It is different this time. He is dying, and that is familiar enough, but he doesn't know if he will come back. He doesn't know if he will leave her alone.
She is so desperate to save him, to give her life back for his, but he would not allow it regardless. She is so very young, with so much potential, so much capacity for courage and kindness. He will miss their friendship, friendly bickering and easy trust, honest arguments and quiet affection. He hopes that it does not change very much, if it is allowed to continue.
She is so young, and he is so tired.
She is fading from his vision now, replaced by memories, phantoms lingering in his hearts.
What was it you always told me, Doctor? Brave heart?
Oh, yes, he remembers, and supposes the least he could do for her now is to listen, to try, because someone ought to remember her for centuries. Mortality could hardly hope to contain her. It's so difficult, though, to hold on.
Her voice fades, but never leaves him, allowing another to come to prominence, another face he will never see again.
You must survive. Too many of your enemies would delight in your death, Doctor.
He hasn't the strength left to chuckle. That is what he'd do, isn't it, reminding him of the satisfied laughter of villains. Always so practical, in his way, and of course he's right.
I did miss you, you know.
Turlough speaks the truth.
Kamelion. I suppose you would know, he forced his laughter through your lips.
I'm so sorry I could do nothing but avenge you.
You're needed, Doctor, you must not die.
Oh, Nyssa, you always did know just what to say. You were always so willing to help others, I could hardly bear to let you down.
I do wonder, though, if some would agree. If...
You know that, Doctor.
"Adric?"
They're all blending now, the echoes of determined support, holding him together through reluctant rebirth.
No, my dear Doctor, you must die. Die, Doctor. Die, Doctor!
No, I don't think I will.