Disclaimer: After so many incarnations, I'm not entirely sure who Doctor Who belongs to; I just know it's not me.
A/N: Because losing the Ninth Doctor broke my heart.
She loved his wide shit-eating grin.
He was a gorgeous man, really, in that strong chiseled intense military type way – he looked like a Time Lord. He had fantastic bone structure, defined cheekbones and a strong nose, which she loved, even if his ears did stick out a bit oddly. But she loved him best when he'd got that smile on, even though it stretched and contorted his face until he looked like a gargoyle (and he didn't even have great teeth to make up for it), because it meant he was happy. It meant he was fantastically happy and something was fantastically wrong, and that made her fantastically happy too.
And now that's gone. Forever. It's gone, and in his place is this strange man calling himself the Doctor, and she saw the regeneration and still can't quite believe it. She misses her Doctor, and she can't get used to this stranger, who doesn't even seem to be the same man. He seems so different, like he's got nothing in common with the old Doctor, like he's not the ancient intense brilliant man that she used to know, like more than his appearance has changed.
But hell, after what she's seen, she can get used to anything. So she has her good cry to mourn the old Doctor, and then she smiles and takes the new Doctor by the hand. Because that's what they always do, and even though his hand is different, it still feels the same. So she smiles wide at him and gets used to his strange new habits, because he is, apparently, still the Doctor, and she loves him and she loves this life.