The phone booth is as bright a blue as the filling of the blueberry pie that is, at this very moment, baking in the oven. A man steps out, wearing shoes the color of cherries and glasses that make him look a little bit smart and a little bit ridiculous. Today, Charlotte Charles is, as she always is, 28 years, 24 weeks, three days, 11 hours and 51 minutes old; the Doctor is, well, the Doctor.
"Hello," he says to her, and she grins.
"Hiya," she responds, and he smiles too. "We have a special today at The Pie Hole," she says, gesturing to the colorful, pie-shaped building behind her, "two pieces for the price of one."
"Well," the man says, drawing out the word, "I do like pie," he comments.
She beams. "Well then, this is your lucky day! I'm Chuck by the way," she says, holding out a hand to shake, "Chuck Charles. Charlotte really, but... Chuck."
The man takes her hand in his. "I'm the Doctor."
"Doctor... who?" Chuck prompts.
"Just the Doctor," the Doctor replies.
"Well then, the Doctor," Chuck says, ushering him inside the restaurant, "today we have peach pie, apple pie, cherry pie, strawberry pie, lemon meringue pie, and blueberry pie."
The Doctor considers for a moment, and then orders peach. "Two slices," Chuck reminds him. The Doctor taps his fingers on the counter and looks at the pies. "I recommend the strawberry," Chuck tells him.
"Strawberry it is, then," the Doctor agrees. He rummages through his pockets, pulling out two Euros, the sonic screwdriver, a piece of string, and finally a few dollars, which he hands to Chuck. She passes him two plates, each holding a large piece of delicious-looking pie. "Here's the thing though," the Doctor says, "I can't eat two pieces of pie. Well, I can, but I shouldn't. Well, that doesn't usually stop me, but it should. Well... here," he says, offering Chuck one of the slices.
Chuck looks slightly hurt, as if she can't imagine anyone turning down a still-warm piece of Pie Hole pie, but then she smiles and takes the plate. "I haven't had any today anyway," she says, and Chuck and the Doctor take seats at the counter.
"So what kind of doctor are you?" Chuck asks with her mouth full of peaches and pie crust.
"Oh, I'm not a doctor. I'm just the Doctor," the Doctor explains. "I travel," he says, with a wave of his hand to emphasize his mobile lifestyle, "a lot. I meet a lot of people. It's easy to remember." This, of course, isn't the real reason, but it's true, so it's close enough.
"I traveled once," Chuck muses. "I took a cruise. I di—didn't have a good time." She shrugs.
"You should give it another go," the Doctor suggests. "Travelling, seeing everything, all over the universe... it's incredible." He stares into space as though seeing everything all over the universe at that very moment. And, thinks Chuck, he's sort of a strange man, even by the standards of the people she usually meets, so maybe he is.
"All over the universe?" Chuck says.
The Doctor impulsively offers, "I could show you," forgetting for a moment his decision to travel alone, and only alone. Then he remembers and looks a bit nervous, waiting for Chuck's response.
For a second, Chuck's eyes light up. She could travel to all the places she's never been, see everything, do everything. Then she thinks about the Pie Hole, and her bees, and especially Ned, who has come to the edge of the kitchen and is watching her from the door, his lanky body leaning against the door frame. She gives him a wave and he smiles shyly. "I don't think so," Chuck says, smiling and shaking her head.
The Doctor shrugs. Then he grins. "This pie," he says, "was excellent. Really good." He stands up from his chair, gives the tiniest of salutes to the Piemaker, who returns it with a flick of his wrist and a hand wearing an oven mitt, and says, "Good luck, Charlotte Charles," the Doctor says.
"Good luck, Doctor!" she calls in return as he enters the blue police box outside of the building. There is a whirring noise, and the box dematerializes. Charlotte Charles—as always, 28 years, 24 weeks, three days, 11 hours and 51 minutes old—watches it go and wonders what it would be like to go with it. Then she turns and walks back into the kitchen. The Piemaker touches her shirt-sleeved arm in a soft gesture as she passes, and she reaches to take his hand, still encased in an oven mitt, ready for her next adventure.