for galaxys

[thatsortofman]

The TARDIS has come to rest in London again. Modern-day is a relative thing, all time is a relative thing, but it's the general period that he's come to think of as a baseline for most of his travel along Earth's timeline. It's the time of Martha and Donna and Torchwood. It would be the time of Rose, if any of the time in this reality belonged to her anymore.

As always, even the thought of the blond sends something of an ache that echoes through both his hearts, the bittersweet knowledge that she's safe and alive and living a life that he'll never get to even glimpse. Out of his reach, but at least alive. That has to be comfort enough.

He does his best to slip the memories. It's a lovely day, the sort of spring day that are a rarity in London -- no rain, no chill. Just a warm, gentle sort of sun that casts the park he's sitting in in dappled light through leaf-laden trees. Nearby the TARDIS is parked in the shadow of a towering oak tree, countless pairs of human eyes glossing over the thing-that-shouldn't-be-there without looking twice.

The Doctor has commandeered a bench. Commandeered. That did make it sound official. Mostly he's just taking up more than his fair share of it. He's trying to look thoroughly casual -- as if a man in a suit and a coat, all on his own, belongs in a sunny park on a Saturday. His sonic is in one hand, occasionally flipping on in what looks like a fidget but is in fact his best attempt at subtlety. The TARDIS had picked up something strange in this area, in this time, and he is determined to find out what. It had barely registered on his instruments to begin with, defying measurement and isn't that a puzzle. He can't pass up that sort of mystery.

So he's looking. He doesn't know what he's expecting to find, but no matter what his imagination might have cooked up, it's nowhere near what's waiting for him.