Extraordinary - Chapter Two

Allie was incredibly restless for the rest of the day, fidgeting about and unable to keep still.

How exactly are you meant to go back to the way things were before, when some strange alien-hunter breezes in and disintegrates a giant blowfly in your back room, before just cheerfully disappearing out of your life? she wondered crossly.

The simple answer to that was that she couldn't. The thought was very depressing. It didn't help that she only had three other customers during the day and none of them bought anything. Apparently her finances would soon be sinking along with everything else.

At last, in desperation, she went into the back room and stared at the boxes on the table. The items that the Doctor had already unpacked were still sitting there in a higgledy-piggledy line. With a sigh, she supposed she had better finish the job and get the new stock out on the shelves where customers could see them. Maybe someone with a passion for African artefacts would come along and buy the whole lot.

Yeah, she snorted silently. Fat chance. But at least it was something to do.

Energised by renewed purpose, she went across to the cupboard and pulled out the inventory listing, keeping her eyes resolutely averted from the faint, almost imperceptible dark stain on the floor, the only reminder left behind of the mess she and the Doctor had swept up earlier.

She scanned the listing, searching for the entry for the alien object she had so unwittingly acquired, curious as to what the written description of the item would read. Disappointingly, when she found it, all it said was, "Cylindrical copper artefect, one." There was no further information, no provenance, no history of where it had come from. That was the problem with buying a job lot like this, you never had any idea exactly what you were getting. Probably, whoever her aunt had purchased it from had been equally ignorant about what it really was.

Resolving to put the whole thing out of her mind, she firmly crossed the copper cylinder off the listing in thick, black pen. Then she began to unpack and tick off the other items in the boxes, before transferring them to the front room and attempting to display them as enticingly as she could. Which wasn't easy, considering how ugly some of the objects truly were. She wrinkled her nose as she set out the statues of the fertility gods, trying to minimise the visual effect of their grossly engorged genitals by placing them behind some of the other artefacts. This kind of bric-a-brac really wasn't her cup of tea. The coral ornament was pretty enough, she supposed, if a bit useless – pure and white and somehow serene-looking. And the wooden jewellery was okay, if you liked that sort of thing. But the rest of it she wouldn't have as a gift.

Thankfully, the task took up the rest of the day, with only a quick break for lunch, keeping her busy and giving her little time to dwell on the astonishing events of the morning. Dusk was falling as she finished, the wintery afternoon closing in early, as usual. Stretching and rubbing at her aching back, she stood back and admired her handiwork.

"Whaddya think, Charlie?" she asked, addressing the question to the life-sized statue of a stone warrior standing to attention next to the counter. It was a replica of one of the terracotta soldiers found buried in huge underground pits in China in the 1970s. Allie's aunt had acquired it two years ago for next to nothing from a deceased estate, but they had never been able to sell it. It had since become a permanent feature in the shop and Allie had affectionately nicknamed it "Charlie", for no particular reason.

As always, Charlie looked straight ahead without answering, his stone-mustached face stern and inflexible.

"Yeah, you're a right barrel of laughs, you are!" Allie said, patting him on the shoulder with a wry smile. "Well, just for that, you can manage on your own for the rest of the evening. I'm off home."

She tidied everything away neatly in the back room, filing the completed inventory list and stacking the empty boxes in the storeroom. Then she turned out the lights and made for the door, switching on the alarm system as she went.

It was nearly dark already, even though it wasn't yet five o'clock. The gusting wind was bitterly cold and the gathering clouds overhead were black and ominous. Allie guessed it would snow before morning. She turned up her collar and pulled her coat even more closely around her, before making her way up the street.

Fortunately, she didn't live too far away, easily within walking distance, in a little upstairs flat over a bakery. It was very cramped, with hardly enough room to swing a cat, but Allie loved it just the same. One of her ex-boyfriends, as well as being a lying, cheating git, had also been a painter and decorator, and when she had moved in, he had painted the entire flat in modern, neutral shades of antique white and beige. Allie had never liked it – it was bland and boring and featureless. So, as soon as she had got rid of Two-timing Terrence (after she caught him kissing one of the bridesmaids behind a hedge at the reception venue at a wedding they had attended), she had set about changing it the way she wanted. Now the small rooms were her haven from the outside world, glowing with a myriad of warm, jewel-like colours, from the soft rugs on the polished floor, to the cushions piled on the sofa, to the modern artwork on the walls. Delicious smells, constantly drifting up from the bakery below, created a comforting, welcoming ambience as soon as she opened the door, making her stomach rumble in hunger.

Closing the door behind her and pulling off her coat, she found herself wondering where the Doctor was right now and what he was doing. He was probably off saving some other damsel in distress, she thought wistfully, remembering the way those warm brown eyes had twinkled at her. He hadn't really said who or what he was. A traveller. Just a traveller. It sounded so mysterious and unencumbered and free, as if his horizons were infinite and never-ending.

She sighed again and went about her usual evening routine: turning up the heating, picking at a meal of healthily steamed fish and vegetables and then taking a long scented bath with a glass of wine and a good book - a best-selling sci-fi thriller that thankfully had nothing to do with giant alien blowflies.

Ever since she had ditched Two-timing Terrence, she had appreciated the solitude of her little flat, being able to live as she wanted for a change, to come and go without answering to anyone. But tonight, being on her own didn't seem quite so appealing...it felt...well, lonely. After her bath, she sat on the sofa in her pyjamas, flipping desultorily through the uninteresting TV channels, another glass of wine in her hand. Eventually, the canned laughter echoing from the television began to grate on her, giving her a headache. Romantic comedies really weren't all that funny, she thought sourly, clicking the off switch and watching the screen fade to black. Not in her present mood, anyway.

Giving up, she tossed the remote aside and headed towards her bedroom, determined to get an early night.

---

Far away in the TARDIS, cycling idly through the Time Vortex, the Doctor was fiddling around with a piece of circuitry that really didn't need to be fiddled around with. He had his sonic screwdriver out and was concentrating hard on what he was doing, pretending he didn't notice how empty the cathedral-like space of the time machine felt all around him. The silence pressed in on him, filled with nothing but the ever-present hum of the TARDIS systems. It didn't help that he kept expecting Rose, or Martha, or Donna to walk up behind him and ask him what he was doing. But none of them were here any more. There was just him, all alone.

He gave himself a mental shake. This was what he had chosen, after all, when he returned Donna back to her home in Chiswick, all memories of him wiped from her mind. The everlasting death of the most faithful companion. The prophecy made by the insane Dalek Caan had proven to be gut-wrenchingly true in the end. Even though Donna had not physically died, the truth of everything she had become had been erased, the death of the amazing, brilliant, confident person she had developed into as she travelled with him. Hearing her so wrapped up in useless, banal trivialities on the phone to her friend as he had left the house had nearly broken his hearts.

Never again, he told himself grimly. Even though I loved them, I damaged them all, each and every one of them. Rose. Jack. Martha. Donna. And I will never knowingly do that again to another person.

But as he worked, he couldn't stop his mind drifting back to the little antique shop and the girl that owned it. Allison Castiel. He pictured her in his head, the tousled mop of short, curly blonde hair, the slender, willowy figure, the grey eyes that were one moment solemn and serious, the next dancing with laughter. She had intrigued him from the first, just as all his previous companions had. That tiny, indefinable spark that drew him to them, that signified that they were special - that they were companion material. Not everyone he came across had it, just an elite few, and he could never tell exactly what it was. In Allie's case, he thought it might have been something to do with the way she had tilted her determined little chin and taken the arrival of the Calliphorid more or less in her stride. No screaming, no hysterics, no ranting. Instead, once the initial shock wore off, just strong, unabashed curiosity, mixed in with a calm, practical streak he couldn't help admiring. Now that was the sort of girl he'd like to show the Universe to.

If he was still taking companions on board, of course. Which he wasn't.

Allie had been crying when he first entered the shop - he reasoned that she probably had more than enough problems on her plate without him adding to them. So, as soon as they had finished clearing up, he had hurriedly left, not even staying for a cup of tea, just in case he gave into the strong temptation to ask her to come with him. It wasn't fair to mess up her life just because he was lonely.

But something else irked him about the shop. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was. Something he had seen but hadn't yet had the chance to process in all the excitement over the Calliphorid. As a Time Lord, his memory was almost photographic, and something had been nagging at him ever since he left. Giving up on the circuitry in front of him, he put his screwdriver back in his pocket and closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus, going over every little thing he had done once he entered the shop. Step by step, he mentally retraced his own progress through the shop area at the front through to the back room, analysing every movement he had made.

And suddenly, with a curse, his eyes snapped open again. Of course, how the hell had he missed it? Now Allie was in danger again and it was his fault for not recognising it earlier. Frantically, he began re-setting the coordinates on the control panels, running around the console pushing buttons and pulling levers, praying with everything he had that he wouldn't be too late.

---

Allie wasn't supposed to drink coffee, but as she let herself out early the next morning into the snowy wonderland her street had become overnight, she decided that didn't care and she bloody well deserved one.

The delicate flakes were still drifting down from the sky, covering her shoulders in a feathery blanket of white crystals as she trudged down the street, trying to keep her balance on the icy footpath. She pulled her pink woollen hat further down over her ears, knowing she must look like something the cat dragged in. She had hardly been able to sleep a wink the night before, her rest haunted by recurrent bad dreams. After what had happened the previous day, the nightmares didn't surprise her. What did surprise her, however, was the fact that there hadn't been a giant blowfly to be found in any of the terrifying visions. Instead, her sleep had been plagued by images of the Doctor, drowning in front of her eyes. The water in the dreams seemed almost alive, crawling up his face and dragging him under. And every time she reached for him to save him, she couldn't seem to get close enough and she missed. He look on his face had been so agonised, so anguished, that she couldn't bear it... she had cried out his name in her sleep and the sound of her own voice had jerked her awake. After that, she hadn't dared to go back to sleep, huddling on the sofa instead, wrapped in a blanket and watching mind-numbing infomercials on the television until the pale morning light dawned across the sky.

Thinking about it now, she shuddered all over again, walking faster in an attempt to dislodge the disturbing memories. Obviously the incident with the blowfly had shaken her even more thoroughly than she had realised. She stopped at a street vendor's stall and bought a large, black coffee, hoping the strong, acrid flavour would help to chase away the lingering night terrors. Then, sipping the drink steadily, savouring the warmth spreading through her body, she paused at a newspaper-stand to buy a paper. The vendor smiled at her and she smiled back. He was an elderly man, somewhat eccentric, with a wispy grey beard and moustache, and merry, bright blue eyes. He was wearing a heavy khaki coat and a red beanie, decorated with a Parachute Regiment badge from his National Service days. Allie liked him and always made time to exchange a greeting with him.

"'Morning, sweetheart," he said cheerfully. "What's been happening with you? Any nice young men turned up to sweep you off your feet yet?"

"Not yet," she responded, wondering what he would say if she told him all about the Doctor and the visit from the alien blowfly. He'd probably think she was completely delusional and she wouldn't blame him one bit.

He handed her a paper. "If only I was forty years younger," he joked. "I wouldn't be silly enough to let a good sort like you get away."

"If only you were," she agreed with a smile. "I'd definitely take you up on it! See you tomorrow!"

Unfurling the paper, she continued walking up the street, the still-falling snowflakes smudging the black newsprint on the pages. There was no mention anywhere in the paper of the visit to London by the Calliphorid. She was left to the inevitable conclusion that – as unbelievable as it may seem – apart from the Doctor, she was the only one who had witnessed the astonishing event. And something told her that the Doctor was far too used to dealing with astonishing events to ever bother telling his story to a newspaper reporter.

Reaching the door of the shop, she stamped the snow off her boots before opening the door and letting herself in. She guessed the street-sweeper would come around before too long, clearing the streets and footpaths, piling all the snow into dirty, sludgy, unattractive piles. But, for now, the sparkling white layer made the whole world look beautiful and magical. In the park across the road, the trees raised their skeletal branches to the grey sky, their branches decorated with glimmering ice crystals. Allie tilted her head back and opened her mouth, allowing one of the delicate snowflakes to fall into her mouth. She knew she was probably swallowing ten different kinds of pollution, but she didn't care. The snowflake tasted cold and sharp and crisp on her coffee-coated tongue. It would probably seem silly to anybody else, but it was tiny moments like this that reminded her she was alive and she snatched them wherever she could.

With a tired smile, she slipped inside the shop and switched the sign on the door over from 'Closed' to 'Open'.

"'Morning, Charlie," she sang out, patting the statue on the head as she went past.

She had just gone into the back room to hang up her damp coat, when the bells on the exterior door tinkled wildly, just as they had done yesterday when the Doctor had arrived out of the blue.

Allie frowned in irritation. Customers this early? She hadn't even had a chance to unlock the cash register. Then she heard a familiar voice urgently calling her name. "Allie? Allie, where are you?"

Her eyes widened in shock. "Doctor? I'm back here."

The inner door was flung violently open and she saw him framed there, still dressed in his brown suit and his long, tan coat, his hair standing up in spikes, as though he had been running his hands through it.

He leapt at her, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Allie! Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said bewilderedly. "Why shouldn't I be?"

In a blur of movement, he whirled away from her to the table. "Where is it? WHERE IS IT?"

"Where's what?"

"The boxes that were here yesterday! What did you do with them?"

"I unpacked them, of course," she replied, her tone a little tart. She was very glad to see him, but his curt, impatient tone of voice was almost accusing, as if she had done something wrong. "That's what you do in a shop, put the stock out for people to buy."

Without another word, he turned and ran out into the front of the shop. Allie followed him, watching as he rapidly searched the shelves, tossing things around in a haphazard fashion, totally ruining the display she had spent so long creating yesterday.

"What exactly are you doing?" she asked.

"The little round thing that looks like a piece of white coral," he bit out. "I pulled it out of the box yesterday. Where is it?"

She pointed to a locked display case across the room. "It's over there. It looked delicate, so I kept it separate from the other things."

The Doctor gave a muffled exclamation and dived over to it. Wrapping his hand protectively in his coat, he violently smashed the glass front of the display case, shoving the broken shards aside and snatching the small coral thing off the shelf. To Allie's surprise, she saw that it was no longer the serene peaceful white colour she had admired yesterday. Now it was a deep rose pink, no less beautiful, but somehow much more disturbing.

"What-" she began.

But the Doctor was already running for the front door. "It's a bomb!" he yelled over his shoulder.

The unprecedented words shot a cold shaft of terror right through her. Oh God! she thought numbly. If he was right and it really was an explosive...and the colour had just inexplicably gone from white to pink...

She tore after him. He was already pelting across the street, his long legs carrying him towards the park. She followed, desperate fear clawing at her all the way. What sort of bomb was it? How much damage could it do? What if it blew up in his hand...? She ran as hard as she could, disregarding any danger of slipping in the knee deep snow, her rasping breath condensing in misty white clouds around her. At last, she managed to catch up with him as he hesitated on the edge of the pond in the middle of the park, evidently debating what to do next. The pond was both large and deep. It had already started to freeze over around the edges, but the middle was still liquid. Even as she watched, the small object in his hand went from rose-pink to a deep, pulsating red. The Doctor made up his mind and drew back his hand, tossing it with unerring accuracy into the very centre of the pool of water.

Spinning around, he raced back towards her, throwing himself right at her. "GET DOWN!" he roared, sending her flying into the ground, his body protectively covering hers. Tense with anticipation, waiting for the deafening noise of an explosion, Allie thrust her face deep into the cold, wet snow, feeling the heavy, reassuring weight of him crushing down on her.

Moments ticked by, and nothing happened, except that the cold and damp began to seep uncomfortably through Allie's clothes, turning the fabric clammy against her skin. Patiently, she allowed a couple more minutes to go by. Then she felt the Doctor raise his head and look back over his shoulder towards the pond. She could feel a relieved giggle building in her throat at the anti-climax of it all, the situation appealing to her strong sense of the ridiculous. It seemed that, just for once, her mysterious travelling man had got it all wrong.

"Um, Doctor...?" she began, the incipient laughter bubbling through her voice. "Is it supposed to take this long?"

The Doctor sat up. There was a self-deprecating frown on his face and he rubbed distractedly at the back of his neck. "It was a bit of a fizzer, wasn't it?" he said wryly. "I could have sworn that..."

And at that instant, the entire world seemed to explode. The blast was the loudest thing Allie had ever heard in her life, detonating through her ears like a physical blow. The Doctor threw himself over her again, just as an enormous fountain of water geysered up from the middle of the pond into the sky, showering them with icy water.

Slowly, the reverberating echoes died away and the Doctor raised his head again. "There we go," he said in satisfaction. "As I was saying, I could have sworn that was a photonic bomb, similar to the ones used by the Rutan Host to destroy the Sontaran home world in the 26th century."

Allie twisted her head around to look up at him, incredulous at his calm, unruffled attitude, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day. "Oh," was all she could think of to say. "Right." Then, as a sort of after thought, she added, "If it's all over now, I don't suppose you could get off me, could you? Only, you are kind of squashing me a bit."

His grin broadened approvingly and he rolled his weight from on top of her, until his lanky body was lying beside her in the snow. "Good morning, Allie Castiel," he said cheerfully. "Now how about that cup of tea?"