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The front door won't open properly. Marc gives it his best shot, which, considering the whole superhuman strength deal with Khonshu is probably significantly more forceful than most people could manage. Even so, the door's going nowhere. Through the narrowest of cracks that he's able to force it to before the wood starts to groan and protest, the overall impression he gets is blue.
"What the hell has Jake bought this time?" he mutters to his wristwatch. In the tiny reflection, Steven's not so convinced this one's down to Jake and his online shopping habit. For one thing, if Jake's had more junk delivered, how is it blocking the door from the inside? But Marc's currently infuriated by Jake's newfound love of clutter as he tends to call it, and doesn't want to consider any alternatives.
Which leaves them with the problem of getting back into the flat with the groceries, and working out what, exactly, is blocking the door. And who Marc can yell at for putting him in the position to come up with his current great idea.
The suit doesn't have any convenient reflective surfaces for Steven to object from, so he's doing it directly in Marc's mind like a mosquito with a particularly poor grasp of personal space.
Marc, this is ruddy stupid, innit? You could at least have left the shopping in the hall and grabbed it once we sorted the door. He pauses as Marc drops down onto the narrow foothold, not wanting to distract him at the wrong moment. And what if someone looks up and sees the bloody Moon Knight balancing on a window ledge with his groceries? In broad daylight, Marc. I swear it's like you want to get flipping spotted! We'll end up on YouTube again. I can just imagine it — "Super Shopper: Where does London's strangest vigilante shop?" And then they'll be all smug because we shop at Aldi and clearly being a hero doesn't pay very well. He's really on a roll, so Marc has to shut him up with a hissed "Steven!" when it becomes obvious there are voices in the flat.
"...lots and lots of lovely disturbances in the space-time continuum. Something's been popping in and out of this plane of existence here. Very suspicious," the voice is unusually cheerful for someone in the midst of breaking and entering, and although the words largely flow over Marc, Steven's immediately on high alert.
A cautious look through the window makes it very clear why the front door won't open. There's a very large, very immovable, and very blue object squarely in front of it.
What the… that's a Police Box! How the…
Steven rambles on, confusion and disbelief triggering a mess of half sentences and swearing. Marc doesn't have a clue what a Police Box is, clearly some British thing that has passed him by, but Steven's pretty adamant that this one can't possibly be on Jake. He tunes it out, choosing to instead focus on the strange buzzing noise drifting from the flat.
He inches the sash of the window up a fraction at a time; they're probably the noisiest windows to ever exist if opened carelessly, so he's perfected the art of easing them open quietly on pain of Very Bad Things from Layla. It turns out she is not a fan of being woken by loud bangs in the middle of the night, and one of the disadvantages of having a superhero wife is that when startled she has instant access to some particularly razor-sharp swords.
The buzzing noise continues as he carefully clambers through the window, the practice from keeping the noise below Layla's remarkable noise detection threshold paying off. Until, of course, the Bag For Life proves to be a Bag For Until the Worst Possible Moment and splits, spilling clementines and Deceitful Bacon — Steven's atrocious vegan stuff — all over the floor.
The two strangers freeze at the noise, then the woman gives a brief scream and elbows the man in the side. He turns round, slipping something into his pocket as he does, exchanging it for a pair of glasses. They look harmless enough, some skinny bloke in a suit with ridiculous hair and a red-headed woman Steven would probably describe as brassy or some similar Britishism Marc doesn't quite get. They both seem startled, but not at all guilty, which seems strange given they're in their flat without permission.
"Oh! Hello!" The man in the pinstripe suit exclaims, putting the glasses on, and peering through them at Marc, for all the world as if Marc were the intruder. "We have company."
"Well, obviously," the woman says, and her tone is practically an audible eye-roll. "Curse of the Mummy here just climbed through a fourth storey window to say hello on his way to a fancy dress party." She gives Marc an appraising look that suggests she's distinctly underwhelmed by the suit. "And throw fruit at us. As you do."
"Donna," the man says reproachfully, "he's a superhero. Got a suit and everything!" He adjusts his glasses, head tilting quizzically as he leans forward to study Marc as if he were some fascinating specimen. Marc takes a menacing step towards him, and the man straightens, putting up his hands.
"Unarmed, we're unarmed. Can we just talk about this?" It comes out as a babble, accompanied by a wide manic grin, but Marc's not quite convinced. It's a veneer of harmlessness over something old and powerful; he's seen it too often now to be completely taken in.
"I think this is a me thing, Marc," Steven says, pulling for control, "I don't think brooding at this one's going to do us any good. He's probably right, so Marc lets Steven's pull flip their positions, leaving him watching from the gleaming standing mirror by the armchair. Of course, this has the inevitable effect on the suit, elaborate bandages melting to neatly pressed sleeves.
"Ooh. Different suit now," the man muses as he watches the change. "Bit literal for a superhero, but ve-ry sharp," he says appreciatively, "love a suit, me."
"Thanks mate," Steven brushes at some non-existent lint, and internally Marc despairs at his alter's instant vanity the second the suit appears. "But," Steven continues, suddenly all sharp inquisitiveness. "You're in my flat, pointing something at my bloody fish. Yeah saw that, didn't I. Bit rude, innit."
The other man at least has the decency to look a little sheepish at this, one hand coming up to the back of his neck as he fishes in a pocket with the other.
"Yeah," he drawls. "I can see how this looks bad. But we're from Scotland Yard. The Doctor and Donna Noble." He proffers a card that Steven studies intently.
"Nice try mate, that's blank," he says, and the look of startled dismay that flickers across this Doctor's face is a picture.
"Right then!" The Doctor says, clapping his hands. "Can't fool you, fair enough." He considers Steven carefully. "Thing is, there's clearly been some very strange things happening in this flat, and I like strange things." He pauses, and scrunches up his face before continuing, "Weelll, not exactly like, but take a keen interest in. And you know what? The sort of strange things that have been going on here are just the sort of thing to get my attention."
Not that your attention is in any way welcome.
"Ah," says The Doctor. "That would explain the readings."
Behind him, Khonshu leans against the blue box, twisting his staff in one hand.
You again, Timelord. Come to meddle with the humans for your own entertainment?
"Khonshu," The Doctor says, impeccably polite yet icy enough to freeze seawater. "Still as dessicated as ever."
Doctor, the god rumbles tersely. Still abducting unsuspecting aliens?
Steven coughs.
"So you two know each other?" he asks.
The god and the timelord ignore him.
With a sigh, Steven turns to Donna, pulling off his mask and extending a hand which he's relieved Donna decides to shake.
"Steven Grant," he says, "good to meet you, Donna."
He turns to watch the stand-off between god and timelord, and Donna does the same.
"Is he always this rude?" they ask in unison. There's a beat where each waits for the other to speak, then,
"You get used to it," they say together and at that they break down laughing.
"I don't think they're about to do anything dangerous. Shall I put the kettle on?" Steven offers.
"Aw, would you? I'm dying for a cuppa," Donna seems genuinely grateful.
Eventually The Doctor joins them for tea and Khonshu lurks on the sofa, radiating wary acceptance.
"So," says Steven. "Now you've accepted you're both on the same side, who do we need to save the world from this time?"