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The Doctor was so excited to bring Steve and Bucky to the singing towers. The entire planet had a way of singing, and the melody was always beautiful and up lifting. Any ache that weighed on their heart, any sorrow that might have occupied their mind, were sure to be temporarily lifted by the harmonic energies of the planet. She'd already warned them not to be careful to open their mouth. Words had a way of coming out more song-like. It was impossible not to get swept up a bit by it all, but in a good way, she'd assured them.

But when she opened the TARDIS doors, the Doctor quickly realized something was off. The planet was still achingly beautiful as ever, its song thrummed in the air like a summer breeze. But the chords were all in minor. It was sad, so stunningly sad.

"Something's not right..." she started. A hand clasped over her mouth. No, no. She would have to be careful. Instead of being a temporary tonic for her sadness, she realized immediately it might magnify any discord in her heart. She hadn't even sung, but the way she spoke was rhythmic, the lead in to a melody she had no intention of singing.

♪ Well, then. Come along. We'll find what's wrong... ♪

She sucked in a breath and stopped herself, motioning to her companions instead. She was dressed for a trek in the mountains, where the sunset was beautiful, wearing the same riding pants she'd attempted on Steve and Jane's aborted second date. It had been on purpose, a signal of a second chance, but now that the planet's tune was all wrong she was starting to regret that choice.

Jane pointed her sonic into the open, and when it whirred, even the sound was pitch perfect. She walked in silence though her footfall carried the soft, sad rhythm perfectly.

Most people didn't notice. Time folded in on itself and with the exception of the very strong willed and the time travelers, it just felt like it had always been that way. The dance hall was filled with soldiers in their sharp brown dress uniforms, women dressed to the nines at the height of mid 1940s fashion, and a band blaring a swinging rendition of Sia's Titanium.

THE WAR OF THE ROSES HAS ENDED, proclaimed a banner. The light was golden with old fashioned bulbs. There were sharp red banners hanging from the walls representing the Tudor victory. And Peggy Carter was there, she always spotted Steve first, with her hand reaching for them. He owed her a dance, after all. He always owed her a dance.

It wasn't precisely like the vision. The darker details of men bleeding out or fighting didn't exist at all. But somehow Scarlet Witch's vision she'd activated in Captain Rogers had come damn close to the real thing.

"We can go home after this," Carter said after she pulled her man in. (Carter always got her man.) "The war is over."

On the other side of the dance hall was someone who didn't belong. Her dress was 10 years ahead of fashion, a sort of shimmering cream color that helped her blend in if it were for the golden leaf details. She was looking for someone named Bucky.

Peggy curled in close to Steve, letting him take the lead. "Love this song. I have it on my iPod."

The Doctor loved New York. There wasn't an incarnation of New York that wasn't exciting, from Old New York to New New New New York. The American New York was, naturally, the best incarnation of them all, even if she did look like a bit of a lost tourist. She dressed a bit like a Victorian governess with a tomboy's haircut. In a city like New York no one looked twice.

Not even at a man in an SSR t-shirt looking lost and afraid as black SUVs closed in on him in the middle of Times Square.

Luckily for him, The Doctor was not most people. She walked with a perfect posture and dignity that betrayed her young face. She wove through people like the TARDIS through time and managed to get to suspiciously specimen-like man before anyone else. Her hand was so gentle as it reached up to meet his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

Despite how dire the situation looked, The Doctor appeared to be in no rush, examining him with sad brown eyes. After a moment's consideration she said, "Of course you're not. Come along, then. They can have you when you're good and ready."

She offered her hand like a question.

When he took it they ran. The Doctor had no idea where they were running to at first, but she could make out black SUVs tailing them. Steve could run much faster than she could, but with two hearts she had no problem keeping a fast pace. She noticed a stairwell leading down to a subway platform, and took it. It was a joyful thing to run. This time there were no monsters, no aliens, no invasions. Just a bunch of humans scrambling to figure out what had just happened. The Doctor laughed like the entire ordeal would simply be another funny story to tell.

The Doctor slept. And slept.

Occasionally she exhaled what looked like golden fairy dust. The clever princess in fairy tales, saving cursed princes from wicked monsters - that was her. The fairy godmother who came to people's aid in legend - also her. She looked the part now more than ever. When her eyes opened, she saw that she was back in the TARDIS. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there either.

There was Steve, mending his shirt, wearing his trousers and white sleeveless undershirt. The Doctor looked confused a bit.

"...Did I miss something? Regeneration, takes more than a flashy light. Last time I nearly slept through an invasion and Christmas."

It was good to have Steve back in the TARDIS again. The Time Lord had no idea where she was going, so it seemed the smartest thing to do was head to a museum. She was still squinting at the console, the knobs were just as she left them, though sometimes she pulled the wrong one and the TARDIS made a mechanical protest sound and then the Doctor would apologize and try something else.

"There's no need to panic..."

Which meant there was probably a very good, very rational reason to panic.

"I'll remember how to land this eventually..."

She looked up at Steve and offered another one of her new smiles. She hoped they were good, the Doctor hadn't seen what they looked like yet. After a few more attempts, they landed. The Doctor was happy to see it was a museum. She stuck out her tongue for a few moments and tasted the air.

"Oh, Alafagoria! Distant future, well! Distant relative to you. Let's have a look, shall we?" The Doctor grabbed Steve's hand and dragged him out. Instead of stopping at the displays, the Doctor passed her judgement on them and swept him through the various exhibits quickly. "Wrong. No. Almost. No cigar. Next. Oooh, that was a lovely day. Nope! Wrong."

It was in the last room that the Doctor stopped and canted her head. "Now this could be promising..."

Perhaps it was because they'd separated her from the TARDIS. It wasn't as if a woman, alien or not, would be able to get far on foot on her own on a HYDRA base full of armed operatives. They'd taken her sonic screwdriver and psychic paper, too. What was the Doctor without her gadgets, after all?

Her things were held at one location, halfway across the world, and she was held in the other. There were doctors that wanted to cut her open and see how her two hearts really worked. The problem was the Doctor had seemingly given HYDRA something better than complete knowledge of her alien physiology. She was giving them secrets to alien technology, at least a decade ahead of its time.

HYDRA had discovered the Doctor's greatest weakness: boredom.

After the base was secretly liberated by SHIELD, they'd discovered it, too.

They hadn't meant to be cruel to the alien, but she was clearly too dangerous to release and was too valuable of an asset. They'd tried to keep her occupied in other ways. They gave her books to read: she could read a thousand pages in approximately five seconds. The only books she had any interest in re-reading had Harry Potter in the title. She liked music, particularly David Bowie and Lou Reed, but the music alone wasn't enough. Movies did nothing, she refused to sit through them.

The only thing that kept her from being depressed or panicked was the smart board and stylus that they'd put in her room.

She didn't just hand over dangerous technology to the enemy. It wasn't quite like that, just close enough. They were just jokes at first. Instructions to build amusing little trinkets. Some of them were pranks and set off hilarious effects. She was a tinkerer. It was the only thing that kept her mind occupied and stopped her complaining from having to, quote, live a boring life in order, unquote. The problem was some of those little in-jokes and mathematical formulas had practical applications that would be dangerous in the wrong hands.

They couldn't just let her go.

For SHIELD, for the sake of the world, it was better if she remained their guest.

The Doctor wanted a banana. Not just any banana, of course. The Gros Michel variety of banana was clearly superior to the modern Cavendish, despite having gone extinct. She impatiently tapped buttons and pulled levers on the TARDIS console, until hearing the delightful vwrop! vworp! of the landing.

"The Gros Michel," The Doctor explained, "is superior because it's still the flavor emulated in banana custards and candies. Superior flavor and texture, although sadly not very disease resistant. Lucky for us! Still in bountiful supply in 1941. Also jazz, I do like a big band every once in a while."

The Doctor looked up and realized she was speaking to an empty room. Right, Rory was gone. So was Wilfred Mott before him, and Micky Smith before him. She frowned, but was thankful that her forgetfulness was only witnessed by her time machine.

"So, bananas then," she said to herself. And unlike other times when the Doctor promised one adventure only to be brought into another by the TARDIS, she was almost a little disappointed to find herself in the exact destination she'd tried for: New York City 1941. The Doctor wondered what Churchhill was up to as she stepped out of the tiny blue box and locked up behind her.

Although a young woman in a man's dark suit and tie might have stood out, most humans were polite enough to look away. Her hair was down and hung plainly at her shoulders, strolling in reasonable low cut boot perfect for running. Perhaps she'd tried to emulate the Beatles' early look just a bit, but really who hadn't? Or, she paused to consider, perhaps it was the other way around.

A girl in a suit just taking a stroll. No adventure here. None. Nope.