A/N: Written for who_contest's Prompt:ThankYou. Usual thinky, though mildy nicer and maybe a little bit more schmoopy than I generally write. Yup. 'Bout it...
Summary: He (usually) enters in the same way he left - filled with joy and possiblities.
Disclaimer(s): I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (fornow) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!

A hot cup of tea waits on a quiet night, Her rotor humming sleepy silent as She sails through the Spaces Between.

There is always just the right amount of milk in it.

O-o-O

A brush of the hand along the walls; steady, slight pressure as if in reassurance - more of a caress than a mere touch.

The lights dim in voiceless appreciation.

O-o-O

A brand new sonic (broke the last one in a fall); new bowtie (to replace the one that The Enemy used to tie him with - Rory cut it off so they could run); new polish to his shoes.

He smiles and strokes Her door-panel on the way out, knowing She'll replace, fix, replicate whatever he needs before he knows he needs it.

O-o-O

He (usually) enters in the same way he left - filled with joy and possiblities.

He never forgets to include Her as (THE) a Companion in his words, thoughts or tall tales of adventures.

O-o-O

A long walk down the corridor.

He was heading to bed (tired, sore and oh-so-old down to his bones) but instead of it being right there - he found himself walking down the long, hushed corridors, the lights warm and inviting; encouraging him to keep going instead of looking for his own soft pillow to lay his head upon.

It gave him time to think.

Then again, She already knew he needed that.

O-o-O

He scours the Universe for the choicest parts, saves the most intricate and delicate repairs for himself only.

O-o-O

Half the time he pretends he doesn't know Her down to Her core - just so She can go at will and play where She choses.

They enjoy it more that way - his 'uncertainty' and Her 'senility'.

The game of it is half the fun and it only shows he know Her better than he knows himself.

O-o-O

Who will ever know him better than Her?

Without him, who would have ever loved Her and treated Her as She should be treated (like a diamond amongst rubies?)

O-o-O

Every thought, every wish is translated with touches, surges of emotion, and a sense of peace; there is joy in knowing She picked him.

She responds with voiceless patience, soothing warmth and a return satisfaction; Her joy is in knowing he loved Her from the first.

O-o-O

Everyday, simple things that say so much. With Love like this, there is no need to ever say 'thank you'.

But (in their own ways) they say it anyhow – sometimes while saying nothing at all.