Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Slowly, a blue police box materialized. It sat there for a few moments. Then, he came out. He looked at the ground as he stepped onto the cement.

"Back alley," he thought, "Good place to hide it. I just have to hope it isn't so good that I succeed in hiding it from myself."

He looked up, sighed, and stuck his hands in his blue jeans' pockets. This was 21st century New York, after all. He walked down the alley and joined the traveling crowd. He carefully sniffed the air. He didn't know why, but he always did. Shrugging, he moved on. He continued sauntering down his way, going nowhere in particular.

"It's been a long time since I've been in the U.S.," he thought. "I have to remember to come back more often. Grace them with my presence. Or, more likely, curse them. Oh, well. Humans are smart enough to deal with me. But they can't always deal with what follows."

He was feeling fairly depressed. Of course, this was to be expected. This man was the Doctor. He had just come from a particularly grueling incident across space and time in his TARDIS. He had had the need to regenerate - always trying, both physically and mentally - and his companion had died. So his feeling of inadequacy was very much expected. Even though he told himself this, he still struggled. After all, he'd let his companion down. But what was worse was that he had lived. She had died and he had lived. So he came back to earth. But he couldn't face London again. Too much emotional turmoil. Too much pain. Too much loss.

"The Lonely God," he thought to himself as he allowed himself a cynical smile. "How true it is. I can see so much, do so much, control so much. It only falls short in this infinitive. But the lonely. The one thing that proves I am not a god. I cannot keep those I love alive. Instead, I just take them away and hurt them. Everyone I touch - their lives are ruined. What good am I anyway?"

He walked down the sidewalk aimlessly. He had nothing he needed to do, and no one to account to for his lack of commitment. "Perhaps that's why I always have a companion," he thought. "Maybe I need someone who holds me accountable. Not anymore. I can hold myself accountable. And this time, when I say no more companions, I mean it."

He wandered like this for hours. Finally, he came upon Times Square. "A fitting place for a Time Lord," he thought. He walked up and down the streets, looking at everything iconic about the place, from the ads, to the Naked Cowboy (who wasn't really naked), to the Paramount building. When he walked by the BowTie Building, he thought, "Ah, I remember those days. Those were good days, with the Ponds. I remember when I told little Amelia that her name was from a fairytale. Their whole adventure was a fairytale. Perhaps the only companions I've had where more good for them has come than bad. And then I lost them."

"You look gloomy," a voice said and the Doctor snapped out of his internal reverie. He looked up and saw a young man looking at him.

"Probably because I am," and he cracked a fake Doctory smile.

"Turn around," he said. The Doctor did so and saw nothing in particular.

"I don't see any-," he started, but never finished because when he looked back, the man was gone. The Doctor shrugged, and moved on. He glanced over at a fountain. He looked at the hot dog stand.

"Wait!" he thought. "What was that?" He looked back at the fountain. Sure enough, there was a mark. It was the mark of the Corsair, the Doctor's old friend. "But...why? How?" The Doctor was just confused. He didn't know what it meant, but he sure was determined to find out.

A/N: I know this is short. Sorry about that, but I really need some ideas. I have a whole series planned out, but this first story is proving quite problematic. So please review and give me some ideas! I had thought about doing something where the Corsair had been tracking the Silence and left a trail of clues for the Doctor to unravel. If you have other ideas, feel free though. Oh, and I also need a better title.