Doctor Who - 01 - Past Future Continuous

01. Alone in the Blue Box

There were not so many people who had ever seen the Doctor circling the TARDIS' steering room slowly; shoulders hunched, the face contorted in pain. He really, really tried to avoid being spotted in one of his low moods. Whenever there was this pain inside his old soul, the Doctor would try to hide it underneath an airy, carefree mask. He felt it was easier to cower in silence, alone and undisturbed, than to face pity of humans; just as it was easier to pretend, than to face beasts howling in the depths of his memory.

That was why he usually pirouetted tirelessly around the core of his ship, rhythmically switching handles and pushing buttons, much like a conductor and a musician in an orchestra of one. And usually he simply wanted to dance. He actually loved the TARDIS; he loved freedom she offered; the whole of space and time spreading in front of him like a blindingly multicoloured fan. And when he really didn't want to, the presence of his companions made him at least feel obliged to his constant dance.

But this time he had no companion; the only background for his thoughts being the singing of the TARDIS – the humming of the ancient machinery and clicking of handles being moved.

Again, he faced the whole universe. The whole of time. All the places and moments he had not yet seen; creatures he had not yet met; things cruel and beautiful, funny and scary. Of course even now – if only he wanted to – he could see the universe through miracle hungry eyes. He could recognise cosmos in a blade of grass; perceive endlessness of a drop of water. Undoubtedly there was always something worth living for...

Worth living for... Always...

He removed a sodden suit jacket, but a wet shirt was still clinging to his skin. Drops of water were still dripping from his rain-soaked hair. Oh, how grateful he was for that rain, so handy in hiding treacherous tears from Wilfred, Donna's Grandfather.

Ooooh, maybe not hiding...

Ooooh, who cared, anyway?

He had stood in front of the Noble's house, talking to Wilf across the threshold, but he had known that they were indeed separated by entire worlds... universes. The cold rain, an unpleasant result of an atmospheric agitation, had troubled the Doctor's world. From the Doctor's world you could only peek through the half-open door into the house brimming with soft, orange light, with smell of freshly brewed tea, with muffled sound of voices. Well, you could even get inside. But you could not stay. Not for long. Not forever.

I am just a traveller. That's what I do – I travel.

And it means I can never stop for a long time.

(You are running away, Davros said. You are running away from yourself.)

Slowly, the Doctor moved away from the console, leaving the TARDIS adrift; he did not set any destination – the blue box hovered in the temporal orbit, sailing freely across time and space. If the TARDIS was listening to the Doctor's thoughts (and usually she quietly did just that) she must have felt a painful consternation, because the only thing the Doctor wanted was to go home. And his home – planet Gallifrey in the Casterborous System – had burnt away in the fires of a great war, or rather had been locked in time; always burning and always turning into dust; and there was no way left for the TARDIS to fulfil her master's wish.

The Doctor leaned against the pylon and pushed his fists deep into pockets of his trousers. Big, dark eyes grew even larger in his pale, narrow face as he looked ahead, unseeing, across the ship hull's walls.

This time yesterday all his friends had been there. Gathered around the ship's cockpit they had flown her together, the way she was supposed to be flown. Bound by one will, one feeling, one goal, one friendship. Triumphantly hauling the whole planet, saving the world. Saving the Earth.