Author's Note:
Really nervous about letting this one out...
Contains spoilers for TV series three, episodes 12 and 13 at least.
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ONE
"Now children, stay in line!" Mrs Hudson shouted firmly, and the group of eight and nine year olds obediently shifted into their original lines.
"I hate museums," the girl right at the back whispered vehemently to her queuing partner.
They were so alike, really. Both eight years old, both appearing at the same orphanage on almost the same day. For some reason over the last three years this had made them gravitate toward each other – and stick together, too.
He looked at her.
"'S not so bad," he said quietly. "I think we're going to't Science Museum. You can see spaceships and stuff in there, Mike says."
"Mike's a liar," she pouted. "Don't listen to him, Dave, he's always trying to get you into trouble."
David simply looked at her, thinking. She flicked her long, brown hair over her shoulder and turned to him.
"I thought you said you were going to run away," she added gingerly.
"Been thinking about it," he said defensively.
"Well think on, you're not leaving me here by meself, Dave."
"But you're being taken away next month anyway," he pointed out morosely.
"Quietly now!" the tall, robust Mrs Hudson shouted, eyeing the end of the queue. Why do I always get David Dale in my group? she wondered. Shouldn't he be off bothering other teachers with his odd questions or something?
David's queue shuffled forwards like soldiers after a ten-mile hike in heavy survival gear.
He suddenly realised that in all his five years in various children's homes, he had never felt so alone.
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The Doctor whistled to himself as he leaned back in the high chair, his feet up on the main console next to the Time Rotor, his arms up on the backrest. He was half listening to himself, half listening to the noises of a smoothly-functioning TARDIS.
He was immensely pleased with himself, it had to be said. In the three weeks since Martha Jones had realised her family should be her first priority, he had jumped at the chance of some quiet tinkering time and had, quite frankly, tinkered the arse out of it.
There was absolutely nothing he could see, or think of, that needed fixing. Save a rather obtuse chameleon circuit, but since that hadn't succumbed to his various bouts of tinkering, encouraging, pleading, kicking or slapping for a few hundred years anyway, it had long since been moved from his To Do list to his Just What Do You Want Me To Do With It? list.
So it was a very satisfied Time Lord that looked around the main control room, taking in the steady, quiet, healthy hum of the Rotor, the pale orange lights, the whisper of power through the grating.
His beautiful ship. Working perfectly.
His eyes fell on the phone, Martha's phone, sitting on the main console. It was simply sitting, but he had a sudden feeling it was watching him, that it was poking out a virtual tongue and scoffing at his rather shallow feelings of achievement.
The Doctor looked around the main control room, in all its peace and stillness.
He suddenly realised that in all his time in this current regeneration, he had never felt so alone.
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The children were led across the city, away from the coaches, and Mrs Hudson kept them in line by barking orders and keeping a wary eye on the two dragging their feet at the back.
"Helena Stafford, keep up please," she snapped, and the girl made a half-hearted attempt to keep up. "And you, David Dale."
The children crossed the huge main road under heavy teacher escort, until they were stopped in a long line outside the Museum of Science and Industry.
"Are we seeing them spaceships now, miss?" David asked quickly, looking across the street to the entrance of the Air and Space Hall.
"No we are not, David Dale, and you'll keep quiet if you know what's good for you," she said professionally. "Now then children, keep a tight line please, follow and keep up. We have special tickets prepared for the lot of you."
David felt his feet root to the spot. Something in him snapped and he couldn't stop himself letting out a big huff.
Helena, his best and only friend of three years, looked at him.
"Come on," she said, "if we get left behind, we'll be for the high jump."
"I'm not going," he said tonelessly.
"What?" she gasped. "Not again, Dave! Don't be silly!"
"You go. I'm not going."
"Then where are you going?" she whispered quickly. "Let me come. You'll only get into trouble without me."
"I will not!" he protested petulantly. "I hate Mrs Hudson, and I hate the Home. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm off."
He turned and began to walk off. Helena looked round at the few teachers counting heads quickly, then back at him.
"Dave!" she hissed. He stopped and looked at her.
"Do me this favour, Lena, please?" he asked quickly. "Tell 'em I'm int toilet or summat. Don't tell 'em I've made a run for it."
"But where are you going?" she demanded.
"Anywhere but here," he said firmly. She let her face register her discomfort.
"Oh fine! That's just like you, running off without saying goodbye," she managed, but it came out more upset than angry.
He ran up to her and hugged her quickly.
She nodded and pushed him away, and he turned and ran off.
Helena stared after him, then looked round at the line, hurrying to catch up. She heard teachers ahead, fussing over some other boy's trainers being covered in mud.
She looked back round, trying to find David Dale, about to run after him and throw caution to the wind, level-headedness to Hell, and her bag to the pavement, to run after him.
But he was already gone, lost in the crowd of people cluttering the street.
She bit her lip and turned back as she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Now then, Helena Stafford," Mrs Hudson said clearly. "Where's that David got to, eh?"
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The Doctor opened his eyes with a start, something having woken him.
He sat up straight in the high chair across from the Time Rotor, blinking and rubbing his eyes, looking round quickly.
"Ow," he cried suddenly, indignantly, putting his hands to his head and clutching at it. "What's that all about?" he demanded, baffled. He waited a moment, analysing the pain in his head, but it had already started to recede. He let go of it and looked around the control room.
Everything was the same. Nothing appeared to have moved. He rubbed at his eyes and suddenly felt like a good stretch. He did so and then rubbed his face with both hands briskly, willing himself to throw off the sudden feeling of apathy.
He slid off the chair, rubbing his nose, walking up to the centre console and having a quick look at the monitor.
"Nothing? Nothing to make you want to jump in there and look?" he asked the room. He sniffed. "Right then. We'll just carry on until something does grab your attention, eh?" he asked of the room, letting a hand slide down the surface of the Time Rotor's main console gently.
His hands slipped into his pockets and walked off, round to the galley.
A hundred thoughts of semi-plans and star-charts went through his head as he leant back against the counter and watched the kettle boiling, and then its switch flicked off. He sighed, making himself a particularly strong cup of tea and leaning back on the opposite counter again to drink it.
He managed to ignore the spare, unused cup, the aqua-marine one with over-sized yellow daises on it, for at least two minutes.
Finally he looked at it. It stared back at him from the tree mug, with its usual ceramic, omnipotent glare that told him just what it thought of being left unused. Of how much it missed the girl who had drunk from it and had got very mardy when he had once borrowed it.
He tutted.
"Don't start on me," he said petulantly. "It was her who decided to stay on Earth. If you don't stop staring you can go out the door as I slow down. We're still in the vortex, you know, so if you've ever wondered what it's like to be a traveller in the fourth dimension, now's your chance to find out."
The mug appeared to think about this, but it had no pithy comeback. The Doctor sighed and turned his back on it resolutely.
"I think it's time I went somewhere," he said to himself sadly. "I'm having a face-off with Martha's mug, and still managing to feel vindicated."
He walked out of the galley and followed the crazy pathways through the giant ship to the control room. He walked over to the monitor and looked it over, one hand round his mug, the other in his pocket.
"Well," he said grandly, sniffing to himself. "Why don't we just -. Oh, hello," he said curiously, bending down to see the monitor more clearly. "Well, well, well, just what kind of interference are you?"
He studied the read-outs and information as it scrolled past his eyes, then straightened again.
"What do you think, missus?" he asked of thin air. "Shall we just follow it back to the source and fall into a whole heap of trouble? Or just stay in the vortex till I regenerate out of sheer self-pity and boredom?"
The lights and familiar hum of the TARDIS mocked him for a long few seconds.
He smiled at himself, then reached out and moved a few controls.
"Right then. Interference," he said. "Take me to your feeder."