Eleven Goodbyes
It was Saturday, July 8th, 7580. Thirteen trillion light years away, the planet Earth sat in the Milky Way, revolving around the Sun, carrying the weight of six billion ignorant humans. But that was fine. Just fine. The Doctor didn't want humans meddling in his affairs anyway.
The ground beneath his feet made him feel homesick. It didn't make any sense, considering that the ground was the crust of his home planet, Gallifrey. Maybe the sickness was coming from the billions of hostile foes that stood before him, triumphant and confident. In the front were his worst enemies, the Daleks. Only a few battle fleets had survived, about a hundred thousand warriors who had all come to watch their greatest enemy die at last. Behind them were Sontarans, violent warriors who loved warfare and honor. Third were the Cybermen, who, if they were not incapable of feeling emotions, would have been crying out with glee. Then came the Judoon, loyal fighters who'd been bribed and coaxed into cooperating with the Daleks, and the Silence, and the Weeping Angels. And so many more.
He wondered what Wilfred Mott would've said now.
"Well, Doctor, we're in a fine pinch, aren't we?" He'd chuckle nervously, pick at his sleeve. "So, what's the plan?"
The Doctor would remain silent. What was there for him to say?
"Well?" Wilfred's voice would take on a slightly desperate edge. "You must have a plan. You always do!"
The Doctor heaved a sigh. Not today, old boy, he thought resignedly. Not today.
And never again.
He'd had fun. So much fun. There was no denying that. It was a lifestyle destined to end abruptly, he'd known that. So why was it so hard to say goodbye?
Because there was no one to say goodbye to.
Nonsense! Absolute garbage. He was being ridiculous. Of course there were people to say goodbye to. They floated in his liquid memories, the more powerful ones standing stronger like pillars for his thoughts. He could say goodbye to them.
Goodbye, Rose Tyler.
Goodbye, Captain Jack Harkness.
Goodbye, Martha Jones.
Goodbye, Sarah Jane Smith.
Goodbye, Jenny. Goodbye, Madame Vastra.
Goodbye, Amelia Pond. Goodbye, Rory Williams.
Goodbye, Clara Oswald.
Goodbye, Donna Noble.
Goodbye, River Song.
He smiled to himself. It was a sad, sad expression. Time had run out for the Time Lord. The hourglass was empty. The clock had stopped its incessant ticking.
Goodbye, Doctor.
"Hello, Doctor."
This story is dedicated to DivergentDreamer36 for the thoughtful review and critique that this story very much needed. Thank You!