Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who in any way, shape or form.

Quinn pushed open the screen door of the cafe, causing the tarnished bells hanging on it to jingle merrily. It was an old door. The cheery yellow paint was beginning to fade, leaving specks of white from an earlier coat. The screen had turned the dull brown-grey colour that old screens tended to turn. Quinn's hand left the round, speckled bronze door handle as she stepped up into the cafe in a familiar swing of her leg as she had done almost every day for the past four years she had worked there leaving the door to swing back into place with a loud clank. As soon as she was inside, she groped along the wall for the light switch. When she finally found it, she flipped it up and the entire cafe was bathed in a soft yellow glow. As always, she pocketed her key then looked around quickly to make sure everything was in its proper place. As her eyes skimmed the wall, they rested on a brief moment on the painting of the birch forest hanging on the wall.

Quinn walked over to the counter in five swift steps and grabbed her stained apron from where it always hung on the hook on the wall then went in back to the kitchen to grab herself a cup of tea.

Within ten minutes of her initial arrival, she heard the bells on the door ring. She walked back to the dining area of the cafe with her tea and saw a young man standing with her back to her closing the door. He was wearing a long brown coat with blue pants and red sneakers. She cleared her throat.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The man turned around slowly.

"Yes," he said simply. Quinn was captivated by his abstruse brown eyes. There was something different about him, but she couldn't quite place what it was.

"I'm looking for someone," he continued, cheerily, "The name is... Miss. Anaba."

He looked at her expectantly. Quinn was reminded of a first grader that had done a good deed and was impatiently waiting for his sticker.

Quinn smiled brightly, "Well, you've certainly come to the right place! In fact, you're speaking to her."

The man looked at her, confused.

"No. You..." he paused, "Would you mind telling me what year it is?"

Now it was Quinn's turn to look confused, "Two thousand nine, of course."

"Oh no! That means... at least... forty years late. At least..." he trailed off, "Would you mind telling me your mother's name?"

Something about the man made her trust him, "Annabelle. Annabelle Anaba."

The man looked more confused than he did before which seemed like it would be hard to do.

"Annabelle? Are you sure? It wasn't Omara?"

Quinn stared at him. "That was my grandmother's name. How did you know that?"

"Ohhh dear..." the man muttered, "Much more than forty years late. Many many more..."

"How did you know my grandmother's name?" Quinn repeated louder.

"It's a long story," replied the man.

"Which is just your way of saying that you don't want to tell it, right? Who are you anyways?"

"Just call me... The Doctor, that's it."

Quinn sighed, "Alright. If that's what you go by... fine."

The Doctor looked around.

"Ohhh! You still have the painting! Brilliant!" the Doctor exclaimed, finally showing some energy, "Could I have a cup of coffee by the way?"

Quinn walked to the coffee machine and poured the Doctor a cup of coffee.

"Want anything in it?" she called back into the dining area, but all she heard was a strange buzzing noise and occasional mutterings.

"I guess not then," she said to herself, walking back to the Doctor.

She found him staring intently at the painting of the trees her grandmother had painted.

"Amazing. It still has some energy left. It's almost as if... no... that couldn't be."

"Here's your coffee, Doctor," Quinn said. Since he paid her no mind, she followed up with, "Do you want it or not? It's getting cold."

The Doctor straightened up and turned around.


"Yes, yes. That would be lovely." He grabbed the mug and took a sip.