AN: Just figuring out how to navigate around uploading stories... But anyway. This is my first story, evidently, as I just stated my slight confusion over things. Also, this was already up and I'm now editing it to add in this little author's note. Because I wanted to explain stuff, but forgot to have this here before, soo...I'm starting to confuse myself. Sorry. It's kinda midnight-ish, and I'm listening to one of my favorite songs and I'm just not concentrating much.
Anyway. The character in here is not specified, but I like to think of it/him/her as Donna. This is sort of like her kind of remembering the Doctor, but not entirely. If that makes any sense. Probably made more sense than this! But you don't have to read this as Donna necessarily. It could be anyone. It could be just some random person without a proper name. I don't know. You decide.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any affiliated stuff.
You wake up, check the time, and groan; slept in again. Sitting up in your bed, you glance around your bedroom as you do every morning. It is always the same: four walls, your bed across from the dresser with its mirror, a door leading to the rest of the flat, and a door leading to the bathroom. Your eyes come to rest on the mirror, as they always do, to glance over yourself. You don't know why you do this, since you never look too dashing in the morning. However, today you see something out of the corner of your eye. Something rather unusual…
The door to the rest of the flat is open.
You look to said door. It's closed, as it should be. You can never fall asleep with the door open. Certain it was a trick of the light, you look back to the mirror.
The door's open a little wider. You can see the kitchen.
Looking back to the door, you see it is still resolutely closed. But when you look to the mirror, its state of openness seems to have an air of defiance. You slowly stand and make your way to the dresser, leaning on it, your face inches away from the mirror.
A man is walking through the door.
You jump, startled, and turn towards the closed door. There's nobody there. A sarcastic voice in the back of your head informs you that this is the part where the dramatic music gets almost unbearably loud, and when you turn to the mirror and see the man standing behind you, it will fall silent with one last crashing staccato. But you ignore it. There's no man, nothing to see in the mirror.
Except, when you turn back to the mirror, he's there, standing right behind you. You reach your hand over your shoulder, feeling for him; he's so close, if he were real, you'd feel him. He's not there, yet you can see him. You can see his floppy hair, his kind eyes, his tweed jacket, his absurd bow tie.
"Hello," you say nervously.
"Hello," he replies cheerily.
You consider the ridiculousness of the situation. You're talking to a man that doesn't seem to exist. Rather than point this out, however, you simply ask, "Who are you?"
"I'm the Doctor." He seems rather proud of this.
"Doctor who?"
But he's already walking away. You want to shout at him to wait, but he's closed the door behind him, leaving everything as it should be.
Only it's not.
Later that day, as you leave your flat, you almost notice a strange blue box on the street corner. You almost notice a man in a bow tie smiling sadly at you. You almost notice the sound of the vortex bending to allow an object passage, but you don't. You carry on with your life, soon forgetting about the man in the mirror.