A/N: This story takes place within the short amount of time between "Last of the Time Lords" and "Time Crash", continuing, briefly, into the latter. I hope that the formatting isn't too difficult to follow. The italics represent an inner dialogue, if that helps. Read and Review, please. :)

Oh, and my sincerest apologies for any lapses in rhetoric—I'm a bit rusty.


"So this is me. Getting out," she'd said. And he didn't stop her. Why should he have? She owed him absolutely nothing.

So he stood there, alone, for a few long moments with the discarded phone which had only moments ago belonged to Martha Jones in his hand. It was better this way, he decided. She was safe and with her family. He smiled a bit at that. Maybe now they'd actually get along.

But then there was the guilt. Was that what it was? Guilt? Guilty for more or less ruining her life, guilty that he couldn't return her unconditional love. Guilty that preventable things always seemed to happen around him.

Just guilty in general, really. Self deprecation, he decided, was the worst feeling, next to loneliness.

The Doctor fingered absentmindedly at the controls of the TARDIS. "Anywhere but here," he thought to himself, "I need a vacation."

"Oh right, like that's ever going to happen."

It would have been an understatement to say that the Doctor was becoming less and less amused with the continuing trend of his companions falling in love with him. It was as if the universe was somehow mocking him. Somehow dangling an impossible reality in face, constantly. "See?" it seemed to say, "This is what you can never have." It was a good thing he knew better than that. That the universe could not actually mock him, as reasonable as it sometimes seemed. "Can't help that I'm so dashing," he thought weakly, in an attempt to cheer himself up. An attempt which fell decidedly flat.

He was sad to see Martha go. He'd figured—well, hoped really—that, after all they'd been through together, she'd have stuck around for a bit longer. One more adventure maybe. One more planet. One more chance for him to attempt to perpetuate the myth that the universe was peaceful.

"You almost got her—and her entire family, mind you—killed. Multiple times," an inner voice chided impatiently, "Why on earth would she do that?"

The Doctor actually laughed aloud at that. "She left because I wouldn't kiss her!" he shouted into the silence, "Humans! I'll never understand them!"

"Stupid apes." The voice in his head was his own. Or at least, it used to be. Was it still? The Doctor rolled his eyes. It was hard to tell when one piece of him ended an another began. Regenerating certainly didn't erase bits of him. Especially the stubborn parts which refused to be erased.

"Ah, knock it off in there. Never liked being you much anyway."

"That why you saved Rose? For your own selfish reasons? To regenerate?"

"Don't be ridiculous," The Doctor scoffed to himself, "Rose was innocent in that situation, I couldn't let her die."

"Ah yes. That was the only reason."

"It was! And don't you dare insinuate anything else, because you know I'm right. I get second chances, she doesn't" The Doctor thought, and, as an afterthought added, "Besides, I thought we were thinking about Martha?"

"Or tenth chances. And you think about Rose all the time, don't try to deny it," The voice sounded annoyingly cheeky, and the Doctor wondered why he had ever thought those particular vocal inflictions were appropriate, "Even Martha realized that. Which leads us back to square one then, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," the Doctor answered, too tired and annoyed to argue about it. Rose was a common feature of his thoughts, and even his dreams. Was he meant to feel guilty about that as well?

"You still miss her." It wasn't a voice of his previous incarnation was softer now. Sympathetic.

He was taken aback by the question, "Yeah, don't you?"

"I don't exist. Anymore." The voice reminded.

The Doctor blinked. "Oh. Right," he said out loud, realizing that he was actually alone. He rubbed his temples, closing his eyes tiredly. "I'm getting old."

Suddenly, the Doctor was shaken from his inner monologue, quite literally, as the TARDIS began to toss and turn about more violently than usual. All the Doctor could do was hold on to the nearest stationary bit of the ship until the rumbling subsided.

"Stop that!" he scolded his ship, "What was all that about?"

"Did you put your shields up?" the voice questioned accusingly, "Honestly, did you lose a bit of common sense during our regeneration?"

Frantically, the Doctor began inspecting the controls, running diagnostics, entirely absorbed in solving the problem. So absorbed, in fact, that when he bumped shoulders with someone who very much should not have been there, he simply muttered an apologetic, "Excuse me."

It wasn't until the man answered back that the Doctor realized that at least this voice was very much not in his head. His head snapped up, and he locked eyes with an all too familiar stranger.

"Ah! We wore that ridiculous celery then! Forgot about that!" the voice was back. More amused this time, and disturbingly unsurprised at the intrusion.

"Hush. It was for health reasons."

"Brave choice, that," the man in his head chuckled. Could he even do that? Chuckle without technically existing?

"Hush!"

"So what was it you were saying about getting old?" He was chuckling again. How was he doing that?

"This isn't happening."

"Of course it is! Don't be a spoil sport, pretty boy, you knew this would happen! Remember? You were him once."

It had been an incredibly long day, even for the Doctor.

Caught completely off guard, and speculating that he might have, in fact, finally lost his mind, he said the first word which came to mind to the man who was standing before him with a look of confusion and annoyance spread across his face.

"What?"

"Fantastic."