He stood over the giant ocean that seemed to swallow up the sky. Wind tousled his already messy hair as he gazed into the dark, churning water that seemed to never end. As the crashing of the sea filled his ears, the noise pounding against his skull, he breathed in the salty air, feeling the gravel that loomed over the ocean underneath his feet.
The Doctor knew he was going to die. He knew there was no way out of it. He couldn't keep running like he always did. He had to face his fate.
Truth be told, the Doctor wanted to go. He was tired. He was tired of losing everything he loved, tired of all the pain, tired of always saving the day and getting nothing in return. Tired of just living.
Breathing in the thick, humid air, the Doctor leaned over the edge of the cliff, staring down the, as he estimated, 157 foot drop into the churning ocean. The dark waves looked ominous, as if they already knew his fate.
The Doctor let out a sigh, his warm breath fogging up the cold air around him, his emotion fighting inside of him. As tired as he was, he couldn't stand leaving Clara with some unknown man that would take his place.
Clara.
Clara Oswin Oswald. His Impossible Girl. The only mystery worth solving. He couldn't bear leaving her. She was like a little sister to him. That's why he had sent her back to Chiswick, so she couldn't witness the death of him.
He wished she were there, though. He wished he could have his impossible girl to be with him as he died. But he wouldn't never do that to her. No. He could never.
And then, it struck him. All his companions, all their families, all his friends, everyone that he had ever met. He could never see any of them ever again.
The Doctor let out a strangled gasp for air, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He quickly swiped it away, breathing in heavily and letting out a drawn out breath. He shut his mind, determined not to think, lest he not be able to do it any more.
Taking one last look into the sea, the Doctor spun on his heals, gravel crunching underneath his feet as he sped walked away from the edge. He walked as fast as he could without breaking into a jog, not wanting to think about anything or anyone.
As soon as he reaching a reasonable distance from the cliff edge, the Doctor whipped around, his windswept hair flopping lazily into his eyes. He let out a loud, forced sigh, which was lost in the wind. Another tear leaked out of his eyes and dripped down. He quickly brushed it away, a lump forming in his throat. He voice caught as he breathed in, more tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He let out a huge sigh. He had to do it.
The Doctor faced the sea, mentally preparing himself. He cough, clearing his throat. A wind swept through that air, sending shivers down his back, goosebumps rising up his arms.
He was going to do it. He had to do it. He had to stop stalling and just get it over with. The Doctor chuckled sadly. He was the king of stalling.
He let out a sharp sigh. He was going to do it. He was going to do it now.
The wind picked up as he looked out into the sea. He straightened his jacket, finding the familiar feeling of the rough tweed beneath his calloused fingers comforting. He tugged on his bowtie, pursuing his lips. He took one last look over his shoulder towards the beach, where his precious TARDIS sat. Turning back forwards, he sighed, a single word escaping his lips.
"Geronimo."
He took off, running as fast as he could, faster than he had ever run before in his life. He pumped his arms furiously, the wind cutting at his face, hair whipping back, jacket splaying out behind him. Gravel crunched under his feet as giant ocean waves exploded from the water beneath him, spraying him with sea foam. The air chilled him to the bone, but he kept running, like he had been doing all his life. Running, running, running. Running from the past and what he had done. Running from the future and what he might become. Running from everything and immersing himself with adventure and mystery. Trying to escape his history. He had always run, and now he would run no more.
He pushed off the edge, flying into the air. His arms were forced out, the air pushing hard against him. Plummeting down towards the ocean, his mind went blank. The only thing he could think about was his stomach rising in his throat; he never liked drops.
As he fell faster and fast, he began to realize how cold he was. It was funny; he could be plummeting to his death, and the only thing he could think about would be the temperature.
He zoomed towards the ocean, his impending doom growing closer and closer. His head started to pound, the deafening noise of the wind pressing against his hears. The distance between him and the sea became less and less, until the two met.
He plunged into the dark waves, water engulfing him. Salt water stinging is open eyes, the water swirled furiously, tossing and turning him around in the ocean. It soaked his clothes, its freezing temperature seeping into his bones.
The Doctor was quickly disorientated, unsure of which was was up or down, left or right. He tried to steady himself and fight against the current, but it was all for naught, the waves too strong to withstand.
As the sea threw him, the Doctor soon became dizzy. He rubbed his eyes the best that he could, the salt water causing his eyes to sting horribly. His mind was empty, unable to think about anything while the water swirled around him.
Soon, gravity overtook the force of the waves. The Doctor began to sink, the waves becoming less and less forceful, the water darker and darker until he couldn't see a thing.
Eventually, air began to push against his lungs, begging for an escape. The Doctor held his breath, his senses becoming dull. His vision became a black blur, his nerves numb from the cold water. The sounds of the ocean began to fade faster as his sank lower and lower into the sea.
And suddenly, he didn't want to die. He didn't want to drown in an ocean, just to have a strange, new man take his place. He didn't want that. No, not at all. He wanted to live to see another day. He wanted to marvel at another sunrise, or admire another sunset. He wanted to fly through space with his dear, old girl again. He wanted to visit Martha. See how she was doing at UNIT. He wanted to see Donna again. To watch her from afar, avoiding any contact. He-...he wanted to sit 'round a table and eat fish fingers and custard with his little Amelia Pond. He wanted to roam the Universe with the Girl Who Waited and her Last Centurion by his side. He wanted to tell River that he loved her one last time, and go one one last adventure with his Impossible Girl, and place one last rose on the shores of Bad Wolf Bay, only to have it washed away by the calm ocean waves.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't live to see another day. He couldn't marvel at another sunrise, or admire another sunset. He couldn't fly through space with his dear old girl again. He could never visit Martha and see how she was doing at UNIT. He could never see Donna, and watch her from afar. He could never ever sit 'round a table and eat fish fingers and custard with his little Amelia Pond. He could never roam the Universe with the Girl Who Waited and her Last Centurion by his side. He could never tell River that he loved her again, or go one one last adventure with his Impossible Girl, or place on last rose on the shores of Bad Wolf Bay, only to have it washed away by the calm ocean waves. He could never do anything ever again. He could do nothing but die. Nothing. He could see nothing, feel nothing, taste nothing, hear nothing, or smell nothing. He was nothing.
Despite the ocean water all around him, the Doctor felt a single tear slid down his cheek. It was over. Everything was over. He was over. There was nothing left for him to do but drown.
Mustering all his strength, he wiped the tear away, even though it was already lost among the ocean. His lungs burned for air. He couldn't hold it any longer. He conjured up every ounce of dignity he had left in his.
Goodbye.
Air escaped his mouth as he exhaled deeply. Bubbles rose up and up and up and up until he couldn't see them anymore.
He breathed in deeply, sucking in the ocean water. He choked. He coughed out the salty water, only to breathe in more. His throat stung as icy salt water washed down it. He had never felt anything so painfully horrible as this water forcing it's way down his throat and through his windpipe. It was impossible to cough, impossible to breath, impossible to do anything besides let the water fill his lungs. It was all he could do to raise his arms to his neck.
The Doctor was dying.
Water washed into him, flowing in and in and in and in until the was no more room. He began to sink, slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, into the deep darkness of the water, into death.
And then,
there was light.