Thirst \thǝrst\ n 1a: a sensation of dryness in the mouth and throat associated with a desire for liquids b: a desire or need to drink
2: an ardent desire

I didn't go back for you because I was lonely—not to say that I'm not, goodness knows I am very, very lonely—but I went back for you because of the look in your eyes. That look of unbridled desire to go out and experience things out of the ordinary, it called to a deep part of my soul that responded in full.

"I'll be back in five minutes," I promised. Five minutes was all I asked of you before I was going to take you away to see the wonders of the universe. But, as usual, my sexy thing had other ideas and I came back twelve years after my promise. Twelve years and a good couple of hours passed and here I thought I had overshot the five minutes by a few hours. I walked into the overly-large house that you, Amelia Pond, had invited me in to not ten seconds ago (by my time) and, after some poking around and the sudden realisation of Prisoner Zero's location, felt a whack to the back of my head and I blacked out. Then...well...stuff happened after that. Complicated stuff.

However, despite my abandoning you twelve years ago, it was still there when I invited you along for a ride after the (again, it's the TARDIS's fault) two years that passed after the defeat of Prisoner Zero and the running off of the Atraxi; that spark was still there. The look in your eyes that prompted me to almost take a seven year old girl with me on the TARDIS to possibly mentally-scarring places for some certainly dangerous adventures was still there and just as strong as ever. That's why I asked you to come with me anyway: I saw a bit of me reflected in you, a bit of me that I didn't totally hate. I saw a thirst in you that only I could quench and that, dear Amelia—or Amy—Pond, is why I went back for you fourteen years ago.

Gentile \'jǝn-,tī(-ǝ)l\ adj 1a: of or relating to the nations at large distinguished from the Jews; of or relating to Christians as then distinguished from the Jews b: of or relating to non-Mormons
2: HEATHEN, PAGAN
3: relating to a tribe or clan

When I told you to hang on to what gave you strength I was partially feeding my ego; I knew that you had absolute faith in me and, as bad as I was feeling at the moment about Melody/Mels/River (not that I'd ever let it show on my face) and my impending death, I felt like I needed the justification for being such a manipulative git. The truth of the matter is: I am not as faithless as I lead on. One might call me a hypocritical gentile (in the words of the Jews during the time of Jesus—lovely man, Jesus, very mice manners and never really shoved his religion down my throat; he simply smiled and said "You've been here a while, haven't you?"—but now I'm getting off topic!). I preach about having someone to fall back on, whether a God, a god, or simply a belief, and all I do is further the burden on myself. It's not that God has willed it, or Fate diegned it to happen, but that it was mea culpa. My fault.

However, despite all that, all I could think of was my anchor to sanity at the moment: that I will die eventually. One day my regenerations will run out and I will perish. That one day, that date and place, is my saving grace.

Lake Silencio, Utah, United States of America, April twenty-second of the year 2011.

That is why I found my door and that is why, as I stared my greatest fear in the face, I felt little to no fear. All I could say was "Of course it's you..." What was I to say? That I, ΣΘ, the Oncoming Storm, Destroyer of Worlds would not see this coming? That I am my greatest fear? I already know that, which I why I hate myself. Which is why I compound guilt upon myself, guilt about former deeds to former companions—Donna, Rose, Martha, and Jack come to mind immediately—and all the horrid things I've done to various peoples and planets? To Skaro and Gallifrey, to Earth...to Earth...

I fear myself, but fear has turned to hate. I believe in my death, but I know the effects of my death upon others. As much as I want to die and release Amy and Rory and River...sweet River...from the burden of being known as the Doctor's friends, his companions, and (for River) his wife, I cannot accept my death. So I swallow the fear and hatred in me, banish away my faith, and look towards the future and the past, ever looking for a way to cheat Time. Because all I have left are them, and while I may be the Doctor: the last of the Gallifreyan Time Lords, I am more the Doctor: part of the Pond-Williams family. Call me a gentile then.

Nabbed \na-bǝd\ v 1: to catch or seize in arrest; APPREHEND
2: to seize suddenly

When they took you, River Song née Melody Pond, your parents weren't the only ones distraught. Here you were, the first child conceived in a TARDIS, in my TARDIS, and you were beautiful. I got to hold you, the first child I'd ever seen born of a companion of mine, and you were exquisite. I'll never forget the way you looked at me and smiled, then you called Amelia "big-milk-thing" and I laughed. I just couldn't help myself. You were just as precocious as your mum and simultaneously as sweet and caring as your dad. You were the best of both worlds and, for an instant, I thought everything would be okay. Then we found the scans of your deoxyribonucleic acid and the third strand you had and there was a dark feeling in the pit of my stomach. Both of my hearts skipped a beat and I couldn't help but gasp slightly. You were partially Gallifreyan.

Then it became my sworn mission to protect you, but I had to find out what the Silence and Madam Kalvarian wanted with you first. So I waited, and waited for far too long. By the time I knew the you in Amelia's arms was a Flesh avatar, it was far too late. You were gone.

And for the first time in this body, I felt my hearts break into a million jagged pieces and I understood why the previous me didn't have another companion after Donna, the heartbreak that came as a result of losing the ones you love is too much for one person to bear during their lifetime, let alone eternity. When you were nabbed, I vowed to never let you go after I found you. Never again.

Barefoot \'Bǝr-,fůt\ adj or adv with the bare feet

It's the first thing I do whenever I regenerate. There is nothing in this world better than the feeling of sand or grass or dirt or water between newly regenerated toes. Especially if you have ten of them. The pure, clean feeling of something shifting underneath your feet is a beautiful thing. And, even though I may be a complex person (or so I have been told), I enjoy the simple things in life. Bowties, fezzes, jammy dodgers, Stetsons, braces, and even the feeling of the artificially-generated wind on Alpha Centauri 3's moon in my floppy, long, and decidedly male fringe. And, no matter what anyone may say, there is nothing better than running through grass barefoot.