Chapter 1: I've Just Seen a Face
His head hurt. Actually, most of body did.
Paul McCartney looked around him in confusion. He hadn't remembered getting out of his car, hadn't remembered crawling to the spot in the middle of the road where he currently sat. And he had no clue why his heart was hammering the way it was, as if he had just been running for his life.
His eyes moved past the car, his car, and then jumped back to it. The poor vehicle was bunched up against a pole on the side of the road. It looked absolutely terrible, as if it would never be driven again. Paul couldn't even visualize the thing cruising down a road again, and he had a pretty good imagination.
Then it dawned on him that he didn't remember the crash. Not really. There was a vague shadow of memory trying to push its way to the front of his mind, but he couldn't get at it. It evaded the grasp of his conscious thoughts.
What had happened? Racking his brains, Paul was still coming up empty. He remembered clearly sitting at the wheel, looking out at the deserted road calmly as he drove on. He had known he had to be at the recording studio that day, promised his mates he'd be there. Now, he wondered what they would think when he didn't show up on time. They'd probably be worried; Paul usually wasn't the late one.
Paul heard a noise. A small scraping sound that sent shivers down his spine. But why? The sound wasn't anything he'd heard before was it? He swung his head around, looking helplessly around him. His mind was too disoriented, and his body ached too much to move a whole lot.
There was nothing there. But he suddenly remembered a fragment of how he crashed. There was a girl... But for the life of him, he couldn't even recall what she looked like, only that he was distracted by her. She was the reason he crashed. Right?
"Oh, Paul, you need some help," he told himself as he rubbed his head, "Next thing you'll be seeing things."
As if to prove his insanity, a new noise started, faintly at first, but growing in strength as it faded in and out. A blurred blue rectangle with a bright dot of light at its top was pulsing not far in front of him. It seemed to be the source of the sound, one that reminded Paul of creaking wood mixed with a whooshing breeze. With a final tone, as Paul sat, eyes transfixed on the strange new object, the blue box solidified and stood, yellow light glowing from the windows.
Eyes wide, Paul stared at the thing that had appeared as if by magic in front of him. He tried reasoning with himself, his thoughts pushing against each other, arguing in his mind. Trying to convince himself he was hallucinating, Paul closed his eyes tight, then opened them again.
It was still there. And the door swung open as a tall, thin man waltzed out of the blue police box, dressed in a suit and trench coat. He was grinning as he stepped out.
"Ah, the outskirts of London! This is where I once stopped the..." he said, then sighed, seeming to realize no one else was following him out of the box, "Right."
Paul, still staring with mouth agape, coughed. The movement made him moan softly in pain. His chest hurt.
But he had caught the attention of the strange, lonely man.
"Oh, hello, there!" the man called out cheerily, "I don't suppose you know the date, do you? Travelling around through points in time and space can really confuse a person. I know where I am, just not quite when I am, if you know what I mean."
"No... I don't. Uh... Who are you?" Paul asked quietly.
"Why, I'm the Doctor!" the man said, standing up straight.
Paul raised an eyebrow, "The doctor? Do you have a name?"
The Doctor's trench coat flapped in the breeze as he replied with a bit of disappointment, "You avoided one of my favourite questions quite neatly, there. And who might you be?"
Paul took a breath to answer, then let it out, scrunching up his face and thinking for a moment. "Actually... I'm not quite... oh wait, it's Paul. I'm Paul."
The scrawny man let out a small chuckle. "And they call me mad! But, back to my question: When are we? What's the date, Paul?"
"Uh... January. January something..."
"Right, right, would explain the chill. Let's see, it looks to be about... '65, am I right? 1965? No, wait! End of '66, but it's January, which would make it 1967. Ohh good times, this year!"
Paul gave him a blank look, wondering if the loony bin had recently had a security breach, maybe let out a patient or two. But the strange blue box was still there, reminding him that his own sanity was a bit questionable.
"Well, grand as this time is, it's really not where I was trying to get to," the Doctor said, scratching his head and scrunching up his face in an almost confused look, "Can never quite get to the right place..." He paused, as if a conversation was still going within his own mind.
Paul fidgeted a bit, then tried to stand up. His legs shook as he raised himself up slowly, pain throbbing in every nerve of his body. He grimaced against it, and focused on staying steady, racking his brains once again to figure out what had happened to him. Nope, the memory was lost. He sighed in frustration.
That seemed to bring the Doctor's attention back to the real world. "Sorry, did you say something? No? Alright, well, I'm off, then, to the correct time if I'm lucky. Loads of people say I am, lucky, that is, lucky to be alive, lucky to see the world, lucky to be a hero, lucky to-"
Paul interrupted, no having patience enough to listen to a rambling rant. "That's great. Look, you may have noticed I'm in a bit of a mess with no car and such. Would you mind helping me over to that police box so I can get some help?" He truly hoped said police box worked. Having materialized out of thin air before his eyes, he wasn't too confident.
The Doctor looked back at the box. "Ah. Don't think you'll reach too many police from there... Not quite your average police box."
Closing his eyes in disappointment, Paul grumbled, "Fine. Didn't expect much. It's been that kind of day." He almost asked the strange man for help, but his pride wouldn't let him seek it. Not even when he knew he needed it.
"Sorry... Well, nice talking to you!" The Doctor gave a wave and joyful smile before turning on his heel and walking over to the box. He opened the door and slipped in.
"Thought you said it didn't work," Paul mumbled, limping over to the curb. He jumped as a strange sound started emulating from the box. It was a sound just like the one from when the thing first appeared, but it started loud then faded softer. Turning to look, Paul watched the police box fade in and out before disappearing completely. He looked around the deserted street, then began the process of convincing himself it never happened.
When the sounds began to float into his ears, he closed his eyes to shut them out, refusing to let himself go insane. That noise wasn't real, it couldn't be. He was merely imagining it, imagining it as it got louder and louder once again.
"Oi! Hold on!" It was the voice of the man, the one who had climbed into the box. "Paul!"
Unable to ignore his own name, Paul opened his eyes and wasn't really surprised to see the Doctor's head poking out of the box. "Yeah?"
"Paul McCartney?" He said, eyes glowing, "The Paul McCartney?"
Paul answered nervously, having seen crazy fans before. "Uh... Yeah..."
"Ohhhh! I can't believe it, you're Paul McCartney!" The Doctor stepped out of the police box and went up to Paul, presumably to shake his hand. "I'm here with Paul! It's an honour, it really is! Can't believe I didn't recognize you at first, your voice is all over the galaxy! Quite a revolutionary leader, you are! Your songs, still played all over, no matter where one goes. Or when, for that matter. Well... Not so much in the past, but from here on out, they stick around!"
"Uh..." Paul didn't quite know what to say, besides telling the man he was cracked. Only the mad talked about time travel as if it were real.
"You know, I always thought you were a bit more quick-witted than that. Strange how people's legacies get distorted with time."
Defensively, Paul replied, "Let's see you have a sharp wit when you can barely remember your own name! It's been a weird day."
The Doctor shrugged. "I forget you humans love your normalcy. Once again, nice meeting you and such. Keep up the singing!" He began heading back towards his disappearing box, and Paul's hope fell again. This man was never going to offer help, and no one else would be along for a while.
But he was wrong. The Doctor whirled back around, his trench coat fanning out. "Oh, I'm an idiot, you need help, don't you? That's supposed to be what I do. I'm the Doctor! Well, come along then, let's get you aboard the TARDIS."
"The what?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow. But, without answering, the odd man ducked under Paul's arm (he was a tall man, and had to bend his knees slightly to support Paul) and led him to the police box, taking some of Paul's weight so he didn't have to limp quite so much.
"Just a tic," Paul said, "How is this going to help? I thought you said it was broken."
"I never said anything of the sort! It won't get the police for you, but it's not broken by any means! Well... nothing important anyway. Chameleon circuit could still use repairs, but pressing matters came first and I rather like it how it is. Well, here we are. Welcome aboard the TARDIS!" He closed the door behind Paul and went up to a large, circular control panel.
Paul stared around him in wonder at the alien technology. He looked back at the door, which appeared as a normal police box door, then gaped at the huge interior. "It's... It's bigger on the inside?"
The Doctor grinned. "Another of my favourite questions, thank you, Paul!"
Feeling dizzy and overwhelmed, Paul sunk to the floor and sat against the wall. "What kind of drugs did they slip into my tea?" he mumbled as the noise started up again, and the Doctor frantically pushed buttons, hit switches, and once pounded the control panel with a hammer.
"Off we go, then!"