Helpmate
Home, that is, Gallifrey by origin, earth by choice, everywhere through his passions and through his sorrows, nowhere at all.
In the abstract sense, it's a word of limited applicability in his case, a concept that never quite applied and does so even less with every passing year and every chapter that is added to his story, for wherever he goes, a large part of him will not belong.
But in the concrete sense, what he comes home to is the old familiar creak of blue wooden doors, the room so engrained in his mind as to be it's centre, the old familiar smell he hardly even notices most of the time, unless he's returning for the first time in a long, long time, which still happens often enough.
In his ever faster life where nothing is certain for long and every day brings with it a different horizon, safety is racing past those doors and relaxing at the sound of a successful materialization, constancy is tinkering under that console, familiarity is moving his fingers over that good old police box shape, and reprieve is to sink into the console room jump seat after a long day of running.
This is what he can call his realm, his territory, where nothing is new and everything can get its due time to be processed and sorted in, this is where the very few quiet and regular moments of his life take place, where he does little dances under the breakfast table, sits down to read and huddles under a duvet to watch movies – all that occasional pop cultural knowledge must have been acquired somewhere, after all, all those languages must have been studied with some piece and quiet.
Of course, as someone who is quite fond of showing off, he also has many accommodations rather more...frivolous than this, his home and place of refuge is as vast, ever-changing and labyrinthine as he is, and it would have to be, to be his match, but in that spirited dynamic wilfulness, he also finds warmth and a presence that welcomes him, a someone who waits for him to come home, to take care of him, to stop him when he's going to do something stupid and gently push him toward what needed to be done, always there to tidy up after him and give him what he needed, if not necessarily always what he wanted – but after so many years, he knew that he could rely on her when it truly counted, even expect her to know better than he did.
He was, by nature, a solitary wanderer unwilling to be boxed in in any systems he couldn't fully approve of, but just in this one circumstance, he didn't mind being a piece of a whole, to become on flesh and live in a true symbiosis more so than most of his kind ever did, seeing her not as a replaceable device but a valuable partner, and sure, she had been a museum piece when he was a boy, but her long existence had given her room to develop quirks and peculiarities, a critical quantum of awareness and personality even before their long journey, and he wouldn't want to lose that for the world – and by the time he was two-thousand, he was saying that not (just) as a famously sentimental oddball, but as the world's leading expert on time travel.
Of course, there was a time when he much was more of an amateur, the days when they weren't always in harmony, when both their stubborn wills were tempestuous and each of them had their list of things to have a look at, the first years of their voyage together were a merry dance where he could hardly ever hit any particular goal, but despite his blunt pride, he soon came to notice not just her presence but the wisdom she held, that she was sometimes right for all her moodiness, and the simple utilitarian purpose that had once drawn them together – the means to escape – became the basis for a genuine bond that would last a lifetime, and together, they would go further than anyone before them.
She became someone he didn't want to see him putting himself to shame, the form that hope took in his mind, the colour of his personal emblem, indispensable part of him in more than just the obvious ways, the one he preferred to any others –
In his wild, inconstant, somewhat detached and ever-changing life, she was perhaps the closest he would ever have to a "one true love", the one existence that always remained as all others came and went, and so, he was not particularly surprised to learn that she was destined to become his final resting place on that desolate far future version of Trenzalore.
(Any more than she found it unlikely that he should have been promised to her since he first heard her dematerialize in that barn, catching his first glimpse of the manifold legend he would once become a part of)
They wanted the same things out of life, and together, side by side, hand in hand, they had worked together to accomplish them, to unite their resourcefulness and their different, unique existences to get the most of both their lives and grasp more of their dreams than either of them could ever have fulfilled on their own, through their joint, combined power, through her living transcendence and his convoluted, looping journey.
Of course, they were still vastly different sort of entities, if bound together by a sort of common origin, and the confines of their respective existences had only allowed for exactly one point in time where they could truly speak face to face, and even then in a borrowed shape, albeit one that was similar enough to how he would have imagined her if she were shaped like his kind; Even that pronoun was just something he'd attributed to her as part of an affectionate appellation, having addressed her as a lady to contrast with himself, she had been artificially grown as a very distant, heavily modified derivative of a primitive life-form native to Gallifrey's ocean that used to reproduce by budding, not by the merging and recombination of two parent organisms, but since contact with his mind had being a significant catalyst for the ongoing emergence of her ego and a true representation of her full existence in four dimension was simply impossible, she would gladly take a form he was comfortable with, or at least made for a suitable metaphorical equivalent – In the end the connection they were meant to have was that natural to both their forms and beings and that was all they really wanted for it was what had opened all the doors for them, but that brief moment of seeing eye-to-eye, did not put a complete end to their occasional spats and disagreements, but did put them and everything before in a different context by allowing the direct exchange of a few very important truths between them;
Now, when he leant back in his chair, when he happened to find the right room at exactly the right time, when he lost track of time in his tinkering, or when he fondly ran his hand over the console, he did so with a very deliberate awareness of the being who had walked every step of his journey along with him, the one whose support had made his every deed possible.