Authors note: Since I'm writing this as much as a year (or more—I don't get BBC America) before I'll ever see Peter Capaldi's Doctor, I'm just sort of winging it with his character. So to anyone reading this after Series 8 airs, please be aware of that I am writing this story completely in the dark. I've no clue whatsoever what Series 8 holds in store. NBG

Doctor Who: Rise of the Goji

Chapter 1

Under the harsh, unforgiving orange glow of a street lamp, the little boy in the striped pyjamas stood. He was looking down at the empty pavement. His face was unusually blank, devoid of all expression. The boy didn't seem aware of the cold pavement seeping into the soles of his bare feet. His glassy eyes seemed fixed upon an old oil stain. The other arm hung limply at his side. A chilly night breeze ruffled the boy's neatly trimmed dark hair.

A milk float turned down the street. It's bottles clanked together gently, disturbing the cloak of silence that comes before the dawn. The noise echoed off the bricks of the terraced homes lining both sides of the street, making it seem even louder. The boy was oblivious. Seeing the boy, the driver frowned and brought his vehicle to stop. When the boy still didn't seem to take notice of the float parked in front of him, the driver, a tired looking middle aged man, got out.

"What's this then?" The milk float driver stood looking down at the boy. Then he glanced up and down the deserted street. "You shouldn't be out alone this time of morning. You'll catch your death. Where are your parents? Are you lost?"

When the boy still didn't answer, the driver squatted down on his heels and peered into the boy's face. "Now. What's wrong, little fella? Are ya' sleep walkin' or som'thin'?"

Only then did the boy look up at the man. In a plaintive, frightened voice he said, "It's just a dream, then? I've been hoping it was only a dream."

"Well you seem quite awake now." The driver smiled reassuringly.

"But where's Margaret?" The little boy asked tremulously, "She always wakes me up when I have bad dreams. Says it's worse than my snoring."

"Margaret?" The float man asked hopefully. "Is that your sister?"

Unfortunately the little boy seemed to drift off into his own world again. After a few more unsuccessful tries to get some information out of the child, the man pulled out his mobile and dialed 999.


"Is that what you call parking?" Clara asked the Doctor as he was attempting to enter the TARDIS.

"Is that what you humans call nagging?" The Doctor shot back, trying to squeeze through the open door.

The TARDIS had been parked at the entrance to an alleyway, nearly flush with the road. A white van had parked directly in front of it, leaving scant space between it and the TARDIS doors.

"I'm not nagging! I was asking a question." Clara said.

"I'm not the one who parked in front of a van. He parked in front of me." The Doctor answered indignantly. "What is it with white vans, anyway?"

"The driver was probably miffed at you for blocking the alley. Can't you program this thing to recognize No Parking signs or something?"

"What sign? What are you talking about?" He gave a satisfied grunt as he managed to get one leg through the gap in the door. The Doctor grimaced as he felt a seam start to give way in his dark trousers.

"That sign there."

Clara pointed to a sign posted on the wall of the alley, just above the TARDIS. It was painted white with black letters which read, 'No Parking. Private Road. Keep Clear."

"Right. I'll just put your suggestion in my thousand year diary under 'things to do, shall I?" The Doctor answered curtly, carefully extracting his leg from the gap.

"What now?" She looked around, but no one seemed to be about. "Do we knock on doors to see who owns this thing? Or should we find a pub somewhere and wait for him to leave?"

"Neither, I think." The Doctor said to her. "I'll just move the van myself and we'll be laughing."

"How do you propose to do that?" Clara looked at him askance. "I mean, without either of us getting a hernia?"

"With my sonic screwdriver, of course. Nothing better for opening a door." He told her a trifle smugly.

A flash of red showed from the lining of his suit, as he slipped his hand to an inside pocket and produced his trusty device.

"Unless the door is already unlocked." Clara said, reminding him of the time his two other selves spent hours in a dungeon in the Tower of London, believing themselves to be locked in.

Walking over to the van, Clara tried the driver's side door. Raising an eyebrow, she could barely suppress a grin as it swung open.

"I'll still need the sonic to start the engine." He huffed.

"Not if the keys are still in it." Clara couldn't help it. She was smiling now, trying not to laugh as she climbed up into the seat.

"I have an idea, Clara." The Doctor suggested, giving her baleful look. "Why don't you get in and move the van?"

"I have a better idea, mate." Came a young male voice from behind them. "Why don't I arrest the pair of you for trying to nick that van?"

The Doctor turned around. And found himself staring into the face of a young policeman.

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