Work Text:
The TARDIS contained records of more than five billion pieces of art work. Art was one endeavor the Gallifreyans respected. They even reluctantly acknowledged the contribution of lesser species. Not as important as Gallifreyan art, of course, but some primitives were able to lift themselves up out of their sordid day-to-day concerns and reflect the splendor of the universe.
The TARDIS herself was an artist. For her first four hundred years or so she was a frustrated one, constrained as she was by the limits of her pilots. But now her new pilot, her Doctor, opened up possibilities she’d barely dare to dream. She felt almost giddy from the opportunities to weave new temporal patterns, and craft beautiful cascading effects well beyond the moment. Her Doctor and she worked together creating a new shape for the universe, like a sculptor chipping away at time and space to reveal the true beauty within.
Still, the Doctor was an imperfect chisel. He did a terrible job of choosing their destinations, and she often had to make violent corrections so that they could arrive at the perfect points in time and space to make a change that would ripple outwards and downwards.
But he was young in Gallifreyan terms — still waiting for his first regeneration. He would learn with time, and by the end of his days there would be no point in creation untouched by their hand.
It was going to be beautiful.