"Come on old girl, come on!" he shouted, patting the control panel roughly, making a loud thudding sound against metal. Loud rattling rang out and the whole TARDIS shook violently. But he wasn't afraid, or angry, or even worried. He knew how the TARDIS was, a temperamental old thing, but his temperamental old thing, but he did love her so. She was the best part of this whole bit.
Oh how he loved the sound of her engines as they whooshed through time and space. Really, there were few sounds in the entire universe that made him feel so utterly fine, and, indeed, safe. Because even though it probably wasn't safe, it was for him.
He didn't have the time to explain (not even in a time machine).
And as the TARDIS stopped shuddering, he looked around for a flash of red hair and listened for the sound of Pond's voice – and realized that she wasnt' there.
"Well of course she's not there," he muttered to himself. "She's on Earth with Rory."
It occurred to him that he was on Earth too, as he opened the door, but instead of finding himself in Leadsworth, he found himself in a narrow alley in France.
Paris, actually.
Pre-revolutionary France, actually.
France, 1772, to be exact.
He had only a single clue as to where he should have been going, and that was the memory of a scent in the TARDIS, and a single crushed, bruised tea leaf.
Who had left it?
The Doctor rather liked Paris, perhaps. He couldn't decide. He could see that there was quite a bit of suffering here. Starving people on the streets, filth in the gutters, children running around freezing their little behinds off.
But enough about that.
The coffeehouse smelled of strongly scented perfume water and of unwashed people and of, naturally, rather bitter coffee. He vaguely heard music playing from some kind of enormous music box in high, piercing notes.
"Hello there," he said to the man at the inner door. He watched with a lopsided grin as the man looked at his tweed jacket, bow tie, and plain trousers, with scratched up leather shoes. They needed a good polish, perhaps, but they were comfy. His hair needed a combing, and since he wasn't wearing a wig he probably looked even more absurd than usual.
"Name?" asked the man.
"The Doctor," he smiled.
A waiter brought him up to the main room, and sat him down at a table across from a young lady. The tables around him and in front of him were all covered in pretty white silky covers and lace doilies and cups and saucers, sugar and milk and sweets.
"So, Doctor, you found me. Totally not shocking, but it kind of seems like you did it on accident," smiled the girl.
She wasn't young at all, really, maybe seventeen or eighteen, but she had the wide eyes and small, delicate features of a child. Her hair, underneath a smart little white turban in the latest mode, was TARDIS blue, her eyes a lighter shade of the same color. Her skin was pale, a bit freckly.
"Well well well," smiled the Doctor, his own goofy-looking grin.
"Has anyone ever told you that you stick out like a sore thumb?" she asked teasingly, her eyes aiming straight for his bow tie. "Bow ties are still cool, I see."
"Bow ties are always cool."
"Right. I always forget that no matter how much time passes for me, it's always just a blink for you while you're in the TARDIS. Can't ever seem to wrap my head around that."
she sipped her tea as he glanced at her clothes. Her dress was a plain grey, but anything but plain in design. "No sack-back?" he asked.
"Doc! Sack backed gowns are for formal occasions," she smiled. "Nope, plain old gowns for just regular days, a la polonaise when you're feeling dressy, and sackbacks for dances. Panniers for court."
"Oh stop it, what's it matter?" he said, rolling his eyes and tossing his hands. "You always love to point out the things I don't know."
"Of course! What fun would it be if you did actually know everything?" she asked with a pretty little pink grin as she rested her elbows on the table and held her chin against her twined fingers.
"Right, well, I assume you called me here for a reason?"
"I wanted to let you know that. . . that we were right. My programming. . . it's changing. Doctor. . . I'm falling in love with you again."