Just across the landing at the Noble's home, an old soldier was in his bedroom. He was stood by the window, switching his transfixed gaze between the deep blue sky and a spot on the road below. A neighbour across the street or a simple passer-by might have seen him do the same thing every night, and wonder why on Earth he did it for at least an hour each time. They probably believed him to be going a little senile in his old age, but they would have been wrong.
The truth was, Wilfred Mott made a promise. He promised that young man with the ancient eyes that he would look up to the stars every night, and think of him. He would think of him on her behalf. The reason that he was also looking at the road was that he was so desperately wishing for that blue box to appear with the Doctor inside, just so that Wilf would know his friend was OK.
He sighed as he glanced over his shoulder at his granddaughter, who he could see laid on her bed through the gap in her door. Donna was down. Sylvia had been complaining about it that day to Wilf because she didn't know why. But he did.
Wilf could feel it, and he'd bet his pension that Donna could, too. The only difference was that she wouldn't understand what it meant. And that broke his heart, even more than the guilt he bore for causing the Doctor to regenerate in the first place. Two of the people that Wilf loved the most in the world had lost their beautiful previous lives, and he wished on the stars that they would both be OK.