I first started noticing when we were alone in the Tardis. Just the two of us. He was acting odd- for the Doctor, who was ever the eccentric boffin; this was a very strange thing to come by. His actions, so smooth and languid despite his gangly limbs, had become spasmodic and sudden. It was as if his muscles had all contracted. His stiff movements weren't the only thing off about him- his eyes, his beautiful, deep-set green eyes, usually so warm, so kind and full of life, were cold and empty. His jaw was set, and his long hands trembled as he worked the console.

The way the Doctor was acting was like nothing I'd ever seen on him. Nothing I'd ever expected to see on him. I knew he was a man who held a dark and mysterious past- I knew that for a fact. But I'd never seen him quite like this. He seemed almost angry, by what I could tell by his stance, but the look in his eyes told me he was afraid. I have seen the Doctor afraid, of course, but it was always for us. Rory and I. He was never scared for himself- he was only ever scared for our lives, our pitiful, insignificant human lives. The look in his eyes now wasn't scared for us. I don't know who it was scared for, but it wasn't us.

"Pond, could you go and fetch Rory for me, please? I need some assistance with the chameleon circuit's settings. It keeps changing our environment. When we landed in Cardiff, it camouflaged us as ancient Madagascar." The Doctor asked, trying to act light-hearted, a half-hearted smile on his face. I knew he just wanted some time alone, but I nodded and pasted a grin on my face, and skipped away to find Rory.

After he thought I was gone to fetch Rory for him, I hid behind the leather chair that sat against the glass at the top of the stairs. I spied on him. I watched him from behind my hiding spot. He pushed away from the console, and sat down on the suede sofa near the console. The chair obscured my vision of him, so I knelt on my knees. His head was in his hands, and he was shaking so vigorously I thought he was having an epileptic fit. I frowned, and just as I was about to return downstairs, he let out an ear splitting yell. I shrank back, and watched his eruption of rage unfold.

He had stopped yelling, but now silent tears of anger and fright rolled down his face, and uncontrollable tremors shook his body. He yanked what I think was the chameleon circuit out from its socket, and without warning, started trying to smash the console's screen with the small metal spring. When he had finally succeeded, he turned around and leant heavily on the glass, his face crimson, his thick hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. I was frozen on the spot. I didn't want to return downstairs to my best friend. After he'd left to find what I assumed to be a new screen, I crept downstairs to see what was on the screen.

I frowned as I made out the words in front of me.

"The oldest question in the history of the universe," was written in small print at the top of the screen. But that was only part of it. Written all over the screen, translated into every different language in the universe, were two words.

"Doctor Who?"