Theta Sigma
The Doctor paced the lonely corridors of the TARDIS with no-one beside him. He had no motivation to travel any more. Martha had abandoned him, Jack had abandoned him, and thanks to another stupid ape, the Master had abandoned him. As he had suspected, the Face of Boe was wrong all along – 'you are not alone'. The Doctor had always been alone. He'd been called 'The Lonely God' for a reason.
Finally settling in the TARDIS console room on the makeshift springy chair, he kicked his feet up against the control panel, his red Converses leaning on the shelf under the monitor display. He stared into the void of the Gallifreyan text on the screen. If only it didn't mean 'everything's okay', because it wasn't. It never was, and it never will be.
One more trip back to Earth?, the Doctor pondered. All those journeys he had planned with Rose and Martha yet never turned out right, he could do them by himself. No, travelling wasn't the same without someone beside him, some stupid ape to show his skills and experience to. Like the time when he had planned to see Ian Dury in concert in 1979 with Rose oh so long ago. One century out wasn't a big deal, was it? Well, maybe if he went back to the right time, he could meet another useless human who didn't think him weird for liking Ian Dury. With that, he shuffled up and smashed a few buttons, yanked a few levers, whacked a bell with a hammer, not as animatedly as before, and the TARDIS geared up to shoot through the time vortex. The noises it produced sounded exhausted, like the TARDIS was suffering just like the Doctor had.
With a sharp jolt, the motion halted a few seconds later. Grabbing his coat which was hanging from one of the TARDIS buttresses, the Doctor paced through the doorway and into a not-so-brave not-so-new world. The TARDIS had parked in a narrow alleyway between two solid concrete-looking buildings, and as the Doctor stepped outside, shrugging his coat on, he gasped at the sudden realisation of the presence of a man leaning against the TARDIS. The man was tall, wide, smoking like a chimney and wearing a thick camel coat similar to the Doctor's.
"What's this, eh? Reject from the Beatles' prop store? Surprised you could fit in that poky thing," the man questioned with a distinct Manchester accent.
"Er, is this 1979?" the Doctor asked, not so sure of how to react to the man.
"Oh gawd, not another bleedin' creep who doesn't know whether he's coming or going. No, you're six years behind, sonny, it's 1973. You and my DI would get on like a house on fire."
"Well, in that case, take me to your leader," the Doctor grinned.
"You mean deputy," the man pointed out sharply. "This way," the man ushered the Doctor down the alleyway and into the light at the end.
"I'm the Doctor, so, what's your name and where'd you come from?" the Doctor asked as they walked.
"The name's DCI Gene Hunt from A-Division in Manchester."