Warnings: Introspection, Character Study, Speculation
A/N: Written for who_contest's Prompt:Delicate. I had a couple of ideas for this one, but was unsure how I was going to approach them - when this just popped out. I had to cram Eleven's tendency to ramble into a tighter space (for prompt adherence), so I am unsure as to how it may read, but I hope it is an enjoyable read all the same. Overly thinky (as usual), but only with a slight touch of darkness, which was surprising to me. This is more hope than darkness - and I'm crossing my fingers that it doesn't read too rushed or stilted. As always, mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/blithery and unbeta'd.
Disclaimer(s): I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!
Such a tiny thing, new life. Even as it spans light years, in reality, it can be so very, very small and breakable. The slightest disruption, the barest hint of shift at the molecular level can destabilize the whole thing – render a void where there was something happening. Unmake what was in the process of making itself. A gorgeous and terrifying sight, one that left you hanging by your fingernails, on the tips of your toes, at the edge of your seat while you waited and hoped and watched.
He needed that hope today.
He watched the pocket nebula uncurl from the 'cloud' that was essentially its parent, reaching out, spreading – vivid blue and green pulsing to red and white, stretching, reaching for a place to call its own – and he held his breath, leaning from the safety of the TARDIS (just a little) as he willed it to life.
Today, there should be life. Today, the delicate touch of newness should know itself and take its rightful place within the universe.
He knew a lot of things, but there were some things he did not know: at this moment, at this time, he didn't know whether this little ball of ice and gas and life would come into its own – or be snuffed out by any number of miscalculations. It wasn't as simple as a mathematical equation, though it could be explained through the same. It wasn't as hard as goodbye, but it wasn't as easy as saying hello.
He watched it form, push against itself and its parent, forcing the universe to recognize it and smiled to himself, relieved in some way he couldn't understand – though a small part of him always would. He had remade himself a few times over. The last time he'd had the aid of a little girl (armed with an apple) to see him through, help him through those first steps of staggering newness.
He didn't know what would happen the next time he went to be reborn, but he knew that the little girl who helped him wouldn't be there. She was creating her own little space, pursuing her own delicate newness (a long, long time ago – but merely weeks by his reckoning). She would be okay, she would find her place.
She always did, his Amelia.
As for the tiny nebula, it would find its own place as well. It shone like a beacon, declaring proudly to this little galaxy that it had made it. The hardest part was over, even as it was just beginning. He felt another warm pulse of pride and tugged restlessly at his bowtie, trying to not be mindful of how his own clock was winding down just as this little one's was beginning. He had the feeling that his time was coming to change, to renew himself – a blaze of light, stretching to reclaim his rightful place in the universe.
Scary. Glorious. Inevitable.
"Live well," he whispered to the little being. "Be happy. Never forget."