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The TARDIS settled into the familiar coachhouse on Baker Street. He hadn’t even steered her to land here, but she must have known. This was a familiar spot that felt almost like home from when he lived here as Doctor Walters.
He walked to Regent's Park, pondering it. He could use some of that familiarity, even if it wasn’t possible to recapture the joy he’d found in his adventures before the Time War. His recent adventure with the Nestene Consciousness did feel surprisingly close, especially when he had a human at his side again. That was over now, however; and even as he walked though the park, he was once again haunted by flashes of the war. He almost felt the fabric of time warping—
No, he definitely felt that, an anomaly centred around a man by the pond. He sprinted over, the distortion becoming clearer as he approached. Time stood still, as if pinned in place by the figure in black tossing oats to the waterfowl. Then the man waved his hand, and time resumed as if nothing had happened.
“What do you think you were doing?” he demanded, racking his brain for any creature that could be capable of something like this.
“Wanted to give the tufted duck a fighting chance. That bastard swan always gets to the good bits otherwise,” the man explained with a shrug.
“You stopped time.”
“You noticed?” The man turned to look at him. “Oh yeah, you would. You’ve the look of a Gallifreyan about you. Cool little trick, innit? Picked it up from forming the black holes, with the way they tend to stretch time.”
“That should be impossible.”
“Not if you know how. Name’s Crowley, by the way. You?”
“I’m the Doctor.”
“Well, Doctor, how about we grab a pint somewhere, and I can tell you how to do a cool trick?”
“Sounds fantastic.”
It ended up being more than one pint—sometimes one needed a sympathetic ear who could match you pace for pace as you talked about the stars. Of course, after a few, the topic drifted.
“D’you know t’feelin’ when at the first smile you know someone’s goin’ to be your best friend?”
He thought about a hand grasping his, their eyes meeting at the word ‘run’. “Definitely.”
“Then you can’t really let’em just reject you. Not when they don’t mean it. You jus’ have to figure out how to ask again, y’know?”
“Do you think that could work?”
“Can’t hurt to try. Jus’ need to figure out how…”
They parted soon after: Crowley the Starmaker returning to the park, muttering about angels, while the Doctor made his way to the TARDIS. It couldn’t hurt to ask again, could it?
When (many adventures later and fresh after a regeneration) he took stock of his new body, it looked somewhat familiar. But it couldn’t be, could it? Not even after meeting a mischievous being able to influence matter?
He looked Rose in the eye and asked seriously, “Am I ginger?”