Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. These disclaimers destroy my happy fantasy land.

On a busy street in a late twentieth century suburban town, two men stood out due to their brightly coloured costumes.

"Doctor, I really liked the brown."

"Doctor, I really liked the blue."

"I thought the change might do me good."

"I know, Evelyn. Wearing blue wasn't a capital offence last time I was there. How about we go and see about buying a replacement after you've stocked up on chocolate to your heart's content?"

"Well, it looks like you're trying to match the TARDIS."

"That would be wonderful. A return to the happy days when people could look at you without getting a headache."

"Nice suit." The Sixth Doctor nodded amiably towards his future incarnation as they passed each other.

The Tenth Doctor stopped dead in the street.

"Doctor? What's wrong?" Martha's voice seemed to break whatever spell held the Doctor.

She was sure the Doctor must have broken the land speed record on his way back to the TARDIS.

"What is it? What's going on? What's wrong?" she gasped, certain that a catastrophe was near. He had looked so horror-struck.

The Doctor didn't reply, instead disappearing into the depths of the TARDIS. When he returned, he wore his old costume of brown pinstripes again.

"Martha, do me a favour. If I ever want to wear an outfit that Six approves of again, shoot me. I'll take my chances with Eleven's fashion sense."