Chapter Text
Muriel
Muriel had not been on Earth long. If you asked them how long they had been on Earth, their answer would vary, depending on the context and who was asking. This was not to be deliberately obtuse, but rather because Muriel had trouble keeping their story straight. It had been one or two months, by Muriel’s best count, though the measurement of time was as new a concept to them as tea and scones. Muriel liked Earth though. Muriel liked how friendly everyone had been to them. It seemed people (people!) could tell something was different about Muriel and instinctively sought to protect them.
Of course, something was different about Muriel. Muriel was an angel, sent from Heaven, to keep an eye on the Angel Aziraphale (explicitly) and the Demon Crowley (implicitly). Now that the Angel Aziraphale had returned to Heaven to assume the role of Supreme Archangel, Muriel found themself with significantly more free time than they knew what to do with. Which was just the predicament Muriel was in this afternoon.
It was a lovely winter day, or so everyone kept saying as Muriel scampered down Whickber Street. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Someone would say. Muriel would tip their head towards them, and smile broadly, saying nothing. “Unusually clear for a winter’s day, eh?” Another would say, casually. Muriel would beam and shrug, turning on their toe and going in a different direction.
On this day, Muriel had run out of tasks to complete at the bookshop. Rather than create themself additional tasks, Muriel had taken up their constable’s hat and skittered out of the shop, past Crowley who eyed them, shaking his head and going back to brooding. Muriel had tried to talk with Crowley on this day but found themselves turned away. “Not now, Muriel, I am far too busy wallowing in the depths of my self-loathing to be sunshined into discorporation,” Mr. Crowley had said, flicking his hand as if to shoo Muriel.
"Okay!” Muriel said, smiling brightly, “I don’t know what that means, but I hope you have a nice time!”
Crowley had scoffed, “Trust me, ang-... Muriel… I’ll have the time of my life.” Behind his glasses, he rolled his golden eyes, a gesture which Muriel did not see, nor would they have understood if they had.
Muriel was now passing strangers on the street, who all seemed to brighten when they saw them as if a beam of light shone on their otherwise winter-worn faces. “Hello, hello, hello,” Muriel would offer, indiscriminately, but with a tendency to direct more towards infants, dogs on leashes, and very old men. They had no particular destination in mind, nor rather much of anything in mind.
And that’s when they heard it- crash! Muriel turned and raced in the direction of the noise, curiosity overtaking any semblance of self-preservation. At the end of an alley, Muriel saw it and rushed up to it, putting their hands on the doors, eyes wide as dinner plates—a peculiar old blue police box. Dear Reader, please know that this box was of mid-century design, large, and decidedly blue. Muriel knew nothing of its peculiarity, especially regarding its age. What caught their attention was the face poking out of the door.
They were practically nose to nose with the face. The face was middle-youngish (by Muriel’s standards, as they were bad with faces, age, and as was previously discussed, time), with very tall brown hair. “Hel- loo!” The face said, smiling an imperfect grin at Muriel.
Muriel smiled back, “Hello, hello, hello. What’s all this then?”
The face frowned, “What’s what then?”
Muriel hesitated, smiled, and shook their head nervously, shrugging, “All this… then?”
The grin returned, “Hm. Good question, Inspector.”
“Inspec-” Muriel went to correct the face. “Yes! Inspector.”
“Thought as much,” the face said. “Tell me, where am I?”
Muriel’s eyes went wide again, “I… I mean,”
“No, wait, I know this air. This is… London. Soho. And… present day?” The face smacked its lips, as if tasting. “Yes, twenty-twenty-three, am I right? Won’t be much longer. Just past Christmas, I can tell! Generally, I am better at finding Christmas, but…things’ve been a little sideways lately.”
“Okay!” Muriel agreed, cheerfully. Tasting time, that was new. They’d have to remember that for Head Office. They wouldn’t. “Inspector Constable, at your service,” Muriel proclaimed, proudly, sticking their hand out in a confusing gesture. The face looked at the hand and back to Muriel’s face, which was beginning to falter, nervously.
“I’m the Doctor,” said the Doctor, impish grin returning.
“Sorry, Doctor Who?”
“Something like that.”
The Doctor
It had all been going perfectly, days on weeks on months spent with Donna and her family. Her beautiful daughter, Rose, her charming husband Shaun, her mother- who was lovely as long as you stayed on her good side and complimented her cooking- Sylvia, and her old dad- his mate, Wilfred “Wilf” Mott. He had recently bi-generated from his next incarnation, and now he was living, truly living. He had a family, he had a home. He had friends! Him! He had somewhere to go at the end of the day, and someone who’d left the light on for him. It was wonderful, it really was.
But, you can take the Time Lord out of the timey-wimey stuff but, well- oh… you know how it goes. So, there you have it, the Doctor was doing a bit of jumping around, exploring. You never really get used to time passing normally, especially when it never has for you.
He’d gone off in his TARDIS, his new(?) TARDIS, slammed the controls, as was customary for him, and the TARDIS had made its whoosh- ing sound, as was customary for her, and away they didn’t go. Or, at least not really .
The Doctor cautiously raced his way to the door, his trainers squeaking on the shiny white floors, and threw the door open to find a face.
“Hel-loo!” He’d said, looking into the beaming face of a very, very old, youngish-looking person, dressed as a constable. What’s all this then? They’d asked. The Doctor knew an angel when he saw one. He’d seen more than his fair share of angels. And, the Doctor knew old. He certainly knew what old looked like.
“Yes, the Doctor, something like that- Inspector Constable. Look at us, just two oddballs whose parents gave us these odd names.”
“You’re just called The Doctor? ” the angel asked, their brow wrinkling.
“Yes, and as you’ve told me, you’re just called Inspector Constable,” the Doctor reminded the other, a mixture of playful teasing and wiliness in his voice. He winked. The angel winked back, with some difficulty.
“I’ve never done that before,” the angel said.
“First time for everything, I always say,” the Doctor said, leaning against the doorframe of the TARDIS.
“Always?”
“No, I think that might be the first time I’ve said that there’s a first time for everything.”
“Oh, okay,” the angel said.
This was an interesting angel.
“Say,” the Doctor said, “You wouldn’t be out inspecting old police boxes, would you?”
“Yes!” The angel said, gratitude apparent on their face, “I’ve been looking for something to do, since the Angel Az- I mean, Mr. Fell, left!”
“Care to inspect this one? It seems to have stopped working,” the Doctor gave the doorframe a playful nudge with his fist. “Can’t seem to sort it out. I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of police boxes,” he grinned at the angel, who hesitated, and then, clearly wanting to appear human, nodded and stepped inside.
“Wow, it’s…” the angel said, trailing off, their brown eyes wide with surprise.
“Bigger on the inside?” The Doctor provided, playfully.
Muriel
“Wow, it’s…” Muriel gazed around at their surroundings. Huge white walls domed to a peak at the center, large round things lining the walls.
“Bigger on the inside?” The Doctor had supplied.
“A little like Heaven,” Muriel finished, reverently. And then, recognizing their error, self-corrected. “H-Heaven, Texas.”
Muriel noticed the Doctor quirk an eyebrow, but he blessedly said nothing, and nodded. Good, they’d fooled him. Muriel continued up the shiny, white ramp towards the center console. “What seems to be the problem, then?”
“Well, see, I don’t know,” the Doctor gesticulated wildly, “I did what I always do- pound the console, spin that spinny thing, give a shout- and I wound up here, in the same place- more or less, as I left. C’mere, I’ll show you,” the Doctor beckoned Muriel towards the console.
Muriel obliged, their eyes still gigantic as they moved toward the center console. It seemed alive, somehow. Alive and decidedly female. Muriel let out a breath. “I’m not really a-” Muriel began, haltingly, to explain to the Doctor how out-of–their-depth they were, when the Doctor pounded the console, spun the spinny thing, shouted, and off they went.
For real.
~End of Chapter 1~