Meeting Him Again

The Picnic

The landscape of Gallifrey is barren and empty. Red grass sits under a crimson sky lit by four suns, casting their glow down onto the desert. From the plateau jutting from the sharp cliff face, one can see the heat shimmering on everything from the virgin dunes to the far east, rolling into each other, majestic and ever so slightly alive, to the never-ending rocky trading paths stretching into the sunset in the west, drenched in the stories of merchants and travellers; they bear the marks of a thousand life forms, each one with hopes, dreams and a reason. A reason for wandering. A reason for being.
No sane person crosses the endless stretching sands without having to. Many creatures lay in wait and it wasn't uncommon to see the battered remains of Daleks scattered amongst the stones along the unforgiving trails. It just hadn't been worth cleaning it all up, the High Council claimed, as so few braved the gulleys the hap-hazard roads cut through. There was, however, enough foot traffic for the bandits to inhabit the dark spaces behind rocks and the sharp drops arching over the granite.
They weren't your usual bandits: the forgotten men weren't seeking riches or the treasure the trading caravans held, never those. They were after time. Staring death in the face after a near infinite life was enough to drive mad even the most hard boiled Time Lord - no amount of honours from the Academy could prepare you for that. A man so cut off from his family, so deeply afraid and alone, had but one choice - become a bandit. They crouched by the sides of the road and lay in wait, jumping on an innocent and robbing him of his life. A burst of regeneration energy straight to the the chest could take two faces off a life. They never said, but the people of the planet knew that was the real reason the High Council never ventured into the Poor's battlefield, so caught up were they in their own ideals of perfection they were. The rich must live forever.
It was here, on this unsettlingly smooth outcrop with a view of death and dried up farmland, that Harold and I shared our first kiss. Our first date. I figured that it would be the best bet for a first date with the new one. I smiled to myself. He'd been so beautifully awkward, making sure everything was perfect and bustling around the ledge with a kind of sweet ferocity I had never seen elsewhere. Making sure the blanket was on the flattest area possible, and that and one of the suns wouldn't blind them as it swooped in close to the planet on its decent.
Elaborately throwing the blanket out across the well-selected picnic spot, I cast my eyes out across the view.
"Remember this place?" I asked.
"Of course," Harriet replied, kind of quietly. She seemed withdrawn and sat slowly down a little ways away from me on the blanket. I took it as a blessing, not really being able to deal with masses of physical contact from her.
Underneath our feet, the planet continued to rotate and time marched on. I smiled and wiggled my feet. Harriet began to fiddle with a loose thread on her jacket. I suddenly realised it was hers - all of the clothes she was wearing were hers.
"You can just borrow my clothes, you know," I muttered.
"Oh, well, thanks," she murmured back.
I frowned. "You don't need to wear clothes that are far too big for you, Harry," I whispered into the wind.
She didn't say anything. She just kept staring off into the fading light, indignant.
I didn't have anything to say, and, by the looks of it, nor did she. She folded her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. I picked up a rock and twiddled it between my fingers.
"How's work?" I could feel the disconnection. We could burn a star together just the week before and now we were reduced to small talk! I couldn't tell what was wrong.
Harriet pushed herself to her feet and stuffed her hands in her pockets, green eyes sweeping the harsh rocks at her feet. She nudged one with her foot, sniffed, and stared out with across the dry landscape of our home planet. She was acting resentful.
"Could be better, but everyone's been great. All great." She was still distant. I thought that bringing her here would remind her that she was still the same person and I was still all there for her, but apparently it hadn't registered as that. This was worse than an awkward first date.
We're married, for fuck's sake.