Lucy Blake stared out her window for the umpteenth time that day. This was boring. Drudgery. Complete drudgery, the lot of it. For four years now, she'd been working at Thoreau Threads, Inc. She'd started out as an intern and finally worked her way up to designer in what was quickly becoming England's fastest growing design company. Lucy had been making her own clothes for years, mostly due to her small frame and family's lack of funds growing up. Upon graduating high school, Lucy skipped traditional University and went straight to interning at Thoreau Threads and taking courses in design thanks to a personal invitation by Thoreau's personal secretary, Jean Marsh. She'd been a friend of the family and recommended Lucy, ever so subtly when Mr. Thoreau was looking at prospective peons. Lucy didn't mind the tedious work, it was designing she wanted to get to more than anything. And for three and a half years, she worked herself to the bone performing the most menial tasks, all while managing to make a collection to show to Mr. Thoreau. Finally, six months ago, she'd presented her collection to him, and by some miracle, he was impressed and hired her as a head designer. The winter line was in full steam and Lucy couldn't be more bored. She'd been hoping for the glamourous world of models, photographers, cocktails and clothes, and instead, 22 year old Lucy got bleeding fingers and a cramp in her neck that she feared would never go away. The coat she was working on was nearly finished. She just needed to appliqué the rhinestones on the right shoulder and it would be perfectly garish. When she'd meekly come in to Mr. Thoreau's office to suggest something less haut couture, he'd laughed in her face and told her to mind her place. This was no time for Lucy to be thinking of changing careers. She had a good job at a posh industry, making enough money to send to her sister abroad in Mumbai and to pay off her classes. She'd just split with her boyfriend of two years, James, and the way they'd left things, there was no chance of getting any money from him. Lucy wished and had often done so, that she was more like her twin sister. They were identical, Lucy older than Juliet by five minutes. Juliet was flighty, spontaneous and often thought rules beneath her. It was this reckless abandon that Lucy so often craved. She was cool, calculating and patient. She thought things through, thought about all sides of everything before she did anything. That was one of the reasons she and James had spilt. He'd been unable to handle her inability to "leap without looking, to go the path untrod, to…" Oh, it was all bullocks, anyway, Lucy thought. It was just a coping mechanism, she told herself. While I'm afraid of everything, don't take chances, don't change my mind, Juliet leaps at everything and lives like she'll never wake up in the morning. Lucy thought, for the millionth time, of the thing she'd told herself never to think of again. Daddy, dearest. He'd enjoyed knocking their mother round enough, but when she couldn't get up anymore, it was Juliet and Lucy that felt his wrath. Emmeline Blake was mild-mannered, soft-spoken and gentle. Certainly, she was no match for Evan Blake's powerful fists. The former boxer had a drinking problem that manifested itself on his family. When Emmeline didn't do something fast enough for his liking, she got hit. When the girls cried, or threatened to tell someone, they got hit worse. It took Evan putting Emmeline in the hospital for the second time for her to leave him. She filed a divorce, a restraining order and eventually Evan Blake went to prison. That had been difficult explaining, growing up. She couldn't tell her friends where her father was, why he was away, why they'd moved so many times when they received the phone call that he'd been let out. She and Juliet were often the strange girls who didn't have a dad and whose mum was afraid of her own shadow. They'd grown up in poverty, Lucy making clothes for herself and Juliet. The girls had been raised on ballet, and until Lucy found designing, she'd wanted to do that more than anything.
Lucy snapped herself from her reverie as Jean Marsh walked by. The more distant Lucy got, the less favourable she was to Jean and therefore, Mr. Thoreau. Lucy wasn't sure she cared. She had spent so much time trying to make people like her, trying to impress them and it was so tiring. She caught a glimpse of herself in the hand mirror she used for tiny stitching. Black hair hung in thick, loose curls just below her shoulder blades. Her pale skin looked somewhat dry; even the scant freckles across her nose looked pale. Her eyes, grey blue, like the sea before a storm, were half glazed with tiredness. She hadn't slept in a while. She pursed her full lips, wiped a piece of thread off her straight nose and admired the prominent, angled cheekbones she and Juliet had gotten from their mother. The cheekbones and the grey blue eyes were the only thing they'd gotten from her. Everything else looked like their hateful father. Glancing at the retreating back of Jean Marsh, Lucy noticed someone she'd never seen in the office before. Never seen anywhere before. And Lucy noticed everything. He was tall, skinny, had spiky dark hair and even from across the room she could tell he had the most beautiful brown eyes. He was wearing a faded pinstriped suit with purple Converse. He was certainly not some fashion-forward client. Maybe he was a dissenting journalist here to comment on the extensive use of fur in this winter's line? Lucy herself had had some qualms with that. The tall stranger caught Lucy's eye and he winked. He managed to slip into Thoreau's office right behind Jean Marsh. God he was thin, Lucy thought. Blimey, he's like me. Lucy heard from the office raised, inquisitive voices. Clearly, the man had not gone unnoticed. She saw a strange blue light issue from the fogged glass window and rose out of her chair, looking round. Nobody else appeared to have noticed the strange goings on. Frowning, Lucy strode cautiously, but purposefully toward Thoreau's office door. She didn't know why. What could she do in the event of a struggle? Something was making her bolder and her new bold attitude wanted to know what. She pushed open the door, not locked by either Jean Marsh or the mystery man. Once inside, Lucy Blake was met with a strange sight. Both Mr. Thoreau and Jean Marsh were slumped on the floor, eyes open with confused, sedated looks on their faces. The tall, skinny man was bending over what looked like the designs for Fashion Week, here in London this time. The man looked up at her, at first concerned, then smiling. "There we are, all done."
"But, but what did you do? Who are you? Are they dead?"
The man put up his hands as if to ward off her questions. "One thing at a time. No, they're not dead, just stunned. Used my sonic screwdriver for that. You see, the winter fashion line up thingy you've got here has quite angered the Raxxons, they believe the fur you've used is baby Raxxon fur. I've obtained a sample, verified that it is in fact, minx and am going to send it straight to the Raxxons so they don't blow up the planet. Oh, and, I'm the Doctor." Lucy stared. And stared. Her mouth hung open for a while and then she looked down at the two slumped figures on the floor. "So, so they're gonna be alright?" she asked, surprised at the softness in her own voice. She had been losing what little love she'd had for the two of them. The Doctor nodded, his eyes never leaving her as she crossed the room, knelt down and put a hand to Jean's mouth. Yes, there was breath. And next to her she could just barely make out Mr. Thoreau's chest rising and falling. "So…Doctor, who are the Raxxons?" Now it was the Doctor's turn to look stunned.
"You're, you're not going to ask what I'm going on about? You're just going to take my explanation?"
"Well, Doctor, I'm a lot more perceptive than people think. I haven't been hiding my head in a hole for years; I know there are things out there I can't imagine. The Christmas star, those mad Father Christmas's, all those ghosts and Cybermen and, and those other things with the plungers on at Canary Warf. Aliens exist, whether we like it or not. I've always said it's mad, arrogant even to think that in the whole wide universe, Earth is the only planet with life. Take you for example, you don't seem…human. You're eyes are far too old for you, and you're talking about Raxxons like you're discussing the weather with an old mate. So tell me, Doctor. What, or who, are the Raxxons?" The Doctor stared in stunned silence. After a moment, he blinked and said,
"The Raxxons are a, well, a hasty race. They live on the planet Rax and have a fur on them very similar to minx. They act before they think, as I just told you, they've sent an envoy to me. They think of me as some sort of an ambassador and I told them I'd make sure the humans weren't using Raxxon fur for their clothes. Never mind the fact that Raxxon and humans have never made contact." Lucy laughed and the Doctor looked up, disappointment in his eyes. No doubt he thought she'd finally accepted that he was crazy and was about to call the authorities. When he looked down, Lucy said, "Reminds me of my sister." The Doctor looked up again, confused. "My twin, Juliet. She always acts before she thinks, never stops to consider what she might do." It hurt to talk about Juliet to the Doctor and she didn't know why. Maybe it was because she never talked about anything to anyone and starting with a stranger was like pouring lemon juice into a fresh cut. But that was just her cynical side. The Doctor looked her over, appraising her, mulling over some moral issue or something. Then, at long last he said, "You never told me your name."
"It's Lucy. Lucy Blake."
"Well, Lucy, Lucy Blake," he said, fixing her with those impossible eyes. "Would you like to come with me?"
"Where? I'm in the middle of work in case you hadn't noticed. Where could we go?"
The Doctor smiled and it took years off his face, he looked like a boy. "Everywhere. We could go everywhere."
Outside Thoreau Threads, Inc. Lucy Blake was running to catch up with the man who called himself the Doctor. This man had burst into her life not thirty minutes ago, but she knew, she just knew that he was safe. He was home. She had never been one to throw away everything for a boy, but she could make an exception, besides, he was no boy, no man, he was an alien. The Doctor came to a halt, and Lucy, not expecting it, crashed into him. He lunged forward into the door of…of….what was that?
"Police box, what's a police box?"
"Well they used to have them in the sixties but the camouflage on my ship malfunctioned. Long time ago. Anyway this is my ship." He grabbed her by the hand and drew her inside. Lucy held her breath, sure this was going to be uncomfortable, sure this would be a deal breaker. She opened her eyes to find a room nearly as big as her whole office. "Dear god….it's, it's bigger on the inside!" She said in a hushed voice. The Doctor looked at her with practiced patience and said, "Right you are, Lucy Blake. Now, where do you wanna go?"