It was Friday night, and Sara, a thirty-year-old, Welsh girl, was alone — as usual — as San Francisco bustled with people just getting off work and headed to the nearest pub. Her parents, whom she lived with until she got on her feet, had been gone for a few hours now. Shopping. She hated it; the people, the smell of public places. The only solace she found was when she went out was her iPod, blaring music to the point of tinnitus.

But something about this evening seemed off. She felt that something would happen, which she felt a lot. Sixty percent of the time,  she was right. The other forty, well, she tried to convince herself that it was better, but really, she enjoyed knowing that something happened. Because being left to guess — the unknown — scared her.

Halfway through binge-watching a cartoon about an alien and his crazy, robotic servant, she heard a loud rumbling sound, like thunder. She looked out the window and there were no clouds in sight.

Weird.

She then heard the back door rattling, as though someone was trying to get inside. Apprehensively, she got up, grabbing a television remote as a weapon on the way, and little by little, she made her way to the door.

"I've seen this film," she said to no-one. "I've dyed my hair brown, it's not blonde any more, therefore... I'm safe from horror cliques... right?"

Her hand hovered over the door handles a moment, and before she could pull, it blew open on its own.

At first, she saw nothing. Just darkness, but a roaring noise came through, as if a raging storm was passing by. She stared into the nothingness until something heavy and solid flew into her, sending her tumbling back. That something was a person.

Sara set the person down on the floor, propped up against the coffee table, and once she regained her footing, she quickly shut the door.

She studied the person — the man — his hair all sticky-uppy, and donning a fancy yet dishevelled three-piece suit and Converse trainers. With his upper body slumped over his lower half, she couldn't quite see his face. She could only think of one person who wore this on the regular: The Doctor.

He gained a bit of weight, she thought as she lightly touched his stomach.

Dark chocolate brown eyes popped open. The mysterious man shot up, lickety-split, sending Sara back once again, this time with a startled shriek. Frantically searching for something familiar, he whirled around to the point of making himself dizzy.

Timid, she raised her hand, half waving, half questioning like she was back in school, trying to get her teacher's attention. "Uh, hello?"

He immediately stopped, his handsome features hardening at the sight of her. A solemn eyebrow raised briefly. "Bonsoir, belle dame. Qu'est-ce qui t'amène?"

"I live here," she replied.

He appeared shocked. "You understood me?"

She shrugged her shoulders. Tersely, she said, "It's French. Secondary schoolers learn that."

The man tapped his lips with his index finger. "You're right, I should have picked a harder language. It would have made me look a lot better. Smarter. What is wrong with me?" Air hissed through gritted teeth when the man second-guessed his self-query. "Don't go there," As he looked for clues as to where he was, he said, "Also, don't mind me."

"Don't mind you?" she echoed, now irked. "You're over here tearing up my place."

"Right, again. I'm sorry. Although... is that a Welsh accent I'm detecting?" Responding to her nod, he added, "Ble ydw i ar hyn o bryd?"

She regarded him with a befuddled stare. "What?"

He rolled his eyes. "Should have opened with that," he mumbled. "Where am I?"

"San Francisco."

"San Francisco?" he incredulously echoed. "I'm way off!"

While she hopelessly watched him rummage through her things, she stood there with arms folded and a glare on her face. "Look, I don't  know what  you think you're doing Mister–"

"Flynn."

She thrust a finger towards him. "Whatever, Flynn!" she said with a sneer. Eventually, her finger retreated into her fist, a slow realization dawning on her. "Oh, wait..."

Flynn heavily scrutinized an empty notebook before tossing it over his shoulder with no regard. He paid no attention to the woman staring at him with such awe.

"You are Librarian."

He wheeled around, gawking at her. "How did you–?"

"Oh, everyone knows you. Saving the world every week, twice before Friday, or... something," She looked like one of those obsessive fans, drooling over him. "I can't believe it!" she chortled and outstretched her arms. "Take me with you!"

His only response was a single, disparaging laugh, and drew in a sharp breath and on his exhale, he flat out said, "No," Flynn began walking down the short flight of stairs that led to the kitchen.

Sara followed him. "No, really. You have no idea how boring my life is."

"Still no."

"Please??"

"I don't do well with people," he intoned while perusing the fairly empty fridge.

"Yeah, I've gathered that. Speaking of which, what are you doing?"

"I need food."

"Okay, well, before you destroy anything else," Sara took him by his arm and sat him down at the small kitchen table. "Why don't you wait here and I'll make something, eh?"

"If you insist," His attentiveness on her was snared by a glimpse of a familiar, favourite, orange fizzy drink. He contained his excitement, but only just.

"I don't know if you have any food allergies or anything, but–" The view of Flynn guzzling down what little was left of her Fanta cut her right off.

He gazed back at her, mid-drink, with feigned remorse in his eyes. He didn't feel bad one bit. After placing the empty bottle down and gulping a mouthful, he strained to ask without belching, "You didn't want this, did you?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, it's all right. I'll just get a hold of my parents and tell them we need more."

"Parents?" he repeated, curious, with a bit of worry in his voice.

"Yeah, they'll be–" Soon after, she realized what she said herself, and that they could be home at any time, and she would then have to explain the mess and the strange man who randomly showed up. "Oh, God," she uttered, muffled from holding her head in her hands.

"It'll be okay. I'll just eat and be on my merry way."

"Hey, like a stray cat!" Clocking his wry gaze, she cleared her throat, now embarrassed. "Cats, they... come and go whenever they... No?"

Flynn rolled his eyes for a second time. This is why I don't like people.

"Well,  since we don't have anything else!" Sara opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of salsa, then a package of tortillas off the countertop and held them both up.

*********************

Neither of them spoke. They just ate. Other sounds filled the silence, however; with the window above the sink slightly open, they could hear a lone bird chirping away happily in the dusk hours, along with cars driving on a distant road, their drivers on their way home from work.

Needing to fill the void between them, Sara spoke up. "So, what are you doing here?"

Flynn stopped chewing, his eyes flicked to one side as he thought. He swallowed. "What are any of us doing here?"

She didn't entirely expect him to get philosophical on her. Then again, she didn't know what else she expected. "No, I  meant here.  In my house," she said in a Welsh drawl. "In my kitchen. Eating with me. Isn't there some... magical, sci-fie stuff you're supposed to be doing?"

"Oh. I'm doing it. I'm on a mission. Or was until..." He gestured his thumb toward the back door.

"Mm. Dimension skid, was it?"

Flynn gave her a half-smile. "Something like that."

She couldn't believe that she got a genuine chuckle out of him. She was almost proud of herself for breaking into that stone heart of his.

Suddenly, the garage door opened with a loud clang, causing Flynn to jump. Even Sara twitched, despite that she was expecting it.

Once she shoved her heart back into her chest, she lightly touched his forearm. "It's all right. Um... Come with me," Sara guided him to her room, her small hand barely wrapping around his wrist.

Sara damn near slung him in her bedroom. If it wasn't for his quick reflexes, he would have crashed into the wall on the opposite side of the room. "Sorry," she said with a grimace. "Look, just stay in here. The TV has some channels — mostly local. There are  some books and DVDs and CDs, none of which I'm sure you're even remotely interested in."

Flynn observed her bedroom, browsing through her video games and nerdy collectables. He noticed the various plush toys on her twin-sized bed. One disturbing, purple bunny caught his attention more than anything else.

"Are you listening to me?" she demanded.

"Uh-huh. Stay in here, got it," he replied as he played around with the action figures she had on her shelf. "Wait. What if I have to... you know?"

"Bathroom is three doors down. I'll bring something to eat later if you get hungry. Right now, you need sleep. You look knackered," Her eyes narrowed, thinking carefully about her previous statement. "Librarians do sleep, right?"

"Yes. Although, my sleeping schedule leaves a lot to be desired, to be Frank. You might have to deal with me being up all night."

"Eh, me too," Sara tried tucking a couple of short strands of her brown hair behind her ear but kept failing. Blowing it out of her face wasn't working either. In the end, she had to grab a bobby pin and forced her hair back. Sara then jammed her hands in her hoodie pocket. She appeared a bit manic. "Wish me luck."

He did, silently. The flicker of a smile flashed across his lips before turning into a large yawn, drawing a soft giggle from her.

"Go to sleep," she told him. "I'll be–" Her brain fizzled, ideas running amok in her mind, and none of them pure. The thought of her being that close to him kicked her like a shot of tequila and Red Bull. Sara composed herself. "Go to sleep."

"Were you going to say you will join me in a few minutes?"

"Maybe?" she promoted, smiling beatifically and biting her lower lip.

"Fine, but you are not getting anything out of me."

"That's fine by me. I'm not ready yet, anyway," Her eyes widened when it hit her; that what she just said was probably too much information. Or maybe it was enough, and he was now wondering what was wrong with her. "I mean! Never mind..." She left the room, only to pop her head in through the cracked open door long enough to say, "Sleep tight."

Sara retreated and hauled arse into the kitchen where there were still two plates on the table. She gasped in her head and swiftly washed them off before her parents came inside.

Suddenly, she could hear music coming from her room. "You found my eighties mix then, did you?" she called out, except she got no response. So much for sleep, she thought. He has good taste, I'll say that.

In that moment, she dropped what she was doing and left to see what was going on. She sidestepped into the room to the beat of a Kajagoogoo song, but found Flynn in her bed, out of it and flat on his stomach and sprawled out.

It turned out that Flynn just needed noise to sleep. Lack of artefacts whispering in the night made it hard for him to relax.

For a moment, her eyes hung on him. A light smile formed, disappearing shortly after realising that she was falling for the guy. Already, she had strong feelings for him, and what could she do about it? Not a damn thing. He would leave soon, she knew this. No-one ever stayed, and he had other obligations.

And now, here she was, on her knees, watching him sleep. Ordinarily, she wouldn't do this kind of thing — being borderline creepy wasn't like her at all —  yet she couldn't bring herself to leave. Not even when she heard the rustling of plastic bags from the kitchen. At most, she acknowledged it with an imperceptible tilt of her head, eyes still rapt on Flynn.

"Sara?" her mother called out in a tune.

She cringed, half expecting Flynn to wake up. He stirred, but that was all. Sara puffed out her cheeks, then gradually, let out her breath of relief.

It dawned on her that this was all real. The Librarian was in her room,  in her bed. In her life, for the time being. She wished it could last forever. It also occurred to her he was shirtless. Deep, blue eyes bugged at the possibility of his lower half being exposed.  Disgusting? She thought so. Titillating? Definitely.

Maybe he isn't. Or...

Curiosity got the better of her. She peeked under the blankets, but only found a pair of forest green boxer briefs and mismatched socks.

Thank God!

Thank God? Sara's inner voice echoed, dubious. Are you still the same person?

"Oh, shut up," Sara grumbled to herself while she walked out the door. Once faced with seeing her parents, she put on a happy face. She had even more to hide than she usually did.

Her mother, Clara, glanced over her shoulder, remaining in the seat she occupied at the table. "Hey. Feeling better?"

She shrugged. "I guess so. Can you maybe keep it down?"

Daryl, her father, stared quizzically at her. "Why?"

Oops. "Uh, because I... ha-have a headache."

Clara casually bit into one of Sara's favourite American chocolate bars; Almond Joy. "That time of the month?" she managed through a mouthful of chocolate, almonds and coconut.

She slid her a mild gaze of indignation. I must be on it twenty-four, seven, then. "No, it's not. Just don't need this right now."

"Need what? I just asked a question."

God, Flynn, wake up, wipe their memories of this whole thing and kidnap me. Please!

Almost on cue, as though answering her inward plea, a crash came from her bedroom, followed by a tiny, pained, "Ow."

Sara snorted and giggled, hastily concealing it after the fact.

Daryl cautiously glided toward the hallway like fog over water on an early morning. "Is there someone else here?"

"No?" she ventured, hoping it would be enough to sell it. Soon after, she was relatively certain they didn't even buy it. "No! No, it's the television. Best shut that off!" she hastened to say, just prior to galloping down the hall and into her room. By the time she got there, Flynn was on the floor, front side up. "Oh, God, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he groaned and pushed himself up. "Rolled over too many times. Hardwood flooring, not fun to land on," He locked eyes with a large box tucked between the wall and her dresser. "Hm."

"Who'd've thought?" she sardonically said.

"Right?" He didn't quite latch on to her sarcasm.

Sara reached out to check his noggin. "You didn't hit your head or anything?"

Flynn recoiled and shot her a breakneck glare. "Nah! It'll take a lot to damage to this thing," He knocked on his skull like a plank of wood.

"I don't know whether that's good or bad."

He didn't respond. Instead, he pirouetted to the box and grabbed it.

"Hey!" she admonished.

"Hello," He took no notice of her displeasure. "What's this?"

The more he removed the styrofoam from the box, the sicker she felt. "It's a... picture frame."

"I can see that. And that–" Flynn looked away from the pictures within the frame to Sara and back again, noting the words 'best friends' engraved in it. "That's you!"

"Very observant," she sarcastically said, which, once again, went ignored.

"And next to you is your best friend. Which would make sense."

Sara laughed in disdain. "She lost the right to call herself that the moment she abandoned me. Whatever. Can you put that away, please?"

He could relate heavily. He would have told her, except he didn't want to bore her with the details of how so many people broke his heart. So, he changed the subject, insensitive as it might have been. "You lost weight."

"Yes. Seriously, please–"

"Anorexia nervosa, secondary to emetophobia," He turned to see a  blank expression on her face, suggesting he hit the mark. "Your shirt pulled up when you were reaching for the salsa. I saw the stretch marks on your lower abdomen. It's the only other thing that can cause such rapid weight loss, and since you're not terminally ill... And you're lacking certain proteins, iron, specifically, which suggest a lack of meat, the main source of food poisoning. Your pallor gives it away."

She snatched the picture frame away from him and began stuffing it back into the cardboard box. "Yeah, well, I don't get out much," she flatly responded.

"How long?"

"I'm working on it," A twinge of annoyance laced her voice. "Really."

"How long?"

Sara shoved the box back where it was and sharply inhaled. "Four years. Before that, I was fine for thirteen. Stomach bug made me relapse. I don't think about it anymore. But... it still controls me."

He noticed her eyes welling up. You had to be a know-it-all. Guilt flooded over him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to strike a nerve."

"No, it's fine," she said, gloominess mingling with her words. "I have to commend you for knowing about it. No-one else does."

Flynn shrugged his shoulders. "I know a lot of things."

"Right," she drawled, deep in thought. Despite alarms going off in her head, all the scenarios that pointed to rough backlash from her folks, she felt compelled to let him run wild in her home. Who was she to keep someone like him down? They'd find out eventually, anyway. She smiled at him, like Mona Lisa incarnate, then offered her left hand for him to take, palm upward.

He glanced at her hand, and rather than taking it, he gave her a low-five.

She let out an airy giggle and took it upon herself to grip two of his fingers. It was all she could hold.

Stunned, all Flynn could do was stare at their intertwined fingers. At last, he spoke. "You're holding my hand. Sort of."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, silly," she said, feigning adoration. Going off his petrified countenance, she thought it was best to put him at ease. "I'm joking. We're going."

"Where to?"

She motioned her head indicatively towards her open door. "Out there."

"You're not worried?"

"I stopped caring," She and he just started to walk into the hall when she stopped suddenly and sternly looked into his chocolate brown eyes. "But you're behaving yourself. No eating us out of house and home and no reading my parents. Got it?"

He nodded. "Got it."

She half-rolled her head, attempting to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. On the outside, she might have seemed calm, but inside, she was panicking. "No matter how much I want you to..." she muttered under her breath. To her, it would have been glorious if he called them out on their flaws. Once again, she stopped in her tracks, Flynn damn near ramming into her a second time. "I just realised. I'm Sara. Though, you probably knew that, didn't you?"

He did, but he figured he would give her at least once. His mouth worked soundlessly, uttering the word, "No."

"Huh," Slowly, she turned on her heels. "Somehow I don't believe that."

"I was trying to be charitable."

"Yeah, well, donate to a blood drive, not to me."

"Can't. Too crimson, I need more calcium,"  In an instant, he felt nervous the closer they got to the