Apologies for the absence. Have not been well. Normal service will resume. Just give my brain a small chance to get back into working order, please. Ha-ha!

Thanks for being patient. Love, Dottie.

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ↳ Starter for @hclloswcctie

Beneath the radar. Keeping a low profile.

The two phrases The Doctor barely understands, at least not between the lines or in any depth. And while he has somehow managed to, barring a few close calls when twiddling his thumbs and burying his head deep in a manual about the TARDIS became too much boredom for him to comprehend with.

He even tried to repair the chameleon circuit, which is nion impossible. That ship sailed a long time ago (pun definitely intended).

Those close calls did require some undercover work, not that there was much ‘undercoverʼ going on.

However, smoke and mirrors is a thing, a thing the Timelord appears to have a knack for. Even if it is sometimes sunglasses and a stetson, or the ridiculous Fez that seems to return, almost like a bad smell — as some would say.

The Doctor went the extra mile this time. Oh yeah, he did the whole hog, introducing himself as John Smith and taking on the role of some official in the state confinement his beloved is currently in.

And while the attire appears believable, anyone who knows the Timelord, knows full well that this is a facade and a pretty whimsical one at that.

With the usual, self assured grin spreading across his face, The Doctor leans against the wall, one leg crossed over the other. He peers over the rims of the thick black rimmed specs. A thumb is snaked beneath the suspender and the twang echoes.

Seeing him was the highlight of her prison sentence, and she found herself living for the days that she saw him. Each encounter with The Doctor meant that River got to live out a new adventure. Her diary was fairly new, and there were still plenty of pages left to fill. The more pages that River filled, the more she found herself falling in love with him. But she wouldn't tell him, though. She knew that The Doctor didn't handle emotions well.

The twang certainly broke the trance like state she was currently in, her blue diary immediately lowered down as her gaze promptly shifted to search for the source of the new noise. And what her gaze found brought her signature mischievous grin to her lips.

The corridors of Stormcage were always dimly lit, with the main light source being the occasion flash of lightning from the eternal storm that surrounded the prison. But River knew the silhouette of her husband anywhere. This was only confirmed by his words. Only one person in the world would call River their love.

“Aha!” He blurts, clapping his hands together before imitating finger guns. It is the most extravagant way The Doctor has visited her. That much is true, but it probably is no surprise either or at least it shouldnʼt be, considering his nature. “Yes. Figured the ‘keeping a low profileʼ needed some ... tweaking.” A soft yet wistful sigh leaves his lips, before arms are poised and a theatrical, purposeful pivot is thrown into the equation. “What dʼyou think?”

His cheeky grin only broadens in her presence. It is infamous, but there is something about it that illustrates this particular expression is one only reserved for her.

“Glad you asked,” The Doctor continues, barely letting silence linger nor even surface. “Now normally I wouldnʼt have a plan, at least unless it was, a distress call or occassion, though this is an occassion. So perhaps I should have a plan, which, which I do, actually... Yes, yes... Plan.”

He clears his throat, clapping his hands together. A hand soon combs through his dishevelled locks before extended palms illustrate that the Timelord has somehow found the purpose of the exchange again — amidst all of the rambling.

“How does...” A purposeful pause for emphasis arises. His brows furrow before The Doctor pats himself down. “Where did I put the Sonic — ah yes...” The Timelord taps his trouser pocket, letting a relieved smile grace his lips. “Ah, sorry... Yes that plan... How does, a beach, sunset or, sunrise if you prefer, grab you? Perhaps with a picnic, maybe a stroll, or not a stroll. We can just sit, talk or be in silence...”

And there he goes again, trying his damndest to both please her and wordless demonstrate these emotions. The ones he cannot convey. Not even if he tried.