The Doctor shuffled from foot to foot, glancing around the lush and crowded backyard of Jackie and Pete's home in search of a clock. (The irony was not lost upon the Doctor). But there were no time-telling devices in sight.
He exhaled sharply and resumed his shuffling. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest, its beat echoing in his ears and against his ribs.
"Oh, no you don't, mate," Pete said from beside him, shooting him a warning glance.
The Doctor sheepishly lowered his hand from where he'd been about to pull at his hair.
"It always looks messy anyways," he muttered, settling instead for scratching the back of his neck.
Was it just him, or did the air seem thinner? He tugged at his bowtie as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
"Settle down, would you?" Pete asked, laying a hand on the Doctor's forearm.
The Doctor was about to snap something witty and clever back to Pete, but his voice stuck in his throat when the music started up.
All 150 people (they'd had to reign Jackie in) in attendance stood, and turned to face the back door of the mansion. As did the Doctor. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her. She was radiant, in her flowing white dress and with her hair loosely pinned up in a chignon. But her smile was bright and beautiful enough that she could be dressed in a bin bag and she would've been the most beautiful woman on the planet, in the universe.
Suddenly the Doctor began bouncing again, eager for the love of his lives to become his wife.