Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Doctor Who, nor do I stand to profit in any way, shape, or form from any of my works. Just borrowing.
Emily sat in the sand, looking out over the expanse of waves before her. She dug her feet into the damp sand that lay beneath the fine, sparkling powder that mounded around her ankles. She had just completed the last entry she ever intended to write in the tattered, soft pink journal that had been with her through the only part of her life that mattered now. She closed the journal and set it on the sand beside her. She didn't know what would become of it after today. She knew if someone found it and read it they would think it a work of fiction or the writings of a madwoman. She didn't care. It didn't matter now. Not one thing mattered but this. This moment. Her final moment.
She turned her face towards the sun and reveled in the warmth of it. She closed her eyes and breathed in the crisp salt air for what she knew would be one of the last times and smiled as her favorite image entered her mind. This was what she wanted her last thoughts to be. She could see it as clearly as if he were standing before her. Hands in his pockets. Tall and lean. That wild hair hanging in his eyes. Those eyes. Those ancient eyes. Young and old at the same time. That impish grin that spread across his face, a mask hiding centuries of grief. He would reach up and straighten that bow tie, then he would say what he always told her before he whisked her off to some fantastically beautiful, strange, horrifying, dangerous, amazing place. "Ready my dear Emmy?" He would reach his hand out and she would take it and off they would go hand in hand, the very best of friends.
She focused on this image. She replayed it over and over in her mind. This is what she held onto as she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching in the sand. She had heard their ship land hours ago. It was a sound few humans could pickup on. The gentle electronic clicking of the Maquillian battle ship was easily explained away by the untrained human ear as the simple sounds of living in a city. Once a person knew that sound, though, they would never forget it. They would never forget the cold terror that courses through their veins once they have seen the horrors that happen at the hands of Maquillian soldiers. She was going to die today, of this she was certain.
She had been warned months ago that there were whispers in the communication logs at Torchwood. Jack had arrived at her condo with every intention of taking her back to Cardiff to keep her under their watch. He had told her that it had come to their attention that the Maquillians were planning something. They were angry with the Doctor and seeking revenge. They had discovered that he had been present for negotiations between Maquillius and one of their adversaries when a member of their Royal Guard had been assassinated. The Doctor had tried to intervene and it seemed that a resolution had been reached, but at the last minute a member of the invaded planet, who's loved ones had died at Maquillian hands, had broken into the peace talks and assassinated the Maquillian Admiral of the Royal Guard. The Maquillians accused the Doctor of planning the assassination. She knew, of course, that this was wrong, but she also knew that he was very good at making enemies. This was, perhaps, one of his most well practiced skills, for he had a great deal of them.
Jack had continued explaining the finer political details long after she had stopped listening. They were of little consequence. None of it changed anything. It didn't matter what enemy, what precipitated it, or how long until they arrived. She knew what this meant. The Maquillians wanted the Doctor dead, and what better way to bring the Doctor to them than to take one of his companions hostage. What Jack didn't know is that she had long come to accept that the Doctor, her Doctor, was not coming back. He had moved on. This meant one thing. She was as good as dead. She always knew it might end this way, and she was alright with that. If it bought him just a little time, or served a greater purpose to which she was not privy, she was just fine with that. She had had all of this with him and that was enough. So, when she refused to return to Torchwood with Jack he was beside himself.
"You are signing your own death warrant by staying here Emmy." He said to her with disbelief in his voice.
"Jack, I signed that the moment I stepped into that TARDIS. There are ways to die that don't have a thing to do with being killed." She replied with certainty.
So she stayed home and waited. Waited for this enemy of the Doctor to come and complete their fruitless attempt to trap and kill him. That is how she came to be on this beach. The beach behind her condo was the place she wanted to die. It was the place she first met the Doctor and it was where she wanted to be when she took her last breath thinking of him.
"Why do you not run, human?" The soldier asked, his voice dripping with the familiar Maquillian accent that struck fear in the heart of the galaxy.
"I have no reason to. You intend to kill me and I do not fear death." She stated simply, not doing him the courtesy of looking at him.
She smiled and closed her eyes again. She pictured her Doctor, the man she loved. "Ready my dear Emmy?" she heard him ask her and, in her mind, she took his hand and waited for the end that she had accepted. The end she was ok with, so long as it was with him. Even if it was only in her mind.