Alone.
As the TARDIS spiralled through the time vortex, the Doctor was alone. The whirr of the console his only companion in his voyage into the unknown. He sat in his armchair, his eyes bearing into the message etched not only into his chalkboard, but also in his mind.
Run you clever boy and be a Doctor.
What did that even mean anymore? He had been a Doctor all his life but he had been cruel and he had been cowardly. All for someone who was nothing more than an echo in the recesses of his mind. He knew the outline of the story – saving the girl, rising against the Time Lords, they were concrete in his mind. But who he had done it for, the girl named Clara, she was a whisper, fading into the wind.
"Be a Doctor," he played with each word. "What does that even mean anymore?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you with that," said a voice from behind him. "But I do know that you are needed."
The Time Lord sprung from his chair, awakened from his melancholic slumber. Before him stood a women who was clearly a nurse – she was dressed in a white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging from her neck. Wayward glasses sat upon the bridge of her spotty nose. Her hands were clenched; not in anger, but in fear.
"Who are you?" cried the Doctor. "What are you doing in my TARDIS?"
"I'm trapped Doctor," she said. "So are you. I don't know how to get out but I'm told that you know a way."
"The TARDIS is in flight," he explained, reaching for the console. "The minute it lands you can get off. And so can I; I'm not trapped anywhere!"
"Oh Doctor," said the girl. "We're not in your TARDIS. And we are not landing anywhere. We are trapped and I need your help