As the Doctor went back to his TARDIS leaving Rose and his Metacrisis with whom he'd set her up behind, he'd wondered at the words he somehow through fate or his own failings always never seemed to communicate. The words that had once again remained unspoken strangely seemed to taste of champagne that had been scrounged up from somewhere in a celebration that stung more of loss than anything and he could almost hear the rumble of Bessie as the wind on the beach of Bad Wolf Bay blew through his coat the way it had once done through a cloak that had long since been put in storage on a night when a much younger Time Lord had chosen to run rather than spend another minute watching a woman he'd only recently realized he'd fallen in love with embark on a new life with someone else.
Why was it that he, a man of his breeding and intelligence, tended to fall in love with women the likes of Jo Grant and Rose Tyler? Women who "Took their A Level in Science, but didn't say they passed it" if they even finished school at all. Women who seemed more interested in fashion than anything and didn't seem to have a clue right up until you shoved them into some sticky situation and they turned out to be surprisingly capable and just what you needed to get the both of you out of the mess you'd landed in thanks to the TARDIS.
Why was it he always lost them to someone else? Someone who reminded them of him but wasn't?
Right now, a short vacation to Metebelis Three seemed rather enticing. He could use a distraction, and being attacked by giant spiders, menaced by snakes that were the size of a school bus, nearly being eaten by flying reptiles and chased by angry natives who were armed with spears and rocks would be just that.
