Tegan Jovanka ran her hands across the cracked and pitted surface of the control console. Scarred by its exertions in the distant future, the lopsided and fragmented casing that once protected fragile time crystals lay bare and unmoving amid the jury-rigged bundle of wires and bladamite tubes that had bypassed its systems and brought the ship to safety.

The TARDIS was in a sorry state and the Doctor, fretting and picking over bare circuits, didn't look much better.

'Are you sure this thing is safe?' She asked as the Doctor pulled his hand away from a jumping spark and sucked at his fingertips.

'For now, Tegan,' said the Doctor. He circled the console, placing an arm around her shoulder and guiding her away from danger. 'Now we've set her down, the old girl can get some much deserved rest and recuperation.'

'Rest and recuperation?' Another voice interrupted. It was Turlough. Young, smart, and as cynical as ever. 'From the looks of it, the TARDIS needs major surgery.' He paused for effect. 'A transplant, even.'

Tegan felt the Doctor tense for a moment, before squeezing her arm reassuringly. 'The transplant's already been taken care of, Turlough.'

'What sort of transplant?' He asked.

'You might call it a… a matter transplant. The TARDIS didn't have enough mass to survive another turbulent trip through the vortex, so I had to bulk her up a little.'

'Bulk her up?' Tegan frowned. 'It's not exactly a chicken, Doctor.'

'That's true,' the Time Lord smiled, 'but the analogy is sound.' It was good to see him relax again, if only for a few moments. 'When we left New Alexandria I locked on to the surface and materialised one of the TARDIS rooms around a few miles of barren landscape. All we need to do now is park up and let her digest it.'

'How does a TARDIS digest a landscape?' Turlough asked. He was obviously in one of his wind-the-Doctor-up moods. 'And won't the people of New Alexandria miss it?'

'Ah,' the Doctor, as usual, deflected the swipe with an enthusiastic explanation. 'It was an abandoned and polluted part of the planet. Devoid of life, and better off being processed by the TARDIS than left to continue damaging the environment.'

'That's handy,' said Tegan, lightening the mood still further. 'Have you ever thought of doing the same to King's Cross?'

'Tegan!' The Doctor looked at her with mock-reproval. 'Remind me to book you on a tour of Camden in 2020, I think you'll find they solve those problems without our help.'

'So,' she played a straight face, 'where are we again?'

'Where we were meant to be all along. The Eye of Orion. One of the most stable places in the galaxy. Good for the mind and body, too.'

'Right, well,' Tegan could see that the Doctor clearly wanted them out of the way while he conducted repairs. 'What do we need to take?'

'That rather depends what you want to do. There are ruins to explore, berries to pick, fields to roam through.'

'Fields? I've always fancied myself as a bit of a Van Gogh.'

'Really, Turlough?' The Doctor looked sceptical. 'Well, if you're serious I have some artist materials you can use. I tried painting in my last body, but visiting the likes of Monet, L'Autrec and Picasso was more distraction than inspiration. There was always something more exciting to do. Ah, well.'

He fished a key out of his pocket – the key to his study, handing it to Turlough with brief instructions. Pads and canvasses by the easel, brushes in a toolbox, paints in the portmanteau. The Doctor was rarely so free with access to his private quarters. Nyssa had been the last to get that particular honour.

'What about you, Tegan?' He asked after Turlough had left the room.

'What about me? Every time we try to relax we end up chasing each other's tails.'

'Not this time. We've already arrived, and I can guarantee no predators, corrupt governments, invasion forces, salesmen or mad scientists. Even the atmosphere has a feel-good factor. You'll be fine. Have a wander, its perfectly safe out there.'

'Perfectly safe?' Where had she heard that before? 'Eighteenth century France was supposed to be safe, and thirteenth century England before that. Let's face it, you haven't got the best track record.'

The Doctor reached across to flick one of the few intact switches on the central console, and the view screen flickered into life, displaying a rolling country view that wouldn't have looked out of place in the Yorkshire dales. Except for a very faint purple haze in the distance.

'There, look,' he said. 'Grass, hills, serenity.'

'You're absolutely sure?'

'Sure as rain,' he smiled.

'Oh, great. It's going to rain!' She teased, waiting for the Doctor's mouth to drop. Then she grinned. 'I suppose it's safer out there than it is in here. I could get a book from what's left of the library. Do you have any F Scott Fitzgerald?'

'Almost certainly…' the Doctor began.

'Right,' she said, turning on her heels and leaving the room, 'see you in a bit.'