There is a part of the universe, a small part, where no light hits. It is completely dark. It is the definition of nothing. The only part of all of time and space where there is no life, no soul and no light, the only part of the universe that is entirely his. He goes there to think about life, to listen to his thoughts in complete and utter solitude. He'd jump on times back and run to this spot, a unique isolation for him alone.

This time, the reason for him being there was the impossible. She had challenged his mind and over powered his own thoughts on reality. For so long he had thought he was alone in the universe, he had thought of himself as a God, of some sort. He'd saved worlds, civilisations, fought wars and stopped the tears of children, all in the space of one lifetime, and, in his 1000 years of consciousness, he had never once thought of himself as anything less than impossible. And then here she was, a completely remarkable thing, the woman twice dead, and here was him, a man so old he'd lost track of the amount of years he'd lived, and he couldn't once say that anything more spectacular had happened. Never once had he thought of the universe on his side. And here she was.

There has never been another like him, never someone who can class as the impossible, and yet here she was. People had aspired to be him; there had been others, all gone now. And here she was, with the most important ingredient, drilled into his entire being. She exited the TARDIS, appearing, like no one else ever had into his own spot of the universe, she took his hand and whispered in his ear, "Shall we run?"

And for the first time ever in his corner of reality, he smiled.