Uncertainty chapter 2
The lonely Doctor wandered through the crowded street. There were hordes of humans almost marching along the cold, windy streets, eyes pointed towards the pavement as if it actually got them to their destination quicker. The Doctor chuckled. Humans. Most of them just didn't understand about the finer details of life. Even trapped here on Earth, there was still so much they could see, so much they could discover. But he loved them anyway, those crazy, stupid, beautiful, wonderful, intelligent human beings of his that he worked so hard to protect.
A short woman with a long, grey, winter coat and an overlarge, green handbag barged into him.
"Humph!" She pushed past and carried on in her everlasting journey towards the ultimate goal. Acceptance. Be it fashion, or money, or simply knowing the right people. The Doctor pivoted on his left foot and watched the woman furry off, her long purple scarf flying out behind her as if it had been restraining her and she had just been freed from some sort of captivity. The Doctor gazed after her sadly.
"You're still trapped," he said, as she rounded a corner and a hundred or so other people blocked his view. "You're all still trapped! Remember the daleks? The cybermen? The 'ghosts'?" He felt like yelling at them all; just leaning back, opening his mouth and screaming as loud and as long as he could. In his mind, he pictured the scream lasting for hours, for people to cover their ears and cower in terror before him, for birds to rise screeching from the bushes, for the whole world to come to a standstill. He didn't.
He sat, his knees pulled up to his chin, on a pink and grey armchair by the window of a family run coffee shop just outside of Cardiff.
"What would you like, love?" asked a smiling, plump woman clutching a huge notepad and a pencil the size of her pinky finger.
"Just a coffee," said the Doctor, and then caught sight of the large blackboard behind her, with the names of delectable treats painted on in green, swirling writing. "And a raspberry muffin, please." The woman smiled, her face crinkling into honest laughter lines. She scribbled down his order with the tiny stub of a pencil.
"I'll just go get that for you, love," she said, and she bustled off.
The café wasn't very busy at all; the only other patron was an old man with a balding head who was sitting in the far corner, clutching his mug of tea as if it were about to run away from him. He was reading a newspaper that was spread out on the table in front of him, and murmuring softly to himself every time a particular news item caught his interest. The Doctor wondered which stories he was interested. Was it the stories about war? Or the articles about crime and punishment? Could the gentleman be interested in the items detailing new scientific discoveries? Or was he purely amused by human scandals?
The Doctor's afternoon tea arrived, and he enjoyed it slowly, savouring the muffin. He had a soft spot for human food, although, really, compared to some planet's cuisine it was downright plain. He bit his lip, remembering. He didn't want to remember. He detested remembering. What he wanted most in the world, in the galaxy, in the whole darn universe, was to forget. He wanted to start over again, not remembering his past, or the places he had been, or the people he had met and lost. For the second time in only a few hours, he felt like screaming again. He didn't. He swallowed the last mouthful of cake, which all of a sudden tasted sour, and spun the last dregs of his coffee around in the bottom of the mug, before standing up and striding over to the counter.
"That'll be five pounds and twenty pence, love," said the woman, smiling jovially at him. He rummaged in his trouser pocket and fished out a crumpled twenty pound note, which he handed to the woman.
"Keep the change," he said, distracted, before turning quickly and leaving the shop. As the bell above the door tinkled quietly, the woman stared after him, and then glanced down at the money in her hand.
"What an odd man," she muttered, but she kept the twenty quid.
The Doctor meandered through Cardiff. He had really believed that he would meet someone here. That he would find someone amazing, someone worthwhile. Someone that would put his faith back in humanity. Someone like... Someone like Rose.
He sunk to his knees, blocking the crowded street, becoming an obstacle for the busy shoppers to avoid. And avoid him they did. No one stopped to help him. No one held out their hand, or their heart, to the crying man in the pinstriped suit. No one.
But- but who was that? His shining angel? The light of this terrible day?
"Do you need a hand?"