Final Destination
Ziggy
Two figures strode slowly across the yard towards the oddly out-of-place blue police box. Both were tall, distinguished gentlemen, their long strides almost perfectly matched in length, though one walked with a little more care than the other. No words were spoken, each comfortable with the silence that drifted between them.
One wore a long tan trenchcoat against the nip in the air; red suspenders, resting over a short-sleeved, white shirt, held up loose-fitting wool-like pants. He paused as his companion slowed ever further, wincing as if he'd stepped on an unforgiving stone.
"Are you all right, Doctor?" Captain Jack Harness asked, concerned. He took in his friend's appearance: red hair flecked with grey streaks, green eyes that blinked in the harsh sun, belted blue jeans tucked into black boots, a mint-green button-down shirt, a short, white WWI aviator-type scarf around his neck and a tan suit coat with suede patches at the elbows.
"Yeah, fine. My old bones don't like this damp, chilly air."
Jack narrowed his eyes. He bit back the remark he was going to make and said instead: "This, from the man who used to enjoy colder weather!"
"Give it another half a millenia and see how you like it!" The Doctor paused at the TARDIS's door.
Jack let the comment slide. He gently stroked the outside shell of the wonderful box. "Hey, sweetheart, how's my favorite girl?"
The answering hum was reassuring under his hand, but Jack could sense her age. She was feeling her years as much as the Doctor. Well, he considered, none of them was getting any younger.
"Stop flirting with my TARDIS," the Doctor rebuked, not harshly.
Jack grinned at the centuries-old "disagreement" between them. "I know she loves me."
"Yes, she does."
There was quiet pause. A slight wind ruffled their hair. The Doctor's gaze took in the small acre of land Jack had claimed as his own here on Earth. It was a place to take a breather when the human had a few moments to call his own. The Gallifreyan approved, though such a lifestyle had never been his first choice. He turned back, inserted the key into the time machine's door lock.
"Take me with you," Jack stated, almost wistfully.
The Doctor smiled ruefully. "Not this time, old friend."
"Then, stay," Jack added, hope warring with the sorrow in his voice
"I can't." The Time Lord gestured to his timeship. "We can't."
"I'll be more than happy to take care of her--"
"You know as well as I she wouldn't allow that," the Time Lord stated firmly.
Jack considered the Doctor's statement briefly. "You're right, of course. I guess it's just wishful thinking on my part."
"Nothing wrong with that, and don't think I don't appreciate the offer. The decision isn't ours to make, however."
There was a long pause as Jack gazed into the Time Lord's green eyes. For the first time, he could see how ancient those eyes were. How sad. How tired. They'd seen more than he probably ever would, even with the curse of immortality thrust upon him. The shiver he felt wash over him had nothing to do with the chill in the air.
"Then this is good-bye."
"Not completely. You'll see me again."
The human chuckled, realizing what his friend was implying. "Something to look forward to, then." He stepped forward, putting his hands on either side of the Doctor's face. He drew the Gallifreyan in for a soft kiss. He stepped back, planning to leave it at that, when he found himself suddenly pulling his old friend into a tight hug. The embrace was returned wholeheartedly. Jack blinked back the moisture that was building in his eyes. He didn't want the Doctor to see him crying like a babe.
Parting, the Doctor clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Good-bye, Jack. You'll be--" he paused, searching for the proper word, then grinned, eyes shining, "fantastic!"
Without another word, the Doctor turned and stepped into the TARDIS. Jack remained where he stood, hearing the engines groan to life. A gust of wind kicked up, the light on the top flashed and the timeship slowly dematerialized. He stared at the empty area for a long time, listening as the echo of the ancient engines faded away into nothingness.
Tears hovered in his eyes when he finally turned, walked slowly back to his small cottage. On one of two lounge chairs, where he and the Doctor had spent the afternoon drinking tea and reminising (Jack's first clue of what was to come, for the Doctor never just visited to reminise over long ago events and people), he spotted a familiar object. He slumped onto the chair he'd occupied earlier before he picked up the instrument. It was the Time Lord's most prized possession after his beloved TARDIS.
The waiting tears spilled over to run unchecked down his cheeks as he lost the battle with his heavyhearted emotions. In his right hand, he gripped the Doctor's sonic screwdriver tightly.
"Good-bye, Doctor."
The Doctor sent the TARDIS into the Time Vortex. Only then did he allow himself to lean heavily on the silver console. He
sighed. He hadn't been fooling Jack, not one bit. But his friend was too kind to let on, even though Jack could have forced him to stay. But that wouldn't have done any of them any good, would it? No, this was the best way.
He pushed himself off the console, made his way towards the bathroom. He smiled when he found the bathroom was the first room beyond the control room door. He silently thanked the TARDIS for saving him a few extra steps, knowing it wasn't as easy for her to perform her "magic" as it once had been. That, he suspected as he turned on both sink faucets, was his fault. He was feeling older and more tired as every year passed and she reflected his mental state.
It was thought TARDISes could last almost indefinitely, with "the right care and feeding," to use an old Earth phrase. Of course they would allow themselves to die when their main pilot perished. Sometimes they were decommissioned when they got too old. A tricky process that, removing one's imprimature from a TARDIS so the timeship could be retired or transferred to another Time Lord. The Doctor winced just thinking about it. He couldn't imagine ever doing that to his ship. It was speculated that a TARDIS could, and did, remember her former pilot, even without the telepathic link. It seemed almost cruel to take that special bond away, even if it was replaced with another.
Of course, he'd been told that his TARDIS had bonded too much with him. Too much? How did one bond too much? In any event, the Doctor found he rather liked the idea, but often wondered why she might have done that. Did she like him that much? Or was it because she'd had a previous pilot who'd abandoned her for a newer model and had no intention of losing him, too? Anytime he'd asked her, she would only hum and give the equivalent of a TARDIS chuckle, as if she shared a private joke with herself.
The Doctor shook his head. He took off his tan jacket and the white scarf, tossed them onto a chair in the corner. He unbuttoned his shirt near the collar. He splashed water on his face, over the back of his neck. Grabbing a soft towel, he patted his face, rubbed at the wet patches of hair along the back of his head. He laid the damp towel on the sink, turned the faucets off. He draped the scarf around his neck, then grabbed his jacket and left the bathroom. He paused, looked back a long moment, then headed back to the console room. Coat slung over his left forearm, he buttoned his shirt.
The lights in the console room were dimmed, the Doctor noted as he shrugged on the jacket. He adjusted the collars to both shirt and coat as he slowly circled the control panel, taking in every detail, every lever, every button, every un-TARDIS-like patch he'd added over the centuries. It was no wonder his TARDIS was so different from any other timeship that had ever existed. No wonder she was so special: he'd added bits and pieces that no other Time Lord would ever have thought to include on a TARDIS's control panel.
"Well, now," he stated, then paused and sighed. He turned, his bum leaned against the edge of the console. Sighed again, heavier. He angled his head back to take in the expanse of the console room, then shifted his gaze down to stare at his long fingers. He could feel a slight ache in his joints. Hmmm, arthritis. He flexed his fingers. Not something the TARDIS would normally allow, if she could help it. He sent a quick reassurance to let his time machine know he wasn't blaming her.
He was tired, so very tired. He could remember only one other time when he'd grown old enough to feel this way: his original body. It was the only time he'd regenerated due to old age. All subsequent regenerations he'd pretty much forced onto himself: falls, poison, accidents, bullets, taking the TARDIS's vortex energy into himself, being mauled by a very large bear. He could still remember the look on Jack Harkness's face when he'd regenerated in front of the human's eyes after that little incident.
But now he had no more regenerations left.
"Oh, well," the Doctor said aloud, resigned, "it was bound to happen sooner or later."
Not that he hadn't been expecting it. Had been, actually, for a number of months now. It was just a matter of knowing when the time was right. It always came down to time. As a Time Lord, he knew all about time. And as a Time Lord, he could have lived a lot longer. However, nearly all of his race combined hadn't done even a tenth of what he'd accomplished, so it was fitting he would have worn himself out faster than if he'd stayed on Gallifrey, the Last Great Time War notwithstanding. What was that old adage about burning a candle at both ends?
He tipped his head back again, emerald eyes not really seeing the ceiling above him. He was remembering the dozens of friends he'd had along for his adventures. Some had died before their time: Adric, Ace, Leela, Romana, Susan; others had been forced from his side, but finished out their lives quite naturally: Jamie McCrimmon, Victoria Waterfield, Sarah Jane Smith, Rose Tyler; still others had left just because they'd had enough or found cause to stay in a certain period in time and space: Ian and Barbara Chesterton, Jo Grant, Tegan Jovanka, Turlough, Nyssa, Peri Brown, Grace Holloway, Mickey Smith, Martha Jones, Donna Noble, K-9 and, of course, Jack... there were plenty of others... he remembered them all, even though some of their faces were a bit fuzzier these days. A few he'd even visited again in a later regeneration, being careful not to cross his own timeline. A couple times the TARDIS forced him to attend a funeral, though as a rule, he tried to avoid them.
When his last companion had been killed because he was too damned old and slow--in his harsh opinion--to get to her in time, he knew it was time to continue his journeys alone. Well, alone in the sense he had nobody physical with him. The TARDIS was always with him. And though the TARDIS had encouraged him to find somebody new (because seeing the universe anew through another's eyes was when he was the happiest, she'd told him), he'd refused. He wouldn't even consider Jack, as the immortal human had his own causes to champion. Causes that didn't include baby-sitting an aging Time Lord. Once or twice he almost gave in when he saw something of Sarah Jane Smith in this person or quite a bit of Martha Jones in that one.
The Doctor closed his eyes briefly, allowing the images to fade from his mind. He turned once again to face the console, giving the timeship a fond pat. The TARDIS thrummed happily, having visited old friends through their telepathic link. She had approved of many of his travelling companions because their presence made him happy.
He reached up to run his fingers through his hair. The universe had finally, in his final regeneration, seen fit to bestow him with ginger hair. Of course, the ginger was now streaked with grey, mostly at the temples, making him look very distinguished. If he did say so himself, which he did.
But now, he could feel the weight of all his years, nearly two thousand five hundred years worth, pressing down on him. It was time to finally let go, time to allow the mighty Time Lord race to become an extinct species.
The TARDIS agreed. Her engines sounded more strained than ever, as if travelling was becoming tougher for her. For the past thousand or so years, the Doctor had been keeping her going with cobbled bits and bobs throughout time and space and whatever he found in any of the TARDIS's countless rooms. Since the destruction of Gallifrey, he'd had no other alternative. For hundreds of years, his tweaking had been fine, as the TARDIS quickly integrated the improvisions with nary a problem. Lately, however, she seemed to have a harder time of it, as she felt her age as he did his. Even more so, as she had seen a millennia pass before the Doctor had come into her acquaintance, when the Time Lords sought to have her permanently decommissioned to make way for newer models.
"Newer," the Doctor stated affectionately, patting the silver console, "but not better, right, old girl?"
The TARDIS hummed in agreement, tenderness caressing his mind.
The Doctor glanced around the large console room. When he had regenerated for the final time, a few centuries ago, he'd settled on a red and silver color scheme, representing the waving lush red grass and silver-leafed trees of Gallifrey. He'd finally allowed himself to stop grieving for the destruction of his homeworld and, instead, celebrate its memory. He shook his head, feeling a little weaker in the body.
"I guess we've both gotten sentimental over the years, eh, old friend?" He reached out to touch the time rotor, its swirling pinks and silvers rising and falling with a heavier-than-usual wheeze. He sighed, patted the console again, mustering all the love he could, sending it towards his oldest, most constant, companion. "And you, you were always brilliant! Couldn't have wanted for a better TARDIS."
She hummed again. It was rare for her to form words in his mind anymore. She resorted to the telepathic link they shared to convey her feelings these days. That link would be the last thing to break between them: when one of them perished, leaving the other to pine away and die. The Doctor always figured he would be the one to go first, to pass on away from his timeship, leaving her to find a final resting place--perhaps a time and place that had been dear to them both--to quietly settle and slowly expire.
But now he would die inside the TARDIS. For some reason, he felt comforted by the thought. No other commitments, he'd just finished his last task, saying good-bye to an old friend. No one else about, he hadn't travelled with a companion for years now, content with the TARDIS's aging company. No one left to care. Well, none except Jack, but he's got his own destiny, the Doctor thought. Besides, when we parted, we both knew it would be for the last time. Well, the last time in my lifetime. I know he still sees a couple of my younger selves down the line, in his future.
Just him and his beloved time machine.
As it should be.
He leaned heavily on the console, coughing. He could feel his hearts weakening. One was already on the edge of failure. His respiratory system was shutting down, as well. Suddenly, a tall, soft armchair materialized behind him. The Doctor smiled gratefully as he sank down into the comfortable cushion, glad to put his feet on the footrest that also appeared as if from nowhere. He noticed the chair was right next to the console, allowing him to remain in physical contact with the TARDIS, so he ran the fingers of his right hand along the edge, touching switches and levers within reach. A steaming cup of tea appeared beside his roaming hand.
"One last cuppa, eh?" The Time Lord picked it up and sipped. The warm liquid, laced with honey and lemon, felt good on his aged throat. "You still make the best cup of tea around, old girl!" He set the cup down on the chair's soft arm, knowing it wouldn't fall, then leaned back in the chair. A thick blanket covered him. He raised an eyebrow at that. "All right!" he protested at her motherliness, but not too loudly, for the added warmth felt good despite his usually cool body temperature.
His bones and joints ached a little. He closed his eyes briefly, shuddering, when he felt the weaker heart give out. His breathing became labored as his body adjusted to the change. Again, the TARDIS stepped in, gently wrapping him in her loving embrace, easing his breathing, dulling the pain.
The Doctor smiled, a trifle sadly. "Thank you, old friend." He sent out tendrils of love, edged his way through their link to ease some of his ship's own suffering. The path was blocked. Oh, she was allowing the emotions through, but not any of his healing efforts. She wasn't allowing him to return the favor, to alleviate any of her aches and pains. He nudged harder, but she remained ever her stubborn self. He could feel her disapproval at his attempts and realized she didn't want him wasting what little energy he had left on her.
"Silly ole girl!" he rebuked gently, but with compassion. "Have it your way, then. Always did, anyway." He smiled again when the TARDIS silently agreed.
The Gallifreyan took another sip of tea as he looked up at the large viewing screen. It hung down from the ceiling, near the railing that encircled the main console. At some point, the TARDIS had taken them out of the Vortex; they were travelling in regular space. His green eyes took in the starscape in which the time machine travelled. Something bright shone in the center of the screen, getting bigger and brighter as the timeship sped towards it. It took a short while before the Doctor realized what "it" was.
It was a sun. There was to be no landing in some time on some planet to languish for her pilot. No, not his TARDIS. She intended to go out in a cataclysmic bang. Normally, a TARDIS could withstand such a force, but the Doctor could sense that she had no intention of making it through alive. She was willing herself to be destroyed. She was, in essence, committing suicide.
He knew he wouldn't be able to stop her. That was, if he even wanted to. Because, even if he could gather up the strength to rise and reset coordinates, forcing her to land somewhere, what right did he have to make her pine away (just another method of suicide, actually) while allowing himself to go with what remaining dignity he had left? She was the last of her kind, just as he was his, so there would be nobody who cared what happened to her. She couldn't--no, wouldn't--bond with anybody else, so why make her suffer any more than she had to?
He owed her that much, at least.
Besides, they would be passing on into eternity together.
It felt right, somehow.
The Doctor downed the rest of his tea, set the cup down with a shaky hand. The cup vanished, allowing him to rest his arms on the chair's armrests, while still being tucked under the TARDIS-blue blanket. He could feel his remaining heart weakening; his vision grew dim. With an effort, he placed his right hand on the TARDIS's console. Wanting, no, needing the physical contact. He smiled slightly, feeling the steady hum of the timeship's engines; it was easy to imagine they were running at peak efficiency, as they had centuries ago.
Farewell, old girl. With his last remaining strength, the Doctor flooded their link with love and gratitude.
Farewell, my Doctor. The TARDIS returned the affection, emotion so powerful it filled his entire being, allowing nothing else in its place. No pain, no grief, no regrets.
As the Doctor's eyes slowly closed for the final time and his second heart stopped its rhythm, the TARDIS eased his passing as gently as she could. Her final gift to her Lord of Time. The Cloister Bell tolled her sorrow and a high-pitched keening, much like a human wail of grief, occupied her entire being as their telepathic link was irrevocably severed.
After more than a two millennia, she was totally alone.
The TARDIS could feel her outer shell, the blue police box shape she'd lovingly maintained for centuries, begin to heat up. The sun was closing by the second.
Her Doctor was gone.
And soon, so very soon, she would be joining him in death.
4/6/08