"Was," the Doctor corrected, his voice firmly in the finite tense. He took a step forward.

He couldn't regret. He couldn't be nostalgic. He couldn't...think about the things that were lost. He had to just accept them. Accept them and move on.

"No time for wishes, we need to get out of here before something new springs up. I've got it programmed for your flat, about five minutes after we both left. Ready?"