The Doctor sat in his room, alone, staring at the cake he had made. A single candle burned on it, as dolefully as it could manage.

The Doctor liked to celebrate his birthday by recreating the ones from his lonely emo childhood by ensuring that no one turned up to his party. This was increasingly difficult as the years went by and he accumulated more and more friends, but this was easily resolved by not telling anyone it was his birthday, so that he could be miserable that everyone had forgotten about it.

This year he had Martha wandering about, which meant that like most years he had to hide in his room and be as quiet as possible. He cheered himself up from the thought that she might come and look for him by remembering that Rose and Mickey and Jack weren't there. Then he added Jackie in as well, even though he wasn't that keen on inviting her to parties after she'd stuck her tongue down his throat at New Years. Randy old cow. He smiled, remembering that he would never have to go to her house ever again, then shook himself forcefully back into emo by thinking about how she'd made quite a nice cup of tea. Never again would he get to drink that tea.

Last year his birthday had been wonderful. Rose had gone swimming in an Olympic-sized pool the TARDIS had made specially, and the Doctor had spent at least an hour being miserable about how Rose wasn't at his party because she hated him. She could have worn a little hat.

He glanced over at the little hat he had got for Martha this year. Not that she would come to his birthday party, but just in case. No one ever showed up. There had almost been a terrible disaster one year when it turned out that Romana had looked up his birthday before she left Gallifrey, but he'd managed to convince her that the records were wrong. At least she was dead now, which was another thing he could think about if he got bored moping about Martha being an evil cow who didn't care about him.

He stared at the candle sadly and sang a few verses of "Happy Birthday to me." It was nice. This might just be the best birthday he'd had since the last one. Rose was gone, all his people were dead, and he'd lost a library book and would no doubt incur some sort of fine as a result.

There was a knock at the door.

Bugger.

"Are you in there?" asked Martha, thankfully muffled by the door.

"Go away!" he said, annoyed by this terrible intrustion into his miserable loneliness.

"I was just wondering if you were okay. You've been gone for hours. I watched some of your Buffy DVDs, but there's only so much emo a girl can take in one day."

"I'm fine!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm..." he fumbled for an excuse. "I'm having a wank."

The door was silent for some time. Then it said "I'll leave you to it then."

Heartless bitch. She was probably mocking his deep inner pain.

He blew out the candle and wished for an immortal lover who would understand his incredibly complex angst and never leave him ever. And a pony. He'd always wanted a pony.

He checked under the table, and found no pony. Yet again all his dreams had come to nothing. He sighed, angstily. It was the best birthday ever.