A oneshot/drabble as a Christmas present to my friend. She wanted me to try and incorporate "brown paper bags", "a memo board", and/or a "packet of notecards."
Chelsea had led a prudish life. That was, until she stopped tracking the news trail and started following that one blue box she had begun to see over the skies of London; she thought she knew the sinews of her life until she stopped aiming her camera at the blood splattered on the ground and instead pointed it toward the eerie dark blue shadow in the sky. She carefully pinned the photos she took every night on her memo board, spending an hour before sleep—and an hour after she woke—noting patterns in the movement, the course, the aim of that soaring blue police box. Its peculiarity had crossed her mind plenty of times, but she decided to ignore it; she decided to ignore the probability of what was likely to be impossible and decided to make sense of an improbability that could be possible.
Chelsea had known this unpaved road could potentially overturn her life, albeit she figured this may be an exaggeration. Freelancing as a photographic journalist allowed her to slide by on the bills, but focusing too much on the skies meant those bills were changing colors. It did not matter, however, when she spotted that royal blue box near the Big Ben, attempting to camouflage during the day—the day, she shook her head. Chelsea knocked, because, she thought, what else can you with an identified flying object?
When she shook the hand, while both excited and shocked, of the eccentric man in the bow tie, Chelsea understood the months of continuous fish and chips on the dinner table had been worth it. When he then asked her to join him on an adventure and welcomed her aboard the TARDIS, Chelsea realized this was the end of her once prudish life; she successfully turned right at the intersection.
That's why she relished the domesticity in mere moments like these. She took another box of blackberries from its paper bag, washed the berries, placed them in a bowl, and put them onto the table. Chelsea mentally ticked off the one-hundred-and-eighth minute since she had last seen that bizarre man. And that's why she absolutely could not wait for his return.
Bending down to pick up and store the paper bags—she could not stress the importance of recycling enough, especially in the current environment—she heard a familiar swish in her little backyard and ran out just in time to see the Doctor open the door of his beloved TARDIS and knock over her bike.
"Doctor, what took you so long?" Chelsea demanded as she caught her breath.
"Oh no, I've done it again," the Doctor muttered, scratching his head.
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing!" he said, waving his arms about. "How…erm…long have I been gone for, exactly?"
"An hour and fifty minutes," Chelsea said, picking up her bike which the Doctor seemed to have forgotten about. "Why?" She arched her eyebrow.
"Another story for another time. We've got all of time and space before us, why dwell on previous mistakes? Time to move onward and forward, upward and outward!" he said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Perhaps the Cartwheel Galaxy for a short sightseeing trip…does cartwheels in space. Bet you've never seen that before, eh?"
"Actually," Chelsea said, pulling out a couple crinkled notecards from her jeans' pockets, "I've got some ideas—Christmas dry ice skating in Paris, 20089; Christmas star lighting with the Ood; Christmas snowflake sweets melting on my tongue on Cloud Nine. Catching on?"
"I think so..."
"I'm craving Christmas," Chelsea said brightly, looping her arm with the Doctor's and leading the way to the TARDIS's console.