The large wicker armchair creaked as The Doctor relaxed, his weight shifting to a more comfortable position. Smoke drifted around the main console room, now sparse and white; another change and yet a step backward, to the past. Odd that this young man should be so nostalgic; the Doctor was, after all, in his twenties or so it would seem to the casual observer. However, to look into his eyes he could have been aged anywhere from one to one million, perhaps a fusion of all ages.

Fully recovered now from his last, recent regeneration, the long hair of his former incarnation had been retained though he now cared to tie it back. He had had time enough to pick out a new wardrobe, one which probably he would settle with; who knows? His outer garment was a long brown great coat; slightly worn, naturally. This partially concealed the embroidered waistcoat underneath, many colours in intricate patterns on a tan background. His shirt was white and voluminous with large rounded collars that could be buttoned down but were not. Long legs were crossed and encased in slightly flared slacks, their ends flowing over a robust pair of riding boots. The ensemble was completed by a silk scarf, coarsely fringed, red covered with black and blue paisley.

His hand came away from his mouth and he blew more smoke into the atmosphere. A harsh voice broke into his drugged contemplation.

“Doctor! What are you doing?” it said with obvious shock.

He leapt from his seat, wafting at the clouds of smoke like a naughty schoolboy, turning to face his companion as he did so. He saw the scowl on Cathy's face and glanced down at the all too obvious evidence in his left hand. He smiled and shrugged.

“Oh, ah. Just reliving old young times, my dear,” he said innocently.

He had picked Cathy up in London during the nineteen eighties. She was a tourist, an American and as much a product of her environment as anyone he had ever met. She was very into fitness. The means by which she had become his companion were long and convoluted; ah, was this not always so? She was proving to be as slow-witted and dull as someone of her background could be, what a prize! What a contrast! Oh, how he could play off her. If only he could persuade her out of that awful tracksuit and into something a little more fetching.

“But they will kill you!” she pronounced, her voice a trifle high and grating.

Oh, what wonderful surety and coupled with such ignorance. The Doctor threw back his head and laughed.

“Ha!” he exploded, “These will kill me? Oh no, no, no, no, I think not.”

He shook his head, disbelievingly amused.

“Rasilon's rod! Every time I regenerate I get a completely new body. This,” he said waving the burning bundle in his hand, “Is an indulgence I partake of only once or twice a century, if that. I really think I might be allowed that liberty.”

He finished with a gesture of hands and head which invited a response while indicating he did not expect one. Cathy however would not have lost any opportunity to exercise her voice had it not been for the timely continuation of The Doctor. He spun away from her, his coat flying outwards.

“No matter how abused one regeneration is, how tortured, how battered, I pop up again shiny and new.” He spun once more to face her, arms raised in a parody of flamenco.

“And have you seen the rate at which I've been going through bodies recently?” he asked.

From the manner of his enquiry he may have been discussing shoes rather than lives.

“There simply isn't enough time for these to kill me!” he finished, holding the burning end before him. The Doctor then stubbed it out on one of the console's pristine panels. He frowned, a look of horror passing across his face. Hastily he brushed the smouldering remains from the formerly immaculate surface and made soothing overtures.

“There-there, my beauty. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, forgive me,” he cooed comfortingly.

Cathy at last found the opportunity to speak. With hands on hips she addressed the distracted Doctor.

“I have never heard you speak so..." she began.

“Freely?” The Doctor interjected helpfully, looking up from his tender ministrations.

“Irresponsibly!” she finished shortly.

How could she possibly have formed such an image of him? He had only picked her up a week ago, hardly time enough to know him or to construct an accurate map of his speech patterns. He grinned broadly at her.

“Look at me,” he said sharply, ”Look at me! I have never been so young.”

He paused and frowned, pondering for a second.

“Well, not since before my first regeneration. Think what it means!” he said grasping Cathy by the shoulders, standing very close with the grin once more firmly in place.

“Dear child, what do you see?” he asked with smiling eyes.

“A madman.” she thought to herself.

He swung round behind her, his head appearing by hers, still grinning.

“My selves have been marching...” he began before stopping to consider his wording.

“Hmm. Perhaps dropping might be more appropriate. Yes, dropping from old age towards youth. Now what's this? A feckless youth with the mighty power of a time machine? Think what mayhem, what damage, planned or unplanned, such a being could do. Just for a lark, just a bit of fun?”

His companion's nervousness had been increasing during his tirade and was rapidly approaching terror. She would kick him where it hurts given half a chance and make a run for it. If he tries anything...

The Doctor wheeled round once more to face her. He shook his head, his expression now deadly serious.

“I am the sum of all my parts.” he said.

He drew deeply from a cigarette. Its appearance was a mystery. As next he spoke a fog curled up from his mouth and around his face giving him the look of a mystic or a demon. Cathy found neither image appealing.

“I am over one thousand years old,” he stated, “And no matter the façade, no matter how the body runs, each step takes me further away.”

He dropped his right hand from her shoulder, turned and walked away. His arms were held up to either side, the hands spread wide. The fuming tube of tobacco had compounded its mystery and disappeared.

He spun again to face her, six feet distant. His hands were clasped behind his back and he bowed slightly towards her.

“Should I seek your approval, would you give it?” he asked with feigned interest.

Cathy pivoted on the balls of her feet and with an exasperated cry stormed out of the control room. The Doctor shrugged then brought his left hand from behind his back.

He took another drag.