The rain was cold against the Doctor's face, the drops leaving icy trails as they slid down his cheeks. His clothes were soaked, the tweed jacket providing no warmth against the rain and wind. His bow tie drooped, almost sadly, being pulled down by the water that it was absorbing. His hair lay in damp strands over the front and sides of his face, it's normally youthful and goofy drenched into nonexistence.
He sighed, and looked at the dark grey sky. The clouds mixed and frothed like foam in the sea, the vaguest streams of sunlight barely shining through small cracks in the clouds. Rainstorms always gave him an empty, cold feeling. It always made him get lost in the past, even when he didn't want to.
How long had it been since he first looked at an Earth rainstorm? Decades? Or centuries? He didn't often think back to the day the TARDIS first landed in Trotters Lane, in the Foreman Junkyard. The day he and Susan stepped out of those doors, and looked out at the world he would visit the most… and the world she would later call home.
The thought of Susan made him sigh, and he pushed it out. He tried to stop going back into the past, but it kept coming: when Ian and Barbra followed Susan into the TARDIS, when he, Ben and Polly first met Jamie, the day he thought he had killed the Daleks off forever, the moment where Jo left him to be married, the sadness he felt when he had to leave Sarah, the pride he felt for Romana when she decided to stay in E-Space, the heart wrenching guilt when Adric died, the bitterness of Tegan's departure, having to manipulate Ace, seeing Rose sucked away from him forever, having to practically kill Donna, or at least the woman she had become…
He sniffed, and realized that there was warmth on his face. He looked down and placed his hand to his eye. Tears. He sighed; he had hoped all the crying would have stopped with this regeneration. He sometimes felt stupid for thinking like that.
He wiped his eyes and looked at his shoes. They were practically submerged in the water. He turned around to face the TARDIS, knowing that Amy would be looking for him. He wanted to go inside, to get out of the rain, but his legs wouldn't obey. He simply stayed where he was.
How long had he lived? Often, his answer was 900 or more. It use to be as little as 464, then 749. He always lied because he didn't know. He gave up trying to figure it out; telling time was impossible in the TARDIS. And… he didn't really care. All he knew was that he was old, and that he had seen far to much.
And yet, though he didn't know his age, he knew that it was the day. Just somehow, every year, no matter what type of calendar he was using, the feeling came in the pit of his stomach. Whenever it happened, the memories of the ages where more difficult to keep back in the fortress of his mind. He always hated it.
The rain and wind still struck him at full blast. His couldn't feel his face anymore, and his arms and legs felt numb under the wet clothes. His breath left thick clouds of smoke in the air. It would start snowing soon, he could tell. But he still didn't move.
There was always something about this day, this time. As if the past was haunting him. He had heard that he was always supposed to look towards the future on this day… but he could only look to the past. He was far, far too old.
"Doctor?"
He spun around, startled by Amy's voice. He hadn't even heard the TARDIS door open. She held in umbrella in her hand, and was wearing a thick coat. Her brown eyes were filled with worry.
"Are you alright?"
He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just needed to think for a minute."
She nodded slowly. The Doctor wondered if she was debating making the moment a funny one.
Finally, she spoke. "Come on inside."
He nodded and stepped forward, feeling the wet pant's leg rub against his thigh. He gave one last look to the sky; the rays of sun had been completely choked out.
"Happy Birthday to me," he whispered, before following Amy into the TARDIS, and letting the warmth and peace push his memories back into the fortress.