Woolworth's 1942
888
"Now I suppose we'll have to find father a good pair of socks" His mother said as she walked in front of him and they walked down the rows of items on the shelves, dressed in her finest coat. The Woolworths was full, even in a war, Christmas shopping was to be done. "I dare say, it's busy here, stick close, I don't want you wondering off…."
"Yes, mom…" The young lad said, but his eyes were locked on a shelf of comic books advertising the adventures of Special Agent Dick Barton.
The young boy stopped and his eyes gazed hungrily at the cover emblazoned with bright colors and the image of a man dressed in a dapper suit, holding a gun over a gang of what looked to be Nazis. He listened to the broadcast show on the radio. It was the only semblance of normalcy he had, now that his family bounced around the country. Father was constantly on the move, his name catching up to him everywhere. With the war going on, a German name often came with a lot of problems. He smirked as he imagined himself as Dick Barton, beating up the bullies that called him any number of horrible things, or tied him up, or played soldiers where he always, always had to be Nazis. The last tussle he had with some young boys had had him discharged from school, and on the heels of his father getting once more fired, allegedly for misconduct but more than likely because of his name and the fact he was not in Europe fighting Hitler and Mussolini despite getting discharged for a health reason had pushed his family to move in with some friends in Bristol briefly.
He mused quietly looking at the comic selection, trying to find a selection of phrases that would unlock his mother's penny purse and buy him an issue, when there was a loud explosion. Woolworths had been full, there was a scream as the ground and the building shuddered. Sirens started to go off.
"Was that a bomb!?" He heard a woman shout.
"Hasn't been a raid in a year!" One of the store's employees replied.
The fear of the previous year of bombing air raids had fixed in the minds of the store's crowd and there was a mighty wave of people that rushed along the rows. The boy was pushed shoved, thrown to one side. He landed hard on his tailbone sliding on the wood paneled floor and skidded to a stop in an aisle filled with fabric. It was about that time he realized, he had no idea where his mother was. He'd completely lost track of her. He stood up slowly and looked around there were still a fair few people lurching about, some ducking some rushing like mad trying to find a place to hide.
He didn't know where he was, he'd never been in this store before, alone anyways, never paid attention. He started to cry.
"Excuse me, do you know where the pick'n'mix is?" He heard a voice ask. A gruff Scottish drawl sang with gravelly intonations from behind him. "I'm sure it's meant to be here somewhere…but all I keep finding are these aisles filled with calico fabric…"
The boy turned to see an older gentleman, dressed in a frayed suit jacket, with a strange black button down shirt with white dots on it and a pair of checked pants, again frayed at the knees. The man's face was craggy and lined; his hair was wild and tussled in many directions; his eyes were blue like ice but with a gentle softness hidden in their depths.
The man crouched down to the boy's level. "Hello, I'm the Doctor…"
"Doctor who…?" The boy asked.
"Ah, now that's classified…" The man said with a smirk and a wink as he looked over the boy. "You're not hurt, at least not severely. What're the tears for?"
"I don't where my mom is…" The boy hiccupped quietly. "And the bombing is starting and I don't know where she is?"
"Bombing…?" The man said, tilting his head slightly, then he seemed to come to a realization. "Oh the explosion; not an air raid, probably the undergrads at St. Luke's University nipping into the chemistry lab to blow up the bursar's office….again….should really stop giving them the key…." The man furrowed his brows and then shook his head and then smiled to the boy. "So everything will be fine!"
"But, but, I was supposed to stay with her…" he started to sniffle, realizing how terrified and or angry his mother would be when she couldn't find him, "and, and….If she can't find me she'll be worried and angry…and and…I was going to ask for a comic book…and-"
"Ah…" The man smiled and put out his hand. "Well, then we better find your mom, right?"
The boy looked incredulously towards the man. "Mom said not to go with strangers…"
"Ah, well, yes…" The man said as he stood and looked around himself. "Wise mom, well, what if I said I was with the police?"
"But, you said you were a doctor-" The boy replied, tilting his head to one side.
"Yeah I am…a sort of policeman-y sort of doctor…" The man said bobbing his head side to side. "Kinda a special doctor-"
"Like Dick Burton….?" The boy said looking up at the man.
"Who?" The man asked.
"Special Agent Dick Burton, he's a spy and he helps fight against Nazis and assassins and stops invasions all for queen and country, and he has a secret locator ring and, and a special radio hidden in a pen…" The boy rattled off.
"Ah, like this!" The man asked snapping his fingers and reaching into his pocket and pulling out a metal device, about the size of stick of thick chalk. It had blue bits in the middle of a brass and gold metal frame.
"IS that…."
"A sonic screwdriver…." The man said keenly proud. He winked. "Ultimate spy gadget; gets in any lock, hacks any computer, scrambles any radar…"
"Computer…?" The boy asked.
"Spoilers…." The man said putting a finger to his lips. He smiled as the boy looked at the screwdriver. "In fact…give me a funny face, stick out your tongue…" The man said.
"What?" the boy asked looking incredulously at the man.
"Stick out your tongue, I'm a doctor…" The man replied, giving the boy a comically overarch look. The boy arched an eyebrow, but the man did claim to be a doctor and an special agent, his name was even classified. The boy stuck his tongue out. The man pointed the device at the boy and it whirred and warbled. "Right, so just give me a second…" He lifted the device over his head. "Ah…ok, now just to…"
The device started to glow. "Right, I think I found your mom…"
"How?" The boy was mildly shocked as the man turned in a circle.
"Homed in on the mitochondrial DNA match in the building…" the man said quickly as he started to walk down the aisle.
"What's that mean?" The boy asked as he followed the man.
"Right…did I mention ultimate spy gadget?" The man said pointing to the cylindrical device. "Means ultimate locator ring, too…locates anything, moms, pasta, spare bits of change stuck behind the couch."
He rounded a corner and stopped. The boy pushed slightly behind him. His eyes widened as he saw his mother looking absolutely exhausted. Two store attendants with her as she sat in a chair crying.
"MOM!" The boy shouted and ran to the woman. She stood up shakily and ran to him hugging him.
"WHERE WERE YOU!?" the woman yelped.
"I was looking at the comic books and then the bang made everyone run, and I got pushed into an aisle." The boy replied, in a rushed manner. "And I couldn't find anyone and I didn't know where I was…and then a special agent helped me! He had a special detector and a magic pen and everything!"
The boy turned to point, but the man was gone.
"Oh Fitz, don't make things up!" The woman half-heartedly scolded.
"I'm so glad you found him, Mrs. Kreiner…" One of the attendants said.
"But…he was just…" Fitz started to retort, but the adults were already ignoring him, talking to one another about prices of satsumas.
He stuck his hands into his pockets and in doing so found a coin in his pocket, and a note.
"Here you go, whilst I was finding your mom, my detector found some spare bits of change on the floor. Have one on me, Special Agent, the Doctor…"
Fitz narrowed his eyes, he wasn't sure how the man he'd met had written a note and slipped the money in his pocket, but it was the exact amount for a copy of Special Agent Dick Burton and when you're six, you don't ask questions.
888
AN: Not sure how I feel about this one. This has been something I've been planning since…Retcon, I just never knew how to execute it. So many plans for this, and some of them may even be done still. This one may not be as finely polished as I like. But I think it works, for what it's meant to be. A nice callback…and call sideways, and yes I'm stretching the phrase 'almost 70 years'...
