Chapter Eight: The Oldest Story In The Universe

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Some stories are special. Some stories transcend culture, and geography, and time itself. Some stories really are made to last. This is one of them.

There's a man who lives a life of adventure, a man who runs and runs and never ever stops. He's like a legend, a myth. A figure of mystery and madness. Nobody knows his name, or what he looks like, or how he talks, but there is one thing about him everybody knows. When you're in danger, or in pain, or afraid, he will always help you.

And the thing is, he's the most important man in the universe. Not because of the people, the planets, the civilisations he's saved, but because he's kind. Because he never asks to be thanked. He doesn't ask for a reward or payment. He is good for the love of it. An ancient amateur, indeed.

On the other side of the universe, there's a woman. She's young, a child, really, but she's already seen enough pain for a lifetime. Some would have become vengeful, but not her. Pain only ever made her kinder.

They meet, and it's only for five minutes, but it's the catalyst for something far greater. A shared flash of adventure in a lift under a shop that sets in motion a series of events spanning millennia. Just a moment, just a hand in hers, just a glance between those wonderful blue eyes, and everything changes.

Hundreds of years down the line, everything is exactly the same. He's mad and she's brilliant and they're both so very kind and the universe keeps turning because of it.

***

They swayed together, eyes closed, oblivious to everything except how it felt to slow dance in each others' arms again.

In the doorway, Clara smiled fondly, then pulled the door to, leaving them to it.

~~~

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