EIGHT

“Now, can I see what’s in your hand, sir?”

"Many things; Tomorrow's lottery numbers, location of the Holy Grail, the reason why children love the taste of Cap'n Crunch." It's a game they all liked to play, he's come to realize, in occasions such as this, remembered after the fact. Future knowledge, the inherent rush of superiority (however true, however pretend) towards one's younger self.

He was starting to understand the knowing twinkle in River's eyes every time she met versions of him less familiar with her.

"Or in the rare moment that one of us has been ever the poor navigator in the Time Vortex, and we've merely bumped front doors." Something that had not been the first, nor would it be the last. Of course whether the event would only ever happen the one other time at all made for quite the oddity for time travelers. Happening in both of their pasts, but also in his own future.

"Though I would find that to be quite unsurprising! Look at this place. So industrial, so... metal." He turns from the console a brief moment, to gesture flamboyantly at all the metal pillars, walkways, the Gallifreyan motif overhead. It was so much less quiet library as he had tried to keep it--

"Well, if you're offering, I shan't be party to turn away such." Mind raced wildly, wondering with only increasing curiosity how she bent light around herself in such a way. Was it a device? Was it an alien ability? Perhaps it was like the comic books he so fondly pilfered through.

Perceptive as ever, as all Doctors were wont to be, he supposed. There was-- envy was the wrong word; a fondness, perhaps, or a certain kind of soft amusement, at the other's lightness. Or, perhaps, it was thinly-disguised annoyance at his lack of foresight, the dread in knowing you were strapped to the tracks, all too unawares of the train rapidly coming towards you.

The Doctor could see it in his own eyes. It was a self loathing on some other level of perception that he couldn't grasp just yet. All that misery behind such cold eyes, and still he tried to wear a smile. What were they in for? What sort of suffering waited down the line of The Doctor to reach this point? So many questions curiously linger in the back of his mind-- That he so daringly tried to hide away. Knowing the answers would only make changes where there shouldn't be.

"And what would you have of me?" Lingering at the six times redecorated TARDIS' console, letting his fingers dance so delicately over each instrument with an almost intrigue. He didn't much care for the high technology angle the more recent of their faces seemed to have adopted. Though it was better than white on white rondels.

He had said he’d do some maintenance on the ship – words used that made no sense to her, and she was sure he had just made them up on the spot, but she had only nodded, adding that he should be back for dinner ‘cause her mum was cooking. IT HAD ONLY BEEN A FEW HOURS…

Then it was his name that hits his ear. Doctor. But it's spoken more in confusion, befuddlement. Someone who didn't recognize him. But when he looks at her, the feeling was most certainly mutual. The worry, though, was whether or not it was because of the multiple attempts to rob him of his identity and memory. Oh but the distinct feeling strikes the pit of his gut.

He shouldn't be here.

"That's right... I'm The Doctor."

He steps out fully now, hands burying themselves in cluttered pockets, those pure crystal blues doing their hardest to discern whether or not he knew her properly, or if he was out of sync.