November 1, 1997.
Sirens of police cars
and the noise emitting from red fire trucks scared her. A small girl on the
corner of a street was sitting down on a bench, wrapped in a blanket and a
physician monitoring her. Meters away from them, a burning house slowly started
to die down. The flames went out little by little, the firemen putting it out
as quickly as possible. One of them took a glance at the girl and sighed, going
back to his business. The blonde felt a pierce of pity for her – five years
old, and she had just lost a large fragment of her childhood in a single night.
“Oi, Anderson. Who’s
gonna watch over the kid?” he asked. Anderson, a stout five-foot, eight-inch
man shrugged his shoulders and merely continued putting out the fire. “I heard
the police talkin’. She seems to have no relatives or something.”
“That’s a load of bull,”
the brunette replied with a roll of his eyes. “She’s gotta have grandparents or
aunts or uncles who could take the girl in. Stop your worrying and put out the
damn house first.”
“Right, right, yeah,”
he answered quickly, diverting his attention back to the house and focusing on
the part of flame that burned on in the upper east. Away, the girl watched
them, her eyes cold and empty, feeling nothing but numbness. The female
physician sighed and sat next to her, gently turning her head so that the girl
wouldn’t look at the disaster.
“Don’t look at it
anymore, love,” she whispered. The girl shrugged, and Dr. Marissa Anthony felt
her own heart break. She wasn’t crying, wasn’t screaming, wasn’t doing anything
except for look on like a witness. Although the police had told her she was
uncontrollable, she couldn’t blame her. The kid was a kid, for God’s sake, and
had just lost her home and her parents.
“I just want mutti,” the girl mumbled. Again came the
crushing feeling. Suddenly, the blonde-haired doctor didn’t quite know how to
react. “And vatti. And my piano.”
“You play…?” the child
shook her head.
“Nein. But mutti said she
would teach me when I turned…” the girl’s face scrunched up in thought, “…ten.”
She held her two hands in front of her, staring blankly at them with all her
fingers facing her. “Eins, zwei, drei…”
German.
The doctor shifted
uncomfortably and looked up, spotting a raven-haired woman, way younger than
her looking at her with a sense of authority.
“Agent Meyer,” the
woman explained. “Wilson needs you over at the ambulance.” Marissa nodded and
immediately stood up, smoothing the front of her shirt. “I’ll watch over the
poor darling. The man needs help with the…” her green eyes swept away
uncomfortably, “…the bodies.”
“I understand, thank
you.” She stumbled away from them, feeling all anxiety slowly wash away. Being alone
with a tormented little girl wasn’t her best interest at the moment.
As the blonde ran to
the ambulance, Meyer sat down next to the small girl, who was still staring at
her hands. She saw the child’s dirty white nightie and cringed just a little
bit, feeling remorse and the insatiable desire to cradle the small child in her
arms.
“Sieben, acht, neun…”
It was like she
struggled with remembering the last number.
Meyer smiled slightly
to herself.
“Zehn, kind.”
Bright green eyes
looked up at her.
“Ja – zehn! Do you speak German?” the girl asked excitedly, so
earnestly that it made Meyer want to crumble and cry because sooner or later,
the child would realize the horrid truth. But she forced herself to smile, to
nod as if everything was alright.
“Yes, I do. Who taught
you German?”
“My mutti,” the girl proclaimed proudly, shaking
the blanket off herself. A tangled mess of black hair greeted Meyer, and she
felt the urge to take the comb out of her pocket and just fix the girl’s hair. “She
taught me. She will teach me more.”
“Of course she will.”
Bright eyes met tired
ones.
“You look…” she struggled for a word, “tired. Yes. You look tired."
Meyer chuckled and
cleared her throat, shaking all emotion away. “I am. But never mind me. Are you
waiting for someone?”
“The doctor-lady.” She yawned,
blinking. “And my parents. I think they are in the white van.”
She was so right, but
in a completely different manner.
Meyer felt her own
throat closing up and cleared again, faking that she had the cough. “I…you
will. Um. I think the doctor is coming back,” she managed, and stood up,
Marissa running back and taking her place. “I’m leaving, now. It was nice to
meet you,” she told the girl, and ran off. Marissa watched her with a frown,
tapping her chin as the small girl poked her side and nestled into her lap.
“Odd girl,” she
muttered, and her eyes softened upon feeling the child in her lap.
Away from them and the
scene and the people, Meyer wiped her eyes and stepped into the police box. A man
was waiting patiently for her, his hands on the control deck.
“No physical contact?”
“None.” She sighed and
peeked outside, cringing once again and turning back to the other person,
closing the door. “She was so innocent...”
“Oi, you. Come here.” And
she did, the man holding her gently in his arms. “You did marvelously. I would
have done the same,” he offered, and she smiled amidst tears. “Someday, that
little girl is going to grow up and realize who that kindhearted person was. And
she’ll pay her back.”
“Let’s just hope the
little girl doesn’t cause a paradox,” Meyer muttered. The man laughed and spun
her around, wanting to lighten up the mood a little bit more.
“Pray tell, why ‘Meyer’
as a codename?”
“My complete name is
Arianne Heather Meyer Maxwell,” the woman explained, spinning and then coming
to a stop. “Meyer was my mother’s surname before she married my father. I figured
it was the safest choice, if I chose ‘Maxwell’ it would be too obvious or
coincidental.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” The
man glanced at the control pad and pressed a button, and Arianne Maxwell could
hear the sounds of the TARDIS running. “Ms. Maxwell, you are an exceptional
young lady.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” She
finally gave him a smile of her own. “I hope she grows up to be just as
exceptional as I am.”
“Of course she is!” he
insisted, and took her hands. “My dear, that little girl is you, after all. Shall we dance to Mozart?”
“Can you even dance to his music?”
“If one can dance to mainstream
pop songs, then Mozart wouldn’t hurt.”
“Point taken.”
And they danced in the
middle of the universe, she feeling a little bit lighter as the TARDIS spun
away into the fabric of the universe and back into their own. Back in the
chilly night, a younger Arianne Maxwell rubbed her eyes and felt a chain around
her neck, a gold heart glittering in the dark night.
She scrambled for it
and opened it, a simple picture inside.
As the older danced
away in the stream of time and space, her own golden heart shone in the
illumination of the stars that burned in the sky.
