He dreams.
He dreams of a world with fields of scarlet grass, and a shining city encased in a crystal dome. He dreams of a childhood best friend, so like him, and yet, so very different. He dreams of a dark haired girl with a mischievous grin, who helps him steal a magic box, so he can run away to see the universe.
He dreams of a thousand different worlds, a myriad of skies and oceans and storms and sunsets. He dreams of adventures and gallantry and heartbreak and triumph. And friends…always friends to share all this wonder with. Some from his own homeworld, some from other advanced cultures, scattered far across the cosmos, but he has a particular fondness for the denizens of planet Earth. Noisy, smelly, dreadfully primitive by his people's standards, but oh, how he loves it!
He dreams of his planet burning, everything he loves turning to ash before his eyes. He sees himself wandering the cosmos, heartsick and alone. He dreams of a beautiful, golden-haired Earth girl, who takes his hand, and heals his hearts. He dreams of a blank, white wall, and a damned windy beach in Norway. He hears her confess her love for him, her voice an echo across the Void.
The part of him that knows that he is asleep and dreaming feels a tear trickle down his cheek.
He dreams of ever more worlds, of the birth and death of stars, of a curious woman who lives her life backwards to his own, and a daft tin dog. He dreams of beginnings and endings, of his own face changing a dozen times over the centuries. He dreams of friends forever lost to the swirls and eddies of time, and friends swept back into his life at the oddest moments. He dreams of lives cut tragically short, and one miraculously extended.
He wakes, and wonders if he's dreaming still. The girl with the mischievous smile, the one who directed him to his magnificent TARDIS, is curled up beside, him, fast asleep. Long, dark hair is tumbled over her pillow, except for one errant lock that has splayed across her face, tickling her nose. He reaches out to stroke the offending strands away from her face, and frowns at the parchment-like appearance of his new skin. Back to the beginning, indeed.
He doesn't intend to wake her, but her eyelids flutter open.
"Hey…you're awake," she says, smiling.
"Did the TARDIS hide your room again? I thought we were past all that."
"I wanted to stay close, in case you needed anything."
"I've been dreaming of the past," he tells her, "but I think I'd like to see what the future has in store for us."
"I think I'd like that, too," she says with a slightly shy smile.