Jac ducked her head in the fridged London chill, pulling her keys out with dumb fingers and jamming them clumsily into the lock of the shop she worked in. Early, again. It wasn't that she meant to show up before the manager, she just got sick of her small apartment too quickly in the dull mornings. The bell jingled overhead and she flicked the lights on, setting the rows of comics and CD's into sharp relief.

In a huff, she pulled off her coat and shook the snow from her dark curly hair. She was short and pale, with a bounce in her step and lightning on her shell pink lips. You could easily mistake her for a pretty little thing and nothing else, until you looked into her eyes-bright green and rimmed with dark blue, sharp and knowing. And while she was interesting to look at, she wasn't the stereotype of beauty. Her heart shaped face was smooth, but with a small, blunt nose and when she smiled you could see the slightly crooked teeth she'd never gotten fixed. She had a strong, capable sense about her as she worked rhythmically opening up the shop, hanging her coat and black leather bag in her locker and starting up the cash register. Then she placed herself in her usual spot behind the front counter and popped in her head phones. Her flingers traced the wrist bands that she wore almost to her elbows.

An hour later, a man strolled into the shop. He'd seen the name Greenvale Music and smelt the scent of old paper and records and knew this was the one. Sometimes he just knew. The bell sounded as he came in, but Jac didn't hear as her favorite song, (well, one of her many favorite songs) "Be Ok" by Ingrid Michelson was playing and she'd pulled out one of the many comics in the back.

The man wore a long tweed coat and white button-up undershirt, complete with red bow tie and a shock of light brown hair. He walked past the shelves, tracing a finger searchingly over CD's and comics before he found what he was looking for: the records. Perfect for his collection. He pulled them out one by one gingerly, taking care not to damage them. He turned to look on the shelf behind him the find the dark haired Jac, black T-Shirt and all.

"I am so sorry, I didn't hear you come in!' she said loudly. Then she stopped, shaking her head and pulled out the ear buds and spoke more quietly in her chirpy lilt, "Hi, I'm Jac. Anything I could help you with?" she glanced down at the shelf, "You like vinyl?"

He blinked, "Er-yes! I was just looking for anything by the Beatles,"

She nodded, "We've got a couple" she strolled down the isle before stopping and pulling out a few records, "I know collectors would kill for these, but they never seem to come here. I've told Shelby-my boss- that we should sell online, but she's kind of old fashioned. Plus, no one really likes records anymore; they're a lot more expensive than CD's. I prefer them, though. They just sound better… I'm sorry, I'm wasting you time,"

He smiled at the small, talkative girl. He liked her, "Not at all, Jac," he looked down at the records, "Ah, there it is. I'll add this to the library,"

"What's your name?" Jac asked as he followed her back to the counter.

"I'm the Doctor,"

She snorted, "Somebody's parents really wanted him to get that PHD-what is your name?"

"The Doctor,"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously,"

"Well, Doctor, that'll be twenty pounds and forty pence" she said, placing the record in one of the special boxes that would keep it from scratching. She gave the vinyl a look and shook her head for a moment before bagging it.

"What's wrong?" the Doctor asked.

"Oh, well, I'd been saving up for this one. Shelby wouldn't give me a discount. Not surprising as it's the Beatles, and a rare Beatles by that. Not to worry about though, sir,"

"Here," he said, handing her a stack of money that was at least five hundred pounds.

She stared at it, shocked, "Doctor, this is only twenty pounds! I really don't need-

"Take it," he said, lifting the bag off the counter and pushing the money towards her, "I can't count this blasted earth money anyways,"

She glances from the money to him, checking to see if he's serious. He nods, giving her a half smile.

"Thanks,"

"Thank you!" he turns, heading to the door. Then he hesitates. He shouldn't…. but he just can't help himself. He's been alone too long. All his friends think him dead, and he really, really likes this frizzy-hair, wristband-wearing, vinyl-loving, girl. And here it began, that one sentence that would start one of the most wonderful and forgotten journeys.

"Jac, would you like to go to the concert with me tonight?"