[ As time has worn on, the Doctor hasn't necessarily embraced the notion of being revered and set apart from mortals, intent instead on keeping what he considers to be a simple name. There's always been a feeling he couldn't quite explain, a hole inside of him that could never be filled, no matter how many people he helps. He almost dreams of it — something that's...there, but gone. Flashes that make no sense, only serving to tilt the ground upon which he stands.

He's drawn frequently back to the Free Cities, and Mechapolis in particular. Fascinated by the automatons, inserting himself into the process of maintaining their performance whenever he can, he enjoys just observing their movements. They remind him of...something, whether good or ill, he can't be sure. He rarely sees others of the pantheon here, so when he spots a familiar face, the Doctor is only too pleased to approach. They've enjoyed each other's company before, whenever the Doctor's crossed paths with him, and on occasion he's even managed to allow a quiet moment or two before he's shattering it again with his chatter. ]

Look at them go, on and on, day in and day out. Not a single thing changes for them, generally. Things break and fall apart, sure, but...they never go anywhere.