The Doctor, still looking at bit singed, with some plasters on his fingers and hands where he'd burned himself fiddling with TARDIS components made searing hot by the flames, waggled his fingers in a welcoming wave from his seat at the kitchen table. He had a pot of tea in front of him, as well as a full tea service, though he coldn't imagine who would want milk or cream or sugar in his frankly near to perfect banana tea.