BOTH FEET PLANTED FIRMLY ON THE GROUND
The Doctor hates this world.
The air is foggy and polluted with the poisonous fumes of laughably primitive automotive machines, and he coughs and splutters every time he steps out of the doors of the Ship. If not for dear Susan, he would have left long ago, left these idiotic singlehearts to their insignificant little lives, gone on to find other, more beautiful planets. Places with dancing rivers and cities made of song.
He hates this planet called Earth, and longs to leave it every day.
But Susan needs somewhere to belong, and he can deny his dear granddaughter nothing.
*
Written for the fortieth anniversary of 'Doctor Who' (Happy Birthday to Who, Happy Birthday to Who…)