Chapter Text
The Doctor was sitting on a single, old-fashioned chair by the console of the TARDIS.
She was wondering why the chair was there for long, long time. A single chair. Just one, single, old-fashioned chair standing right next to the console, bothering her everytime she wanted to run around the room as she always did. The nasty piece of furniture had been stuck to the floor, immovable, stubborn and really annoying. Yet eventually she had used to it. It was just some weird decoration she couldn't change. The one she hadn't chosen while rearranging the interior for the new body and the new taste.
Years had passed since then, since the moment she had emerged from the golden stream of regeneration energy, adjusting herself to the new form. Years of time travel, adventures, laugh and tears and so again she was alone.
Then, sitting on that bloody chair for the first time it since it had appeared she understood the point of that specific item – it was there all the time just waiting for the moment like that – a moment of breakdown, lonely moment, hopeless moment, aftermath of some another tragic loss of another companion. The TARDIS, it seemed, had been doing nothing, putting it there, but showing her compassion in advance, in case of loneliness that she was sure is to come for her owner once upon a time. She had put the chair close to the console, to her very core, to the TARDIS's heart so that the Doctor would believe she is actually not abandoned for there is always her box big and small at the same time.
Although this thought made her smile subtly she still could not ignore an empty hole somewhere deep inside her chest. She was just... Just so... Blank.
The Doctor was breathing steadly in complete silence, listening to the calming singing of her precious blue box and feeling as blank as a piece of paper only waiting to be filled with words.
What had happened? Well... Same old song! There was just no one left around.
No Yasmin, no Graham, no Ryan... No one. They had left.
Only everlasting silence was constant.
SILENCE.
She was so alone...
What was the point of her existence?
That silence when they are gone?
Is that it?
If so then...
SHE COULD NOT STAND IT!
The Doctor had stood up immediately and realised the handbrake at once.
Not looking at the screen, she whispered, bending over the console:
“Take me somewhere, please, somewhere else...”
The TARDIS had buzzed in response, nodding telepathically and set off.
***
The Doctor had opened the door harshly and took a step outside with no second thought.
The scent was oddly familiar, the cobbled, narrow street too...
Oh, no, no, no, no, no...
She had turned back in order to get inside and vanish as soon as it was possible, but the TARDIS decided not to let her in.
“Let me in, let me in!” yelled the Doctor, knocking maddly with no visible result. “Oh, come on! You know I can't interfere here anymore. I did it once!”
The Doctor sighed, seeing the old, good terrace of the café in the distance.
Oh, Vincent...
She had tried to open the door one last time... in vain and with a growl of irritation she headed towards the café, thinking how not to meet van Gogh again.
As the Doctor was walking slowly, she saw an old newspaper, all wet and dirty, lying on the ground. She picked it up to check the date. Maybe she was lucky and he's long gone?
She blinked in shock.
No, no, no, no! NO!
The Doctor had rushed back to the TARDIS and started knocking, punching and kicking the front door with a real desperation.
“How could you?! How?!” she yelled angrily.
Not a sound.
“27 July 1890!”
The TARDIS was most obviously not concerned with the shouting of her owner.
The Doctor leaned back against the door, breathing heavily with her eyes closed shut.
The day Vincent van Gogh had shot himself.