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Stiles figured it was a bad sign that when on a maybe, maybe not date with Lydia Martin, she was more interested in the blue box that had not been outside restaurant before. “Hey, Lyds-”
“Don't call me Lyds,” Lydia interrupted as she rested her hand on the door of the police box. “It's warm. Who would put a 1960s English police box in the back alley of a restaurant? And how can it be warm?”
“Who knows,” Stiles said with a shrug. “Should we really be hanging around in a dark alley?”
Lydia ignored him as she tried to open the door; it did not budge. She pursed her lips then turned around to look at Stiles. “You can pick locks, right?”
Stiles blinked in surprise. “What? No,” he said and got a look of disbelief in response. “Hey, just because I get into a lot of shit, werewolf shit notwithstanding, doesn't mean I can pick a lock.”
She sighed. “Fine, I just didn't want to ruin my hair,” she said as she took her hair down from it's up do and plucked out a bobby pin.
“You can pick locks?” Stiles asked stupidly as he watched Lydia in fascination. “I thought picking locks with hair pins was bullshit.”
“For the most part, if you don't know what you're doing,” Lydia agreed, and when she heard the quiet snick of the lock unlocking, she turned to Stiles with a triumphant smile. “There. Now, let's see if there's any clues to how this got here.”
As Lydia pushed one of the doors open and disappeared inside, Stiles peered in behind her and gaped. “Oh my god,” he said as he climbed inside the box that should not have more than enough room for two teenagers. “It's bigger on the inside.”
“I can see that, Stiles,” Lydia said with wide eyes as she walked towards the strange console in the middle of the room. “This is...amazing. Another dimension inside a little blue box. You think this console that looks like bits and pieces from a junk yard and thrift store is actually to make this box move?”
Stiles startled as he looked up from one of the knobs he was poking. “A spaceship that's bigger on the inside? Isn't it kinda weird?”
“But here it is,” Lydia stated, running her hand gently over some of the controls. “Stiles, go close the door.”
“Lydia, what are you doing?” he asked as he did as he was told, and the box jolted. “Lydia!”
She laughed. “It's like...it's talking to me.” She huffed. “I'm kinda tired of voices in my head, but at least this one is helpful. C'mon, get those hot and cold knobs on the other side of console; I can't reach them.”
Stiles looked at her skeptically then shook his head and ran over to the knobs. “So, we're actually going to fly a spaceship?” he asked, getting more excited every passing moment. “And I thought werewolves would be the weirdest thing in my life.”
“What have I said about the W word?” Lydia admonished as the glass tubes in the center of console began to move. “When do you want to go?”
“Uh, now?” Stiles questioned, a confused look marring his features.
“What I meant was,” Lydia said slowly, “this is time machine too. So when do you want to go?”
Stiles eyes widened. “A time machine? How do you get that from all this?”
“Simple, it told me so,” she replied as she slammed down another lever. “I was thinking the first Fashion Week in New York, 1943.”
“Wait, you have time and space at your finger tips, and we're going shopping?” he asked incredulously.
“I need some shop therapy,” Lydia answered easily. “If it makes you feel better, afterward we can go see a Mets game when they won. Have they won anything?”
“Of course they have!” Stiles exclaimed, defending his favorite team. “I mean, before either of us were born, but... Wait, you know I like the Mets!”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Of course. You think I tune you out all the time?”
“Uh, most of the time, yeah,” Stiles replied truthfully, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I just catalog what I may need to know later, like your favorite candy is Reese's, and you wouldn't know color coordination if it smacked you in the face,” she explained with a head tilt. “Maybe I should get you a new wardrobe.”
Stiles' face paled. “What's wrong with my wardrobe? And you complimented my outfit on our...not-sorta-date tonight!”
Lydia clucked her tongue. “Yes, that was a happy accident. And your answer to your wardrobe problem? Too much plaid and too many graphic tees.”
“No such thing,” Stiles stated firmly as Lydia stared him down. “Uhh, look, maybe I'll let you add a few things, but I'm not getting rid of anything.”
“That's a start, I suppose,” Lydia conceded with a hair flip before cranking another lever, making TARDIS shake for a moment then stop. “We're here. I'm thinking we'll have to stop at a few more fashion weeks to really supplement your wardrobe properly.”
Stiles side eyed her. “And how're we gonna pay for this? Our money's printed in the future.”
“Good point,” she said as she noticed a something pop up from the console. “Looks like our problem's solved.”
“What?” Stiles asked as she turned around with a smile and credit card in her hand. “Oh my god, this is going to end with me carrying all the bags, isn't it?”
“Pretty much,” Lydia agreed with a smile, putting the card in her purse before grabbing Stiles' hand. “C'mon, Stiles. Remember, after shopping we'll go see that Mets game.”
Stiles looked down at their joined hands. “Okay, Lydia. Whatever you want,” he said with a goofy grin. “But I'm putting you in a Mets jersey.”
Lydia chuckled. “You may regret that,” she replied as she led him to the door. “It's blue, right? That won't clash with my outfit, so I'll allow it, just this once.”
His grin grew. “Best not-sorta-date ever,” he murmured.
Lydia threw the doors open. “Just call it a date already,” she said fondly. “I've decided it was one.”
“What, really?” he asked, stalled in front of the door.
“Yes, now let's get moving,” she replied, tugging at his hand.
Stiles let her lead him out of the strange blue box, and he was pretty sure that his smile wasn't going to leave for a long while.
Okay, he was so, so wrong. “Oh god, Lydia, please tell me we're done? I'm exhausted,” Stiles complained with his arms full of bags and boxes.
Lydia glanced at him and her haul. “Well, that does seem like enough, for now,” she told him. “Let's get back to the TARDIS, and we'll put these away.”
“The TARDIS?”
“Time and Relative Dimensions in Space,” Lydia stated. “She told me that was what she was called. Occasionally, she's also called Sexy, but I didn't think that was really appropriate for a first meeting.”
Stiles stared at Lydia for a long moment. “So, the box is a lady box?” he asked awkwardly.
Lydia shrugged elegantly as they made their way back to said box. “That's what she says. Does it really matter?” she asked.
“Guess not,” he said before furrowing his brow, following Lydia a few feet behind her. “What if she's like a lady trapped inside the box? Does she need to be saved?”
“No, she would've told me,” Lydia stated firmly as she pushed the TARDIS' door open. “Do not drop my bags.”
“Have I ever done that?”
Lydia gave him a steady glare. “The fountain in Milan,” she said from inside the TARDIS. “But I guess maybe that was because you thought those clothes were too 'Jackson' for you.”
“I said raging douche but same thing,” Stiles agreed as he carefully stepped inside and put the bags and boxes down carefully in the corner by the coat rack. “I am not a stand in for Jackson.”
“Of course not,” Lydia scoffed. “I'm not going to lie and say I'm completely over him, but if I agreed to date you, it's not to make you into my new Jackson.”
“Uh, good,” he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “So, Mets game? I'm thinking 1986 World Series.”
“Oh, but you said you were tired,” she teased as she climbed up the stairs to console. “Are you sure you can handle going to a game without falling asleep?”
Stiles put a hand to his heart with a faux offended look on his face. “Lydia, you wound me. We'll just pick up some coffee before the game, and I'll be good to go.”
Lydia smiled. “Okay, if you say so,” she said as she adjusted the date and place on the console to bring them where they needed to go and hit the right lever.
Nothing happened. Lydia frowned and tried the combination of buttons, knobs and levers from the last few times she had taken off, but nothing happened. She huffed before the phone on the console rang shrilly. She motioned for Stiles to answer it.
Stiles gave her a skeptical look but picked up the phone. “Uh, hello? This is the...TARDIS?” he said, putting his hand over receiver. “Was that the right name, Lydia?”
“Yes. Ask who it is,” Lydia said impatiently. “Maybe they know why the TARDIS stopped working.”
“Uh, yeah, who is this?”
“That would be my question, kiddo,” a woman with a Scottish accent asked. “Why did you steal the Doctor's TARDIS? And why do you sound American?”
“We didn't steal it!” Stiles exclaimed. “Um, well, it sorta told Lydia how to drive it. Is that really stealing? And what do you mean, why do you sound American? I'm American, that's why!”
Lydia sighed and snatched the phone. “Hello, I'm Lydia. Is the Doctor with you? I'd like to speak with him,” she said promptly.
“Oh, here. He's been driving us up a wall for the past week,” the Scottish lady said, sounding exasperated as she handed over the phone.
“She flew to America and picked up two strangers?” the Doctor asked incredulously. “She's so moody today! Now, where and when are you two? ”
“London's fashion week, 2012,” she answered. “I wanted to get ahead of the fashion curve next year.”
There was a pause and muffle talk that sounded like the Doctor asking when was fashion week. “Not too far off from when I am. Good, good. Will you check if she'll bring you to this address?”
“I'll try,” she said after the Doctor gave her the coordinates then she punched them in, and the ship came to life. “Looks like we'll be seeing you soon, Doctor.”
When they landed, the TARDIS doors flew open immediately, and a man in a tweed jacket and bow tie ran in with a red head in a short skirt and a brunet with a roman nose. “Oh, Sexy! Never do that again!” the strange man smacked the console, and it sparked at him in retaliation. “Ow! What was that for? That didn't even hurt you.”
Lydia and Stiles shared a look before Lydia approached the man. “So, you're the Doctor?”
The man spun on his heel to face her. “Yes, thanks for returning her,” the Doctor said then glanced at Lydia then at Stiles for a moment. “Would you two like to come with us? We were planning to go to a wedding in Westeros!”
Lydia hummed. “What's the dress code?” she asked with a wicked smile and pointing her haul of clothing, shoes, and accessories. “I wouldn't want to look out of place.”
“Oh, you didn't see the wardrobe yet, have you?” the red head questioned. “I'm Amy, by the way, and this one behind me is my husband Rory.”
“Wardrobe, you say?” Lydia asked, her eyes sparkling. “Show me?”
Amy grinned as she grabbed Lydia's hand, and they disappeared into the TARDIS. Stiles grinned nervously, waving at Rory. “Hey, I'm Stiles? I'm thinking those two meeting was a bad idea for all mankind?”
The Doctor and Rory shared a worried look before Rory sighed. “Most likely,” he agreed.
Lydia popped back out from the corridor she disappeared, grabbing Stiles wrist. “C'mon, you need to dress the part too,” she demanded.
“Oh my god,” Stiles grumbled as Lydia dragged him off. “I think I'm going to regret you finding this box, Lydia.”
Rory snorted as the Doctor started the demateralization sequence, and the TARDIS disappeared into the time vortex.