Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC.

Legacy

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All things must come to an end, even for those who travel through time; and there is no escape even for those who can live not once, or twice, but thirteen times.

On Earth, thirteen was an unlucky number. On Gallifrey it had no significance aside from regeneration - it just was.

On a ship that is not a ship, is a man who isn't human. He has a face and body that can change, and words that are spoken one time in an accent laced thickly with the north can change in a moment to that of the soft burling of the highlands.

But now, he is old, far older than those who look at him would guess. He has seen so much, gone through so much pain both physical and mental, but experienced many happy times as well. Ironic, that travelling through time, it is running out.

This is the last time and the last moment; so there are things to do, places to be, people to see.

And a legacy to leave.

Earth features predominantly in his mission, but so do other planets.

Throughout time and space, certain people have known the joy of seeing things that few others would. They took this journey alongside a man who is at one time short with white hair and a cane; at another he has a beaming smile, curly brown hair and a scarf that seems to defy gravity; then becomes a pensive, but often cheerful figure with a leather jacket and sonic screwdriver.

When they left this life for something a little more safe, a little more reliable, they remember those times fondly. Then one day each of these people, scattered through time and space, find a letter handed to them with a small parcel by a old man with short white hair. He gives each and every one of them a small smile and seems to have a feature that each of them know.

To a pair of retired teachers, sitting at a cafe, the man has a twinkle in his eye, and hair not unlike somebody they once knew.

To a retired military officer, this man's eyes seem to hold a familiar gaze, and a flute in his hand.

To a middle aged women, still an expert on meteorites, the man rubs his nose in a familiar manner, and climbs into a car.

To a women on another planet, she sees a grin, and a scarf wrapped three times around his neck.

To another women on the other side of the Earth, she looks up from her children to see the man holding a cricket ball and smiling a half-smile.

To a old women pouring a glass with juice of an orange hue, the man looks distainfully, remarking about the taste then adjusts his bow-tie.

To a girl studying, she takes the letter and package, then grins as the man juggles three apples, then puts up an umbrella as it begins to rain.

To a women in a white coat, looking over files, she blinks in confusion as the man walks away, watching him dissapear into the morgue.

A young women, watching the children play from the railings outside her flat is surprised to see a man suddenly appear. He is stooped, seeming too old to stay upright but at the same time filled with a kind of energy she can't explain. He hands her the letter and package, then walks around the corner. For a moment, she stands still then runs after him, but as soon as she turns the corner he is gone.

There are still more people to see, and he does this silently, with just a hint to each of the things they knew about him. For those he cannot contact or see, like the young scot who was forced to forget, or those who died, he goes to a place special for each and leaves the letter and a package by a special marker that nobody else will ever find.

Finally, the man returns to a battered old police box that is out of place, but strangely, doesn't seem so. He enters into something which seems inexplainable, and sits on a chair. Around him is a room filled with relics of each past life; a cane, a flute, a cape, a scarf, a cricket ball, a jacket, an umbrella, another two jackets...all those memories significed by objects.

It seems strange, but somehow right that just as he grew old in his first life, so it should be for the last.

When this life began, it did not do well, and there was no companion to help with the crisis. He had retreated to the zero room where he faced the fear of final death, the question of what would happen after, how no more time lords would exist, and the penultimate question of what he was going to do.

So he was careful, though trouble was hard to avoid, and went about the task of leaving a legacy.

Firstly, he travelled as far forward and as far backward as possible, so that no matter the time there was always a time lord.

He spent many years on Earth.

He wiled away so many hours fixing the ship. Before he had claimed there was never time, but time was running out, so he would make it last for this.

The years passed and his assurance grew - he would die, but he would do so prepared.

Then he wrote the letters and prepared the packages, delivered them, and returned to the ship to fulfill the last stage of the plan.

It was, ironically, just in time, for he could feel his body weakening. Walking was difficult and it took longer to breathe. Finally he made his way to the console, giving it an almost affectionate pat.

"Goodbye old girl"

Then slowly, he made his way to the zero room, lay down and lightly rose into the air.

How long did it take? Each second seemed to stretch out, an eternity from one tick to the next. All the sounds muted, then he heard nothing.

Then there was darkness.

Then he felt his chest stop rising, until all that remained was the steady drumming of a double heartbeat which just faded away.

Then there was nothingness.

Every other time he would have felt the pull of a new body, but this time it didn't happen.

Is this what it feels like to die?

Thought, or a trace of one, still remained.

Then there was something else, and he latched onto this with the small part of existence - not life - that remained. He let it pull him along until he felt a physical body materialise and recognised it as his first. A small burst of concentration and it was his second. Over time - and this was untrue, for no time existed here - he realised he had control over which body he resided in, settling with the eighth for the moment.

He knew why he had chosen it, for just as he did, something materialised in front of him and he felt a small thrum of fear and unease as he recognised his people.

Then one stepped forward with an outstretched hand, and he knew things were fine. He felt their emotions; they didn't blame him.

Suddenly he felt lighter, all the guilt he had carried just falling away.

He took the hand.

He was home.

At that moment a number of people stopped suddenly, feeling the urge to open the letter and package.

The letter was short.

You know me, and if you don't, just think about it for a second. I've been careful with the time I came to you in, but if you meet me - any other me, for this is the last - don't reveal this letter or package. I am the last, and wanted to leave a legacy; I can think of no better people for that purpose than you - my companions - each as special as the last for your own individual reasons. You kept me from falling into the darkness which so often threatened to consume me, and for that I am thankful. I am already gone when you open this - you felt something I'm sure - and I have set the TARDIS on a special course. In the package is something which I hope you will take great care, and I am sure that we will meet again, in a number of ways.

It was signed with an elaborate scrawl, and a note penned below it.

Now you know my full name, I did warn you.

The package was small, rectangular and thin. It held a small key, and a photograph. It was different for each person, inside was the last incarnation of the Doctor they had met. Each treasured the photograph, and when they passed away, they were buried with a photograph and key, or passed it down as a heirloom.

On a street corner, a police box materalised, seconds before another, from which walked out an old man and a young girl, who glanced quickly at it before walking away.

And a legacy was fulfilled.