The sun began to sink and Lorena shuddered.

“It’s a bit nippy,” the Doctor noted.

“Yeah.”

“Here.”

He held out his overcoat, a large brown article that looked like it hadn’t been clean in decades but smelled like cheap perfume and something...unearthly. Something old.

Like dusty books and meteorites.

“Thanks,” she croaked, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“So what are you doing here, Doctor?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I was sketching, what’s your excuse?”

“You were, but that’s not why you’re here and my erm...vehicle. Broke down. Ish. It’s a long story involving quantum entanglement and a sentient Chesterfield and the fact that supernovas aren’t really harmless, especially if you leave the sunroof open, and I may or may not have abandoned my friend but it sort of wasn’t my fault, and now my erm-vehicle, is cross with me.” He rattled out. Lorena just smiled.

“Nothing you say makes sense,” she mused. “But it clicks.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not sure yet. Hang on-why’ve I got your coat?”

“You were cold.”

“Aren’t you? You’ve got like, no body fat. You make a girl jealous,” she teased, only half-joking.

“One; I don’t usually get cold, I’m exceptionally skilled at regulating my body temperature, two; you’re one to talk! And you shouldn’t be, you really…” His face got all frozen and he stared at the ground for a bit too long, with the same eyes her mirror saw in the morning, the same eyes that pistol in her roommate’s closet saw and the same eyes that every single knife in her kitchen has seen and feared.

“Doctor, you all right?”

He blinked once, twice, exhaled something that looked like the sun and waved to it as it drifted into the sky.

“What...what was that? What are you?”

He blew a raspberry.

“I’m an alien, and I used to be dying but not anymore. Sorry, usually I’m gentler about it but to be frank I don’t think I could manage that right now.” He smiled apologetically and she just shrugged.

“Okay. Cool.”

“Cool? You’re not gonna get all...hysterical?”

“No, am I supposed to?”

“No, but you lot usually do.”

“What, women?”

“Don’t be daft. Humans.”

“Right. Well, in my experience, they do seem to have a taste for drama.”

“They do indeed.”

She looked down at her sketch and began adding details to the body on the ground, the pool of blood around her.

“What’s your name,” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“What do they call you?”

“Lorena.”

“Ah, Lorena. Lovely name. I mean, lovely woman, so...I knew a Loreena once, also lovely-she’d a wonderful voice, sang Celtic music. Very ginger. I mean, aggressively ginger. I’d have hated her for it if she weren’t so...brilliant.” He smiled.

“Loreena McKennit?”

He beamed.

“Yeah, you know her?”

“I know of her.”

The Doctor nodded.

“Hell of a woman,” he said.

“Hell of a voice.”