Hello. This is my first – and possibly only – crack at a Doctor Who fic. It's a short drabble, an ode to the David Tennant era. Please review if you would.


SWAN SONG

It was a sensation. Ever so slight. Almost imperceptible. A tingling on the back of his neck. A vague buzz in the back of his mind. An unease that never quite seemed to abate, even while tucked away within the safe confines of the TARDIS.

I think your song must end soon.

Words, spoken on a planet far away, in the far distance future (Or was it past? He couldn't even recall when he was now.). Words that stuck to his subconscious like gum to a shoe.

The Doctor tried to push away the thought. To convince himself it was merely a strange comment made by a strange species. But as time rolled on, as foes were vanquished, as friends left, he couldn't help but feel anxious. Like a storm approaching from across the horizon.

As so frequently happened these days, The Doctor felt a chill roll down his spine. Maybe it was age, or melancholy, or even whimsy, but he felt a sense of dread. His people were gone, as was his home. And now...

The Doctor was on his tenth incarnation. He liked this body, its thoughts, its quirks. Though he could say likewise for all his regenerations. It saddened him to think his time in this form was growing short.

And there it was. Resignation. There was no way around it. The Doctor had resigned himself that his time was growing short. Strange really. It wasn't that long ago, while wearing the very form he wore now, that he had such hope. Held such wonder. An excitement to see the universe once more with new eyes.

But there wouldn't be many more new eyes. Three regenerations were all that remained before his song finally ended. Before the Time Lords would be but a distant memory, a fable told in hushed whispers, an echo of realities gone by.

The TARDIS' ancient engine ground to a stop. Ah! No sense worrying. Beyond those blue doors was a new world full of new adventures. Nothing like a spot of fun to keep his mind occupied. True, beyond those doors lay the prospect of his doom, but it was certainly better than being cooped inside the TARDIS thinking about it.

So The Doctor tightened the laces of his shoes, grabbed his coat – making sure his sonic screwdriver was inside a pocket – and did the only thing he could do.

He kept moving forward.

THE END