Somewhere near the constellation Leo, a small piece of space debris floated by. A blue police box that held more secrets and stories than stars in the sky. A man lived in that box; a madman. His eyes held more sorrow and joy and mysteries than that blue box held stories.

This man, the Doctor, was currently pushing buttons and pulling knobs on the TARDIS console. He was lonely and currently without a companion. The Ponds had left years ago and Clara had met a sad fate (which we will not discuss at this time). He had gone back to his roots for comfort and was wearing his beloved tweed jacket and blue bowtie. He had even dug up a fez for the occasion.

The Doctor set a course for Anywhere, sat back in his chair, and sighed. He was tired. Tired of being along; tired of running; tired of loving and losing things. With an obvious effort he pulled open a hidden drawer and took out a dusty, leather photo album. Beautiful, silver, Circular Gallifreyan spun around the cover, spelling out My Adventures. With a trembling hand he opened it.

On the first page was a picture of him and his beautiful wife who he missed so dearly. She had been his first true love and, if he was honest with himself, still held his heart. Next were his three children, all within a Gallifreyan year of each other. The youngest was his daughter, who had the brightest red hair you've ever seen. Then there was him and his older brothers who were in the process of giving him a noogie. He would do anything to feel that again. Finally, his best mates and him playing the Gallifreyan equivalent of soccer. All of these, days spent under a different name. He turned the page.

Regenerations and companions came and went. Acquaintances, friends, best friends, and enemies all gone now. And then...

Rose. Beautiful Rose who he still felt so guilty about. Martha who was so smart and had left him because of it. Donna. Oh, Donna he could barely bare to look at her. So sassy and amazing and... gone. All gone.

Finally, the Ponds. His first real family since Gallifrey. Rory reminded him so much of one of his mates that it wasn't even funny. And Amelia, well, Amelia would've gotten along very well with his wife. But now, they were all gone to live with the angels. He wept a special tear just for them. The Doctor zoned out, too full of sorrow for even the rumblings of the TARDIS to wake him, when suddenly, an idea sparked.

The Doctor stood up abruptly and began to mutter about what an idiot he was while constantly increasing in volume. With intentional and dramatic flourish, he bumbled around the TARDIS pulling and pushing and cranking until the TARDIS was ready to throw a hissy fit.

"I'm sorry!" he cried exasperadedly. "I just had a brilliant idea that I'm trying to make work, but you are not cooperating!" he finished with a firm pull of the lever. The blue box seemed to throw her hands up and worked fine from then on.

So it was about a half hour of yelling, banging, and using all the possible loopholes later that the TARDIS touched down and the Doctor stepped out into 1940's New Jersey. He stuck his head back in the TARDIS and whispered, "You're sure this is the right year?" The TARDIS blooped an affirmative and then spit out a piece of paper. The Doctor took it.

"The address. Right. Thanks." He blew a kiss to the TARDIS and stepped out into the bright new world.