When he opens the door of the TARDIS, she's waiting for him, eyes like crushed roses glaring out from underneath lashes with a forest green tint. His mouth hangs open, a low croak falling from his lips.
"Thought it was '91."
"No," she informs him. He longs suddenly for Donna, who would ask why she has a British and not a Japanese accent. "It's '94."
"Fantastic," he says through gnashing teeth. "So... that's the wonky circus?"
"Scientists in the sewers."
"Ah." He rocks back and forth on his heels. "They smell?"
"Shower fresh." She leans to the side and arches an eyebrow. "Your companion?"
"No. No, no, no, no, no. We... Had to go our separate ways."
Though they make a point to avoid each other, she sees something within him that makes her glare soften a tiny fraction. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. So am I."
They stand for a moment, the Doctor and the Guardian, the one who travels and the one who watches, and they say not a word. They let the seconds tick by. They feel the Earth turn beneath them, feel the streams of time swirl between their fingers. He feels them converge around her, the one being who can bring Time to a staggering halt.
She hates him for his freedom. But she terrifies him more.
"Fancy a go?" he asks, tilting his head to the TARDIS.
She simply smirks, and he sees a thousand possibilities in those eyes like crushes roses. He has only one thing to say to that.