A.N: So, David Tennant is gone, and yes, I am in mourning. However, I then watched the trailer with Matt Smith and came to the surprising realisation that he might be my Doctor. Which is an epic feat on his behalf, seeing as I have never seen him in a full episode of anything. Oh well!

I started this on Tuesday, when the snow was falling over where I lived, and which was ultimately the cause of me being stuck on a bus for six hours. Yeah.

This is an ElevenOC, because he needs a little love in his life.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who because if I did, the Doc would manage to hold down a steady relationship for once in his many lives. Also don't own any brand names, book titles, or the life of Phillip Reeve, and I apologise for what I did with the geography of Nottingham University and the city of Nottingham itself. I'm from Sheffield, so all place names are muddled around or just completely made up.

UNBETAD!

The main thing wrong with Nottingham University's flagship library was that its shelves were made of metal. It turned something fascinating and wonderful into a cold and clinical place of debilitating panic, as students scurried about, always studying for one exam or another. There was no peace and quiet to be found there, and so for that very reason Laura had beaten a hasty retreat back to the fiction library for a spot of light reading.

The Thwaite and Morvin Library had been generously funded by the two tradesmen who had given it it's name, and was built in the back of beyond, it's obscurity further cemented by the fact that the new fangled sports centre had been constructed in front of it. Naturally the fiction library was forgotten by all but the most hardcore of fans who faced the long trek regularly for anything from Jane Austen to the Harry Potter books. The library was well stocked, as Mrs. Pemberley-Finch, the librarian, was rather overzealous in her book ordering. She was well liked amongst the library's patrons though, as she would always lend a sympathetic ear to those who needed it, while churning out killer cups of tea.

Because of the poky size of the building, Mrs. P-F had no staff, though she got around this difficulty by often leaving day to day running to the most regular visitors, who turned up often enough that they could organise the place blindfolded. One such regular was the aforementioned Laura, who was trying to slog her way through a chunky paperback. It'd looked promising at first, but had swiftly descended into repetitive and unnecessary paragraphs about the male protagonist's eyes. Still, there was no use starting something if you weren't going to finish it, and so Laura trudged on, squinting desperately as the stupidly banal paragraphs disappeared into smudgy black lines as her concentration waned.

It wasn't all her fault though. If it were, this story wouldn't have even existed.

You see, there was only one other visitor in the library at that moment. He was being rather annoying, actually, and this wasn't helping Laura's patience. He tore up and down the aisles, pulling off books at random before slamming them down so loudly that even Laura could her them, even though she had her earphones in and was listening to all of Kate Nash's shouty songs.

She risked a quick glance up to the front desk; Mrs. P-F wasn't there, and the door to the back office was closed. This was a secret code for, "Alas, I cannot trouble myself with the heathen menace in my library. Deal with him, unpaid volunteer, deal with him!"

Being rather bad at confrontation, the unpaid volunteer decided to instead stick her nose in her novel and spy on the callous book handler intently for clues to his motive. He was probably a mature student as he looked about twenty-five or six, though he seemed to have found his clothes in the wrong century. No one but the stuffiest professor wore tweed anymore, and she caught a glimpse of a bow tie and red braces every time his jacket moved, which was often as he seemed fond of madly waving his arms around.

His shoulders were quite broad, though his legs were spindly and his movements coltish, proven by his mad dash along the carpets of the library.

Spindly legs aside, mused Laura, (as her pretence of reading began to fail with every inch that the book lowered itself towards the desk) he's not that bad looking. The floppy hair works for him, it makes him look intelligent.

She was broken out of her reverie by an exceptionally large amount of cursing from the man, who appeared to have obtained a paper cut. This prompted Laura to drop all the silly thoughts of about his odd attractiveness and instead gave her the swift kick up the arse that she needed to go and take him to task. Quickly pulling her earphones out, she slung them around her neck, before following it up with a decisive closing of her book, which garnered the attention of the man immediately. He fixed a sheepish expression onto his face as she made her was towards him.

"Can I help you?"

"Well, ah…yes, I suppose," He ventured, nervously licking his lips as he cast around for something to say to the one woman army who was standing in the way of his haphazard tirade against literature.

"Do you perhaps need a book?" said Laura rather dryly, as she folded her arms across her chest in a conscious effort to radiate authority.

"I do!" cried the man cheerily, obviously deciding that enthusiasm was the best form of defence. "I need a book about a King, and-"

"Oh, no, I think you're in the wrong place." She cut in, feeling the hot blush creep up her neck at the forcefulness of her interruption.

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, this is the fiction library, all the history books are kept in the main library near the centre of campus."

"Oh, right. Well, that's ok, I needed a fiction story anyway." He paused, intertwining his fingers into the fluffy bits at the back of his hair, rocking backwards onto the heels of his Converse as he appeared to wait for the words to present to him.

"I need a book about King Arthur," He said finally, the balls of his feet coming into contact with the carpet with a thump.

Inwardly Laura winced. Did he have to kick up dust everywhere? "Any particular book in mind?"

He seemed thrown by the question. "Er, what do you have?"

"Oh…um, well…" She racked her brain as she mentally tried to take an inventory of every book she had ever read, and came up with one or two suggestions. "There's 'Over Sea and Under Stone' by Susan Cooper, although that's more about finding the Grail than King Arthur. Then there's the book adaptation of the TV series 'Merlin', but I reckon that's aimed at younger audiences."

"Have you got any books where Arthur's portrayed in a bad light?" The man asked tentatively, as if daring to assume there were such texts about the fabled King of the Britons would be seen as a personal insult to the unpaid volunteer before him.

Fortunately, the request didn't seem to bother Laura unduly, though she did think him strange for making it. "Sorry, I can only think of one."

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "One is good. One is lovely."

Quickly plucking the offending book of the shelf, Laura held it out to the man. "It's called 'Here Lies Arthur' by Phillip Reeve. Arthur was meant to be the saviour of Albion and all that, but ended up as a mercenary King who killed some of his own closet friends."

He took the book from her, almost reverently. "Phillip Reeve, eh? That sounds about right. What else happens?"

"Sorry, I don't know." She'd genuinely forgotten; it was an age since she'd read the book. All Laura could remember was what she had told him already, and something about there being medieval cross dressers, though somehow she was sure he wouldn't benefit from this knowledge.

"Ah, ok. Thanks anyway." The man turned to go, but then spun around again so suddenly that he almost went head over heels. Rocking back onto his balance, he asked rather excitedly, "I don't suppose you could direct me to Besswick Square?"

"There's no such place," said Laura, after a moment's thought.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." She was too. Ever since migrating to Nottingham from her hometown of Sheffield, she'd made a point to get to know the new city carefully.

The man frowned. "Well then, why would he…if it didn't-" He broke off mid sentence, eyes wide as he stumbled upon some missing puzzle piece. "Of course! Has it really been that long?"

Laura watched with a rather apprehensive eye as he flung his arms about with glee, almost catching her on the side of the head with the Phillip Reeve book he still clutched. "Uh, sorry. Do you have a map of the University?"

"Yes…" came the cautious reply. She was still watching out for the waving book. "Over there, one the counter. You can take one, they're free."

"Thank you!" He beamed, far too grateful for what was allowed with the situation. With that, he left Laura standing in mild shock as he bolted towards the double doors, stopping only briefly to snatch up a map before sprinting out into the cold January air and the swirling snowflakes.

It was only after he'd disappeared into the falling mass of white that Laura realised what she'd forgotten.

"Oh no, wait!" She called after him, rather feebly. "I need to stamp your book out!"

But it was too late; the man and his bow tie had gone.

It took her twenty minutes to decide to follow him.

Now, this seems like a relatively short time in the grand scheme of things, but it was perfectly long enough for Laura to run through their entire exchange about three times, and also to give her chance to analyse exactly why the hell he wanted a book about an evil King Arthur. To be honest, it wasn't everybody's first pick, and the fact that he wanted it specifically, combined with the seemingly desperate need to go somewhere that didn't exist had piqued her curiosity.

And there was a tiny part of herself that wanted to admit that she'd rather like to get to know the man who'd smiled at her so brilliantly, but the sensible part of her did a good job of beating the rebellious faction down with an imaginary cricket bat.

Though he did have an exceptionally lovely voice.

Shut up.

Besides all that, it was only fair that she go after him. He'd taken the book without he even going through the proper procedures, and the only way they could ever be sure of getting it back was if she stalked him and found out his name.

Well, not stalked him. More like followed him diligently. Yes, that was it.

The only problem (and to be honest, it was a big one) was the fact that she had no idea how to find him. Laura supposed she could ask at the front desk whether they'd seen a young man with a bow tie, but it probably wouldn't work. The front desk were good, but they weren't that good. You'd have to be superhuman or something to distinguish one student from the masses enrolled at Nottingham University, even if the person in question had an odd fashion sense.

Enquiring was out of the question, then.

She scratched at the wooden surface of the desk with her thumbnail, going over the conversation again in an effort to find some kind of pointer in the right direction. He had asked about a place called Besswick Square, but Laura had absolutely no idea where that was. She scrunched her eyebrows together as she dug her nail deeper into the groove of the table; she was sure she was missing something. He'd mentioned Besswick Square, been confused about it's non-existence, and then had said something about it being that long, which suggested that he'd been away for a while.

Laura latched onto that thought, and the theory presented itself to her with relatively little trouble. Obviously there'd originally been somewhere called Besswick Square, but its name had changed. He'd probably moved away or been misinformed or something. The solution to finding her missing book thief would be to stop off at the Map Room in the Geography Department, before moving onto what was until recently Besswick Square.

Simple. And not a bad plan, considering how Laura's plans usually went. (She tried not to dwell on the unfortunate incident with the cat that was injured but not)

With that, Laura jumped up, snatching her various winter clothing from the back of her high-backed chair, before proceeding to struggle into them. She jogged towards the doors, before doubling back as she remembered her book, and then set off again, calling a quick, "Goodbye, Mrs. P-F!" as she too sprinted out of the door.

Unsurprisingly, the snow was more than a bit cold, and she shuddered involuntarily at the sudden shock of the biting temperature. Ducking her head out of the driving snowflakes, she almost collided with another student who was exiting the swimming centre. They nodded to each other, more out of new found comradeship brought on by the snow than actual familiarity, and then they were both going their separate ways again; the boy with a folder over his head to protect his wet hair, and Laura with her hand held out in front of her face as a defence against the gusty wind and passing lampposts.

Making a mental note to buy a baseball cap that had a brim large enough to protect her eyes, as the rather stupid beret affair she was wearing now was as much use as a chocolate teapot, (it even had a pom-pom) Laura sped up, half sliding on the ice as she saw the outline of the Humanities building against the dull skyline. The sight of it induced bright and lovely thoughts of things like radiators, and therefore she wasn't really concentrating as much as she should have been when she hurried into the entrance hall of building. Her boot slipped on the polished floor, and she skidded all the way across the room before landing in a heap against the opposite wall.

"Thirty-four," remarked the on duty desk monitor, who marked off number on a tally, which adorned the blackboard behind him.

The fact that she was the latest in a long line of people to do that only lessened the embarrassment slightly. "Is Haneef in?" Laura asked, as she stood up and brushed herself off, trying to appear unruffled.

The desk monitor nodded, his face twisted into that ugly grimace that occurs when people are trying desperately not to laugh.

"Right then," said poor Laura, and she set off towards the stairs, still sliding slightly on the wet floorboards.

The thing about Laura was that she wasn't at all popular in the traditional sense; in fact, she didn't have many friends. The ones she did have were the very best of friends though, and it was one such mate that she was on her way to visit. She'd known Haneef in secondary school, where they'd had several lessons together, and then they had gone to different colleges and had both lost touch. When she'd turned up at the University open day, they'd met again, and immediately fell back into the easy going friendship in which both parties pretend to barter affection by trading favours, but really have stopped keeping count long ago. Haneef was studying Cartography, and therefore was the perfect person to ask about maps.

When she'd rounded every winding corner in the ridiculously long corridor, which had obviously been designed by either an idiot or someone with a strange sense of humour, she finally pushed her way into the Map Room. Haneef was poring over an aerial photograph that was propped up on an architect's easel, but he moved away quickly when he saw who was at the door. "Look what the cat dragged in! You look terrible." He swiftly reached out, pulling at one of the rat's tails that protruded out from under that ridiculous beret.

She did look rather shocking, but that was the least of her priorities right now. "That's very nice, but this isn't a social call."

He rolled his eyes, clearing a space on the corner of a desk so that she could perch, and she watched amusedly as he moved the displaced collection of mugs to an already cluttered shelf, where they would no doubt grow bacterial colonies and live in peace for the rest of their lives. "Another bloody favour, I might have guessed. What do you need this time?"

"I need a map."

"Oh wow, a map. And you came to the Map Room for it? Clever girl!"

"Hey! Enough of the heavy sarcasm." She retaliated instantly, scrunching up her nose in a rather childish gesture of annoyance. "There was a place called Besswick Square, but I think it's changed names now. I want to know where it is."

Haneef crossed the room to some bookshelves, the state of which made Laura shudder in disgust. He pulled off a volume, which she assumed contained disused place names, and flopped it down on a workbench, before running his index finger along the margin of the page. "Besskin…Bessweth…ah, here we go. Besswick Square. Name has been changed to…Woolgoose Square."

Now this name was familiar. "You mean that bit of land with the statues sandwiched between Goose Gate and Woolpack Lane?"

The cartographer pulled out a local map from between some unorganised sheets of paper and squinted, before nodding the affirmative. "Yeah, that's the one. It's near The Screen Room, you know, that arty cinema in Hockley Village?"

Before Laura could reply, a tousled head appeared from behind some post its, and rather strangely a wheelbarrow. "Oi, 'neef! Thought I told you to keep it down so I can kip for a bit!"

The head belonged to Jerry Mackintosh, a trainee cartography professor who preferred partying to sleeping, and sleeping to studying. Thus, he lived his life in a cycle of odd hours that not even the most hardy night shift worker could keep up with.

Haneef shot him a glance that was half fond, and half oh would you please shut up? "Jerry, stop moaning. Laura's here."

"Is she?" The older man perked up considerably, and he battled his way into a standing position, before wading forwards. "Has she brought tea?"

He reached the desk at which the other two standing and conducted a closer inspection. "Oh, you've come to ask another favour. You're a bloody disappointment, lass."

"Then I shall soon be out of your hair," Laura said, rather sweetly, and was just turning to go when she was stopped by Jerry's exclamation of surprise.

"That's funny! I've been here a few years now, and not one person's even mentioned Besswick Square, and now two people ask after it in the same day!"

Her heart fluttered with mild excitement as she quickly realised whom the other person must be. "Oh really? Who was asking?"

"Odd chap, completely soaked through. Looked like a wet dog, and was waving around a campus map like his life depended on it. Wearing tweed too, the weirdo." Jerry paused from frowning at the open book he'd been looking at to gesture at Haneef. "Turned up when you went for a piss."

The younger man winced. "I'm sure she really didn't need to know that."

Laura hadn't even noticed her friend's embarrassment, as her attention was focused solely on the book in which Haneef had found the relevant name. "What do those numbers mean?"

Jerry took a quick glance. "1886. The date when the name was changed."

She shook her head in bewilderment, as she remembered the strange man's statement about it being so long, and her theory about him moving away. He wouldn't have been around for the name change if this date was accurate, and if he had been he would have been something like one hundred and twenty-four years old. Which wasn't possible.

Nonetheless, she still sprinted out of the Map Room as fast as she could, not even pausing to say goodbye to the two students in it.

"Bloody harebrained, that one." Jerry grumbled, before going back to his nap.

There, done.

Because it's an AU I don't have any specific deadlines; therefore it'll be updated sporadically, so that might be tomorrow. Or next week. Or three years from now. I fail at getting on with things.

Please review, because I like knowing what I've done well and what I've not. No flames please, but concrit is welcomed and encouraged.

Thanks for reading,

~NWN