So old, and so kind…

You don't interfere unless there are children crying…

any parent knows that."

"Are you a parent?"

Who says I haven't got kids?

last of their kind…

Our children were crying.

"Grandfather?"

"Jenny. She's your daughter."

The Doctor weeps for his lost family.

I had a family once. Once I had a planet, too, and a home. I had companions, I had love, and I had old adversaries. Now, it is just me. Now I'm a new man, I don't know them and they don't know me. The curse of the Time Lords is remembering, but unable to go back to who you were. Rose was lucky I loved her for two regenerations, but no more. Eleven times I've changed everything, teeth, hair, age. Getting younger as I get older. I must have a complex.

I know you, star whale. I know how you feel. But you can never know what I feel. Regeneration cheats death, but skips life. I lose it each time. Each time I lose more. After eleven, I'm wearing thin. I can feel my age, despite my youthful appearance. And it weighs me down.

Can I keep myself afloat?

New man, I can move on. But never can I leave it behind.

A/N: A bit of angst from our favourite doctor. But, I think that he's seen so much, he must be getting a little bit world-weary.

Concern

Being thrown up by a huge beast was never going to be the most enjoyable of experiences. In fact, it had to be the least dignified escape he'd ever made in all his eleven existences, and that was saying something.

He had expected the disgusting smell, the feeling of revulsion and the slightly hard landing, but he hadn't expected the sudden rush of horror he felt when he saw Amy lying motionless on the floor beside him.

He sprung up from the wet floor instantaneously, wrinkling his nose at the smell, glancing around at the surroundings.

Must be an overflow pipe, he thought, whipping out his new sonic screwdriver and waving it around. Yup, definitely an overflow pipe. Once the screwdriver was safely back in the pocket of (sort of) his soaking wet tweed jacket he rushed to Amy, who still lay out cold on the concrete.

No broken bones, thank Rassilon. No sign of concussion, either. She probably just hit her head during the journey.

Humans were so breakable. They only had the one body: one chance. One shot. No mistakes allowed.

He felt bad that her hair was soaking wet. He did love her hair. Eleven tries and he'd never managed such a good colour. And what was with the floppy-haired, skinny look? He'd already gone through that once.

He stayed next to Amy until she began to stir; then he moved away, not wanting to be caught caring, not wanting … he wasn't really sure what he was afraid of.

When she opened her eyes he was fiddling with the door.

'No broken bones, no sign of concussion, and yes, you are covered in sick,' he rattled off, keeping it clinical and brisk, not wanting her to know his worry, his concern. He had forgotten she had seen that side of him when she was a little, perceptive Scottish girl in an English village, that he had already bared his soul to Amelia Pond. And she hadn't missed the opportunity to study it.

A/N: After that part, I wondered how he knew she had nothing wrong with her. So I thought I'd fill in the gaps.