If We Ever Meet Again
Disclaimer: All glory to the Hypno-Toad. *blank stare*
Notes: I forgot to clear up the timeline. Should probably do that. Chapter One takes place the same day as "Rose" (S1E1). The following chapter leaps forward in time (surprise!) to just after "The Runaway Bride." This story will have a distinct lack of romance. I'm doing my best to write it like one of the specials. The Doctor has, after all, been known to bring home strays. Mucho thanks to Arcturus-Sinclair for the late-night beta reading!
Chapter Two
(About Two Years Later...)
It was a bitterly cold night and the rain would not quit. That was fine with Evelyn, it suited her mood perfectly. Her last audition had gone very poorly indeed. One of the producers had, in fact, been quite rude.
"'Lack of lead experience,'" she grumbled to herself. "How's a girl supposed to gain lead experience if no one will give her a damn part outside the chorus? I'm a singer, damnit, not a ballerina. 'Lose some weight.' I'll lose him twenty pounds of ugly unwanted fat right off his neck." Her singing had been more than adequate; better than several of the vaunted, voice-lessoned, silver spoon brats who'd showed up for the audition with the entitled air of a true prima donna. And she knew from experience that she could act circles around just about anyone, but fitting into a Size 2 costume had apparently been an unwritten requirement. The long walk home from the audition site was the perfect venue for growling out her frustrations.
The waitressing job had given way to a clerical position, which made her slightly more money and was certainly easier on her feet. She'd been able to afford some new clothes and a nicer flat. It was still tiny and not in the best part of the city, but at least it wasn't over a dive; finding urine in her doorway every morning had really gotten old. However, her singing dreams had yet to come true. She'd landed some small chorus parts, but her lack of dance experience and decidedly non-supermodel figure had hurt her chances.
So absorbed was she in her own private tribulations that she failed to notice the three sets of footsteps shadowing her own. A wolf whistle and some rude comments jolted her from her reverie. She didn't dare look over her shoulder. Best to just ignore them and hurry home. She quickened her pace, but still her pursuers dogged her. An ominous clicking sound told her switchblades were involved in whatever they had planned. Not at all an attractive prospect.
There was a train crossing up ahead. The gates were down, bells ringing, lights flashing. Evelyn made for it and darted across, just far enough ahead that the passing train blocked her from sight for a few precious seconds. A nearby alley was the only available cover. She rounded the corner at a dead run and collided with something tall and blue. The impact knocked the wind out of her, making her sit down hard on the wet pavement. Rubbing a sore shoulder, she stared up in awe at the same blue Police Box she'd seen across from the Ivy Crown two years before.
Modern art or no, shelter was shelter. Scrambling to her feet, she pounded on the door. No hinges were visible, so it must open inward. Around the corner, the crossing bells stopped ringing and the sound of pounding feet signaled an imminent end to the safety of her hiding place. With a frustrated cry strangled by clenched teeth, Evelyn put all her weight behind one last shove.
And promptly fell through the just-opened door.
"Oy, watch it!"
Evelyn shook her head to clear the flashing stars, having cracked her head on the floor, and found herself face to ankle with a tall thin fellow wearing...well, a lot of brown. Brown suit, brown tie, brown duster, tousled brown hair falling into brown eyes...all right, the trainers were a dingy shade of white, but still. And he didn't look particularly happy to see her.
"Just what do you think you're-..." Footsteps and rough shouting outside announced the arrival of her pursuers. "What?"
"Close the door!" she cried, scrambling away from the aforementioned aperture. Quick as a flash, the thin man slammed the door, then leaned on it, crossed his arms, and studied her. His brow furrowed and Evelyn couldn't help but squirm.
"Let's try that again, shall we? What are you on about, banging on doors at this hour?"
"I...I needed somewhere to hide."
"Bit of a feeble excuse, isn't it?"
"Well I wasn't exactly spoiled for choice, now was I!" Frustration, fear, and a generous dollop of pain from her aching head were swiftly brewing into a fine fit of temper. "Didn't happen to notice the three guys chasing me, did you? It was in here or in a dumpster!" It was right about then that she noticed the inside of the Police Box was generally a lot brighter than she'd expected. And not just brighter. Bigger. Warily, she turned and looked behind her. "Oh my God."
The interior was loads bigger than it should have been and could've passed for a modern art project itself. Rocky-looking pillars surrounded a platform with a metal grate floor. A sort of mushroom-shaped console rose out of the center, topped by a pillar of cloudy crystal that gave off a soft bluish glow. The soft low-level hum of machinery reached her ears.
"How is it..."
"Bigger on the inside, oh here we go." The thin fellow stepped nimbly around her and stood at the top of the ramp upon which she was sitting, hands clasped behind him. "Listen, you've had rather a nasty blow to the head. You can pretend if you like that this is all a hallucination and go home, or..."
"Or?" Evelyn wasn't entirely sure she liked the mad gleam in his eye. His brow furrowed into a frown once again and he leaned over to peer at her, squinting.
"You look familiar."
"What?"
"What's your name?"
"Evelyn." That garnered an eye roll.
"No no, your full name!"
"Alice Evelyn Graham."
Now the eyes had stopped rolling and instead were wide to match the grin that had suddenly appeared.
"Alice Graham! Oh, I have to say, such a treat, meeting you. Big fan, huge fan. Loved you in Phantom." Something about the completely blank look must've given him a clue that she had no idea what he was talking about. "Wait, it's only..." He dashed to the console and consulted a swiveling screen. "Oh, 2006. You haven't made it yet."
"Made it?" But he was off again.
"Alice Graham, in my TARDIS! What are the odds! Well, strictly speaking, they're obviously pretty good, certainly better than the odds of, say, Genghis Khan showing up in my TARDIS. Although really, that's a good thing, we didn't part on the best terms. You'd think once a man's conquered half the known world, he'd be better able to take losing at cards..."
"Excuse me!" Evelyn said, more shrilly than she meant to. She pushed herself to her feet and staggered to a nearby railing. "Would you mind awfully telling me who you are and what in the name of Margaret Thatcher's best Sunday pants is going on?"
"I'm the Doctor," replied the thin man. "And I'll thank you not to remind me of Margaret Thatcher's pants."
(Thank you for waiting patiently. Please review!)