All Coloured In

by Spike Xander's Drink

In the Doctor's last days he meets a boy who is anything but ordinary. As the Doctor runs every more ragged, the boy pulls him through all of time and space leading him to stolen moments between friends, lovers, and enemies. And the Doctor begins to wonder if he will ever survive this. And so does the boy. (A look at the Doctor through the hidden moments of his companions.)

In the Doctor's final years he meets a boy who is anything but ordinary. And as the Doctor continues along the final years he has, he is offered a chance to see his true self, to view his own soul. The question is, can the doctor survive it?

Pairings; River Song/Doctor, Missy/Doctor, Rose/Doctor, Amy/Rory, Rose/Doctor Clone, Ianto/Jack, Vastra/Jenny, Oc/Oc, Clara/Danny Pink, Gwen/Rhys, Tosh/Owen.

*London, Unknown time and date*

Clara Oswald sat alone on a bench, relaxing into her seat and staring up at the sky with a small smile. The woman had aged since the Doctor's last visit, nearly two years ago, and now had hints of grey woven messily into her brown hair. Her face had begun to crease around her eyes and she had a shadow of a smile constantly on her face. Clara was no longer the smartly dressed, clever and questioning woman she used to be, but since had begun to dress in a much more sensible and comfortable manner, trading her high-wasted skirts for a loose pair of low wasted-slacks, and nice, comfy jumpers.

Now older, and even cleverer, the girl twice dead had all but given up on her Doctor's return. And perhaps it was just as well, for the man was running ragged, and was becoming silent. Clara, having met three faces of the Doctor, and chasing the rest like a dog would its tail, was convinced that if the Doctor was constant in anyway, it was that he liked to talk. And talk. And talk. Perhaps he had done enough talking.

"Sorry, but is this seat free?" Clara glanced up, her gaze falling on a young boy who was gesturing to the empty bench next to her.

"No, go ahead love." Clara nodded before standing herself and turning to the young boy who had sat just moments before, "I was just leaving anyway."

Clara began to walk away, and just as she was out of earshot the boy nodded and spoke softly, "I know."

The boy crossed his legs and began to whistle a strange tune, as he relaxed on to the bench. The boy was odd, and if Clara would have stayed just a moment longer perhaps she would have noticed, she would have heard what exactly made the boy so strange. The boy wasn't whistling a tune, but rather a pulsating noise that was all too familiar. And it was only minutes later that his whistle took the higher part of a harmony as a blue box materialized behind him. Glancing at his wrist watch the boy sucked his teeth.

"You're late."