February 15th, 2008
Los Angeles, California
The last three months had not been particularly kind to Sarah Walker.
In mid-November, she had found herself in a situation where she thought she was looking death in the face. Thinking she had nothing to lose, she had planted a passionate kiss on Chuck Bartowski, which rapidly turned awkward when she realized they weren’t dead. Underneath the awkwardness, though, there was something about that kiss that had haunted her.
At the end of November, Bryce Larkin had come back from the dead to haunt her life again. Just as quickly, though, he dropped off the radar again.
In early December, Chuck had told her that he thought it would be for the best for both of them if they were to just be friends. Sarah, of course, could not argue with his logic, although a little tiny bit of her died inside when he simply shook her hand after Chuck’s drunken co-worker dangled mistletoe over their heads.
About a week after that, Sarah had seemingly been killed on a simple mission. However, an encounter with a baker with a bizarre gift had brought her back to life. During the course of that mission, there had been multiple occasions when Chuck and Sarah had found themselves in positions where things could’ve gotten very hot very quickly, but each time, Chuck had reiterated the “just friends” bit – although the last time, he had almost let it go too far.
On Christmas Eve, Chuck had been abducted. Fulcrum had stolen a bizarre, almost science-fiction device from Area 51, and used it to pitch Chuck far, far into the future. The NSA had whipped up a desperate, shot-in-the-dark mission to send Sarah and John Casey after Chuck, and amazingly, it had been successful. However, although they had returned to California a mere ten days after Chuck’s abduction, he had spent almost two months in the future.
Those two months had been long enough for Chuck to meet and fall in love with somebody else. However, he had made the decision that he was going to have to leave her behind because of his commitments to his family and friends on 21st century Earth. As a result, he had been fairly depressed for the last month or so.
On Valentine’s Day, Sarah had been hoping to surprise him, and take him out for the day – just as friends, of course. However, when she had arrived at his apartment that morning, Ellie had told him that he had left early – around 6:00 – and she wasn’t sure where he was headed to. He wasn’t at the Buy More, and she had gotten to a point where she was worried sick, until she got a call from Casey around 7:00 PM telling her that Chuck had dropped by his apartment.
Of course, Casey had just HAD to tell her why Chuck came by. Apparently, with the knowledge that the NSA still existed in the future time period he had been dropped into, he had put together a valentine for his “26th century sweetheart,” as Casey had insisted on calling her. He had gotten Casey to agree to put the valentine into the NSA archives, in the wild hope that it would be preserved and delivered on Valentine’s Day, 2520.
Having learned that, Sarah rapidly developed a severe stomachache. She blamed it on stress and having eaten something that didn’t agree with her, but the reality was that it was caused by a combination of jealousy, envy, and rage. Jealousy because she wasn’t the person receiving a valentine from Chuck, envy because nobody had ever cared enough about her to create a valentine like the one Chuck had made, let alone plan for it to be delivered years later, and rage, well, just because.
And so she had started walking. And walking. After a while, she found herself walking down Mulholland Drive, along the spine of the Hollywood Hills. Mulholland was dead at this time of night – cars passed by about once every twenty minutes, and one police cruiser had stopped to see if she needed help – and promptly driven away when she flashed her CIA ID and said she was alright.
Sarah had just crossed over Laurel Canyon Boulevard and was approaching Laurel Canyon Park when she heard what could only be described as a ruckus up ahead of her. Shouting, combined with squealing noises and then the sounds of stomping feet. Not knowing what lay ahead, she instinctively drew her gun.
As she continued to advance, a disheveled looking man with a wild mop of brown hair and a grease-streaked blue pinstripe suit came rushing around a curve. He nearly ran into Sarah, skidding as he came to a stop in front of her. In an almost irrelevant flash of observation, Sarah noticed that he wore Converse trainers, just like Chuck did.
“Hello!” the man said cheerfully, with a British accent. “Run!”
He grabbed Sarah’s hand and took off running, back east on Mulholland. Having no choice but to fall if she didn’t run, Sarah took off running after him. They went running back across Laurel Canyon, and then, with no warning, the man veered onto Woodrow Wilson Drive, nearly dislocating Sarah’s right shoulder in the process.
He pulled her behind a hedge and then peered out. As he did so, what could only be described as a small space ship went streaking by on Mulholland. Sarah felt like she should’ve been shocked to see it, but after all that had happened in the last couple of months – not much shocked her anymore.
“Well, that’s better,” the man said, pulling out a pair of glasses and placing them on his nose. He peered at Sarah. “They’ll be gone for awhile looking for me, and I’ll be able to get out of here.”
Sarah just looked at him. Finally, she spoke. “Who the hell are you, where did you come from, and what the hell is going on?”
He looked back at her, a look of dismay crossing his face. “Quite right, of course! How rude of me, not introducing myself.”
His face shifted into a brilliant, almost manic smile. “That was a Raxicoricofallapatorian, trying to capture me – turns out there’s a gigantic bounty on my head back on his planet. I personally came from the planet Gallifrey, but more recently from that blue box behind you.”
Sarah turned to see a blue wooden box, about seven feet tall, behind her. “POLICE CALL BOX,” the glowing panel at the top said. “Okay, seriously,” she said. “Am I drunk? High? Asleep?”
“None of the above!” the man replied, taking his glasses off and putting them inside his suit coat. “That’s my TARDIS – stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space; if that’s too much of a mouthful for you, means ‘bigger on the inside’.”
He stuck out his hand. “Anyway, it was good to meet you, uh…”
“Sarah Walker,” she replied. “Central Intelligence Agency.”
His face fell as he realized the ramifications of who she worked for. “Oh dear,” he said.
“Now, you want to answer my question about who you are?”
“Oh, quite right!” he said, cheering up again.
What is it with this guy and his mood swings? Sarah thought.
He pulled out his glasses and perched them on his nose again. Looking at Sarah through his spectacles, he smiled, and then, as if making a grand proclamation, declared, “I’m the Doctor!”
