The Doctor slowly walked away from the city, every bone aching from orchestrating a hard day's rebellion against the Zarbon. He hadn't run quite that far or that fast in centuries, and every fibre of his being sought rest and release from the day's tension.
Finally, he spied the TARDIS. There could not have been a more welcome sight.
Her straight blue lines cut a stark, slim profile against the clear yellow sky, the precise linear geometry of her Police Box shell piercing the nebulous miasma of formless alien wilderness surrounding her.
She was all he could focus on as he strode closer, desperately needing to reach her magnificent, implacable form before his body gave out.
As fierce winds howled a mysterious sing-song around them, The Doctor finally closed the gap with the TARDIS, sidling up to her.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," he quipped, his long, slender fingers gently brushing down the side of her right front door.
He took a moment to appreciate the hard, dimpled surface of her upper windows, styled to resemble a type of frosted glass. He could see his curly brown hair reflected in her panes.
Unconsciously, he traced one hand downwards to the smooth metallic hardness of her faux steel door-handle, pausing to appreciate the warm thrum of her interior energies which radiated through it. It was slightly misaligned compared to the other handle, but that, he reflected, was part of its charm.
Gently resting his warm palm against the handle, he carefully thrust his his other hand deep into his cavernous pockets, pushing and prodding and exploring until he took hold of what he was looking for, tugging it free.
His thumb ran across the grooves of the thin, rigid TARDIS key for a moment as he brought it forwards, twisting it to match the orientation of the door lock.
He paused for a moment as its tip barely touched against the TARDIS' dark, slim lock-slot. There were twenty-one different ways the key could be used, but only one to which the TARDIS would properly respond. As fatigued as he was, he didn't want to make a mistake with this most delicate of operations.
Taking a slight breath, he focused, slowly thrusting his key into her lock, pushing and feeling the slight resistance of her tumblers against it until it was firmly inserted.
Twisting sideways, he felt a subtle, satisfying click. Twisting the key again, he withdrew it slowly, as one of her doors subtly parted from the frame, swinging slightly open, inviting him inside.
Gently, The Doctor pressed the door inwards, moving himself forwards, the slow creaking moan of the door-hinges accompanying his entry.
Fully inside the TARDIS now, he let out a sigh, the warmth of the console room surrounding him, filling him with a bright, incredible sensation of peace and comfort.
He pressed on, moving to the gleaming white console at the centre of her control room, reaching out and carefully taking hold of the firm, round red knob of the door control lever.
Grasping it lightly, he pulled it forward.
Responding instantly, the massive interior doors of the TARDIS swung shut behind him with a protracted electronic groan, locking him within her.
As if renewed, the Doctor sprang to action, frantically pressing buttons and working controls, dancing from panel to panel around the hexagonal console, vigorously inputting his co-ordinates until finally his activity reached its crescendo with him stabbing a finger at the "Dematerialise" button.
With a shudder, the TARDIS drives screamed to life, wheezing and groaning loud VWORPs until she entered the Vortex and all was quiet once more.
Exhausted, The Doctor slumped against the console, smiling slightly as he whispered "It's good to be back, old girl."
Having successfully invaded both America and Canada from her home base in Windsor, Paisley has become horribly corrupted by the world. She hates active voice and wished to god Twitter had an edit button but is now glad to be rid of that place. Dedicated to "creating the greatest 'Ship of them all", she ponders horribly terrible, idiotic things for your amusement.