Chapter Text
Sally Sparrow, owner and sole proprietor of Sparrow & Nightingale: Antiquarian Books and Rare DVDs, handed a box with the last of her stock over to Mr Thomas, the elderly owner of a slightly larger antiquarian bookshop opposite the train station.
“I’m very sorry you’re closing, Sally,” said Mr Thomas. “This town will miss your shop.”
“Thank you,” said Sally. She knew his condolences were genuine: Mr Thomas would often call in on his days off to buy a couple of books, and there was a mutualistic relationship between the two shops. “I’m going to miss it too.”
“I know how difficult it is these days with rent and staffing and the competition,” said Mr Thomas. He’d always refused to say the name of the beast out loud, a habit which Sally had found eccentric until she realised she’d picked it up.
“Yes,” said Sally. “I think we’d have been fine, but the DVD side just hasn’t been bringing in the money it used to, and I’m so overworked.”
“Well, please don’t be a stranger. You’re always welcome in my shop. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help out.”
“You’re so kind,” said Sally. “But honestly, I think I need something completely different. I might go travelling.”
“Good on you,” said Mr Thomas. “Do it while you’re still young and free.”
Sally grabbed the door for Mr Thomas and watched him walk out into the January dusk. She didn’t feel particularly young any more. She was going to be thirty-six later that year. Yes, she still had a few years on Mr Thomas, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d spent her entire youth scraping a living from selling old books. She had no savings and plenty of debts. Travelling was a story to get people off her back, but it wasn’t a serious option.
Suddenly there was a huge gust of wind. The receipts and bills and letters from the police scattered all over the empty shop were whipped up into the air, sticking to the walls. Sally thought it was a draft from an open window until she heard the noise.
Larry used to sit bolt upright at night, sweat sticking to his face. He had nightmares regularly now. They nearly always ended with that noise, the noise that had left Sally and Larry stranded at the mercy of the Weeping Angels. They’d been perfectly safe, but there had been a period where they’d both been left gripped by abject terror as the police box faded away around them.
Now the blue box was materialising in her shop. Seeing it appear was the opposite of a nightmare.
The wind died down, the noise stopped, and the box properly solidified. Sally realised she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled, the door opened, and a man stepped out.
“Hello,” he said. “Have you seen anybody who might need some help?”
This man was clearly not the Doctor. Sure, the Doctor was a time traveller, so he could plausibly have aged thirty years while she’d only aged fourteen, but his entire face didn’t match up. He also spoke in a Glaswegian burr rather than the Doctor’s estuary twang.
“Hi. Are you one of the Doctor’s friends?” Sally asked.
“No, very much not so,” said the man. “In fact, right now there are few people in this universe I like less than the Doctor.”
“So you stole his ship?"
“Again, no, sorry, I don’t know how you know the Doctor – bit of a complex life – but you clearly don’t know him very well.”
“Well, we only actually met for about a minute but we had a long conversation via DVD Easter Egg.”
“Sally Sparrow!” the man spluttered.
“Yeah, that’s me,” said Sally uneasily. “And you would be…?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, with a glimmer in his eye. He threw back the corner of his suit jacket and seemed to stand a foot taller. “I’m the Doctor.”
“But…”
“I know what you’re thinking, the Doctor is not nearly this handsome. Well Sally, lesson one… OK, lesson… seven, of the Doctor – if ever I need to cheat death, I can change my face. And I've had to change my face a few times since we met. Personally I think this one is my best yet.”
Sally didn’t really understand, but that seemed to go with the territory when the Doctor was around. If this man was an imposter, why would he know her name?
“Nice to see you again, Doctor. Would you like a cup of tea?”