No chances left
I wanted to try a totally non-shippy piece of work, something which I haven't done much of in any of the fandoms I write for, but I couldn't decide which Doctor would fit in with something, so I decided to use the final Doctor.
This was written whilst I had no Internet Connection, so I had no-one to shut me up... sorry?
I'm pretty sure you'll guess what's going on early in the fic :)
Three thousand years, and he still hadn't learnt to run away in time.
His skin burned and the clothes- still so fussy, still so vain, even now in his old age- fell away from his body, leaving him naked in the broken shell of his dead Tardis (It was all his fault) to watch as the final scraps of fabric disintegrated into atoms.
The stars shall become dust and the dust shall become atoms and the atoms will become... nothing.
He'd follow, soon.
So, so soon.
Even now, burning for the final time, his regeneration energy all used up and his final life ending with an alarming speed, the Doctor couldn't bring himself to regret all the lives he'd used to save the universe. Someone had to do it, and even when he'd been just one of many Time Lords, the Doctor had felt like it had fallen to him.
He fell to his knees.
His knees gave way, and the grating that touched his destroyed skin caused him to scream in pain (such small things can harm you) (it shouldn't hurt this much).
The end was coming.
Time cried as its saviour weakened, and pulled the pale shell of the Tardis onto stable ground- a small planet that spun at just under 1000 miles an hour, as it raced infinity at 67,000 miles an hour. Lives were destroyed and made in equal amounts on that blue and green ball that seemed so big and so small, and its biggest predators would be swinging from the trees and then expanding the law of the universe within a few thousand years of one another.
The Doctor's favourite species would carry his name out into the stars, just as he had done- the man in the magical blue box that had been recreated in temples and churches the universe over, who had returned again and again, taking a select few into the furthest reaches of space and time. Their Doctor.
He had saved them, and more so than any member of their own species, their successes were down to him, down to the lives (not just his, but of humans and robots and aliens) that had been laid down so that they could they could begin what must be finished for the universe to keep turning, for all to run and be experienced and end as time wanted.
So fitting that he would die amongst them.
As moments turned into seconds and seconds turned into minutes, the Doctor's twenty-seven senses shut off, one by one, until he had nothing but the colours that filled the air to guide him.
They told him goodbye, and the Doctor's last thoughts of his own linear time (but he would think again at the end of the universe, and at the beginning of creation itself) was that the man walking into the Tardis resembled the Brig.
As the body of the Doctor died, the Brigadier shed a tear for his friend's death.
Author's notes: So, yeah, this is terrible and really, really short. And, just to clear up, I honestly believe that, if the Doctor died on Earth in the right time, the Brig would be there to say goodbye and to bury him. I haven't watched much classic who, but I've watched most of Three's and Four's eps, and I'm just very attached to the brig.
Review if you could, please?
Chloe xxx