I wrote this after reading a few Doctor Who fanfics and rewatching the End of Time episode. We all know that the 10th Doctor didn't want to die, so I decided to write this. If you recognise anything, well, good for you. It means you've paid attention.
Author note 2010/10/23: I've changed this up a bit, but most of it is still the same.
There were so many things he wanted to say, but there just wasn't enough time. Sometimes... he wishes he were someone else. Someone who didn't have to make difficult decisions; who didn't have to choose between himself and the world. But he was the Doctor, the Last Time Lord, the Oncoming Storm, and he would never be free from who he was.
The Doctor knew his time was coming. He knew it from the moment he stepped into that glass box, the moment he made the decision to save Wilfred. He didn't blame Wilfred, no matter how the old man felt about it. He didn't regret saving Wilf, either. Wilf was special to the Doctor, and he would always put the old man before him. After all, he saw Wilf as the father he wished he had.
The Doctor didn't want to die. He knew it deep inside. It killed him when he sacrificed himself in order to save Wilf, but he had to deal with it. He'd made the decision, and now he didn't have much time left.
He still had time, however.
He was going to regenerate. Had already started to, in fact. But he still had time. Time to make things right—to say goodbye.
And he would.
The Doctor had many regrets. Things he wished he'd done while he still had the chance. People he wished he'd had time to talk to. One of his many regrets was the Master. They'd had such a difficult, confusing relationship. They used to be friends. But that was a long time ago, wasn't it? The Master hadn't been quite so sane the last time the Doctor saw him. Yet he'd changed his mind in the end, helping the Doctor. He left, and he took the other Time Lords with him. He'd left the Doctor alone again.
So many people had left him. There were so many people he wished to see, just one more time, before he left. He had to say goodbye, because it would kill him if he didn't. He had to know that everyone was okay—was doing well without him around. Because he was the Doctor, and he made things—people—better. He told himself that, and that convinced him to make a few more stops before he died.
So he went.
He told the TARDIS of his thoughts, and they went to see Martha Jones and Mickey. The Doctor saved them, as he always seemed to be doing. Saving people. He saw his idiot and his doctor crouched there and he almost smiled—almost—barely able to hold back the tears that he knew would come. He knew that if he spoke, what little control he did have would break. So instead of words, he simply nodded and walked away. Just like that.
Then came his Sarah Jane Smith. Again, he ended up saving someone—Luke Smith, Sarah Jane's son. He couldn't bring himself to speak, because by then he knew his tears were close to falling. So he settled for waving, and then he walked away without turning back.
Then came his Captain. Captain Jack Harkness, the eternal flirt. The immortal. The one who simply couldn't die. The Doctor had to see him, even though his heart was already breaking, his eyes blurry, his throat burning. It was so easy with Jack—a simple note and a salute. A simple goodbye, but never any less painful than the rest.
The next visit is painful enough that he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think her name, so he blocks it from his mind. He simply walks into the bookstore, steeling himself for a question he so desperately needs to know the answer to. As he walks up to the table, he closes his eyes briefly and sighs. When he is asked for his name, he watches her head snap up. He can see the pain in her eyes. He knows it will hurt them both, but he needs to know. So he asks, "Was she happy, in the end?" He watches the tears welling in her eyes, and he feels his own threaten to fall when he hears the answer. So when she asks the same of him, it hurts too much for him to reply. He leaves without looking back.
Then comes the visit that he doesn't want, the one that will hurt him even more than the last. But he knows he has to—he needs to know that both of them are all right. So he goes to Wilfred. He has to see him one more time, the man who caused his death. The man he wants to blame, in some small part of his mind, but doesn't. He sees his Donna—oh, his wonderful Donna—and it takes all of his control not to break down right there. He doesn't want to go on. He doesn't want to visit anyone else; doesn't want to say goodbye anymore. He hates it. But he needs to see one more person.
It hurts him more than anything—oh god, it hurts—to see her laughing there, smiling like she's the happiest person in the world. His Rose Tyler, his precious Rose—the one he holds closest in his heart. The one he loved—the one he still loves. He feels the tears come back, and a pained groan escapes his lips as he doubles over. His time is very near. He can feel it. No, he just needs a few more moments. Just a few. Then he'll be ready. He knows he's not, but he says he's okay when he's asked. He asks her for the year, and the pain in his dying heart increases when she looks at him as if he's slightly mental. He watches as she looks like she's going to walk away, and he can't help himself. So he tells her that he thinks she'll have a good year, and he almost smiles when he sees the odd look she gives him before smiling and telling him goodbye. Oh, if only she knew.
He knows his time has come, so he stumbles back to the TARDIS and practically falls inside. He forces himself to walk the final steps, and he knows there are only seconds left. He doesn't want to die—god, oh god, he wants to live. He feels the tears come, and he doesn't hold them back. His thoughts turn to Rose, his love, his last farewell. It's okay, he tries to tell himself. But he knows it's not. He doesn't want to die, not really, and he doesn't want to leave her. He doesn't want to leave any of them. But he knows there's no stopping it. The Doctor let's go; he breaks down.
And then the change begins.