'I was already a museum piece when you found me.'

Rule number nine: The Doctor isn't as saintly as he likes to believe he is.

He strolled and roamed carelessly around the halls of the incredible, yet slightly daunting museum; incredible, because it held artefacts from every universe, from 21st century yoyo's to a piece of starlight from the Medusa Cascade. Haunting, because there was nothing living in the entire building apart from the visitors. Everything was dead.

The group he had been walking and only half-exploring with were all gathered around a model of the Drairo Galaxy, with a speck of dust from The Forbidden Star sealed within it. The Galaxy itself was extinct; it fell into a black hole many a century ago. The history was fascinating, the people of the planet were calm to the very last second, but their minds burst and burned as they were sucked into the impossible rip in time and space and…

Yawn. To be honest, a young, 197 year old Time Lord, The Doctor (only recently named, after the initiation ceremony two months ago) should've had every reason to be riveted by history. He was to become a member of the High Council (his parent's ambition for him, not his) in fifty years time, but, really, he was just a brand new adult, bored of home and ordinary life. So, he had let himself be persuaded to join the tour with the rest of his History class, visiting a museum; inventive, he mused.

Gradually, he had wondered off, drifting slightly from the group. No one bothered to follow him; that boy was a complete anomaly. He strolled to a different section of the museum; technology. There was a hall, alight with grandeur and bright white lights. There were hundreds upon thousands of exhibits; the transport of nobles and heroes, the telephonic devices of Kings and Queens, the 57 star system power cards of Adipose 9.

He ran a long, thin, finger delicately over the handle of an 81st century transmat beam, quickly slamming his glasses onto his face. He didn't need them; they just made him look, in his opinion, extremely clever. He yanked the transmat beam of its holder and brought it to his face, examining every inch and specific detail.

Suddenly, a loud, brash ringing sounded inside the hall and echoed impressively, ricocheting in time with the increased rate of his hearts. He dropped the transmat beam onto the gleaming, wooden laminated floors and scampered away, running behind a random blue box standing, slightly hidden from view.

Within a few seconds, a dozen or so uniformed guards came sprinting into the hall, guns in hands, The Doctor's History teacher running alongside them. Crouching behind the box, The Doctor swore h head his History teacher, Professor Godwin, mutter,

'Oh when I find that boy I'm going to throw him into a big, black chasm.'

The guards searched around the hall, The Doctor sneaking around the box, trying to be avoided by the guards at all costs. He knew Professor Godwin was being all too serious when he said he would throw him into a chasm – he had done it a few times before.

The guards trawled and traipsed around the hall, searching through every nook and cranny, spying on everything in sight before shaking their heads in defeat at each other, simultaneously leaving the hall without another word.

The Doctor gasped out in relief when they had all vanished – he really had thought he was going to get caught. He took a few steady, deep breaths before crawling out of the shadows cast by the box and pulling himself up on the handle of the box. He looked curiously at it. It said it was 'Police Box', whatever in the Seven Systems that was. It was a deep, rich, quite mysterious blue. The windows were shining a bright yellowy-white light. There was small kind of plaque on one of the panels and on the bottom it said 'Pull to Open'.

Hang on – the windows were lit. But, everything in this museum was dead, The Doctor pondered, a look of utmost confusion becoming at home on his youthful face. He stroked the door impassively, without even realising it and, with a small clicking sound, the door swung open, revealing the impossible interior. The way she (he knew it was a she, just by a kind of instinct) just stood there, magnificent and extraordinary, with the outrageously cool console; it enticed him like nothing else ever had. He almost wanted to run away, he was almost frightened by the sheer majesty of this box. It was bigger on the inside…

The Doctor took a few, unsteady paces forwards (checking for any cameras or alarms) into the room. There was time rotor, standing high in the centre of the console. There was another plaque, brass this time, which on it were inscribed the words, 'Time and Relative Dimension in Space.'


He placed a hand warily on the console and jumped in shock as his mind was ripped apart and a whole manifesto of energy and knowledge and raw power surged into his brain, over-taking his senses and making him convulse slightly. He was awakening, his soul was awakening from a slumber of ages and a connection between him and this incredible machine roared and raced in his head, streaming and raging with utter magnificence. Through chattering, terrified teeth he murmured,

'You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known.'

The console vibrated soothingly and the pain in his head subsided slightly. And then, all of a sudden, a song flooded into his head. The melody was smooth and soft, the tone gentle and calming; it was beautiful. But it was sad; it was the song of the machine, and the machine was sorrowful. The music was heartbreaking, and he knew one day he would hear it again. Almost reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from the console and the music became quieter and quieter in the back of his head, but he could still hear it. He doubted he would ever stop hearing it again. The Doctor ran his hand through his hair,

'Oh you sexy thing.'

The door slammed shut, but he did not run over, or even attempt to coax the machine to do it otherwise. A vision of serenity enclosed his body and he stood rigidly, just thinking.

He could leave. No he couldn't. He could get away from this boring, obnoxious planet. Its home you love it. No one would miss him. What about The Master? What about his parents and his sister? He could travel the stars and universes. You can't even fly a TARDIS.

He had pretty much figured out (from the information banner) that this was type 40 TARDIS. In the Academy, they were currently studying the console of a type 200 Alpha-Retrason TARDIS. The Doctor trying to fly a type 40 would be like a 22nd Earth pilot trying to ride a penny farthing bicycle; near enough impossible.

He liked impossible, in fact he loved it. It obsessed in his mind; it unwounded him to his core. Impossible stripped him of all his disguises and shows him himself.

He smiled widely and whispered, 'Hello dear, let's go then shall we?'

The room erupted with light and the console hummed in hastening agreement. The bond between Time Lord and TARDIS was inconceivable and amazing and by God, they were going to test that relationship for the rest of eternity.