I haven't written much in a while, but I was inspired by this prompt to try again. post/67053795576/dingdongyouarewrong-spaceace8 It's really quick (who am I kidding, everything I write is quick) The title is from the song "Dark Blue" by Jack's Mannequin.
Alone In A Crowded Room
Months later, when he felt the wounds had healed a bit, and the TARDIS had gained a new crew member, the Doctor went to the room. He tried not to; there were so many other parts of the TARDIS to explore, and nothing good ever came out of this particular room. But this time, he had to go. He had something he needed to do. He strode quietly, pausing briefly to check on Clara, whom he found dozing in the pilot's chair. He smiled gently. Her head slumped on her shoulder and hand on her stomach. They'd done an awful lot of running that day. Silurians, on a planet not far from home. With a soft sigh, he looked away and strode quietly to the room.
He felt the weight of his two thousand years as he twisted the knob and gazed around. Photos covered nearly every square inch of the wall. More than he could count and more than he'd like. Some were black and white, slightly torn and wrinkled. Others were newer, colorful, but yellowing around the edges. There was even a hologram or two.
Companions, each and every one. As he left them, or rather, they left him, he added their picture to the wall. The Brigadier dominated one wall, thick mustache and all, and Jamie, in that silly kilt. On another, Astrid with her golden curls and Sarah Jane, arm around her son. Rose and Jackie smiled down from another. Susan. He'd promised to visit her again one day, but he never did. He had outlived her. He had outlived them all.
Sometimes, he felt eleven regenerations weren't enough. In all of time and space, there must be so much more to investigate, so many more adventures to be had. But on days like this, two thousand years seemed to be too much.
He absentmindedly pressed the thumbtack deeper into his index finger as he reached around in his pockets for the newest photo. Ponds, on their wedding day. Amy, radiant and ginger in her white gown; and Rory, looking a bit flustered but nonetheless exhilarated in that gray top hat. He'd promised Brian that he'd never let them go, promised him they'd be safe. He'd broken his promise. That's all the wall was though; broken promises, hundreds of them. Somberly, he pressed their photo onto the wall, right under Ace. He'd move on, eventually, say goodbye, but he'd never forget.