He had been working in the clock tower for 300 years. He sat next to the crack in time as he worked, making toys and various gadgets. His TARDIS was somewhere out there, hopefully returning to him at some point. He had told her to return after she dropped off Clara but maybe something had gone wrong, or maybe she was just taking the long way. After all, what was time to a Time Lord and his TARDIS?
Even so, he was old now. For years he had lived in an old body, the likes of which he hadn't obtained naturally since his very first life. There was, of course, the time the Master had aged him via laser screwdriver, but according to the rest of the universe, that had never happened. At the very least, he could be grateful that he hadn't shrivelled up and shrunken to the size of a small child yet.
The crack pulsed and asked its question and he never answered. Doctor who? There was no other name for him now. Nothing following his chosen name. Once, he had had a name he carried with pride. Theta Sigma it had been at one point. But Theta Sigma was a child who ran through the halls of Gallifrey's capital instead of through the stars. He was simply the Doctor.
An explosion sounded outside and he put aside the wooden train he was carving with a small sigh. Most of the attackers had left—been defeated, grown bored, or run away, it mattered little which. But, of course, the Daleks were ever persistent. They had been created as a way to survive a nuclear war via mutation and they clung onto that decree to survive even when they had turned on their creator. He grasped his cane with a slight grimace and heaved himself up to take a look outside.
The first thing he noticed however, wasn't the Dalek ships still hovering above the planet and trying to get through Christmas' defences. It was the very familiar woman that he had sent back in time to her own planet and century. Clara was running towards the clock tower, ducking from the noise every time a shot exploded on the town-wide shields.
"Clara Oswald," he said in amazement and slightly chastising, "what are you doing in here?"
She grinned at him. "Couldn't very well let you be all on your own, now could I? Look what you've gone and done while I've been away, you've gotten old."
He smiled. He had missed her. Her and all the others he had shown the universe to. There would be no more, he knew. His time was up and even a Time Lord had to die at some point. They lived too long, in his opinion. Separated themselves from the rest of the universe and were content to merely observe instead of helping those who had so little time compared to them but used it so much better.
He looked up at the sky and saw the shield still holding, for now. He looked back at Clara and saw how she was rubbing her arms to stay warm. Content that there was no more immediate danger than usual—not that he could really do much even if there was nowadays—he chivvied her inside the clock tower and set about making cups of hot chocolate.
She was drawn to the crack in the wall-of course she was, she had travelled through his time stream, she was bound to be drawn to time crises. When she asked what it was, he just shrugged and told her. A crack in time, a remnant from an exploding TARDIS and a universe reboot. Like a corrupted save file created by a computer turning off and on again.
She could hear the question being asked and asked one in return. They didn't reply to her; of course they didn't, she hadn't answered them correctly-or at all. The Doctor answered for them.
"They're Time Lords. Waiting on the other side for me to tell them they can come out now."
"So why don't you?" she asked.
He smiled sadly. "They're safe there. Here, the Daleks and all our old enemies would attack and it would just be another war. The Great Time War part 2. It's probably selfish, but I don't want to be the last of my kind, even if the others of my kind are living in a separate bubble from this universe."
She nodded as if she understood but he knew she could only partly understand. Even she, who had lived through his timeline like he had, could never truly understand what those years of thinking he was the only one left had done to him. He covered the ache with companions, with saving the world again and again like he couldn't save Gallifrey. And then to learn that he had?
He had hated himself for so long, buried the man who had killed his own kind so deep that it was like he had never existed. And he hadn't. For at the last moment, he had stopped himself and found a new solution. But those years of pain couldn't be erased like the memory of saving his people could.
"You should go," he said quietly. As much as he loved her being here, as much as he loved her , he didn't want her to stay.
He would die and she would be stranded on a planet that wasn't her own in a time so far beyond the one she belonged to. His impossible girl. He couldn't lose her again, even if he would be the one leaving this time.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said, like he knew she would.
The loud cracking of the shield stopped any plans he was forming for getting her away and home and safe. The Daleks had finally broken through and he needed to stop them. It seemed like he had been doing it all his life, from that first trip to Skaro with Susan, Barbara and Ian to now.
As long as there were Daleks to be fought and breath in his body, the Doctor would stand against the mutated creatures trapped in their metal shells. They weren't the Kaleds anymore, they hadn't been for a long time and he had given up the chance to wipe them out at their creation so now it was his duty to stand against them.
He hurried as much as he was able up the stairs of the clock tower. He may be old and relied on a walking stick more than he liked but that didn't matter. He was the Doctor and the Doctor always protects what should be protected—even the lives of his greatest enemy when they were but children.
Clara didn't follow him. She stayed next to the crack and he thought maybe she would be safe there. Maybe his kin would allow her passage and keep her safe as he had kept them safe. That would be nice of them, he thought, and hoped they would. But there was no more time to think of Clara or Gallifrey; he was at the top of the tower and there were Daleks attacking.
One last stand. That was all he had. One last stand against the Daleks and the hope that Clara and his home would be safe. That the Daleks, for some reason, would leave the people of Trenzalore, of Christmas, alone. A Christmas Miracle, perhaps.
"Oi, Daleks!" he called out. "Is it me you've been looking for? Well, here I am! Care to see if you've gotten any better at killing me yet?"
His mind was still racing through plans as he yelled, creating and discarding and creating at lightning speed. The Daleks were quicker. Beams of deadly energy headed straight for him and he couldn't duck them all. He was hit, by one or more he didn't know, didn't need to know. One hit was enough.
Below, at the base of the tower, Clara Oswald sobbed as the crack in the wall closed and the Time Lords on the other side ignored her pleas. She had tried and she had failed. She couldn't hear the Doctor calling out to the Daleks and she had heard the sound of Dalek guns firing. She raced up the stairs and there, spreadeagled on the floor, lay the Doctor. Dead. No regenerations left.
And then, light flickered over his face. She thought it a trick of her mind at first but the light didn't go away. It grew brighter, shining everywhere over his body before exploding outwards in a violent burst of healing energy. She jumped back, staring in a kind of hopeful horror at what must be an impossible regeneration.
The Doctor's eyes opened and he stood up, focused on the Dalek ships above. An arm swung to point at them and that same energy that still surrounded him flowed from his hand to the Daleks but no longer healing. It was pure, raw energy that tore through the Dalek forces and destroyed everything it touched.
When the light faded, there was no longer an old man. The Doctor stood there, looking down at himself and examining his body. He looked the same as he had when she had first met him-in her timeline anyway. There were still small bursts of light shining under his skin, glowing bright and then fading—working on healing the Doctor, on regenerating him.
'Timeless,' she suddenly thought, the word coming to her mind almost of its own accord. 'He's timeless.'