The Doctor rematerialized the TARDIS just off the boardwalk of the river. Eagerly gripping a hot cup to-go cup in both hands, he paused momentarily at the threshold. Taking a breath, he quieted his concerns and stepped out to reacquaint himself with a dear friend.
He shut the door with his elbow and stepped out into the deserted park. The only sounds were the birds and the waves lapping at the boardwalk. As he glanced around, he spotted a figure on an isolated park bench, staring out towards the river. He also noted an absence of rumbling motorcar engines, of the thrum of boats or coastguard, or the wave of sound from any airplanes overhead. A couple walked hand in hand several hundred yards away. The Doctor approached the bench, feeling more anxious with each stride, until he slowed to a stop, still a ways away from her still back. He looked down at the hot cups, felt them beginning to sear his hands, wondered if she even still liked this drink anymore. Perhaps he had overlooked that, as he had changed, she may have changed too.
When he looked up at the woman on the bench, she had turned around and rested her forearms on the back of the bench, her face splitting into a grin as she rested her chin upon her arms.
"It's good to see you," she said honestly, eyeing his semi-ratty garb, the white dust on the sides of his black jeans, the combat boots, the foam salt-and-pepper of his hair. He smiled a small smile and stepped forward uncertainly.
"How did you know it was me?"
"There's no one else here."
"Yeah, I noticed," he said sitting down beside her no the bench as she turned back around, "is there Football on?"
"Not quite. You must have gotten quicker with the TARDIS controls. It's never taken you so little time to stop by," she accepted the hot cup and curiously sniffed the tiny opening at the top. It was, undoubtedly, a hot matcha latte. He remembered. "Thank you, this is lovely," she smiled, the warmth reaching her eyes. He noticed they weren't what he remembered—they had become grayer and greener over time, rather than keeping a bright aquamarine. Or perhaps they had always been the color of the water beneath an overcast sky. He gauged that she must be around 70 now, at this time and place.
"So, what have I missed?" He offered, still sitting on the edge of the bench rather than fully settling into the cold park bench.
"Mmm," she said, taking a sip and watching the stagnant river, "S'posed to finish college soon. Had my 21st last summer, looking for jobs, my sister got engaged." The Doctor wondered how to respond. It sounded normal: was normal good? He took a sip of his coffee instead.
She continued, "We're in the midst of a pandemic with strict orders of social-distancing. Quarantines are spreading, the hospitals are running out of room. The world is shutting down, in short."
His brows furrowed and he lowered his cup, "Pandemic? That's not very responsible of you."
She smirked. "Twenty-twenty, the spring of COVID nineteen where responsible countries are doing their best and America is doing what it does best."
He nodded in silence. A moment of silence passed, filled only by the hush of the river.
"I could, ah, take a look? If you want?" He stammered.
She smiled into her drink as she took another sip. "You know that's against the rules. The earth was heading toward this of its own accord. There are too many things we need to fix ourselves. This will make the changes we need." Her voice lowered at the end, and she set the drink on the arm of the bench.
He allowed his eyes to take her in, these eyes, for their first time. Some things were expected, like her aging, the slightly longer hair length, the black half-rimmed glasses wresting on the bridge of her nose, the general darker hues of her clothing. Other changes were subtle, like the paleness of her eyes, the tight arc of her tense shoulders, and something in her voice, something like an engine cruising to a stop.
"You don't believe that, do you," he said. She returned his gaze and took a breath.
"When you regenerate, everything you are changes but your environment stays the same, yeah? It feels like I am staying the same and everything around me is changing. I'm not sure who I am supposed to be."
He paused a moment, making out what should be said. A breeze blew a cluster of leaves along the boardwalk, scratching lightly on the planks.
"You're choosing to see the pandemic as a good thing?" he puffed his lips and rolled his eyes, "That's not a reliable point of view."
"No, not as a good thing. I'm trying to think of it as a possibility for change instead of surrendering to the panic."
"Avoiding panic is futile. Avoiding panic is…is refusing to accept suffering. Get over it and move on with your tiny lives," he rocked on the bench and took a sip of his own steaming drink.
She gave him a look and
"Doctor, it's a pandemic. We can't just get on with our lives. And since when could you brush off 'refusing to accept suffering' so easily?" He sat up straighter with indignance and she continued, "That's your whole thing. That's literally your whole thing."
"Except I know what I'm getting in to. I know when to pick a fight," he bristled.
"Do ya now?" She retrieved her latte from the armrest and took a long sip, staring pointedly at him.
He sighed, a smile betraying the corners of his lips. On this cue, she scooched closer on the bench and leaned her head against his shoulder, crossing her legs. He could feel rather than see her triumphant grin, and he relaxed.
to be continued