The First Doctor looked around the TARDIS bays, and smiled.

"This is my future," he said. "My future."

He walked up to the first TARDIs he could see. He opened the door. He stepped inside.

He didn't notice the little girl creeping up and coming in behind him, softly entering with him, until it was too late...


He is the Second Doctor.

He stands before his people, who seek to condemn him for his interference in other worlds.

And he is not afraid.

He has seen the future, and knows that he will live on, right wrongs, and beat back all evils, until... well, no one wants to know the absolute end of a story before they read it, do they?


The Third Doctor looked at his TARDIS console room, and smiled.

"Where now?" he asks his faithful companion. Jo Grant stands by his side, and smiles happily.

"Anywhere," she tells him. He smiles down at her, and nods, then sets random co-ordinates, and plunges them off into who knows where...


The Fourth Doctor walked down the road.

'What I need,' he thought, 'is a break. No monsters, no madmen, no Master. Just me, on my own, travelling, happily by myself. End of. I don't need anyone.'

And so thinking, happy with this new idea, he enters the TARDIs and pulls the dematerialisation lever, not sure where he is going.

'Yes, this will work,' he thinks. 'Just me, the TARDIS, and the open universe...'

And the ship materialises, and he walks out, and across it is a world covered in jungle and sand, a world vaguely familiar. He doesn't know where he is. But he's damned if it's where he's meant to be...


The Fifth Doctor sighed.

'I loved being you,' he remembers. That young, impossibly enthusiastic body. Impossibly brave, and noble, and true.

And that body missed him. What was so special about this fifth body of his? Too young, too impotent, too filled with self doubt...

Ah. The Doctor put his spectacles back on, and smiled. That was it. Lose the self doubt. He was the Doctor, that was all that mattered. And if he was going to be the one who his future self remembered with such joy, he'd better start proving himself.


I am the Doctor, he thinks.

He is the Sixth Doctor, full of doubt and hiding it behind an abrasive manner and a coat of many hues, behind Shakespeare and declamation, and grandstanding.

Maybe, he thinks, if I cut that out, I'll be better. And then he smiles, realising the futility of the notion. He is who he is.

And judging by his future, that's actually something to be proud of.


The Ka Faraq Gatri remembers a time when he was merely a Time Lord. A traveller, who fought evil, righted wrongs, beat back injustice. And he remembers how much he loved that. And he remembers how much he missed that.

He studies the waistcoat in the mirror carefully. Blood red, set off by a dark brown-y yellow coat, and the same old trousers, the old hat.

He smiles, and for the first time in he doesn't know how long, he looks forward to the adventure, not the work, as he had previously thought of it.

Yes. Adventure.

That would be fun.


The Doctor – he doesn't remember which one – thinks about all the men he is. Was. Will be. Damn, Time Travel is confusing.

He looks up.

What has changed? He asks himself.


Right then.


He killed his whole race.

And yet, seeing them, he knows that he is still the Doctor. Still the man he was.

And as the Ninth Doctor descends into London, to save the world, and he feels no fear.


He will die one day.

He accepts this.

Not that he is too happy about this.

But as he stands on a new world with his Rose, he doesn't care.

"How long are you gonna stay with me?" he asks her.

She looks at him, and smiles.



And the Eleventh Doctor reflects on the journey he now has before him, the new life he has to lead.

And he slams at the TARDIS controls...