The Doctor had been at St. Luke's University for a long time. He'd seen a small lesson in history play out in real time; enjoyed the evolution of music from big band to rock and roll to rap and dubstep. The one thing he could never keep track of, though, was fashion.

When he'd started guarding the Vault all those years ago, his classes had been filled with suits and ties and shortly cropped hair. Then they finally allowed short khakis in the summer. And on to bell-bottoms, big hair, sweatshirts, a short fling with crop tops.

Now the fad was a more difficult to define. Fashion had really taken an 'anything goes' approach in the twenty first century. Still, most of the students had some sense of style. Bill was usually keeping him updated with the latest trends: a bit of an eighties vibe; simple pieces but easy to personalize.

As he thought about this, the Doctor sat eating his lunch, an apple and a bag of crisps, outside on the rare sunshine of an April day. He looked around at the students passing by with their backpacks over one shoulder, half of them throwing him a smile and a greeting. He found himself smiling, too.

That is, until his eye caught a figure in the distance, approaching him directly. This man was not wearing any of the styles he had seen at the university thus far, nor anything Bill had described with the word 'fleek', 'lit', or 'fire'. No; this one was different. Not good different, either. The Doctor could get behind the kids wearing clashing patterns. But what this person wore made him think of one thing only; trouble.

On the man's head was a black hat with fabric that covered his ears. He walked with his hands folded together under a large robe. At the shoulders, the man's outfit just became ridiculous; a shoulder piece that looked like padding for a gridiron football game. The Doctor bit into his apple and ignored the racing thoughts going through his brain.

When the man reached his bench and cast a shadow over him, the Doctor kept his eyes locked on his apple. Above him, the man cleared his throat.

"I have been sent from Gallifrey to deliver a message," the man said. The Doctor took another bite of his apple before looking up. He didn't recognize the man. Still, that wasn't saying much for Gallifreyans.

"I'm busy," the Doctor said simply.

The man's face jerked, eyebrows creasing. One of Gallifrey's elites, most likely. Wasn't used to being crossed. The Doctor wondered what the poor man did to be sent on a 'grab-the-Doctor-from-Earth' mission.

"As a member of the High Council, I implore you listen to the urgent matter I…"

"'Implore'," the Doctor said haughily. "Good word. But a bit misleading. Is this a command or a suggestion?" The Doctor took another bite of his apple.

The man shifted uncmfortably. "I command you put down your food and listen to what I have to say. As a high-ranking leader of your species, I do have that right and I am offered that respect."

"Ooh, respect. There's another good word." The Doctor met the Timelord's eyes and, unblinking, tossed the core of his apple seamlessly into the nearest trash bin. He folded his hands on his lap. "Please do go on."

The man shifted again, but righted himself into some composure. "There is a rescue mission in progress, carried out by one of our finest fleets. But they are not projected to win. The enemy is smart; tactful. They will not be defeated easily."

The Doctor turned from the Timelord, looking back at the students walking by. The little Earth school that had become his home. "I'm not a soldier. Not anymore. Never again."

"No, but we don't need a soldier. We need someone who always wins."

The Doctor scoffed. "Why does everyone think I always win? I lost to this bag of crisps today; do you think you can open this for me?"

The Doctor held out the bag to the Timelord. The man's eyes grew in size. The Doctor dropped the crisps back to the bench with a small smile. The Timelord wasn't impressed.

"Doctor...there are lives at stake. So many lives."

The Doctor's lips curled back into a frown. "Who are they rescuing?"

"Those details cannot be disclosed," the Timelord replied. The Doctor scoffed. "But Doctor." The Timelords met each other's eyes. "The High Council would not have sent me here unless it were absolutey necessary."

They held each other's gaze for a moment. Then the Doctor held out the bag of crisps again.

The Timelord lowered his brows. "So will you help us?" He asked.

The Doctor nodded pointedly at the bag. The other Timelord rolled his eyes, but took the bag and tore it open. The Doctor took it back with a small grin forming.

"I'll think about it."

The other Timelord was about to argue, but the Doctor held up a hand. "That's the best I can do."

The other Timelord conceded. He folded his hands, bowed, and disappeared. A few students eyed him curiously as he walked across the grounds.

The Doctor ate his crisps in silence, pondering over the Timelord's words as the birds and students chattered around him.

. . . . .

That night, as Bill questioned him on evolution and they discussed Picasso's art, the Doctor couldn't help but think back to that strange conversation, with that strange man from his planet. It hardly seemed right to call Gallifrey his planet anymore. He felt far more at home on Earth; here, with Bill, discussing the universe and its complexity. Its beauty. The Doctor's nine track mind gave his eyes a glaze, which did not go unnoticed by his inquistitve pupil.

"Doctor?" Bill asked, not for the first time that night. "You alright? You seem a bit distracted tonight."

The Doctor, whose chin had been resting on his hand, sat up abruptly. "It's nothing. Got a call from home, that's all."

A flash of curiosity came into Bill's eye. He didn't talk much about Gallifrey to her. Better to forget; move on. Too many bad memories. Too many regrets. He couldn't remember much from the last time he'd been there, but he did know he wasn't quite the Doctor back then. He had killed someone; or, at least, caused a regeneration. Others he had merely frightened. He still wondered what had made him do it. What had been so important?

The Doctor realized he was lost in thought again and shook his head, peering off to the side. Bill, surprisingly, left the conversation at that. For once, she didn't ask anything further. Perhaps she understood, somehow. Maybe she understood even more than he did himself.

When Bill left that night, the Doctor felt a wave of guilt crash into his system. Should he have told her? Told her that he might go on a dangerous mission soon? Revealed his dark secrets and his painful memories? Wasn't that what friends did?

The Doctor took in a shaky breath. What was this feeling? Why couldn't he keep his thoughts straight? Why were his hearts hammering in his chest?

He was afraid. The realization struck him. Gallifrey always made him afraid. The Timelords were always trouble. No wonder he'd run away from them. And yet…

And yet went Nardole came in with tea and cakes, the Doctor found he couldn't stay silent anymore.

"Nardole, I might be about to do something you won't approve of."

Nardole groaned at that. "I'm holding out hope for the 'might' part," Nardole said.

The Doctor threw him a smile, but couldn't hold it. His foot tapped restlessly against the wooden floor. Nardole sat and sipped his tea. "What is it?" Nardole asked, his voice small but serious.

The Doctor didn't meet his eye. "A Timelord came to the school today. He said there's a rescue mission that's not going well. An important rescue mission. Life or death for dozens."

Nardole groaned again. "Can't they send someone else? You're hardly even one of them any…"

Nardole stopped himself. A pang hit the Doctor, but he ignored it. A moment of silence passed between the two.

"Nardole," the Doctor said quietly. "They wouldn't have asked me if it wasn't important."

"No; they wouldn't have asked you if it wasn't dangerous." Nardole sighed. "Just…come back safely. Alright? Not just for me. For Bill. And everyone else around here."

The Doctor smiled to himself. "I will. I'll, er...I'll have Missy with me."

Nardole practically spat out his tea. "Excuse me?"

"Field trip. It'll be a good experience for her. Real time rescuing. What better way to learn how to be good? To see the benefits of helping out and saving lives?"

Nardole set his tea down hard. A few drops splashed out onto the table. "Or what better way to get yourself killed. If not by Missy then by whoever the Timelords are fighting this time."

The Doctor waved him off. "Don't be such a pessimist."

"Don't give me that." Nardole leaned back in his chair. "Look...you need to stop this. I thought you were happy here. I thought we had a good thing going. You're teaching. You're living a normal, lovely little life."

The Doctor finally met Nardole's eyes. "I am happy, but Nardole," the Doctor took in a shaky breath. "I can't forsake them. Even after all this time. They...there was a time when I thought I was the only one left. And even though they aren't perfect...well, it's better than them not being there at all."

The Doctor shook his head. "I have to help them."

Nardole sighed again, and raised his tea to his lips. "Alright. But come back in one piece, eh? I don't know enough quantum physics to take over your lectures for you."

The Doctor smiled softly in reply, and the two aliens each took a sip of their tea.