The Traveler
It was not the absurdity of the situation that bothered him; the different timelines, the forces involved. No, he had lived too long and seen too much for that. Even in his younger days he had often been thrown head first from the comfort of ignorance, and seen just a taste of what the universe really looked like. Life always had set out to make his existence… unusual.
No, it was that deep, clawing feeling, gnawing away at his insides. Guilt, shame, sorrow. Amazing so humble a building could bring up such crippling emotions, even with all of the things he had experienced.
No point in being humble, really. His life experience so far was infinitely beyond what many people even dreamed. He had seen from towering blue cliffs a river that flowed off the surface of a world, glittering with stars as it swirled into eternity. He had stood on the tip of Olympus Mons, wandered through fields of frozen waves, stood amidst a blizzard as snow swirled up from the ground to disappear forever into the heavens. He had seen stars born in fire, and civilizations fall in silence.
And humble brick could still set him squirming.
There really was nothing terribly impressive about it. The red brick was built neatly, flowers dotting immaculate but simple gardens. There were plenty of windows, bright and shiny glass with bright clean frames. It was almost familiar.
The world had moved on in his absence, though. The sign, for example, was a floating projection. The security station, visible from here, was perhaps closer to what he usually saw in his travels than what he expected to see when he returned to the place of his childhood.
His remembered childhood, anyway.
He walked through the door, and held up a piece of paper to the guard. A valid I.D., to anyone who was looking for one. It was such a useful bit of paper, just a bit physic. It had been a gift from a good if eccentric friend, one of the few friends he dared to keep, given his track record. At least that was a man he expected to outlive even him.
Once past security, people gave him very little notice. Humans did that. They wouldn't question something that looked right. Best not attract attention, or get involved in something better off left alone. He knew that one from experience, made that mistake all too often years ago.
He was still making up his mind about whether or not he regretted finally learning to take notice.
He wondered then if there was any way she would even recognize him in the first place. He looked so different now. Blonde hair and green eyes, if he recalled correctly. After the first regeneration, he hadn't been overly fond of his reflection. It was like looking an alien in the face. It was a behavior born of only remembering his human past, his friend had said. Gave him a few odd quirks. This coming from the man with enough odd quirks to open up an odd quirks shop, of course, not as if that made it any less true.
He passed into the patient ward and was swept with a decontamination field. The floors here were so clean they shone. Probably not even one speck of bacteria left alive by this point.
His hand was hurting, he noticed. He had shoved it down into his pocket and in his nervousness he had been clenching his old fob watch so tightly the engravings marked his palm. It was a habit he had picked up somewhere along the line. He shoved the watch back into his pocket and gently rubbed the blood back into the hand.
That thing was the whole reason he was here today, saying goodbye in the end like a passing acquaintance, instead of seeing the road between like…
What? What was he supposed to be? A friend, he supposed. A harried, abused friend, to one who had so few and needed one so dearly. Loyal, eventually, even against his better sense.
Why had he run in the first place?
Stupid question. All those monsters come looking for him, and the people here had enough to look after already. No sense adding to their problems.
Why didn't you come back?
Not so simple. This place was a nest of abnormalities and dimensional pockets. Chaos for any time machine, especially the second rate vortex manipulator he had managed to get his hands one. And he would only have attracted more attention.
Excuses.
Valid points.
Sure.
What was I supposed to do?
Try harder.
Too late now. Too many fixed points, too dangerous…
Regrets, then.
I was never the important one in the first place. Just a passerby, a burden. The normal one.
Lies.
Arguing with myself again? I must have finally lost it.
Long time coming.
He stopped, looking at the number and name on the door, which was opened just a crack. His hearts sped up just a bit. It was like leaving home and never visiting, always thinking, it's okay, I can do it later. I have things to do, and it will still be there when I get to it. And then going back, finally, to find that it is demolished, gone, cleared for new construction and lost forever. But then, years later, after living with that ache and guilt you realize that you got the wrong address. The building still stands, even that old tree you used to climb, that swing set, that little creek where you used to hunt for frogs. But you see the sign before you even walk in. You know it will all be torn down the next day. You get a chance to say goodbye, but you know it will be the last.
Actually, this was nothing like that at all. But if it helps, there you go.
He slowly pushed the door open. There was only one person in the lonely room, hooked up to all assorted machines and liquids like they were the only things holding her onto life. Her hair was a weak and feathery gray, skin so pale and worn it hurt him to see.
He had walked all the way over the bed before she took note of him, finally turning her head to seen him. God, even now her eyes had traces of that fire.
Everything died, eventually, and he knew that. He was a Time Lord, he damn well knew that. Every clock ticked its way back to twelve; every hour glass finally ran quiet. Even the universe itself one day, gasping and struggling, would breath its last rasping breath and collapse, whimpering, into oblivion.
But the ending didn't really matter. You don't decide against picking up a book because it happens to have a last page. It's the story that matters, and how well you use that time you've got.
He was sorry he had missed her story. But perhaps, perhaps, she wouldn't have to miss his. He wasn't very good with physic things in general, but that very friend had shown him the basics…
Before she could question, he gently touched his fingers to her forehead, and showed her all of the wonders of the universe. It was the least he could do.