Gallifrey was gone, destroyed. It wouldn't come back, not this time. Yet it was still there, and would be for a very long time yet, because that was the nature of things. Even the Time War couldn't alter a universal constant.

He wished it could have done.

It was his own stupid fault. Nobody told him to call up the star map on the TARDIS display. Keyed into the period the TARDIS had landed in (Earth, early 21st century), quick scan... voila. There she was. Not much to look at, just a single pinprick of light among a thousand other stars... a thousand other dead stars, their lights like Gallifrey's shining on long after their fires had burnt out or combusted into nothingness...

As Gallifrey and its star had done.

He stared deep into the screen, simultaneously trying to remember and repress memories of the place; memories of home. Not that it had ever really been a home as such, he'd been but a fleeting visitor over the last few centuries, but...

The Doctor sighed and closed his eyes. It was still home. It would always would be. All he had left of it was his memories; and the TARDIS, of course. He wondered how she remembered; wondered if she was as effected by the losses as he was. The old girl had certainly been showing signs of her age recently... perhaps that was a clue. He smiled wistfully and patted the console affectionately.

"You poor old thing... you're getting into as big a state as I am. Run down, worn out... past our prime. Past our sell-by date. Ready for the knackers' yard..."

"Um... is this a private conversation, or can anyone join in?"

The Doctor jerked his head up to find Rose staring at him from the doorway that lead into the rest of the ship, a typically cheeky grin across her impish features. Upon sight of this, the Doctor's mood lightened immediately. She always seemed to have this effect on him. Perhaps that was why he let her hang around.

"You can join in anytime you like. The TARDIS don't mind; she'll talk to anyone, and anyone can talk to her. So long as you're of a friendly disposition, mind."

Rose giggled and came forward, brushing a long strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. "Well, I'm pretty good with machines... mum always gets me to set the video and stuff like that." She considered for a moment. "Mickey too, for that matter. He usually gets me to work his washing machine too."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Why does that not surprise me?"

Rose looked hurt. "Don't be like that. He's quite clever really."

He snorted. "Well he hides it well."

She pouted. "We can't all be super-intelligent inter-galactic explorers with our own time machine now can we?"

"Good thing too," the Doctor grinned, stepping down off the console platform towards her. "Speaking of which... what do you think the place, now you've had a look round?"

Rose shrugged. "Big, innit?"

"Huge, I think is the word you're looking for."

"Yeah, a bit like someone's ego!" she teased.

"And you accuse me of being horrible to Mickey!"

Rose laughed. "I didn't mean Mickey!"

"Jackie?"

She punched him playfully on the arm. "Shut up about my mother, you! How would you like it if I said something about yours?"

He shook his head. "No you wouldn't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you, Rose Tyler. You're not the kind of girl of goes around dissing people's mums."

She smiled slightly, staring him right in the eye. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he grinned, staring right back. After a meaningful beat, he grabbed her arm and dragged her back towards the interior door. "Did you see my art collection back there? Got some great stuff - I'll show you!"

"Oh yeah!" she laughed, resisting only slightly. "I've heard that one before!"

He frowned at her. "What?"

She affected a sinister accent. "Come up and see my etchings, little girl!"

The Doctor looked baffled. "What etchings? I don't have any etchings. And you're not a little girl!"

Rose looked mock outraged. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

He frowned disapprovingly. "You're a real wind-up merchant, you know that?"

"I know that," she grinned.

***

"No, no, I'm pretty sure it's here somewhere... hang on..."

Rose sighed heavily. They had been trailing around the corridors and tunnels for what seemed like ages and still hadn't found the Doctor's blessed art collection. Oh, they had found a lot of other things, certainly; a room full of cardboard boxes marked 'THIS WAY UP' which were all upside down ("That's not right," the Doctor remarked, whereupon he closed the door, waited a moment, opened it again to reveal all the boxes the right way up - Rose didn't ask how he did it); a room with shelves stocked full of jars of raspberry jam ("I like raspberry jam," was the Doctor's only explanation); a room which inexplicably contained a battered wood-panelled Morris Minor, even though there was no apparent way it could have got there as the only door in the room was way too small ("Mmmm... 1957," was the Doctor's only enigmatic remark before he closed the door again); and other rooms either way too weird or way too pointless to describe. It was all a bit worrying, really, and Rose wasn't shy to point it out.

"You do know what you've got in here, don't you?"

"Of course!" the Doctor replied confidently. "I know this place like the back of me hand." He paused at another door and pulled it open, revealing a room piled high with what looked like old shoes and boots. "Cobblers," he muttered.

"Getting a bit narky are we?" Rose remarked innocently.

The Doctor frowned at her. "No... I mean, cobblers." He pointed into the room. "As in shoe repair. You know?" He shook his head, closed the door and moved on to the next. "Show a little faith, Rose."

"It's been hours, Doctor," she pointed out peevishly.

"No, it only feels like hours. Inside the TARDIS, sidereal time has little meaning."

Rose patted her tummy meaningfully. "Tell that to my stomach."

"You're always thinking of food, you." He tapped on the next door he came to. "This is the one."

"Bet it isn't."

He squinted at her. "How much?"

"The price of dinner. Or lunch. Or whatever."

The Doctor nodded briskly. "You're on." He tugged the door open, stared at what was within. "Cobblers."

Rose crowded in to have a look at what was within. "Another shoe repair?"

"No, cobblers as in I owe you dinner." He pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch. "Actually breakfast."

"Whatever... wow!" Rose caught sight of what was in the room. "What a lot of... umbrellas."

"Ye-es..." The room was indeed, full of umbrellas, all closed, of all shapes and sizes, all colours and descriptions. They were propped up against the walls, lying on the floor, and hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

The Doctor looked at Rose, and she looked at him. Upon eye contact, they both burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it, and it was some time before they stopped. When they did, it was Rose who spoke first.

"Where did you get them all?"

"I dunno," he replied, walking in and picking up the nearest one. "I went through a phase when I never went anywhere without one... maybe I bought this lot just in case." He grinned suddenly. "Saving 'em for a rainy day, maybe!"

Rose groaned loudly, and picked up a bright yellow one with a grinning ducks head on the tip of the handle. She giggled. "Oh, I can just see you swanning down a Martian high street with this over your head!"

"Hey, don't mock," he admonished. "After they terra-formed the place there were days in high summer when you need a decent parasol to keep the UV off. Either that or factor 1500 sun-block."

Rose giggled again. "Yeah, but this one?" She held the ducks head up. "Quack quack!"

The Doctor scowled. "Do you want dinner?"

"You said breakfast. And you promised - you lost the bet, remember?"

"Huh." He tossed the one he picked up aside and skulked back to the door. "You coming or what?"

She put her umbrella down. "Yeah... but what are you going to do with them?"

He turned and blinked at her. "Eh?"

"What are you going to do with them all?" she repeated, waving around.

He shrugged. "I dunno... leave 'em here?"

"Bit of a waste, innit?"

He folded his arms. "What do you suggest? I have a car-boot sale? EBay 'em?"

"Well, I mean if you need the money..."

"What? What would I want with money?"

"Well, maybe you could use it to smarten this place up. You know, few tins of paint, bit of wallpaper, maybe invest in a hoover..."

The Doctor picked up an umbrella and brandished it threateningly. "Out! Out!"

Uttering a girlish squeal of laughter, Rose fled from the room. The Doctor shook his head.

"Cheeky bint... the décor is perfect." He looked the walls up and down, pursed his lips. "Well, almost perfect..."

Then he looked around him again, at all the umbrellas, and rubbed his jaw. All the same, she was right... it was a bit of waste... and they were just cluttering up the place. Wasn't as if he needed or wanted an umbrella these days, and it never rained much in the TARDIS. Never really rained much where ever he went, except... except...

"Saving 'em for a rainy day," he murmured thoughtfully. An idea formed. He grinned. "Fantastic!"

***

It was coming down in sheets again, as it seemed to have done everyday this week, and most of last week, and probably most of next week too. Typically bloody English summer, reflected PC George Higginson, as he plodded slowly along the high street. Wet, gloomy, and bloody miserable, and that about summed up his present outlook on life. He hated foot patrol; hated it when it was dry, hated it when it was wet; hated it when it was hot, hated it when it was cold. Give him the warmth and comfort of the station, even if you had the sergeant breathing down your neck all day; or even a squad car on a day like this, though he didn't like driving and didn't much like being a passenger either; not the way some of the herbert's in this division drove. Too much 'Sweeney', that was their trouble. George was more of a 'Dixon of Dock Green' man himself. Proper, sensible policing, none of this racing around lark...

It was just after half five in the afternoon, and the street was already teeming with people coming out of the offices and shops to go home, moving as quickly as possible to get out of the downpour. It wasn't easy; there was precious little cover between the shops, and the bus shelters were already full to bursting point, leaving a long line of increasingly sodden and increasingly miserable people. George looked at them andt shook his head. Not one of 'em with a brolly... and only a few of 'em were wearing coats. Didn't anybody look at the weather anymore? There seemed to be this blind compulsion that, as it was mid July, there was no need to wear anything thicker than shirt-sleeves, and definitely no need to sport a brolly. Mind you, he reflected, as he watched a droplet form and drop from the peak of his helmet to the ground, he wasn't in a position to criticise, though at least he had the presence of mind to wear his water-proofs. And he was used to being out in all weathers, not like these poor so-and-so's...

He blinked. Someone had come up to the bus stop, pushing a shopping trolley. At first he thought it was a pram, but then he realised what it was, which was odd because you never saw anyone pushing a shopping trolley like that down the high street. What was odder still, though, was that the shopping trolley seemed to be full of... umbrellas.

And the person pushing it was giving them out; to the people at the bus stop, and to anyone else who passed who didn't have one.

George mentally shook himself and started to plod forwards. "I've seen everything now," he muttered. "But a wandering umbrella salesman...?"

The bloke doing it was quite young, mid-late thirties, short haircut, lean, angular features and a prominent set of ears. He was wearing a bulky leather jacket and a sensible set of shoes and didn't seem in the least bit bothered by the rain. He was talking to people as he handed the umbrellas out.

"There you go mate - weather for ducks, eh? Cheers... d'you want one? No, go on, they're free - really! There you go... how about you? Here's a good one..."

George stopped and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir..."

The bloke turned round and grinned. "Do you want - oh, hello constable! Want an umbrella?" He held one out. George pursed his lips and indicated to the trolley.

"Do you have a license to sell these, sir?"

The bloke blinked at him. "I'm not selling 'em, constable - I'm giving 'em away!" To prove his point he gave one to an old lady with a tartan shopping bag who was passing. "There you are, love - mind how you go!"

The old lady beamed at him. "Thank you! Thank you very much!" There was a ripple of appreciative laughter from the bus queue. George turned and saw all the people there were now sporting umbrellas. What's more, they all looked considerably happier than before. He mentally shook himself again and turned back to the umbrella merchant.

"You're just... giving them away?" he asked slowly.

The bloke nodded enthusiastically. "I got loads of 'em - don't use 'em much, or even need them - so I thought, well, why not give 'em to someone who does?" He paused to give another passer-by one, accompanied by a cheery thumbs-up. "All right mate! Cheers!"

George closed his eyes for a moment. This certainly never happened in 'The Sweeney'. He wondered how those glamour-boys would deal with this situation. Probably shoot the silly git. He sighed and opened his eyes again. He knew how he'd deal with it though. He reached into his raincoat and produced his notebook and pencil, and rather unnecessarily licked the tip of it before preparing to write.

"Name and address, please, sir... then I think we'll take a little walk down to the station..."

***

"You're kidding... he was actually going to nick you?"

"Yup." The Doctor put his cup back into his saucer and reached across for another piece of toast. "I think I was breaking some kind of local by-law or something... you know the sort, it is illegal to distribute umbrellas on the second Thursday of every month, or something daft." He patted his jacket pocket. "Good old psychic paper. I had him believing I was in Special Branch and he was in the process of ruining a highly complicated stake-out." He chuckled and shook his head. "Poor old George... but I gave him an umbrella and we called it quits."

"That's called bribing a police officer." They were sitting in a booth in a snug little café not far from the high street where the Doctor had been 'trading', sharing a breakfast of tea, toast... and raspberry jam, of course.

"It wasn't a bribe - it was a gift."

"That's what they all say." Rose wetted a finger and ran it round her plate to pick up the crumbs. She was still peckish, and eyed the Doctor's slice. "Today's a Tuesday, anyway," she observed, "so he couldn't have nicked you for breaking that law."

The Doctor paused halfway through buttering his toast to frown at her. "I know it's a Tuesday," he replied waspishly, "I'm just saying, I was probably breaking some dumb law. You know, you can be really pedantic sometimes."

"I know." She leaned across and snatched the toast from his plate before he could react. "And this is supposed to my breakfast, remember?"

"And who's paying?"

"Who lost the bet?"

The Doctor folded his arms and sulked. "It was a stupid bet. And I always have to pay!"

"Yeah," she smiled, and then leaned back across and put the toast back on his plate. The Doctor looked at her curiously.

"Why'd you give it back?"

She shrugged. "Because."

"Because what?"

"Because it was a nice thing you did, giving all them umbrellas away. I saw the looks on peoples faces."

"They thought I was a weirdo. George certainly did."

She cocked her head thoughtfully. "No, I don't think they did... anyway, it was a nice thing to do."

The Doctor grinned, picked the toast up and took a big bite. "I hoped you'd like it."

Rose smiled coyly, and glanced down at the table top. "I did. You're a strange bloke, sometimes -"

He winked. "Only sometimes?"

"But..." she looked up again, at him, directly in his eyes. "You're all right."

He blinked at her. "I am?"

"You are." Then she blinked, and thumped a hand on the table. "So what about some more toast then, eh?" she demanded, mock angrily.

The Doctor grinned again. "Your wish is my command!"

***

Back in the TARDIS. Rose was off exploring again, leaving the Doctor standing staring at the display and that familiar star-scape again.

Except... this time, when his eyes tracked to that particular pinprick of light, it wasn't the glow from a long-dead star that he saw... but an altogether different gleam. The gleam that had been in Rose's eyes in the café, and when he'd taken her round the TARDIS. The gleam that had been in her eye the first time he brought her into the TARDIS, and the first time they travelled in it. The gleam that shined at the start of every adventure they embarked upon.

The same gleam that had shined in the eyes of all his companions through his travels.

He saw himself reflected in that gleam. He saw himself when he had been as young as Rose, when everything really had been an adventure. Everything still was, he realised. Gallifrey might have gone, but nothing else had changed. He was still himself, and no amount of mournful introspection was going to change that, and the universe was still out there - chaotic, turbulent, stricken with ignorance, stupidity, greed, evil, you name it - and it needed someone to help sort it out. It was simply a matter of perspective. For a while, his had been altered, but now... now he thought he could see the light. And while that light continued to gleam, and until such time as it finally flickered and faded... nobody was heading to the knackers-yard.

Least of all of him.

The Doctor smiled to himself and patted the display affectionately. "Shine on," he murmured. He turned away and, whistling a happy tune, went off to find his companion. There was much to do.