A/N: This story was born because my brother and I were watching..uhm...*SPOILER* it's a Martha episode, where they're in New New York and Martha gets kidnapped to go on the motorway? Face of Bo, anyone? Anyhow, there's a gent in one of the cars the Doctor gets into that has a pinstriped suit and a snazzy tie (and a bowler, but meh). Andy (my brother) and I were discussing what our ideal Eleventh Doctor would be. Now, I will definitely give Matt Smith a chance but... let me have my fun. P.S. I'm in America and haven't seen the actual end to D. Tennant's reign (I've heard about it from my brother and have seen the regen. bit of the episode) but I also won't see M. Smith's Doctor for quite some time. So...please...don't hate me?

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Doctor Who. The idea of it, and a lot of the characters I use. I'll be making up some alien races, sidekicks, and of course MY eleventh incarnation but...the idea behind the Whoniverse isn't mine. If it was...well...you'd be watching this, not reading it.

Prologue:
Regeneration

The tenth Doctor's lanky frame spread out as if electrocuted, arms to the side and head back as the golden light of his regeneration burst forth to engulf his person. Aside from the excruciating pain of dying, he felt all of the heartbreak at the loss of his companions. Certainly they were better off without him – even Rose, happy with her human-Timelord version of his 'younger' self. Oh Rose... And Donna – so quick, Doctor Donna, never to know how she near single-handedly saved all existence from the Daeleks. Martha, who had pined so heartily for him, and Mickey who...well, was very much Mickey. Together now, without him. All of Torchwood - or what was left of it, anyhow - continuing on; started because of him, now working alongside. So to speak.

Now he was going – he would become nothing but memories, locked away in the heads of those that had befriended him and whomever would take over this form. Slowly, his thoughts ceased and his body crumpled in, limbs and torso shortening as the new Doctor took residence.

The form stood, swimming in its predecessor's garments, amongst the blinking lights of a falling TARDIS. Pale gray eyes did not notice, the mind encased in a head smaller than the last did not register. First, legs. Extended, tapped. "Right, check." This voice was high – a light falsetto, slightly Cockney - the mind belonging to it mused. Arms next. A nod. Hair moved, the Doctor did not seem to notice. Next, hiking up the extra fabric of the sleeves from the tenth Doctor's overly long suit jacket and shirt to reveal painfully blurry hands. That could only mean that the Doctor, in this form, was near-sighted. All those damn incarnations played around with the glasses and this one was the one stuck with bad eyes. At any rate, the Doctor continued to take stock of the newly-formed body parts. All ten fingers - well, eight fingers and two thumbs. They had full range of motion, though they looked a bit different than the last pair even blurry.

Something struck the mind as odd about how the new body felt. The latter moved about, the former trying to catch up with every new bit and piece.

"Oh-" the Doctor squeaked, hands reaching up to feel the length of hair that tumbled about thin shoulders. "Oh...oh, you've GOT to be kidding me. At least...at least a ginger, please let me be ginger..." Small hands curved waves of brown to confront scrutinizing eyes.

"A giiiiiirrrrrl! A girl and not ginger!" A petite foot shod in a shoe many sizes too large kicked pitifully out and connected with a bit of the TARDIS. Light pink lips pursed in frustration as the Doctor pulled her foot back. "Oh just marvelous."

It was at this moment the TARDIS rocked heavily to one side, sending the eleventh Doctor sprawling. She let out a high-pitched squeal and recoiled at the sound she had made before she scrambled to stand, nearly tripping over the clothes that belonged to a man well over six feet not a young woman around five and a half. Hastily she removed the unneeded jacket and rolled up both sleeves and pant legs as well as found the oddly fitting pair fo glasses stored in a pocket and slipped them on. Ah, bless it, she could see. The TARDIS jolted again and she clung to the controls. "That last set of limbs was quite useful for this," she muttered, scurrying about the panel in an attempt to right her ship.

She ducked her head instinctively as something like an explosion sounded behind her head, sparks flying towards her. She grumbled something incoherent as she manouvered her beloved time-and-relative-dimension-in-space...police box and set course for somewhere to find a proper bit of clothing.

Thoughts? Criticism? I've touched it up like four times so if you read it once, read it again! If you have any ideas for companions or would like to assist with writing this, let me know. I'm always up for a bit of co-authoring.

Lovelovelove,

Marvy.