Doctor Who what-not isn't mine, it's the BBC's. Damn you Santa...
This is my forst fan fic soooo, let's get started
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On the road again... I can't wait to get on the road again...
The song wound around the walls of the TARDIS unheard by anyone. Which is not to say that the TARDIS was unoccupied. Its longest held resident sat reclined in the counsel chair. The look on his face was thoughtful if not sad. His head was cocked and his eyes stared fixedly at things unseen making it evident noise was lost on him.
The Doctor's current state was a much-needed rest compared to the past few TARDIS days. After leaving Martha, the Doctor had thrown himself at the TARDIS innards, taking tinkering to a new level. It was an attempt to keep his hands as busy as his mind. His thoughts swirled around and around, eventually reaching the same conclusion. She wasn't the same as Rose. Nothing was. And that was it. He scolded himself for being so childish as to think of Martha as a failed distraction. But despite his best efforts, a voice had taken residence in his mind, whispering things like, "If Rose were here...Rose would never do that..."
Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway... We're the best of friends...
The TARDIS pursued its melodic nagging by increasing the volume, but the Doctor remained distant. When he hadn't been pushing his poor vessel's buttons, he occasionally lapsed into such trances. He even went so far as to pause in front of Rose's room once, which remained untouched since her last stay.
Going places I've never been, seeing things I may never see again...I can't wait to get on the road again.
All at once, the song roared through the corridors at a volume equivalent to a small explosion. The TARDIS had no patience for the Doctor's depression.
The Doctor blinked.
"Alright! I get it!" he snapped at the ceiling. The music stopped as the Doctor interrupted. "Holy bogies of Rassilon, as though I can't just take a moment and-"
I'M ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL!
Electric guitar erupted in response to the Doctor's complaint, causing the counsel room to shake and the Doctor tumble out of the chair. A familiar metallic sighing began as the TARDIS elected to move out of the vortex. The Doctor lurched up from the floor and grabbed the edge of the counsel. Pulling his head to peer at the controls, he began the ritual that was manning his ship. But despite his "percussive mechanics", the TARDIS would hear none of his directions and soon they were free of the vortex.