Okay, so I couldn't really wait to update.
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Doctor Who, but sadly I don't. I am merely a teenager that has too much free time on her hands.
It was another boring Sunday afternoon. A light rain drizzled over the little town of Cavis. A fourteen-year-old Abigail Hale sat in her kitchen and waited for the kettle to boil. She savoured times like this. Her Aunt Nettie had gone off to her Gardening Club Luncheon, which gave Abigail a few hours to laze about and not be terrorised by her old bat of a Great Aunt.
She closed her eyes and hummed tunelessly. Something made her stop though. Her eyes snapped open as the whirring, wheezing sound she thought she'd never hear again drifted through the open door from the backyard. Slowly, Abigail got to her feet and walked towards the source of the noise. She prayed that she wouldn't see the blue box that she had encountered four years ago.
But sure enough, sitting in her Aunt's now squashed prized patch of petunias, was the same large blue box. Now that she was closer to it, she could see the lettering up the top that said "Police Public Call Box."
Frowning, she moved closer towards it but was forced to jump back when the doors swung open. She moved back a few paces to get a better look at the same man that had destroyed the only park in Cavis. The only difference was that, instead of the bowtie and tweed ensemble, he had on what looked like a raggedy shirt with a tie, suit pants and, if she was correct in thinking, cream converse.
"You!" she yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at the strange man.
"Me?" he said confusedly, pointing to himself.
"Yes you!"
In a fit of temper, she took off one of her shoes and flung it at him. He ducked to the side to avoid it and the shoe landed with a thump as it hit the blue box behind him.
"What was that for?" he yelled, a shocked expression crossing his face.
"For scarring me mentally for life!" she yelled back.
"Oh."
"Oh? That's all you have to say for yourself? OH?" her voice went up a few octaves.
"Uh… yes?"
"You blew up the bloody park!"
"I've never heard that expression before. What century is this?" he then bent to the ground, picked a blade of grass and licked it… again.
"It's not an expression!" said Abigail, a horrified expression on her face, "and why do you keep licking things?"
He completely ignored her question, "So you've met me before?"
"Of course I have! A person never forgets one of the most traumatic experiences of their life!" she shouted.
"Will you stop yelling!" he shouted back and continued in a quieter voice, "Blimey. Are you always this loud?"
Abigail's mouth fell open. Suddenly the strange man keeled over in obvious pain. Abigail rushed to his side, "what's happening? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"Perfectly fine," he gasped, "perfectly norma—" he exhaled and, what looked like gold dust, drifted into the air. Abigail stared in amazement.
There was a whistling sound from the kitchen.
The strange man's head cocked to one side and a bright smile lit his features "Tea! That's what I need!" And, as if nothing unusual had happened in the past few minutes, he leapt to his feet and walked swiftly to the house.
"Oi! Where do you think you're going, genius?" She scrambled up after him and followed, but not after collecting her discarded shoe.
When she caught up with him, she saw that he was rifling through the cupboards.
"Where do you keep the cups?" he asked, not even turning to look at her.
"Not until you tell me who the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in my house," said Abigail, crossing her arms. He slowly turned to face her, a quizzical expression on his face.
"Alright, we'll make a deal," said Abigail slowly, "you tell me who you are and I'll make you a cuppa."
An odd smile came across his features, "A fair trade, I think." He plopped himself down on the nearest chair.
"Be thankful that I didn't threaten to call the cops," muttered Abigail under her breath as she set to work making a cup of tea.
If he had heard her, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead he contented himself in looking at his surroundings. He caught sight of what looked like a lounge room through one of the other open doors.
"So you're a doily enthusiast?"
She paused and looked around at him, "what?"
He smirked and pointed at the immense number of lace doilies that covered the lounge. Abigail gave an answering shudder. "That would be my Great Aunt Nettie."
"You live with your Aunt?"
"Not by choice," she muttered.
Thankfully he let the subject drop.
"So what's your name?" he asked pleasantly.
"Abigail Hale," she replied tersely.
"What a brilliant name! Miss Abigail Hale who threw a shoe!" he chuckled to himself.
Abigail was not amused by his little rhyming game and placed the cup of tea in front of him and took the seat opposite.
"Well?" she prompted. He stared intently down at the cup then looked back up to her.
"Got any biscuits?"
She scowled, "my Aunt Nettie doesn't allow them."
"No biscuits, no information." He sang.
"Fine."
Abigail stomped up the stairs into her room and collected the packet of Jammy Dodgers she had been hiding in her room. He eyed the packet warily, "I thought you said your Aunt Nettie didn't allow them."
"This is the only packet she hasn't found yet," sighed Abigail, sinking back into her chair. Without further hesitation he ripped open the packaging and began eating.
"Alright, I kept my end of the bargain. Now tell me who you are."
After a particularly long draught of tea, he answered simply, "I don't know yet."
"What do you mean 'you don't know yet'?"
"I mean that I'm still cooking."
She frowned, "So you mean you have amnesia or something? That could explain why you don't remember me."
"No I don't remember you because I actually haven't met you yet. The me that you met wasn't actually me—well it was me, but it was future me. So technically in my timeline I haven't… what was it again that you say I did?"
"You blew up the park."
"Well yes I haven't blown up the park yet, but to you I already have. Therefore this is my first meeting with you but it's your second meeting with me. Got it? Good, now that that's all sorted out—"
"Wait what do you mean you haven't blown up the park yet? That doesn't make any se—" she cut herself off as she heard the all-too-familiar rumbling of her Great Aunt's car.
"What is it?" he asked.
She hurriedly pressed her finger to her lips and motion for him to follow her and thankfully he cooperated. They were about halfway up the stairs when he made a soft exclamation and disappeared back into the kitchen.
"What are you doing?" she cried out softly after him. She heard the rattle of keys outside the door and prayed that the stupid, strange man would hurry back. And as if he had heard her prayer, he appeared at the bottom of the stairs… with the half eaten packet of Jammy Dodgers.
Abigail rolled her eyes and ran the rest of the way. Once safe inside her bedroom she heard her Aunt calling in her croaky, loud voice.
"Abigail!"
Abigail cringed before turning to the strange man.
"Keep quiet. I'll be back soon," she paused at the doorway, "and don't touch anything."
She grudgingly trumped downstairs to stop in front of her great Aunt Nettie.
At the age of seventy-two, Aunt Nettie stood at about 5 feet and had pure white hair that had been carefully styled. At the moment she was dressed smartly in her Sunday best tartan jacket and matching skirt. Her old red handbag swung at her side menacingly. Abigail could still remember being whacked over the head with it when she was younger.
"Hello Aunt Nettie, why are you back so early?"
"Don't take that tone with me, you silly girl. Don't get too excited, I brought the wrong umbrella. Could you imagine how embarrassing that would be if I turned up with an umbrella that didn't match?" replied Aunt Nettie loudly, "I think I must have left it in the kitchen."
Abigail began to panic. Hopefully her Aunt, being half blind, wouldn't notice the large police box that was currently crushing her precious petunias. She followed her Aunt into the kitchen.
"Good grief, Abigail!"
Abigail's stomach dropped. She was done for this time. No way for her to weasel out of it. She braced herself for the oncoming storm.
"I have told you time and time again. When you have finished with a plate or cup, wash it and put it away. You are so lazy, just like your father! And just look where he ended up, in prison!" yelled Aunt Nettie. Abigail saw that her Aunt was looking at the half empty cup of tea that she had made for the strange man and counted her blessings that her Aunt was as blind as a bat, "Yes Aunt Nettie."
"Good. Now I must be off," she collected her umbrella and turned to gaze at her great niece. Though she didn't show it, Abigail knew that deep down her Aunt actually cared for her. Aunt Nettie patted Abigail on the cheek, the most affection that she had ever shown for another living thing (apart from her plants), and bustled out of the house.
Sighing for what felt like the millionth time, Abigail trudged back upstairs to her room.
"What are you doing with my laptop?" asked Abigail. The strange man did not look up at her from his position atop her bed with her laptop. He was staring at the screen intently, a Jammy dodger in one hand.
"Did you write this?"
"Hey! You can't just go through a person's stuff. That's private!" she made a move to grab it but was unsuccessful as the man maneuvered himself out of her reach.
"It's good. Blossoming young author you are."
"Flattery's not gonna get you out of trouble," retorted Abigail, her cheeks pink.
"It has before," he smirked.
"Just put the laptop down and you won't get hurt."
"Fine."
They stood in silence for a few moments. She glared at him until he finally placed the laptop down onto the bed. Abigail crossed her arms, her eye brow raised.
"So you say you don't know who you are. Does that include your name?"
"Oh, I'm the Doctor."
"…The Doctor?"
"Yep," he said, popping the 'p'.
"Just the Doctor?"
He nodded.
"Well, Doctor. I still need to ask you a few more questi—"
"No time to explain. Always on the move, I am." He jumped to his feet, tucked what was left of the Jammy Dodger packet under his arm and walked out the door.
"Wait! Where do you think you're going!" she hurried after him.
"Thanks for the cuppa and the biscuits, Abbie."
She watched as he slipped into the blue police box and with the same whirring noise, faded into nothing. Smiling to herself, she decided that Sundays weren't so boring after all.
Review or I shall throw some Jammy Dodgers at you... wait, that's not right...