Charley has been rescued by the Sixth Doctor from the year 500,002 and survived their ordeal in Manchester. The Doctor considers his newest passenger while Charley, finally able to rest, reflects on her loss of the Eighth Doctor and considers her situation.

"You were, perhaps, expecting someone else?" - Sixth Doctor to Peri Brown, "The Caves of Androzani"

"I was expecting someone else..." - Charley Pollard to the Sixth Doctor, "The Condemned"

The Doctor contemplated the events of the past two days as he worked on the TARDIS console, performing a bit of overdue routine maintenance as they careened peacefully through the vortex.

Charlotte Pollard was proving to be quite the enigma indeed.

Stranded on Earth hundreds of years after the last of humanity had left the planet behind, yet clearly from the early 20th century, he didn't know what to make of her. There was no logical way that a girl of her era could find herself somewhere so far removed from her own time, certainly not without assistance. Additionally, it seemed she had been nearly unfazed by her first glimpse at the interior of the TARDIS, which implied at least some familiarity with technology far beyond what most of humanity would ever see.

He didn't for a moment believe her woeful tale of amnesia, and her dishonesty troubled him. He told himself he should bring her home, and, if she wouldn't tell him where and when that was, he should deposit her in England in the early 20th century and bid her adieu. But he couldn't make himself do so just yet.

Why not, Doctor? he asked himself. Are you growing soft all of a sudden?

Perhaps he was being too easy on her. But it was clear she didn't mean him any harm. He hated to leave her stranded somewhere at random when she hadn't even necessarily done anything wrong.

Also, frankly, Charlotte Pollard intrigued him. If there was one thing he couldn't stand it was walking away from an unfinished puzzle, and it seemed like she would prove to be quite the riddle to solve.

He wasn't exactly sure what his reasons were, but whatever they might be, he simply couldn't fathom kicking her out of the TARDIS without mercy, and so he was content to let her stay, at least for now.

What game was she playing at? Most shipwreck survivors were overjoyed to get home to their families and loved ones, yet Charley hadn't even once expressed an interest in figuring out how to do that. It was almost as though she wanted to stay on the run - he'd noticed look of desperate hope in her eyes when they landed in Manchester. Perhaps she was just an adrenaline junkie desperate for her next big adventure.

She reminded him of a feral cat - wary and sly and anxious to avoid being caught.

And like a cat she hid her pain. But he could see it when she didn't realize he was looking. What had happened to this young woman that was so bad she couldn't bear to speak of it, and instead fed him lies and evasions? What had she lost? And whom?

He would figure it out. Charlotte herself had remarked that he had a way with cats. And he would find a way with this one, too.

Charley sank, exhausted, into the armchair in her new bedroom, marveling at how similar yet unfamiliar it was to the one she had lived in for the past few years.

"Do you remember me, old girl?" she asked the TARDIS softly, placing her hand on the wall. The TARDIS was silent.

"I guess we never really did properly make up, after the whole Zagreus incident, did we?" she sighed. "Still, it's good to be here. It's good to be back. Even though..."

Even though the man I left out there in the console room is so, so far removed from the man I know. Even though he's a total stranger.

Oh, he was the Doctor. There was no doubting that. She could see it in his eyes, his face, his movements. She could still see whatever essential force he contained that made him who he was shining through this new (old, she reminded herself), facade. And that just made her heart ache more, because it felt like a tease: he was the Doctor, but he wasn't her Doctor.

This man didn't know her. He didn't trust her, and didn't even really want her here.

"You don't believe me, do you?" she'd observed earlier that same evening as she fed him her thin, feeble tale of amnesia and confusion.

"Would you?" had been his dry reply.

Of course she wouldn't. And who could blame him? Why should he trust her, when she was obviously lying to him through her teeth? He wasn't a child or a simpleton. Far from it. And he'd not lived for hundreds of years by blindly trusting suspicious strangers.

She sighed heavily, standing up to turn down the bed.

In the midst of their adventures in Manchester, things had almost seemed normal.

"You called me Charley before," she'd reminded him hopefully, "back there in the flat. Just once, but you did say it."

But he'd made his distrust quite clear. She was Charley to her friends, she'd said. And so to him, she would remain Charlotte.

That simple detail twisted her guts like a knife. She wanted to run to him, to fall into his arms, to confess her tale and hold onto him for dear life. But she didn't dare.

He'll just send you away, she thought miserably. You know very well that there are rules against tangling up two people's time streams like this. Time Lords have rules for everything.

And she couldn't bear to be sent away, because the Doctor... her Doctor... was dead.

Her insides knotted at the thought and fresh tears threatened her tired eyes.

He had to be dead, though, because there was no other explanation... he never would have left her behind, otherwise. He never would have abandoned her to such a lonely exile on a dying planet. You just wouldn't do that to someone you... loved.

It wasn't going to stop you, she reminded herself bitterly. You were ready to leave him for good in Singapore. You left him a note and walked away.

She raked her hands roughly through her damp hair, choking back a sob of self-loathing for her own hot-headedness and her volatile temper. She'd been grieving for C'rizz and she'd taken it out on the Doctor, tearing him to shreds because he wasn't upset enough at their loss, furious with him for hurting less than she was.

She'd almost thrown away everything that mattered to her in her anger.

But he hadn't let her walk away, and once she'd had time to calm down, she'd been unspeakably relieved he had been so stubborn. She loved him and their life together far too much to give it up.

She had been so ecstatic to continue their adventures, in fact, that she had rejected the hypnosis he'd attempted to use to heal her mind from the Cybermen's meddling. Even hypnotized, she couldn't bear to forget him. Faced with the idea of actually losing him forever, she'd realized exactly how much he meant to her... how hopelessly she still loved him.

And it was because of that love, that futile, hopeless love, that she couldn't bear to walk away now.

The man out in the console room was cold to her, and his eyes were chilly green instead of deep, fathomless blue. His arms would probably never hold her body against his chest, and his voice didn't sound like home.

But he was still the Doctor. And if Charley believed anything, it was that life with the Doctor was better, no matter what, than life without him.

I'll figure something out, she promised herself, miserable and exhausted as she curled up on her bed and allowed the tears of grief to fall from her weary eyes at last. I don't know what, and I don't know how. But I'll figure something out, because I don't think I can stand to lose him again.