Chapter Text
The Doctor’s Companion
A breeze rolls through the tilted open window, sweeping the cold November air in and around the shoebox of a room. It picks up the smells of the candle burning in the corner and carries it along with the essence of a cold morning, a pumpkin tint in the air. The black of the morning blankets the surrounding houses, the only tremor of light emitted is from the burnt-down candle, in need of a fresh replacement. If offers a ridiculously small amount of light, but you don’t care.
You’ve been sat in the same place for hours, not noticing how the evening fading from a light dusk to thickening black that continued up until the early hours of the morning. People aren’t even awake for work yet, not even the milkmen or the postmen. The town is silent, and you are the only one awake.
It’s not your fault, of course, you never took notice of how people went about their daily lives below your dated, uninteresting room. Are they significant? Of course not. Truth be told, there’s nothing interesting here. That’s why your head is still buried in a book, absorbing every word that has been carefully etched on the pages. You’re deeply involved with this book; this book has kept you from going mad as the minutes tick on with nothing particularly amusing happening, everything you need is right in that book. And you’re determined to finish it – tonight.
And let’s be honest, the only reason you’ve managed to get through this book so fast is because Tumblr is updating and your computer is useless without it. So, you picked up this book you’ve been meaning to read for months, and here you still are. It’s a fantastic book.
Later that day, you’ll consider the butterfly effect. If Tumblr had been working, would you have missed it? Would the brightness of the screen have dulled your eyes and made you fall asleep early, with the tab still open peering anxiously at you? It is because of the book, you conclude, that you didn’t miss it. That you experienced the best day of your life. If it was real. Above everything else after that day, you’ll question if it was real.
Your eyes droop ever so as the candle gives a last wheeze and extinguishes itself completely. You blink, raising your eyes from the page and wearily staring around the shadowy space, you’re weary, colourful eyes trying to distinguish shapes and objects. You never even noticed it getting dark; you never noticed the shadows falling over the pages you were reading. You can’t believe this has happened! You were only a mere page away from finding out a supposedly great conclusion to that book. Suddenly, you are angry at yourself, and the candle, and throw the duvet away from you with a flourish of rage and press your feet down onto the threadbare, starry carpet. You stamp over the light switch and consider going to bed – you’ve just realised, you’re very tired and that book only has one page left, the magnitude of the conclusion wont be appreciated until you’re awake. However, in a second, that feeling is gone and you snap your index finger over the light switch, desperate to know the ending. Ah, alas – it doesn’t switch on. A power cut?
Fuelled now, you stomp over to the window, shoving back a curtain that’s in your way and look outside. Nothing. No street lamps, no lights on in homes. Nothing at all. A power cut, definitely.
Sighing again, deeper this time, you gently place the book on the ground and slide into bed, pulling the covers up high under your chin. The book could wait, it was fine.
You were perhaps asleep for two minutes before an erupting light blistered through your eyes. You sat bolt upright, eyes snapping open and head colliding with something hard. Your hair tangles in your face as you press one cold hand to your forehead. Ouch, you think, squeezing your eyes shut again. The bright light is still there, and now a voice accompanies it.
“Oh, I am sorry! It just so happens I’ve erm… well. I don’t know what happened really. The TARDIS being her usual self, what can I say?”
Your eyes are seeing stars but it’s not because of the blow to the head. Your eyes are fully open, wide open, staring at this amazing contraption in your room. Sorry, is that a police box?
Your eyes move on to concentrate on something else. Or rather who else. Right sitting in front of you, is what is causing your massive headache right now. And he’s shining something green and whirr-y in your retinas.
“Oops. Sorry.” The unkempt man clicks a switch and the noise stops and the light dissolves into nothingness. Once again, the room is plunged into darkness. This man is still sitting on your bed, his head dangling above yours with his arm outstretched holding what appears to be, a kids toy. A million and one thoughts rush through your head – but one sticks out prominently.
“Is that – that thing on my book?” your voice barely audible above a whisper hisses. With a quick glance to the side, the man’s voice colours, he sits upwards and attempts to stand.
“You see, it’s not her fault, really, it’s your fault. We were heading to Anura because we heard - don’t call her a thing! She’s not a thing! - Something just terrible has happened and we need to help. The water is become contaminated and I need to save the amphibians from drowning. If they can. Maybe I’ve saving them from being poisoned? Probably. I’ll know when I get there, I suppose!”
He hopped up onto his feet onto the springy bed, feet planted firmly on either side of your knees. In embarrassment, you tip your head forward and your glossy hair falls onto your face. Awkwardly, you stare down at your choice of attire for tonight. Your usual. Typical. The one night it would have been perfect to wear those gorgeous pyjamas your best friend bought you and you don’t. Just great. Well done, you.
While you silently scold yourself this man begins an odd movement on your bed. One second – is he jumping? In all seriousness, is this stranger jumping on your bed right now?
“Are you sure you aren’t an amphibian who needs saving? My sonic tells me no, but the lack of water in here is worrying.” He continues bouncing a bit, lifting his feet fully off the bed. His foot grazes your knee as he falls heavily down. Is he wearing shoes on your bed?!
Just as you open your mouth to say something, an angry, confused something, all the street lamps that were previously absent flare up, lighting your room up in such a way it never has before. At that second your head snaps up and you finally look into the face of the man who has randomly appeared in your bedroom, bouncing on your bed (IN HIS SHOES) and his mysterious blue box that seems to be near crushing your book to oblivion.
Your “something” words falter in your mouth and catch on your lips. Instead, your teeth crash down on your full pink, bottom lip and bite, hard. What you’re seeing can’t be true. No, it’s impossible. It’s not real.
Because standing right above you, is a gorgeous, scruffy, hypnotic man. Your now-ordinary eyes meet this man’s and you assess his face and him yours. Your eyes greedily rake over the curve of his long nose, the defiant swoop of his dominating chin and the long, frazzled hair that tips to one side, covering a large section of his face. You can’t tell, but by his tattered and singed appeared you think his eyebrows must have got on the wrong side of a fire place.
Your eyes drift downwards, to his clothes. An open collared blue shirt reveals little of his skin, swamping his lean figure but sticking to his toned, flat stomach. It is hap-hazardly tucked into a sagging pair of black work trousers, which are rolled up and show bright blue socks declaring themselves above his shiny boots, laces trailing on the floor. Sweeping your eyes back up his body, you notice a tweed jacket weightlessly balancing on his shoulders. A final check and you see a bow tie dangling precariously about halfway down his shirt, daring to take a leap onto your bed.
You know you’re sleep deprived. You know you’ve had a long day. This is not real. “You’re not real. I’m going back to sleep.” You try to close your eyes and roll onto your side, but this beautiful man’s feet are still in the way. OK, you think to yourself, OK. I can’t roll over, he’s real. Okay, okay. Deal with this calmly now. You’re fine.
Instead of being calm like you planned, you flail back up, wrenching your eyes open as you do so. Your head collides with something hard again, “ouch!” you exclaim, your hand racing to your head once more.
“Well, stop doing that then! You keep hitting me!” The man frowns slightly, sitting back on his haunches and pressing his own hand to his head. “Your head is blooming well hard.”
“Speak for yourself.” You murmur, sleepiness taking over your tone of voice and making you seem grumpier than usual. You look him directly in his orbiting eyes. “Who are you anyway?”
A big grin splits the man’s face. “I’m the Doctor.” He smiles, showing his teeth. “I’m a Time Lord.”