It was the very middle of the night. Everything was so calm. Time was suspended. There was absolutely no sound at all in the TARDIS, except for the snores of a young Scottish woman, sleeping peacefully in one of the many rooms. She was probably dreaming about Vincent Van Gogh, the famous and adored painter she had had the incredible chance to meet that very day. The TARDIS was unusually silent. Normally, the Blue Box would make small soft noises to remind that she was actually alive. But tonight, there was nothing. Not a single sound. There was only one person on the console's room and yet he wasn't human. It was the lonely God, the Oncoming Storm as some people used to call him, a Timelord and the last of his mighty race. The Doctor. Even his name was sufficient to scare half of the Universe. Yet he sometimes wasn't as strong as he was said to be. Tonight, for instance, he was sitting in front of his beloved ship's console, his head on his hands, sighing. It had been difficult today. Amy had been so disappointed when she had realized that Vincent still had committed suicide after their wonderful adventure together. To see the flicker of joy disappear from her eyes... It had been horrible. Each time the Doctor took in a new companion and showed them the Universe, it had to break them. Because even if there were good people and stunning planets, there was always some evil power somewhere. And sometimes, it didn't take a human or alien form. No sometimes it took the form of true, powerful, breath-taking despair. Just like it with Vincent. The Doctor had truly believed what he had told Amy. Life was made of bad things and good things and while they had contributed to the good parts of Vincent Van Gogh's life, it hadn't been enough.