A/N: Another old thing I found sitting on my hard drive. Don't know why I never posted it. Oneshot.

Angel

It's one of those paradoxical trips that he takes because he knows he's already done it.

He'd commented to River how he remembers seeing all those curly-haired dolls in little Melody's bedroom, and she'd told him that she hadn't had hardly any toys at all until she was about six. And then, suddenly, they all appeared in her room overnight. She'd thought that maybe Dr. Renfrew or the Silence had given them to her since all the other children had just left. The Doctor knew better though, so after he had dropped her off at an archeological dig he'd set the coordinates for Greystark Hall in 1967.

He knew it was dangerous, crossing the timelines like this, but he'd done worse and as long as she didn't see him he'd be fine. It was easier to scan for the Silence now that he knew what he was looking for, and the Tardis, his magnificent ship, had managed to keep some of the data from the eyedrives even though it had scanned it in an aborted timeline.

Perhaps because the orphanage had so recently been emptied of the other children, there were only a few Silence lurking in the building, and from the looks of it they were asleep, as were Dr. Renfrew and Melody. The Doctor put a new nanorecorder in his hand and steeled himself for the worst.

It hurt him more than he thought it would.

The room was so bare; just a few raggedy toys and the collection of photographs for decoration. No child should grow up in a situation like this, he thought.

Melody was fast asleep, curled up under thin sheets on the bed in the corner. The Doctor crept to her bed and ran a hand over her hair, smiling. He had never really gotten a good look at her, but there was so much of Amy in her. Her nose and her mouth and her strawberry-blonde hair. He looked at the photographs on her dresser. He couldn't help but grin seeing Amelia's smile on her daughter's face. Definitely Rory's eyes, though. All big and round.

Before he could stop it the guilt seeped in. This was Amy and Rory's daughter, and this was the life she'd gotten and it was all his fault. He looked back at the sleeping child and sighed, then returned to his bigger-on-the-inside sack to begin putting out her toys.

The Tardis had prepared the sack for him; he'd walked into a new room off the console room to find it all ready. It didn't surprise him; the Tardis had always doted on River. Sometimes he thought she might be her favorite. He opened the sack to find toys and pictures and decorations and clothes, which he put away neatly. When he was done her room looked much more pleasant. His only regret was that this was all he could do. Lastly he pulled a thick quilt out of the bag and laid it gently over Melody. She stirred briefly, but merely yawned and pulled the quilt closer.

It was strange, looking at this little girl, knowing who she was and who she would be and most of all who she would be to him. She didn't feel like the same person, and yet in a strange way she did. He pulled a stool from the corner and sat down beside her bed. He watched her, trying to wrap his head around the idea of it all. He knew he loved this little girl; not in the same way he loved River, of course, but he felt an affection for her because of who she would be, as well as an intrinsic love because she was Amy's daughter. It had been the same with baby Melody. He had instantly loved her because she was Amy's. She was a baby, a brand new life created by his two best friends, and something he was so proud of them for. He had loved her then and he loved her now because he looked at her and thought, this is Amy's child. There were times with River too, when he looked at her and was nothing short of thrilled to know that this woman whom he had come to love was the child of two people he loved so dearly. And Amy and Rory, his beloved Ponds! How his hearts had swelled with pride when he'd realized that they had been the ones who gave the universe River Song. And really, who else could have?

Melody was a Pond through and through; breaking out of the spacesuit, calling the President, running from the Silence. Breaking out of prison even then. "Always the rebel, weren't you, Melody Pond?" he said with a quiet chuckle. "There'll never be a prison in the universe that can hold you." He looked sadly at the heavy metal door. "And I so wish I could take you away from this one." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I could, really. I could scoop you up, take you back to the Tardis, and take you to your Mum and Dad and skip all the nasty rest of it." He ran a hand through his hair, feeling very old and very tired. "And you would never ever forgive me for it." He wished so much that he could change it all without changing all of it. He wished there were a way to save Melody and preserve River, but it was the Amy dilemma all over again. Too huge of a paradox, too extensive of a rewrite. Time had to take its course, and he had to let it all happen.

"One day, though," he mumbled, eyes roaming absently around the room before returning to watch Melody. "I promise, you'll escape here one day. You're so much braver and stronger than I think you'll ever understand." He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and leaned closer, "You remember this, Melody, they can't hold you. There's a lot of things in your life that you'll forget, but you remember this, you never forget it: there's always a way out. Your mum was right. Melody Pond is a superhero, and there'll never be able to build a prison that can hold you for long. You'll be the girl who treats the highest security prison in the universe like her personal hotel. You're the girl who breaks a tailor-made spacesuit and tailor-made future, and little one you just wait…cause you'll be magnificent." He smiled, picturing River, all curls and gun smoke and mischief and held down by nobody and nothing, not even him.

"You're going to be a force to be reckoned with." His smile faded and he sighed again. "And that's why I can't save you. Because you're the girl who saves herself." And me, he thought with a slight smile. "And then I'll make it all up to you. I'll take you with me, and we'll see the stars. All of them, everything, everywhen, Melody Pond, River Song, I promise," he faltered, tears prickling the corners of his eyes, "One day I'm going to show you the stars." He stroked her hair again, and thought about another story told to another little girl who waited for him. "One day. You and me, time and space…" he trailed off, fighting his watery smile. The words hurt so much but they were the only ones that seemed to fit, and he wondered if maybe she'd remember somehow and this would be another one of those paradoxical things about them, "Melody Pond, you watch us run."

The Doctor felt his screwdriver beep in his pocket. The Silence downstairs were starting to stir; he needed to leave. He looked back at Melody and reminded himself yet again that this had to happen. He had to leave her. He stood enough to lean over and press a kiss to the small girl's forehead, and whisper in her ear, "Be strong. Be brave. Be amazing." He kissed her forehead again and forced himself to step away. He looked around the room one last time. He couldn't give her everything, but he could give her this.

"You shouldn't be here."

The Doctor smiled, closed the orphanage door and turned to see her leaning against the Tardis with a smirk on her face.

"Neither should you."

Her grin spread and she glanced at her feet. "I realized as soon as I told you. I don't know why I never thought of it before." He stepped close to her and his eyes narrowed in curiosity at the look of pure love pouring from her eyes. Sensing his confusion she leaned up and placed a brief kiss on his lips. "Thank you, so much."

The Doctor frowned and dropped his gaze. "It was just a few dolls, River. I owe her—you, so much more than that." River raised her hand to his cheek and lifted it so that he was looking at her. Few times had the Doctor seen River smile like that.

"Oh but Doctor, you don't understand. For a child like that, even such a simple act of kindness can make all the difference."

There was a noise, like wind but hoarser, that shook Melody from her sleep. She glanced quickly around her room with bleary eyes, then leapt from her bed and ran to the window. She caught the briefest glimpse of a funny sort of blue box just before it completely disappeared, taking the strange sound with it. A blue box. They had told her something about a blue box, hadn't they? It was important, but she couldn't remember why. …Or even who 'they' were, exactly. She wished she could have been in that blue box when it disappeared. Or better yet with all the other children when they left. She sighed and stepped off the storage drawers standing under her window and came face to face with a mobile of small, shiny stars. She'd never seen it before. She reached up a small hand to touch one of the foil stars and smiled. They were beautiful. Then she noticed that it wasn't the only new addition to her room.

She had toys. Dolls with curly hair, stuffed bears; a rocking horse. There was a small note taped to her toy drawers that said, Look inside, Pond. When she opened the drawer she found more toys; little plastic animals and planes and doll clothes. That gave her an idea and she ran to her wardrobe and threw it open, hoping but not expecting. There was another note inside, this one reading, "Hope these fit. If not, you'll grow into them. Hope you like." Melody frowned at the note. None of this made any sense. (Not that most of her life did.) This seemed like something Dr. Renfrew would do, but that didn't look like his handwriting. She tossed the note aside to examine the new dresses hanging in her wardrobe. They were all beautiful, and nicer and softer than most of what she'd had before. And they were all new. She never got anything new. Everything at the orphanage had always been hand-me-downs.

She ran to her dresser to check to see if it contained anything new, but stopped when she saw another note attached to one of the photos. It was the one picture she cherished the most; the woman she knew was her mother, cradling herself as a baby and smiling at the camera. The note stuck to its frame read, "Be brave for her, Melody. Especially, when she can't be brave for you." Melody yawned. This was all far too much to take in, especially in the middle of the night. She collected the notes and hid them in the bottom of her sock drawer. She thought of the writing, and the blue box, and the tin stars as she climbed back into bed and drew the thick quilt over her. She wondered who the notes could be from.

Before the home closed, Dr. Renfrew used to take the children to church every Sunday, and they talked a lot about angels and demons. Melody had never doubted that demons were real. They haunted her, whispered things to her in her sleep, made her do things she couldn't remember later. She'd never been sure about angels. Guardians who looked out for her seemed too good to be true. But as she looked around at her new gifts, she started to think that maybe, just maybe, angels could be real too.

Demons run, but count the cost
the battle's won, but the child is lost.
But sure as the river in the forest does flow
wherever she's taken, the child will know
that it was no goblin or trickster of yore
but instead was a good man who for her went to war

xxend