Timeless [Doctor Who/11th Doctor]

5. Willow

CHAPTER FIVE

We seated ourselves outside, me sipping on a latté that burnt my tongue, and the Doctor poking his fork into a custard pie.
"How long have you been travelling through time then?" I asked him, lipstick leaving a stain on the mug when I put my coffee down.
"A thousand years, give or take," he shrugged, taking a bite of his dessert.
I chuckled in despair of his evasiveness towards all of my questions. "No, but really?"
"Really, a thousand years," he said, as though he was puzzled at my disbelief.

At this point, I guess anything was possible. I'd gone from standing in the same village I've lived in since I was born, to sitting outside a café in 1922 amongst people who were dead by that rainy day. It seemed that after knowing this man for just a few hours, nothing was deemed too weird.

"You look so young though..."
"My last regeneration was kind to me," he grinned cheekily, stretching his hand over the table to grab one of the biscuits on the side of my plate.
I smacked at his arm playfully, and in response he stuck his tongue out at me before stuffing the shortbread into his mouth.

I wasn't sure I'd ever make sense of the funny words he spoke.

Looking around the busy streets, I tried to take in every sight. Maybe I was expecting to find a fault, something that proved this really was a dream that had started off terribly... and ended beautifully. Everything seemed pretty ordinary - as ordinary as can be when a strange man whisks you away in his time machine.

A few tables across, a man with greased back hair and a moustache sat scribbling on a notepad. There was something familiar about his face, something...
"Is that Ernest Hemingway?" I whispered across the table to The Doctor.
He whipped his head around, smooth as ever, before turning back to me with a grin. "It's your lucky day, bookshop girl."
I couldn't help but squeal in delight, studying his concentration as he crossed out words he wrote and replaced them with new ones.

The Doctor's eyes were locked on me, smiling proudly at my freak out. Following my gaze on Hemingway, he glanced behind his back. The delight upon his face crumbled the second he turned back to me. "We have to leave."
"What? Why?" I protested, brow furrowed.
"Just do as I say, Charlotte." The bitterness had returned in his voice, that same twist of anger I had seen a glimpse of at the castle.
"I don't even know you. Why on earth should I do what you tell me to?" Annoyance was coursing through my veins now. Charlotte Thorne's first rule: never take shit from a man.
"Because!" His outburst earned a few turning heads from hard-working writers and gossiping friends surrounding us. Quieter, but no softer, he continued, "Because I brought you here. And I am taking you home."
I just raised an eyebrow in response, folding my arms and sitting back in my chair.
"Charlotte," he warned.
Stubborn as ever, I was on a mission to stare him down until he gave up.
He repeated my name, angering me more until I realised his glare was no longer directed towards me. Whatever he was looking at was bad news - I recognised that panicked look.

I huffed, irritated that some stupid, dangerous thing had ruined my point.
Fuck this. I slowly turned my head around to see what scary thing lurked behind me. All I could see was the same sight that had been there the whole time; the woman behind us reading her book, a group of suited men chuckling over incoherent jokes, endless writers in fedoras puffing out smoke from cigars.
Equipped with a million insults to hurl at him, I spun back around to the Doctor. Only to find he was no longer stood before me.
My eyes darted around - he was going to be difficult to find amongst a whole gaggle of men in tweed.
"You have got to be kidding me," I groaned, unable to see his ridiculous bow-tie anywhere.

Pushing through the crowd, I continued to look around for him, for whatever reason. I guess he was my only ticket out of getting stuck in 1922 forever. That was the only reason though.
Just as I stilled myself, giving up at the impossible task, I felt a hand grab mine and seperate me from the horde. I tugged my arm away from his grip before he could drag me any further around the corner.
"What the hell?" I shouted.
"Shhhh!"
"There was. Nothing. There."
Stepping dangerously close to me, he softly claimed "Yes, there was."
I shook my head furiously, going to back away from him until he pressed his forehead against mine.
"Think, Charlotte," he whispered.
Shutting my eyes, I took my mind back to the scene of the crime. The crime being him pissing me off beyond belief and then abandoning me in a different century to my own.