AN/ This ficlet was written during a stint of writer's block. The BBC owns it all. Set during 'Blink' but contains no spoilers. Is in the TARDIS POV and part of the TARDIS 100 series. Thanks for reading.
I sit on a lawn on the edge of a park waiting for the Doctor and Martha Jones to return from hunting four things and a lizard with a bow and a quiver of arrows. People mill about, minding their own business, ignoring the strange blue, wooden police box.
None of them really catch my attention, except for one girl. I am inexplicitly drawn to her. She's young, late teens, early twenty's, maybe. She's sitting on a bench that I'm parked directly behind. If she wanted to, she could lean back and touch me with the back of her head. She has a notebook open on her lap and she's chewing on a pen in frustration. I conclude that she's a non-professional writer struggling to come up with a story idea. So far, the pages of her notebook are empty, save for the date in the top left hand corner. Maybe she came here to the park hoping for inspiration. If she has, she's not been lucky so far.
I ignore her for a minute or two, retreating back to my thoughts and patient observations, waiting for my team to return. My attention is drawn back to the girl when I feel her head rest against my side. Her eyes are closed wearily, and her pages remain blank.
She suddenly jerks forward, eyes opened wide in confusion. She whips around and stares at me, eyes narrowed now. She must have felt my warm hum of life buzzing softly through her hair, skin and scull. She reaches out a hand to touch my wooden side and was rewarded with the same sensation. I secretly dip myself into the forefront of her mind just long enough to hear her thoughts observe through a cloud of confusion that I felt like a wooden computer tower when it's turned on and processing.
She stands, still clutching her notebook and pen to her chest as if it's a shield. She circles around me twice, noting as many details as she can. She tries to open my doors, but I keep them locked. I see no reason for her to come inside.
The girl stands still and studies me for a minute or two more. Then a kind of light appears behind her eyes. She sits on the bench again and begins to scribble in the notebook in a kind of large, messy handwriting that only she can read. I do, however, manage to catch the words "Bizarre, alive, blue Police Box" and that's enough for me.