This is a short story I wrote in honor of the Tenth Anniversary of the Doctor Who re-launch. (Not a reboot, because it
continued on, it did not start over.) Though the 50th Anniversary was a bigger deal, without the "new" series there never would have been a 50th
Anniversary. Though he only stayed for one season and despite people (mistakenly) skip over it, we owe a lot to Christopher Eccleston and his portrayal of
the Ninth Doctor. We also owe a lot to Russel T. Davies' and his re-imagining of the Time Lord and his companions, along with the Time War back story.
The Ninth Doctor was my first Doctor. Having no understanding of regeneration, I mourned when he left and struggled to accept his successor. Eight seasons
later, I still love this programme, and each Doctor has a place in my heart. The Twelfth Doctor (especially after a review of last season) has become my
second favorite. But all these episodes later, the Ninth Doctor is still my favorite. I still cry at Parting of The Ways and still thrill when the
Doctor tells rose "Run" for the first time. So this is my tribute to the series as a whole and to the episode the (re)started it all.