It was completely unhealthy, pollution of the universe, but he absolutely missed them. Tobacco, the sweet inhale of toxicins going right into his lungs. For Gallifreyians it was much like Humans, smoking calmed his nervous, instantally relaxing him.

Over five hundred years had past since he went cold turkey, a promise to Zoey who hated the stuff and was concerned for his health who knew about the final justice it created for those subject to their power. So he listened, threw his cigars, cigarettes away and for those five hundred years never gave it much thought again. Until last week.

The atmosphere smelled like cigar smoke, strong, and instantally drawing him in. Mel complained of the smell, coughing violently, asking to leave and go somewhere else, anywhere else. He had to stay, outside, breathing in deep, and wishing he could break that promise, but even now he still had to be gentlemen.