It was just like before—centuries ago, even. Running around with the energy and vigor of a young boy, leaping one way then hopping another, like an indecisive frog. He pulled a thick lever and spun a wheel. Racing around to the other side, his fingers glided over the controls, miraculously finding themselves on the correct buttons. To others it might have looked like child's play, but to him, it was art.
It kept him busy, at least. He told himself he enjoyed it, and that was the truth. A partial truth, anyway. He could never enjoy it fully, knowing that the craft was meant for many more than just himself. If only his family could see him now, flying a TARDIS on his own. They'd think he'd gone insane. Perhaps he had. Living for years without the company of one's own race had to take a toll on the mind.
And yet, here he was. If he could say anything about what he'd accomplished, he could say he survived. Not many would have chosen to live, he thought. Not with that amount of guilt on the conscience. But he did. He told himself he was doing the right thing—being brave and gallant, saving the world…. But he couldn't escape the fact that maybe, just maybe, he was punishing himself. Someone had to pay for the horrible events that had occurred, and he was the sole survivor. Living alone was a much crueler punishment than dying alone.
He watched the marvelous engine pump as the familiar sound bellowed through the spacecraft. Being alone, not having a companion, was sometimes easier. He didn't have to constantly mask his true feelings or put on a happy face for the sake of a human. He let his weary eyes wander around the room, as he let out a deep sigh. Honesty was relieving. The TARDIS knew him better than anyone. In it he felt stripped, naked, exposed.
Suddenly, the entire spacecraft shook. The Doctor found himself on the floor of the TARDIS without any memory of getting there. This was an unusual amount of 'turbulence'. He thought he'd had his 'space legs' by now, or at least he should after nine hundred years of time travel. But that particular disturbance had been greater than the average 'space bump'. Something was going on—something out of the ordinary.
He couldn't help but be excited. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was practically the only thing that kept him going. He could never get used to the rush that time travel gave him. It was even better when he didn't have to look for excitement—when excitement found him.
Holding onto the rail, he quickly jumped off the floor and took a look at the navigation panel. Furrowing his eyebrows, he shook his head. "What?" he heard his voice echo through the spaceship as he stared at the monitor. Eyes widening slightly, he gripped the rail and ran around to the other side of the engine, fingers flying across multiple buttons, levers, and wheels. Gripping one lever, he used his foot to push off the engine and pull it out. It seemed to get stuck in the most inopportune times, and he really needed to fix it. But the TARDIS's kinks seemed to make it more loveable to him. As he grew older, so did the TARDIS. They both had their faults.
But no time for sentimentalities. He pushed his converse harder against the engine and fell backward when the lever finally released. Hopping back up, he ran across the other side. The TARDIS shuddered again, and threw him across the room. Shrill sounds signaling impending doom came from the engine. The Doctor attempted to push himself off the floor, but the force was too great. He was hurtling through a crack of time, and there was nothing he could do about it.