Years Passing
Over the last year, did things go pretty much as you'd expected or planned, or did your life take a significant, unexpected turn? Overall, was it a good year or one that you want to put behind you as fast as you can? (canon or fanon)
"Days, weeks, years. Decades. Millennia. It's all relative and constant. Think of Time as a river, constantly flowing. Stand on the bank of the river and watch it rush by. Beyond the bend ahead, just out of sight, is the future. Or behind you, where a curve ides the past. The river is still there, out of sight. Flowing and rushing at the same time you stand upon the shores of the Present.
"While most beings can only look at the current and dip their toes into the present, I can ride the whole of the river. First future then past then Now. The present as you know it may well be the distant past to me. Or might never happen at all, if the river were to change it's course by fair means or foul.
A calendar year is linear and means nothing to a Time Lord."
Evelyn Smythe arched an eyebrow at the Doctor. "Are you quite finished?"
"All I'm saying," he concluded with an air if impatience, "Is that the question doesn't apply to me."
"I've heard better excuses from my students," replied Evelyn with a wry smile.. "If you don't want to answer the question, just say so!" She turned her attention back to the monitor and the image of Big Ben on a crisp, winter night. "I'll be perfectly happy to sit here and enjoy New Year's by myself if you find it so very confining to your Time Lord sensibilities." She looked at the bottle of champagne sitting neglected on the console and tried to hide her disappointment. It had seemed such a good idea at the time.
She heard movement behind her and expected he was taking the easy way out. Until a moment later the tall, ginger-haired man in the riotously colored coat stepped past her and picked up the bottle.
"You're staying?" she said.
"Why not?" he replied diffidently, popping the cork with a deft twist. "No one likes to drink alone," he continued as he poured the golden liquid into two crystal flutes.
"I'm sure I could manage," she sniffed.
"I'm sure you could do anything you set your heart to," he replied gently and offered her a glass.
"Is that flattery or an apology?"
"It's the truth." He allowed himself a tiny smile. "And perhaps a bit of an apology."
The minute hand on the face of the clock moved to Midnight and Big Ben solemnly tolled the passing of the old and the arrival of the new.
"Happy New Year, Doctor," she said.
He sighed, rolled his eyes, then conceded, "Happy New Years."
"Days, weeks, years. Decades. Millennia. It's all relative and constant. Think of Time as a river, constantly flowing. Stand on the bank of the river and watch it rush by. Beyond the bend ahead, just out of sight, is the future. Or behind you, where a curve ides the past. The river is still there, out of sight. Flowing and rushing at the same time you stand upon the shores of the Present.
"While most beings can only look at the current and dip their toes into the present, I can ride the whole of the river. First future then past then Now. The present as you know it may well be the distant past to me. Or might never happen at all, if the river were to change it's course by fair means or foul.
A calendar year is linear and means nothing to a Time Lord."
Evelyn Smythe arched an eyebrow at the Doctor. "Are you quite finished?"
"All I'm saying," he concluded with an air if impatience, "Is that the question doesn't apply to me."
"I've heard better excuses from my students," replied Evelyn with a wry smile.. "If you don't want to answer the question, just say so!" She turned her attention back to the monitor and the image of Big Ben on a crisp, winter night. "I'll be perfectly happy to sit here and enjoy New Year's by myself if you find it so very confining to your Time Lord sensibilities." She looked at the bottle of champagne sitting neglected on the console and tried to hide her disappointment. It had seemed such a good idea at the time.
She heard movement behind her and expected he was taking the easy way out. Until a moment later the tall, ginger-haired man in the riotously colored coat stepped past her and picked up the bottle.
"You're staying?" she said.
"Why not?" he replied diffidently, popping the cork with a deft twist. "No one likes to drink alone," he continued as he poured the golden liquid into two crystal flutes.
"I'm sure I could manage," she sniffed.
"I'm sure you could do anything you set your heart to," he replied gently and offered her a glass.
"Is that flattery or an apology?"
"It's the truth." He allowed himself a tiny smile. "And perhaps a bit of an apology."
The minute hand on the face of the clock moved to Midnight and Big Ben solemnly tolled the passing of the old and the arrival of the new.
"Happy New Year, Doctor," she said.
He sighed, rolled his eyes, then conceded, "Happy New Years."