The screen flickers into life and the crackle of static electricity pulls him in closer. Too close. He leans in so close he can see the lines that make up the picture. He stands up sharply, adjusting his bow tie and blinking until the grinning lady with her big plastic bubble full of brightly colored, bouncing balls and the very serious man in the very serious suit come into focus. The lights start flashing and the audience applauds, hope sparkling in the air like the glitter on the stage. The Doctor closes his eyes and whispers in unison with the big booming voice on television, "11."
His mind carries him to a living room in Chiswick. The anticipation is written all over Wilfred and Sylvia's faces. They know what's coming but Shaun and Donna have no idea. He imagines Shaun - a dreamer, says Wilfred - crossing his fingers and hoping that this time, just this once, something he'd dared to dream about might actually come true.
"27."
And Donna. What would Donna be doing? "Nothing that good would ever happen to us. Two numbers... That'll be it, you watch." No... no. That's not how it would be. Donna was always missing things. She'd probably be in the loo, or in the kitchen, or even more likely, in the hallway yelling and guffawing with one of her mates on the phone. "As if! Why bother even watching? They're all mental!"
"22."
"Three numbers, Donna!" calls Shaun, a smile breaking on his wide-eyed, dreamer face. "Yeah, great! A tenner!" Donna yells back sarcastically from the loo or the kitchen or the hallway.
The Doctor has watched this moment 15, 20 times. The TARDIS occasionally recorded random snippets of broadcasts from all over the universe but this one hadn't been random. She knew he'd need it, a source of comfort in his darker moments when the guilt over the pain and suffering he'd caused overwhelmed his conviction that he was a good man who did what he did because it was the right thing to do. Yes, the video was a reminder of a time when he'd taken everything from someone he loved but this time he'd fixed it and left her safe, happy, and far, far away from him.
"41"
"Oh my god! Four numbers! Donna, get in here!" yells Shaun.
"Ha! Yeah, right! Do you think I'm stupid or something? I'm not falling for it!"
It was a good thing he'd done, a thoughtful thing. Not only had he made her safe, but he'd done it in style. He'd gone out of his way to find someone she'd loved and lost and connect them across time with a gesture that neither one of them would ever know the significance of. But Wilfred and Sylvia knew and they were probably thanking him for it right now.
"18"
Now she'd be paying attention, her mouth wide open. One of the rare times she was quiet was when her mouth flopped open in amazement. She wouldn't be quiet for long, though. When he first met her, just about everything she said ended with an exclamation mark. Even the second time he met, when she was excitedly miming at him through the windows of Adipose Industries, she was somehow miming loudly, silent exclamation marks radiating through the glass.
"33"
She'd be screaming now. They'd all be screaming. Jumping up and down, hugging, and screaming with joy and all because of him. He felt pleased with himself. He felt forgiven. He deserved to feel that way. And Donna, she deserved to be happy. She may have been "just a temp" but he'd needed her, the whole universe had needed her, and she had saved them all, him included. Under all those exclamation marks was an amazing, brilliant human.
The screen went dark with another crackle of static and there was no more relief. He'd do anything to keep the people he loved safe yet somehow they were the ones that suffered the most. His head fell forwards as he felt himself about to slide into a good, long, wallow in despair.
The tinkle of china and the rustle of excessive Victorian skirts startled him out of his thoughts. He spun round and there they were - another brilliant human, his favorite lizard lady, and that magnificent potato, arms extended, presenting the doctor with a cup of tea and a Jammie Dodger.
"You've no idea what we went through to get that Jammie Dodger," said Jenny with a hopeful smile.
There they were indeed. No matter what he put them through they never gave up on him, none of them ever did. They'd move to a parallel universe, let themselves get zapped back in time, and even die just to bring him a biscuit that wouldn't be invented for another 50 years if they thought it would help. If they could still believe in him after all that, perhaps he could too.