The Doctor skipped around the TARDIS console, pulling levers, winding cranks, deciding where to go next. River had left again, fading away as she always did, with no assurance of where, or when, he would see her again. He felt remarkably hollow as he danced around the life source of his incredible machine, his energetic and flamboyant action masking the loneliness that had begun to creep into his every thought.
Amy and Rory were gone. Yes they were together, and probably, no definitely, happy. But they were gone from his life and he could never get them back. Not only were they gone from him, but from the life that should have been theirs. Rory's father, who the Doctor cared for dearly, would never again see his son. Amy's parents, who would never have re-existed if it weren't for his interference in her life, would never again see their little girl. And worst of all, Melody Pond, the woman he cared about more than any human being in the universe, had lost her parents.
The lights of the console began to blur as he felt tears form behind his eyes. How many tears, he wondered, have I shed? And over how many lost companions? It was his fault that Amy was gone, no-one else's, and he knew it with total conviction. Amy hadn't needed him, not after the crack was gone. It was long since that she had stopped being Amelia Pond, the girl who waited, and had started being Amy Williams, loving wife of a good man. And yet, he had to keep coming back. Creating situations where he was needed, when in fact it was him that needed them, needed someone to stop him feeling the guilt and loneliness that came with many hundreds of years of living.
He had stopped his usual dance and was now leaning heavily over the console, the light dancing on his care worn face. He looked up and placed his hand on the pillar.
'What now eh?' he said, giving his girl a pat, 'Who needs me now?'
He stood like that for what seemed like hours, but could really have only been seconds. Living as long as he had time had almost become irrelevant, and its passing unnoticeable. It was only when his top left pocket was filled with a sharp, searing heat that he again recognised its existence. Standing up straight the Doctor reached into his pocket in search of the culprit, and his hand rested on his psychic paper, still warm from what he only presumed was an incoming message. Strange, he thought, as only two people had ever contacted him this way. One was River, and he couldn't be running into her again so soon. The other was a young child, who had turned out to be a very upset alien telepathically trapping his fears inside a bedroom closet.
With interest, and only slight trepidation, the Doctor pulled out his psychic paper and opened it. The message was in a neat, warm hand, much like that of a cosy old Aunt and read:
'Please, my friend needs help. Come quickly, Margaret.'
He looked at the paper with confusion. Underneath the message a set of coordinates appeared and almost automatically he began plugging them into the TARDIS monitor. When he was just about to set a course he stopped. Who could have sent the message? It took a great deal of psychic energy to send a message to his paper. He looked at the coordinates more closely and realised that they originated from earth, and not just earth, but an apartment building in Bristol. In the back of his mind a warning light went off, but it was drowned out, as always by his overactive and often dangerous sense of curiosity.
His mind, having spent too long dwelling on the past, delighted at the opportunity for mystery and adventure, and before he could second guess his decision he confirmed his coordinates and began his journey, dancing around the TARDIS console with what could only be described as excitement.