A short drabble of that heartbreaking moment that Eleven took off his bowtie. I haven't written anything in a while though so this might be a bit rusty. But those final moments with Eleven made me cry so I needed to let it out. This is also my first Doctor Who fic so enjoy!
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is a Doctor Who book and not the show itself.
There was one last thing he needed to do. One last thing before he regenerated.
He had to let go of the bowtie.
It was so much a part of this face that he didn't want any other to wear it. The bowtie belonged to floppy hair, large chins, and fish fingers and custard. Whoever was coming next wouldn't be that, wouldn't think that bowties and fezzes, among other things, were cool. The next guy would be different and wouldn't need the bowtie.
Seeing his Amelia Pond one last time gave him comfort in letting go of this face, lulling him to sleep with that goodbye. And he knew it was time to go but he needed to stall the change for one last act, the final act of the Eleventh Doctor.
Slowly, he pulled the bowtie undone and dropped it on the floor. For a quick moment, as Clara was begging him not to change, it felt as if something was missing. Like this body was incomplete without the constant weight around his neck. But he didn't have much time to reflect before he changed. One of the last things he thought of, however, was that bowties were never cooler.
Thoughts?