This is my first fic writing for the 11th Doctor, so here's to hoping it's good. I love reviews, by the way. I'm also considering a sequel, depending on how much everyone enjoys this one.

This is set some time after Season 5, when Amy and Rory return to Earth to live normally and start a family.

Author Note: I changed the summary for this particular story. I should have changed it a long time ago, but I finally got around to it, hooray! Please don't be confused; I changed nothing else but the summary.

Disclaimer: As much as I'd love to lock Simm!Master up in my basement and do very bad things to him for the rest of forever, I don't own Doctor Who. However, I am married to the Master in my mind.


I spent all my life looking for my big, blue box.

Mum and Dad always told me stories about it, when I was a little kid. There's a man, they said, a wonderful man who can do absolutely anything in the world you can think of. He can confuse you with just a single sentence (but only if you listen hard enough, Dad told me once). He can be the most magnificent friend in the whole world, taking you anywhere you want to go, just because he wants to make you happy. He can topple mountains, destroy evil creatures, and save the lives of people who are in danger, people he doesn't even know. He travels more than anyone you could ever meet and has been to places you've never even heard of, rescuing whole planets from fiery destruction. He can eat more Jammie Dodgers than anyone else in a single sitting. He loves bow ties, suspenders and red fezzes. And he can travel in space and time, in a big, blue box.

It's called a TARDIS, Mum says. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. Dad says it's a funny name, but I think it sounds cool. Mum drew me a picture once. I keep it on my wall in my room, above my side table. It's been there for years and I've never moved it. It's colored in too. She explained to me once that it was just a disguise, the Police Public Call Box thing. From the 1950s. I've never really seen a proper working one in person before, mostly because they're all gone now and no one remembers them much. I saw one in a museum once, only it was one of the skinny, tall red ones. I didn't like it. Blue is a much better color.

I've drawn a lot of pictures of it too. I guess I've grown up sort of believing that he's real, even though he's just a bedtime story. I'm 14 now, just turned yesterday. My friends are always asking me why I stare out the window at school so much. I wish I could tell them that I'm waiting for my big, blue box, but I can't exactly do that, now can I? I think they'd laugh at me; all the aliens we run into nowadays aren't nice ones anyway.

Mum's always mad that I took Dad's accent over hers. Scottish accents are fun to listen to, but not as fun to speak, for me anyway. Dad's happy that I took his accent, mostly because I look like Mum's clone, flaming red hair and all. Dad says I got her brain too. I've seen pictures of her from when she was little and I have to say we really do look alike. Mum's always been kind of graceful, but I didn't get that either. I got Dad's sort of bumbling nature. Which is fine with me, I like how I am. Most people my age don't, but I'm glad. I mean, I could have turned out a lot worse, right?

Mum and Dad finally decided to stop trying to have another baby. Mum really wants a son, but I know they'd be happy with whatever they got. After the third miscarriage when I was seven, they hadn't tried for a long time. I'm their little miracle, they said. I'd love to have a baby brother or sister, but the age gap would be huge now. I wouldn't mind, though. I keep saying that we should adopt, but Mum doesn't want to. Still, I might be able to convince them someday.

Sometimes I hear Mum and Dad talking, when they think I'm not listening, or when I'm in the next room. They talk in quiet, hushed tones. I listen close, because I know what they're talking about. Mum talks about him all the time. She wishes he'd visit. Dad doesn't say anything, but I know he agrees with her. I'd agree with her too, if he was real. Sometimes, I wonder if my parents are crazy. They talk about him like he's alive, a real person. But that can't be. Can it?

My name is Felicity Annabelle Williams. I spent all my life looking for my big, blue box.

But never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would actually find it.

And now, I wish I never had.