In Honor of the 50th Anniversary of Doctor Who.
The Doctor could feel it coming. He knew that soon that golden light would engulf him and he would be transformed once more.
It had happened so many times before. Again and again, changing faces. The next face would be his last.
He thought of his past faces. He thought of all the people he'd traveled with over the years. He thought of Rose and Martha and Donna and Amy and Rory and Clara. They were all gone. Some of them died, some of them left, and one of them just forgot.
Tears rolled down his face. He hadn't seen them in so long. The Doctor was lonely, the loneliest man in the universe, the loneliest man who ever lived. And he lived for so, so long.
He thought of the good memories, he thought of the bad. He thought of the ones that made him laugh and the ones that made him cry.
He thought of the beauty, the excitement, the adventure. He thought of all those people that he cared about, did care about.
He thought of the loss, the pain, the sorrow, the regret. He thought of all the times someone died because of him. All of the times that he couldn't save everyone, couldn't save anyone. The weight of all those people was heavy, indeed. And after all that, it never let up, people never stopped dying. They never would. He would forever face the evils of the entire universe, for he was the last of the Time Lords.
The regeneration energy engulfed him, changing him. It surged through him like wildfire. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
The Doctor had become a new man once again. New, and yet old. So very old. He met the universe head on, ready to bear the colossal burden once again.
For it was a burden only the Doctor could bear.