A/N: This takes place after the Battle of Canary Wharf, but before the platoon of Judoon steal the moon. I make no apologies for the grammar. This story is told from the point of view of the TARDIS, and we all know she has a little trouble with tenses. And with following a coherent line of thought. But I do my best to get her voice, and an understandable story.
I spun away from the star my dear Doctor had killed just so he could say goodbye to his little flower bad bad bad wolf girl. Not that I could blame him. The aching sorrow poured of him when she slipped away from him. (Or is it will slip? Tenses are so confusing!) He had been so full of hurt and anger after the War, and his flower girl had reminded him that the universe is beautiful. And mad wonderful swirling nebulous lovely…sorry, language is hard. I'm so used to ideas and an idea can spin into the next quicker than a blink. Or a wink. But I could feel his happy love surround him, like the way he feels about me, when the flower girl was with him. Now she's been pulled away, and my dear Doctor is empty lonely.
As I whisked through the ether, I felt another sad loneliness, calling out. But this sad isn't as recent hurting as my dear Doctor's. It tasted older, and more understanding. Maybe whoever had this sadness could help us understand the loss of the flower girl.
My Doctor doesn't notice the adjustments I made. Poor thing, he was slumped against one of the twisty columns. But he did notice when we landed. I'd gotten used to the feel of the brakes ages and ages and long time past. So I didn't mind making the sound when we landed. Besides. I knew it made him happy. Well, it still does. It always does. But anyway. Where was I? When was I?
Oh, yes.
The planet was dancing along the outer edge of its galaxy, turning turning turning. There was so much wet life, but I was looking for the sadness. I was a buzzing bee to the flower of the sadness. I missed the flower girl, too. She was a stray, but she made my dear friend so happy.
My dear Doctor was surprised. I loved the way his surprise bubbled up from a deep place and danced around in his eyes.
"Where've you taken me now, eh, my girl?"
He opened my door. (The wrong way AGAIN! I tell him to pull and he pushes. I tell him to push and he pulls. It's endlessly frustrating.) I knew he wouldn't have to go far to find the sadness. In fact, it was coming closer to us.
"Wow. What a place. Mmm, blah, tastes kind of like cotton and spinach. I dunno…" He ran back over to look at one of my screens. Running running all this running. I don't think it's good for him. He used to enjoy planets. He laughed a delighted laugh. "I haven't been to this one! Oh, you beauty," patted my console affectionately, "you've brought me to a new one. Rose, come and- oh. Oh, right." The laughing was cut away by the bitter loneliness again.
Well, that's why we were here. There could be someone out there who could help him. I was sure of that, as sure as I've been of anything. In fact, I could feel the sadness, now mixed with healthy curiosity rolling closer and closer. My sensors showed me a small creature with big flappy type things on its head. It carried a staff and a sense of itself. I liked that. Not many creatures are so sure of themselves that their name becomes a part of their essence. But this one was powerful. He felt like a Time Lord, certain so certain of himself. But he felt like my dear Doctor as well, happy to be surprised, though a little wary. And too like my dear Doctor, his being was all summed up in one word.
Yoda.