Heaven knows what our neighbors have told everyone about you already.”
“I can’t help it,” he said, clutching at the sleeve of her light green dress with his other hand. “You’d be excited, too, if you were going to try custard for the first time! And just look at all the people!” His eyes were wide as he tried to look at everything at once, the long table set with numerous nibbles, the elegant looking ladies in their frothy, lacey dresses, and there were so many children, including those that looked to be close to his own age. He could just sense that his future bosom friend was among them.
They stopped before two ginger ladies and he stared at their lovely hair with his mouth slightly parted before remembering it was rude. He was trying his best, for his aunt’s sake, not to do or say anything ‘shocking.’ But for her not to mention that his potential bosom friend possessed the beautiful ginger hair he’d always longed for… Well, it seemed a horrid oversight. The elder woman took Sarah Jane’s hand with a smile.
“How good of you to come, Sarah Jane.”
“Tabetha, thank you for having us.” She put her arm around the Doctor’s slender shoulders, gesturing for him to offer his hand to their hostess. “This is my nephew, John, though I’m sure you’ve heard by now that he likes to be called ‘the Doctor.’”
Tabetha Pond smiled as she shook his hand. “I do believe a few of your neighbors have mentioned such a thing. How do you do, Doctor? We’ve heard a lot about you.” She nodded to the young ginger girl at her side who wore a light blue dress. “This is my Amelia.”
They smiled at each other as Amelia dipped a little curtsy and he sketched a small bow. Already his heart was reaching out to embrace her, chanting, ‘New friend!’ He bounced a little on his toes, his fingers wiggling at his sides, unable to contain all of his inner excitement.
Mrs. Pond saw his fidgeting and seemed to take it for nervousness. “We must do what we can to relieve your jitters.” She gestured toward the buffet table and said to her daughter, “Perhaps the Doctor would like to try some ice cream and lemonade, Amelia?”
He looked to Sarah Jane, pleading with his eyes. She nodded and the two children hurried off toward the food table. Tabetha stood next to her friend, smiling, as they watched Amelia offer the Doctor a chilled bowl of ice cream, only to have him reject it in favor of lemon custard.
“I think he’s enchanting,” Mrs. Pond said.
“He is,” Sarah Jane agreed. “I’m still getting used to having him at the house, but I’m rather fond of him already.” She grimaced as the Doctor grabbed what looked like a fish finger then proceeded to dip it in the custard, but from his happy reaction, he seemed to enjoy the bizarre flavor combination. Sarah Jane shook her head. “Even if he may be the strangest boy I’ve ever known.”
He looked over at her then and waved, offering a custardy smile, before Amelia took his hand and pulled him off in the direction of the fields where games were being organized. Eagerly, he followed her.
“Sarah Jane has given me strict instructions not to talk anyone’s head off,” he said as they walked, his hands fluttering nervously. He did so want to make a good impression on Amelia. “I do have a bit of a habit of chattering on. Why, if I could imagine myself as a bird, a magpie would probably be the closest thing I could resemble.” He chuckled at the mental image, gratified when she giggled with him, but it faded as he saw a line of children a short distance away, tying two of their legs together for a race. His eyes went wide, excitement bubbling up within him again. “Oh!” he breathed. “Amelia… It has always been a dream of mine to enter a three legged race at a picnic!” Turning to her, he took one of her hands in both of his and solemnly asked, “Would you do me the honor of being my partner?”
Amelia looked over at the group of children skeptically. “But… there aren’t any other boy-girl teams in it.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “You look like a sturdy girl and I’m fast! I’m sure we’d stand a good chance of winning!”
“I guess it’s all right,” she said, with only a touch of reluctance.
With a dazzling grin, he shouted, “Geronimo!” and ran to join the line, pulling Amelia awkwardly after him. His enthusiasm was incredibly contagious and she was laughing right along with him as they crouched at the end of the line to tie their legs together with a length of wide ribbon.
A girl next to them tossed her blonde hair to get it out of her face, her large brown eyes fixed on the Doctor with interest. “Hey, Amelia,” she said. “Who’s your friend?”
Amelia lifted her chin. “He’s called the Doctor.”
The blonde furrowed her brow. “Doctor who?”
“Just the Doctor,” he said, turning his head to look at the new girl.
He was struck speechless as she smiled at him, with just a hint of her pink tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth. She was so beautiful! Like the girl he’d just read about… the one with the alabaster brow. He didn’t think such a person truly existed outside of fiction. As he gaped, she winked at him, seeming only too aware of the power she held. Feeling like he’d been tricked into staring, he closed his mouth with a click and helped Amelia to her feet, wrapping an arm around her as they prepared to race, a determination to win filling his chest.
Mr. Pond set their marks and fired a gun into the air and off they ran. For a few seconds, he and Amelia were neck and neck with the blonde girl and her dark haired partner, but then the dark haired girl stumbled, tangling their legs, and down they went, allowing the Doctor and Amelia to pull ahead of all the other runners. When they broke through the ribbon at the end of the field, exhilaration burst in his heart, the happiness he felt chasing away all the dark shadows that still lingered ever since he’d left the remains of his parents’ home.
Amelia’s father handed each of them bright red ribbons, remarking how proud he was that his daughter had outrun everyone else. The Doctor chanced to look back and saw the blonde girl sitting in the middle of the field, her lavender dress striking against the green grass all around her. While her friend was working to untie their legs, she was looking at him with a smile on her face. She nodded to him, then winked again. His heart fluttered and he quickly looked away, unable to determine what she could possibly mean by the gesture. Instead, he focused on pinning Amelia’s ribbon on her chest for her and making sure it was straight. He just knew he’d always look back on this moment as the moment that solidified their new friendship.
Later, he and Amelia joined with the other older children in taking small boats out on the Lake of Shining Waters. He kept admiring his ribbon when it wasn’t his turn to row, fingering the sleek red silk. He’d never won anything before, so every time he looked down at it, the remembrance of the moment of victory made his stomach turn flips.
“I think we’re heroic winners, Amelia, don’t you?” he asked.
She shrugged good-naturedly. “I just think it’s too bad Rose had to lose on account of Clara. I’d rather we’d struggled to get to the finish together, pulling ahead at the last moment.”
“Hmm, that would have been a bit more exciting.” He smiled, picturing it the way she described. She had an excellent imagination and it only made him like her more. “Is that her name? Rose?”
She nodded. “Yes. Rose Tyler, and her partner was Clara Oswald. They’re both in our class and all the boys moon over Rose. She’s the prettiest girl in school and it doesn’t help that her family’s incredibly wealthy.”
He pressed his lips together, thoughtfully. Looking across the water, he spied the gleam of golden hair that told him the object of their conversation was also enjoying some rowing. She was seated across from a boy and twirling a parasol and looking… well, rather romantic, but that wasn’t the point. He lifted one shoulder and looked back at Amelia. “Well, certainly she’s pretty, but I think this Rose is awfully bold to wink at a strange boy.”
Amelia giggled. “You’ve got the ‘strange’ part right, at least, that’s what I’ve heard some people say about you.” She grinned, telling him without words that what others thought about him didn’t bother her. “But I’ve got a feeling we’re going to get along really well.”
He grinned back as the same feeling filled his heart and he wondered if this was what fate felt like. At long last, he knew he’d found a real kindred spirit.
* * *
The following day, the Doctor fairly trotted down the road to the schoolhouse, swinging his lunchpail in one hand and holding his books and slate in the other. He knew he’d see Amelia again and he loved learning new things, so his spirits were high. As the other children took their seats, he stood in front of the teacher’s desk so she could add him to the roster. He only bounced on his toes a little.
“What is your name?” asked Miss Redfern, who was a young teacher with pale hair in a topknot on her head, she wore a plain gray dress with a watch pinned to her chest. She held a pencil poised over a sheet of names and looked at him with expectant blue eyes.
“John Smith,” he answered promptly, then added, “But I prefer to be called ‘the Doctor.’” A few of the younger children seated on the right side of the classroom giggled, but he just straightened the maroon bow tie he wore and offered the teacher a smile.
She shushed the little ones and looked back at the Doctor. Her lack of a returned smile seemed to indicate that she believed he’d prompted the laughter on purpose. “We pride ourselves on our scholastic record here,” she said, jotting his name down at the bottom of the page. His smile slipped a bit as he noted she only wrote down his given name. “I hope you will strive to meet our standards.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will, Miss Redfern!” he said, enthusiastically, wanting to make a good impression. “I’ve taught children younger than myself to read before and I found it richly rewarding, so I’m sure we’ll have a lot in common.”
The teacher ignored him and scanned the classroom for an empty seat in his age group. She indicated a sandy haired boy with blue eyes and a long nose, who sat directly across the aisle from Amelia. “You’ll share a seat with Rory Williams.”
The Doctor slanted a grin at Amelia before murmuring “Yes, Ma’am” to Miss Redfern and turning to take the empty place beside the other boy. He sat down, placing his cap underneath the bench with his lunch pail. As he straightened, he caught Rose Tyler’s eye. She sat in the desk directly behind Amelia and, for the third time in two days, she winked at him in that utterly confusing manner. What was he supposed to do with that? Non-verbal communication wasn’t exactly his strong point. He squared his shoulders and faced front immediately. It was time to be learning, not for wondering what was going on inside the pretty blonde’s head! He wouldn’t let the vixen distract him on his first day at a new school.
The teacher stood from her desk and told the class to memorize the dication from yesterday while she worked with her advanced student at the back of the classroom. Rory shared his notebook, instantly earning him charity with the Doctor. Perhaps he would be another friend!
A tiny ball of paper landed on the desk in front of the Doctor then. His brows lowered in confusion. Where had it come from? Then something hit the fringe falling over his right eye and he jerked his head. It was a second paper ball. It rolled to a stop near the first one. This time, a soft giggle accompanied the projectile and he suddenly knew what was happening. Rose was attempting to get his attention. He clenched his jaw and concentrated on copying the dictation from Rory’s notebook.
“Hey! Hey, Chinny!”
The Doctor’s world ground to a halt at that hissed statement. He looked up slowly, but didn’t see the students seated ahead of him or the blackboard. Somehow, the girl had latched onto the one thing, besides his hair, that gave the Doctor grief - his large chin. Most days, he could imagine it away and forget all about it while pretending he had a perfect hero’s jawline, so when it was brought to his attention… well, it would be no surprise to him later, upon reflection, that the edges of his vision went red.
“Chinny!”
She whispered it even more emphatically this time. Everything blurred in the wake of the searing hurt crashing down inside him. There was no thought, only action. The Doctor surged to his feet, his green eyes blazing. She stared up at him, her mouth open in surprise, utterly caught off-guard by his reaction.
“How dare you!” he shouted, gesturing wildly. One of his flailing hands overturned her inkwell, which splashed down the desk and splattered all over the front of Rose’s light pink dress.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, half standing, but unable to get away from the dripping mess with the Doctor standing in the aisle since her desk was against the wall.
“John Smith!” cried Miss Redfern, who marched over to them at once. “What is the meaning of this?”
“It-- it was an accident!” he stuttered, unable to look away from the black ink pooling around Rose’s ankles, dripping off desk and the hem of her dress. He almost couldn’t believe it had really happened, except that he was looking right at the result.
“You accidentally spilled Miss Tyler’s ink all over her?” the teacher said, disbelief evident in her tone.
To the Doctor’s shock, Rose spoke up for him. “It was my fault, Ma’am, I was teasing him.”
Miss Redfern turned her frown on Rose. “I don’t believe for a moment that someone can accidentally spill ink as a result of teasing.” She grasped the back of the Doctor’s collar and marched him to the front of the room. “You will stand at the blackboard for the rest of the day.” She picked up a length of chalk and wrote in neat, even handwriting, “John Smith lies.” Slamming the chalk down in the tray, she turned her angry blue gaze on him. “You will write this one hundred times before leaving today! Perhaps then you will learn to always tell me the truth!”
She stalked back to the other end of the classroom, telling Rose tersely to go clean herself up at the pump on her way. Reining in his temper, the Doctor tightened his lips and lifted his too-large chin as he turned back to the blackboard. Stiffly, he erased ‘John Smith’ and defiantly wrote, ‘The Doctor.’