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As a child you had a different perception of time. It was flowing unhurriedly, and when you had to wait for something, minutes or weeks, the period always stretched into infinity. There were enough hours in a day to write a book, paint a masterpiece and build a whole kingdom from legos. Every day was a new exciting adventure and there was magic in every little thing.
Back then you used to constantly count the stars hanging on the luminous blue night sky. You were in awe every time you looked at them, and they were shining playfully, inviting you to join them up there. There were so many, tiny and distant, and you knew there’s even more, an infinity of dazzling yellow lights hidden out of human sight. Your little heart was pumping the blood of an explorer, it yearned to discover more and see more and some nights in your dreams it would bring you closer to the stars.
When you got older, you felt the passage of time in a different manner. There was so much to do and never enough time. The world seemed to spin faster and faster, like a carousel that never intended to stop. You had less time to admire the heavens, busy with everyday matters. The amount of new responsibilities and problems was daunting and at times they were sending you in the depths of despair. But every once in a while, when the weight on your shoulders felt a little too heavy, you would look up on the starry night and it would bring you some peace of mind. Time seemed to slow down for a moment. Life was unpredictable, but the sky offered you solace in constellations, always waiting for you up there, warm and familiar.
Then the most improbable thing happened and you stumbled upon a blue box that hid endless wonder. It was the same shade of blue as the crayon you used for drawings of a night sky when you were younger, and you soon learned that the box can take you up there. The owner, a chaotic alien with golden hair, took you in as her companion and showed you the most impressive and splendid and breathtaking galaxies, from a distance and closer up and even from within. They were far from anything you could have ever imagined, incomparable, billions of blazing stars arranged in brilliant compositions with brighter central points, each of them unique and divine and just as stunning.
In the early days of your travels with the Doctor, because that’s what the alien called herself, she took you to the farthest corners of the universe, showed you countless possible pasts and futures of Earth and several other inhabited planets. The initial astonishment faded as you kept visiting new places and times, not completely, but the rushes of adrenaline weren’t as powerful as they used to. At first it was all still beyond belief, most days you were convinced you were going to wake up anytime soon. But after a while the euphoric feeling became familiar, and in a way the travels felt like routine. The Doctor telling you about an exciting yet peaceful planet. The planet being anything but peaceful, but definitely exciting. Running for your dear life. It wasn’t always the case, but despite the odds, it happened surprisingly often.
Yet each time you set foot aboard the TARDIS, ready to go on a new adventure, you felt more alive than ever, the feeling never went away, and even grew stronger. There was something pulling you towards the ship, like you fell into its orbit and the gravity was keeping you there, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what the force was. All you knew was that you loved opening the TARDIS’ vivid dark blue door, you loved the smell of freshly baked biscuits that welcomed you every time you entered the console room and you loved seeing the Doctor’s face bathed in the warm yellow light of the pillars.
Then one day you understood.
You and the Doctor had an unspoken tradition. Every time an adventure turned out to be more dangerous than she initially stated, she would try to make it up to you by finding the most magnificent galaxies. The ones with the most vivid colours, with the brightest stars, with the most complex patterns. She would then land her ship in the place from which the view was the finest and allow you to sit on the edge of the TARDIS, with your legs dangling and eyes wide open. You would rest there, once again safe and at peace, not feeling the pressure of time.
“I think this one is the most spectacular yet,” the Doctor promised that day, as you both were standing before TARDIS’s closed door. “I found it in a book from the Labyrinth of Kerykeion,” she said, referring to the extensive library you visited a couple adventures ago. “Brilliant read. Surprisingly tortuous language, but it was rewarding.”
She often assured you that the galaxy you’re about to see was impressive, but to her credit, she was always right. You weren’t expecting this time to be any different.
“Ready?” she asked, and when you nodded your head in response, she placed her hands on both parts of the door and pulled them, revealing the view.
You were about to take a look, but your eyes were fixed on the Doctor. Utterly unaware of your stare and entirely focused on what was ahead of her, she took in a deep breath, as if she was looking at the scenery for the first time, even though she mentioned earlier that she always makes sure the sight is as impressive as she was told.
You’d say she was amazed, but it wouldn’t do the justice to the emotions painted on her face. Despite the shine from the stars that illuminated her and reflected in her eyes, you could notice her pupils dilating in excitement. Her jaw dropped, just slightly, and then she grinned. The smile was honest and beaming and it sparked something deep inside you.
You turned your eyes towards the galaxy and you weren’t surprised by the fact that the Doctor was right. Looking at it felt unreal and your mind struggled to comprehend how extremely beautiful the scenery right in front of you was. Yet you didn’t feel the same kind of delight as you always did in this situation. You couldn’t solely focus on what was in front of you, and it almost made you huff in frustration. It was the stars. Your solace. Were they paler? Maybe you’ve seen similar views too many times and they lost their magic? What was wrong?
Your gaze drifted to the Doctor and in that moment your brain caught up to your heart, the realization dawning on you.
You’ve never seen her before. Until now she was your guide of the universe, a kind face that was your companion through time and space, but you had eyes only for the places you visited. You were too focused on discovering how diverse and stunning the world was. You’ve noticed some little things about her, like the shine of her hair in the sun, the way her ear cuff complimented her side profile, or the way her cheekbones were more prominent when she tried to keep her face expressionless, but it was all superficial. You’ve never truly looked at her, never stopped to consider what kind of person she was, never actually pondered on the nature of your relationship with her, but now, in a matter of seconds it all became crystal clear.
It was the colours, you realized. The galaxy in front of you had different shades of your favourite colours, and your heart was tugged by the idea that it wasn’t a simple serendipity, but a deliberate decision that was supposed to warm your heart. But how did she know them?
She asked, you recalled, the day you met her. She was trying to get to know you and make a connection from the very first time she saw you.
It was slowly coming together. The echoes of all the caring gestures the Doctor did for you. She prepared a cup of tea every time before she picked you up, at first offering different kinds and then serving only the one you seemed to like the most. She repeatedly assured you that you’re free to call her anytime so you could hang around in the TARDIS, even when you didn’t fancy a trip anywhere. Even when running and rambling, seemingly too focused on a monologue she was delivering, she had always look back to make sure you weren’t left behind. Upon reflection, you could’ve thought of a dozen tiny actions fuelled by simple kindness, expecting nothing in return.
You let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh as the realisation washed over you. She wanted to form a genuine bond between the two of you solely by tender actions. There was no pushing, no pressure, not even a hint of a letdown when her gestures went unnoticed.
“It’s breathtaking, Doctor.”
She turned her head in your direction, a small smile on her lips.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I adore it! It’s marvellous.”
You laid your hand on her arm, slowly enough for her to back down if she felt the need to.
“Thank you, Doctor. You’re a great friend.”
Something in her eyes shimmered, and her lips parted for a moment, but shut quickly, forming the biggest smile. You couldn’t help but grin back.
Sometime in between those seconds when you were admiring how very radiant she looked, your instinct must have taken over. Your hand wasn’t just lingering on her arm anymore, now your thumb was drawing circles on it. You fought the urge to withdraw your touch, but this was one of the first times you showed her real affection, and you’ve never seen her so happy.
Your eyes locked and you both held each other’s gazes. You were surprised how comfortable you felt with the situation. Normally, when someone was focused on you longer than a moment it sent a shiver down your spine. But her stare was different. Unjudging. Affectionate. Easy. You were just enjoying each other’s company, no strings attached, no expectations.
In a way looking at her was almost like looking at the sky, you supposed. But then again, the stars were never as warm and loving.
“I mean it, Doctor. Thank you for taking me with you. For showing me everything I ever wanted and more. Thank you for…” you paused, trying to find the right words.
The phrase thank you for seeing me almost escaped your lips, but it felt cheesy, even though it precisely reflected the way you felt about her.
Instead, you simply said:
“Thank you for everything.”