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The crisp air hung still and unbroken beneath the dark sky. There was no breeze, no birdsong, and no activity of any kind atop the lush hills of the countryside; so remote and peaceful was the scene that there were no eyes to observe the strange sight of a tall, wooden box fading into reality, and no ears to wince as the wheezing groan of ancient engines shattered the silence.
The structure was incongruent against its surroundings – its proprietor acknowledged this as a frequent problem but never entertained rectifying it – yet somehow brought in its wake a strange serenity to amend the tranquillity it had disturbed. Its exterior sported a calming shade of blue, made softer in the darkness and warmer in the gentle glow of the lamp affixed to the top.
For a moment, there was quiet; the scraping engines had since wound down, the brief wind had dispersed, and all seemed calm. Then, the door to the box swung inwards as a voice from inside spilled out. ‘And you won’t even check the scanner!’ It was the voice of a woman with little desire to conceal her frustrations.
‘There’s no need, is there?’ came the rhetorical reply. This was the voice of a man with little desire to ease her frustrations.
‘Unless you can guarantee you know precisely where and when we are—’
‘Nothing can ever be truly guaranteed.’
‘—then I’d hardly recommend wandering blindly out there.’
‘It’s a good thing I wasn’t asking for recommendations, then.’
The grass rustled underfoot as the man stepped out from the blue box. Lit by the ambient starlight, his silhouette was striking; a long coat draped over his tall frame, and a longer scarf, curling twice around his neck yet still dangling by his knees, was held close to his body with one hand while the other pressed a weathered hat against his head of curls. He stepped carefully through the grass, but advanced no farther than ten paces when his companion emerged to join him, closing the door firmly behind her.
In nearly every way, she was his opposite. Where his hair twisted into whirlpools, hers flowed like a stream down her shoulders and her back, though the locks on both their heads were equally brown; where his clothes were battered and colourful, hers were refined and almost regal in their uniform whiteness, though their eccentric outfits were equally misplaced for their present environment; where he led with carefree ebullience, she followed with tacit disapproval, though they were both wandering strangers wherever they went—they were both Time Lords far away from home.
‘Doctor,’ she sighed, resting her hands on her hips, ‘how can you do this?’
‘It’s simple, Romana. One foot in front of the other. Or did you mean escaping the Black Guardian? Well, that’s just a matter of one foot in front of the other, too. You know, I often find moving forward to be the best solution to these sorts of things, don’t you?’ When he finally stopped rambling, the Doctor turned to Romana and only then noticed the firm crease in her forehead as she frowned at him. ‘Don’t you?’
Romana sighed again, a sound more guttural than before. ‘You’ve scattered the Key to Time, you’ve got the Black Guardian on your heels, you’ve let the TARDIS be guided by “pot luck”, and now we’re here—wherever “here” is. You don’t even know where we are and you’re gallivanting about the place like nothing’s changed.’
‘Like nothing’s changed?’ he asked, a note of offence colouring his words. ‘Romana, everything’s changed. Of course, when everything is changing every day, all the time, then change becomes natural. Change becomes a constant, it becomes static. And when something becomes so natural or so constant, people stop noticing it; cosmically, nothing ever changes. Or, if you’d like, everything’s always changing. It’s all relative. Besides,’ the Doctor smiled, ‘I do know where we are.’
‘You’ll forgive me for not applauding you.’
The Doctor waved a dismissive hand, ‘You’re forgiven. No, it’s simple, really.’ He advanced along his earlier path and came to rest a short distance away. Without turning, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance, the Doctor called back, ‘Here, I’ll show you.’
Romana joined him and folded her arms. ‘The stars?’
‘No, the hills.’
‘The hills?’
‘Mhm,’ he nodded. ‘English. There’s no mistaking them. In all the worlds in all the galaxies in this broad and beautiful universe, there’s no planet out there – not a single one – that has hills so green and pleasant.’ The Doctor gave a playful nudge with his elbow to Romana’s side. ‘Surely you could’ve figured that out. You saw it for yourself not too long ago, remember?’
‘Yes. The Ogri and Professor Rumford,’ Romana recalled. ‘But that was Cornwall, wasn’t it? This looks different.’
‘I hope it isn’t Canterbury. Geoffrey was really quite insistent on my staying after I told him those first few stories.’
Romana squinted in an attempt to follow the Doctor's line of sight, to discern any detail amidst the haze of darkness. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Yes, he was a persistent fellow. Rather prolific, too. But, just between us, I always preferred the ones before him. Marie de France, now there was a writer—’
She rolled her eyes, ‘No, I’m impressed that you can tell this is England at all. I can hardly see a thing.’
‘Ah, well,’ the Doctor grinned, ‘that comes with practice. If I’m right, and I usually am, the sun ought to be rising…’ He swivelled on his heels and pointed at the horizon with an outstretched arm. ‘And in three, two, one…’
No sooner did the final syllable leave his mouth than a golden light broke through into the sky. Its rays chased away the first dregs of the night, coiling between the clouds like fresh strands in an ornate tapestry; the soft yellows and oranges were tinted with finer hues of rhubarb and scarlet, every shade mingling in the crucible of the new day.
Romana had watched the second sun rise in the south of Gallifrey – an impressive sight whose splendour never waned – but, even as its light broke through the silver leaves, she soon found it difficult to savour its beauty amidst the monotonous routine of life in Time Lord society. The single star of the Sol system would have seemed meagre by comparison, but, somehow, she found herself observing it with fascination and surprise; in the glow of the new dawn, Romana felt the wonder she had as a child flare within her hearts, ignited by the spark of Earth’s ordinary sun.
‘Doctor…’ she tried to speak but words failed her. ‘It’s…’
The Doctor simply held out a finger. ‘I know, just watch. Just feel it.’
So, as the minutes passed and the sun crawled higher into the sky, as the clouds spread thinner to welcome the morning, Romana and the Doctor stood on the hill in content silence. After spending so long running, Romana was thankful for the opportunity to rest. She found herself wondering if the Doctor, who had doubtless been running far longer than her, had ever properly rested himself—leading such a kinetic style, Romana assumed the mere suggestion of even a slight pause would prove unconscionable to her companion.
‘Doctor?’ she asked.
‘Hm?’
‘Do you enjoy the sunrises?’
‘On Earth? Oh, yes,’ he mused, ‘I’ve grown quite attached to this planet. Its customs, its people, its hills and sunrises. The Eye of Orion is nice, of course, but there’s something so unique about Earth. There’s only one planet that could come up with something so sweet.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s the word I’d use—’ Romana stopped herself when she heard a distinct rustling from inside the Doctor’s coat pocket. She watched as he shamelessly produced a bag of jelly babies and, smiling that devilish smile, slipped a yellow one into his mouth.
‘Would you like a jelly baby, Romana?’
Romana smiled back at him and reached into the bag, ‘When on Earth…’