The evening had gone little better than the afternoon. Naftali was still spouting off odd things about Babylon and trying to convince him that he was some hero, and John Smith was still disinclined to believe her. He'd finally put her in the guest room for bed and promised to help her sort things out in the morning. Poor girl might have been wandering the cold for days and gone senile.
This theory was strengthened further when he awoke the next day to find her missing.
For a moment, he felt himself panic. He might not have been overly fond of the girl, but he did feel responsible for taking care of her. She was a lost soul who had wandered into his arms, and it would be wrong of him to let her go alone and get herself killed. Babylonians didn't have cars, so he assumed she'd have no idea what to do when confronted with one.
He could only imagine Naftali on the streets of London, wondering about with zero direction. At least she was decently dressed now, but it was a small blessing. Not even pausing to make himself breakfast, he put on his clothes and dashed outside. There, with a sinking feeling, he saw a large street festival taking place.
Naftali, for her part, had risen early and slipped out of the flat. She was grateful for what help John Smith had offered, but she needed the Doctor's help. She hadn't slept well, dreaming of Akiva and her beloved friends and family in Babylon, which could even now be burning. There was no time to waste, no room for her to dawdle. If she found the Doctor's palace, maybe he would remember who he was.
She saw a large crowd milling about in the streets, so she immersed herself in it. A palace bigger on the inside than on the outside was meant to be hidden, and if she was going to hide something like that, it would be where no one would notice. Festivals in Babylon had all sorts of structures set up, which seemed to be a commonality with the modern age. A large blue box wouldn't look out of place here.
People pressed in around her, calling things out to one another and being as loud as they could. Scents of food wafted through the air and bright colors assaulted her from every booth. It might even prove difficult to find a large blue box in this mess.
John Smith pushed past the people filling the streets, straining to find Naftali. He called her name, but no one acknowledged it except for a few curious stares.
He had to find her. It was his duty. Any normal person might have turned right around and gone home. She was an adult, a strong one at that, and could probably fend for herself. But there was something in him that refused to accept that. Something about her was important to him, though he couldn't place what, and he was tired of that feeling. For weeks, it seemed, he'd felt incomplete, like something was missing. He'd have the strangest dreams about a blue box and space and pretty girls. There was always a thought niggling at the back of his mind that he should be doing something, something that wasn't teaching history to a lot of sleepy high school students. Naftali only made him feel all the more frustrated, which probably meant he was doing something right.
As Naftali scoured the fair, she began to feel a prickly feeling at the back of her neck. She paused near a stand of oil-fried cakes and gathered herself. Who could possibly be watching her here? No one could know her. But then, as she looked over the heads of the pedestrians, she saw dark eyes looking directly at her. Three people, two men and a woman, were watching her every move.
Maybe she should have stayed in John Smith's house.
Determined to locate the blue box before any harm could come to her, Naftali forged through a particularly dense group of people. She was bundled about, pushed here and there by the crowd, and for a moment she thought she might get trampled. Then she broke free, stumbling into a clear space.
Her heart leaped into her throat and she wanted to cry from happiness. Just behind a large wheel that carried people up and over, there stood an unassuming, blue wooden box. It was so shocking to behold because it was so important, and yet looked so simple and unimportant. She had finally found it.
A quick look back told her there had been another new development in her situation. One of the men was headed straight for her, but the woman and the other man were making their way to a different target: John Smith. If he was here, she could show him the box and he might be able to get them out of this mess. She just needed to make sure this blue box was the blue box.
John Smith had finally caught sight of her, finally breathed a sigh of relief, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" said a woman in her mid-forties.
"No, no, I've found her, it's alright, if you'll excuse me-"
The hand tightened its hold. "I'm sorry, I really think that's not your problem."
Alarm bells were going off in his head. He looked again at the woman and noted that she was definitely not a fair employee. Not dressed in that suit. She was also accompanied by a tall, grim-faced man who didn't look like the type who liked to argue. "Who are you?" John Smith asked warily, his heart speeding up again.
"People who have your best interests at heart, I promise," the woman replied with a cool smile.
"Right now my best interests involve that girl over there. She needs my help," he said firmly.
"I assure you, Mr. Smith, she will be taken care of."
He shrank back. "How do you know my name? Who are you?"
"Please, remain calm."
Naftali was racing toward the box, feeling her heart about to burst from anxiety. She was so close, then a hand gripped her arm. "Let go of me!" she snapped.
"Please, don't struggle," said the man, his hold tightening as she tried to jerk out of his grip.
"Please, I need to get in there!" she cried, straining against his hand. "Let me go, my people need this!"
"It would be better for everyone if you didn't," he said lowly.
"Unhand me!" She stomped as hard as she could on his foot and elbowed him in the stomach. He let go, doubling over, and she sprinted toward the box. Her fingers closed around the handle and she threw the door open.
It was just a box.
