Chapter One-

The knock at the door could be described as anything but hesitant. Indeed, the usual delay that would accompany such an intrusion at 4 in the morning was remarkably absent as a determined and powerful knocking echoed through the empty and lonely halls of the Chesterton residence, made even more lonely by the absence of a certain history teacher. Ian's head shot up from the book his nose had been buried in, though it was more the ritual of reading rather than an absorption of information. Insomnia had become part of his life ever since he, a man of science, had been introduced to the fantastical wonders the universe had to offer. Suddenly his mind was in a constant state of unrest as he tried to process his experiences as a passenger on the TARDIS. While it was all happening it was easy to accept such alien notions when they were staring you in the face, but to be haunted at night by memories of extreme fear, pain, awe, and disbelief makes sleep an illusive companion.

The second knock was with even more force, though it was far from panicked. It was this that spurred Ian into action, bolting up from his chair and allowing his book fall with a sad thud into his carpet, the name of said book completely erased from his mind. Quickly, Ian approached the door, but hesitated once he reached his destination. The possible creators of the brutish noise ranged from a horrific killer with a bloodied axe to the deranged woman who sometimes occupies the corner of Main Street calling to anyone who would listen about the the end of days. Loon. Suddenly Ian questioned if he shouldn't try and sneak into his bed and pretend he hadn't heard the insidious knocking. This trail of thought was abandoned when the third knock wrenched from his lips a strangled "Who's there?"

Ian grimaced with the pathetic tone in his voice, he was never one for being caught off guard and tried to maintain control even in situations where he did not have the upper hand, yet something about this knock unnerved him. There was something almost... familiar about it. He tried again to assert control.

"Any murderers, solicitors, or hooligans are not welcome."

"How about a very old friend and a good lookin' dame?"

Ian's eyes furrowed at the exuberance that accompanied the pronunciation of "very," as if there was some kind of joke that it carried. Again, there was something there that struck a cord with him. Before he fully realized what he was doing, Ian found himself reaching for the lock and pulling the heavy door open with a slight creek, revealing a pale slender man in a brown trench coat. His eyebrows were raised to a comical level, and a grin stretched across his face. Behind him, a tale woman with red hair and an expression that Ian was sure mirrored his own; utter confusion. That emotion was quickly changed to shock as the man threw his arms around Ian with a familiarity that seemed to corroborate the man's original claim that he was an old friend, but no matter how familiar the man seemed, Ian was certain he had never seen the strange man before.

"Bloody hell, Ian. It's great to see you! Or should I say sir Ian, you heroic old coot, you." The man said, withdrawing from the hug and making his way down the hall, and deeper into Ian's home.

"I'm sorry, I have..." Wait. Sir Ian? He couldn't mean... No. That was over 700 years ago. It couldn't be...

The woman who seemed equally confused at first seemed to have found her footing while Ian was trying to process the inconceivable, and stepped through the doorway straight up to Ian.

"Donna Noble, sorry 'bout him. Though, I suppose you'd know more about it than me! Lovely house you've got here. Nice and big, quite big. Does that mean you've got a family? A good lookin' man like yourself must have a lovely lady. 'Course I'd be..."

At this point, the woman- Donna, rather- continued to talk, but it fell on deaf ears, as Ian's were ringing as his heart sped up. You'd know more about it than me. Sir Ian. It had been four years since his "enlightening," as he had come to call it. Six years according to his own time stream.

"You're..." Ian said plainly, as if he could not grasp the truth, even after the hardest of mental labor. He tried to simulate intelligent speech, but the word would not come out. He had wrestled with his decision to end his adventures with his guide to the universe. Part of his mind would always thirst for the knowledge that all of time and space had to offer, and that part spent nights wishing for this moment. It is also that thirst that pushed him into the time machine and back home.

"Come on, I can see the old gears spinning away. Out with it," the young man's already ridiculously wide grin somehow stretched even wider, as if Ian's internal struggle to reject realism for reality afforded him a great amount of amusement. "So then. Who am I?"

"The Doctor."