It seemed like every single world was crying.
Well, raining, but, to the Doctor, ‘crying’ was far closer to his mood. He hadn’t let himself cry since leaving Donna in Chiswick, but it seemed as if the universe was compensating by making the skies of every planet do it for him.
He was sick of getting cold trickles of water in a variety of colours down his neck every time he stuck his head outside.
Which was why he was so pleased when he got to 1851, even if it was a bit dull.
Snow was much better than rain.
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