OK, here we are with Chapter 2. Enjoy!

The Doctor grinned at him, as Barry almost quivered with anticipation. He couldn't believe that he was actually in the TARDIS! With the Doctor!

"Right then. Where do you want to go? Backwards or forwards in time?"

"Forwards," he shrugged.

Under the Doctor's hands, the TARDIS went one hundred years, ten thousand years, almost five billion years.
I can't believe this! Barry grinned to himself, and pulled the doors open.

Beyond lay the wonders of time and space. Beyond lay anything and everything, all that ever had been or ever could be. Beyond lay…a wooden room with a shuttered window. He headed down the steps as the shutter rolled down, revealing a view of the Earth. The Doctor joined him moments later.

"You lot," he said quietly. "You spend all your time thinking about dying, like you're going to get killed by eggs or beef or global warming or asteroids. But you never take time to imagine the impossible. That maybe you survive."

Speechless, he could only stare.

"This is the year five point five slash apple slash twenty six. Five billion years in your future, and this is the day…"

He checked his watch. "Hold on." Far in the distance, the sun flared crimson. "This is the day the Sun expands. Welcome to the end of the world."


A computerized voice announced that guests were arriving as they set off down a corridor.

"So when it says guests…" Barry started.

"People," the Doctor nodded. "All kinds of species."

"So what are they doing on board this spaceship?" Barry asked. "They all watching the Earth die?"

"It's not really a spaceship. More like an observation deck. The great and the good are gathering to watch the planet burn." "What for?"

"Fun."

"Mind you, when I said the great and the good, what I mean is, the rich," he added, explaining that the planet had been kept preserved by the National Trust until the money ran out.

Shortly afterwards, they were approached by a blue-skinned steward, who confronted them aggressively until the Doctor showed off an apparently blank piece of "psychic paper."

"We have in attendance the Doctor, and Barry Allen," the Steward announced, going on to announce a trio of aliens that reminded Barry vaguely of the Ents from Lord of the Rings. Following them were a variety of alien species of all kinds, though he noticed that almost all, with the exception of the Face of Boe, were humanoid—the Moxx of Ballhoon, the Adherents of the Repeated Meme, the brothers Hop Pyleen, Cal Spark Plug, Mister and Mrs Pakoo, the Ambassadors from the City State of Binding Light, a Thanagarian couple, a Naltorian Princess…

He was shaken from his thoughts as the guests began to exchange gifts. The tree-woman gave the Doctor a cutting of her grandfather, who in return gave her "air from his lungs." Barry reflected that for a tree, that was actually not a bad gift. Other gifts included body saliva (from the Moxx) and a metal ball (from the Adherents). And then the last Human came in—nothing but a flat sheet of skin with lips and eyes, supported by a metal base with a brain at the bottom, with two white-robed attendants accompanying.

"I thought you said the human race moved out across the universe," Barry whispered to the Doctor. "So how is she the last?"

The alien shrugged and raised his eyebrows as Lady Cassandra continued to speak.

"Behold, I bring gifts. From Earth itself, the last remaining ostrich egg. Legend says it had a wingspan of fifty feet and blew fire from its nostrils." Barry smothered a cough in his hand. "Or was that my third husband?" she continued airily. "Oh, no. Oh, don't laugh. I'll get laughter lines. And here, another rarity," she continued as a jukebox was wheeled in. "According to the archives, this was called an iPod. It stores classical music from humanity's greatest composers. Play on!"

Brittney Spears began to play, and Barry closed his eyes. Five billion years and hundreds of thousands of miles away, he'd listened to this just last week. He sat down, hard, on a bench to one side.

Yesterday—five billion years ago—he'd been a more-or-less normal college student, going to classes, hanging out with friends, Skyping with his girlfriend, seeking the impossible without really believing that he'd find it. In the space of a few hours, he'd been attacked by a man made of plastic, met the Doctor—the Doctor!—saved the world, become his assistant, and travelled to the end of the world. Ever since his mom had been killed by a blur of lightning when he was nine, he'd sought out the impossible, looking through history and conspiracy theory for anything that could explain it. And now…here he was. Billions of years in the future, surrounded by aliens, listening to Brittney Spears.

Are you well?

Barry jerked up, and it took him a moment to realize that the voice he'd just 'heard' had appeared in his mind without going through his ears. A few feet in front of him, the Face of Boe regarded him curiously through a glass tank.

"I, uh, yeah, fine. It's just, all this…"

The Face almost seemed to smile. You've just met the Doctor, haven't you?

Barry grinned sheepishly. "It's kinda obvious, huh?"

Ah, Barry, said the Face. Barry assumed that it knew his name from telepathy. You have so much yet to come. Grief and joy, love and heartbreak. So many adventures, throughout the universe, there and gone in a flash. Be brave, young man. Be strong.

"I don't…I don't really know what I'm doing," Barry admitted, and the Face smiled.

Who does?

They both sat in silence for a few moments before the Doctor wandered up. "Hey. Oh, hello."

Hello, Doctor.

Barry's friend raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, haven't met you before, have you?"

Not yet. But you will.

"Fantastic!"

"And you know me, too, right? From our time travel? We'll meet you in our future and your past?"

The Face smiled. You always were fast, Barry.

"I've read a lot of sci-fi," he shrugged.

You two talk. I'll see you soon.

As the Doctor and Barry turned to each other and began speaking, the Face smiled to himself. Goodbye, my friends. Until we meet again.

"How are ya?" the Doctor asked, sitting down by his friend.

"Yeah, well, it's not my first trip to the impossible," Barry shrugged. "Hey, you don't happen to know of any alien species that can turn into yellow lightning, do you?"

The Doctor's eyes pierced through him. "Yellow lightning, huh?"

"Yeah."

Barry spilled out his story: how he'd come downstairs one night to see his mother surrounded by a crackling circle of yellow and crimson light. How a knife had appeared in her chest as if by magic. How he'd seemingly been teleported out of the house and into the street nearby. How his father had attempted to save her, only to be convicted of the murder (after all, his prints were the only ones on the knife). How he'd spent the next ten years searching for something, anything, that could prove his father's innocence. How almost none of the kids had believed him, with the exception of his foster sister and his girlfriend.

"It's how I found out about you," he admitted. "I dug through history, conspiracy theories, looking for all the weird stuff, and it always led back to you eventually."

"Sounds about right," the Doctor agreed.

"Earth Death in twenty minutes," the tannoy announced.

"Hey, wait a minute. How come everyone here speaks English?" Barry asked.

"No, you just hear English," the Doctor explained. "It's a gift of the TARDIS. The telepathic field, gets inside your brain and translates."

"It just gets inside my head?" Barry frowned. "Without even asking permission?"

"I didn't think about it like that."

"Well, maybe ask next time?" Barry pointed out. The Doctor quirked a smile.

"Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

"And how come there's all these different Doctors? I've seen, like, fifteen different ones. Is it like a superhero title, or a family name…"

"Nope, they're all me. My species, well, we had this little trick, see. When I die, I can change. New face, new body, same me. Ninth so far."

"Wow," Barry breathed, then frowned. "Wait, you said 'had' that trick…"

"Give me your mobile," the Doctor ordered, seemingly not hearing. Barry mentally shrugged and did so, watching his friend open the back and slip a small chip into it. "Little bit of jiggery pokery…"

"Is that a technical term, jiggery pokery?"

"Yeah, I came first in jiggery pokery. What about you?"

"Nah, I failed wibbliness."

"Go on. Call home."

Shrugging, Barry did so.

"Hey, Bare?" Joe's rumbling voice came over the phone, thousands of miles and billions of years away, and tears sprang to his eyes. "What's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Great. Yeah. I, uh, I just…I wanted to say hi."

"You're calling international just to say hi? You sure everything's okay?" Joe asked.

"I'm fine, I promise, Joe," Barry hurried to say. "It's just…been a while, and there's a bunch of stuff going on. You know, normal stuff."

"Sure, Barry, sure. If you say so." In the background, a voice shouted something, and Joe swore. "Sorry, I gotta run. I'll call you back soon as this is over, okay?"

"No! I, I mean, no thanks, I'm good. Promise. Just wanted to, to hear a friendly voice, you know?"

"Yeah." His adoptive dad's voice softened. "Yeah, I do. Take care of yourself, okay? I'll Skype you this weekend."

"Uh, yeah. Sounds great. Talk to you soon. Bye, Joe."

He could hear the smile in his dad's voice. "Bye, Barry."

Flipping his phone closed, he stared unseeing out the window.

"Think that's amazing, you want to see the bill?" the Doctor said, and Barry couldn't tell whether or not he was joking.

"Five billion years," Barry breathed. "Nothing but dust now. Me, him…we're all just dust in the wind."

"Bundle of laughs, you are," the Doctor snarked, before frowning as the station shook. "That's not supposed to happen."

Re-entering the main lounge, Barry overheard the Moxx of Ballhoon talking before the Doctor went to speak to one of the tree-women, Jabe, who offered to show the maintenance duct to the Doctor and his husband. Had Barry been drinking something, he would've spat it out.

"Yeah, no. We're not married. Just friends."

"Very well," she said, though she didn't look convinced. "Let's go, shall we?"

"Let's," Barry agreed.

"Earth death in fifteen minutes," the computer announced as they headed out.

"So who's in charge of Platform One?" the Doctor asked as they ducked through a narrow passageway, Barry trailing the other two. "Is there a Captain or what?"

"There's just the Steward and the staff," Jabe replied. "All the rest is controlled by the metal mind."

"You mean the computer?" Barry piped up. "Who controls that, though? Is he in charge of that?"

"The Corporation controls everything," Jabe said flatly. "They move Platform One from one artistic event to another. But no, none of them are on board." Barry could hear the shrug in her voice. "They're not needed. This facility is purely automatic. It's the height of the Alpha class. Nothing can go wrong."

"Unsinkable?" the Doctor asked, and Barry turned to nod grimly over his shoulder.

"If you like," Jabe responded. "The nautical metaphor is appropriate." "You're telling me," the Doctor said. "I was on board another ship once. They said that was unsinkable. I ended up clinging to an iceberg. It wasn't half cold."

"Wait, what?" Barry bumped his head on a low-hanging pipe. "You were on the Titanic?"

Really got to get used to lines like that, he thought to himself, rubbing his head.

"Did you know?" Jabe asked him, and Barry started, lost in thought.

"Sorry, what?"

"Where he comes from? Who he is?"

The young man looked at his friend. "He's…he's the Doctor."

She gazed at him, and when he met her eyes, he saw a look he would come to recognize in the Doctor's own gaze: Wisdom and patience and compassion, all wrapped up and mixed together by long, long age. After all, no one can do patience like a tree. She smiled sadly and turned to the other man, who was studiously ignoring them both.

"I know where you're from," Jabe told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Forgive me for intruding, but it's remarkable that you even exist. I just wanted to say how sorry I am."

The Doctor remained facing away, but placed one hand over hers for a moment and squeezed.

"I don't understand," Barry put in. "Doctor, who are you?"

The door opened, and the man stepped through without a backwards glance. "I'm the Doctor. Just the Doctor. That's all."

"The last of the Time Lords," Jabe explained quietly. "There was a war. A Time War. The Last Great Time War. The Time Lords fought the Daleks for the sake of all creation. All the universe watched, and wept, and burned. And at the end, the Daleks burned in the fires of war. And Gallifrey, his home world, with them."

"Oh my God," Barry breathed, hands to his mouth.

"You coming?" the Doctor called.

Arriving in the engine room, the unlikely trio discovered a robot spider scuttling around inside the "retro" air conditioning, clearly up to no good.
"Earth Death in ten minutes," the computer announced.

Returning to the observation deck, they found a charbroiled Steward, and Jabe confirmed that the spiders had infiltrated the whole of the platform. To make matters even worse, they discovered that Cassandra had been behind the gifts of the spiders, intending to manufacture a hostage situation with herself in it for the money, and then teleported out, leaving the platform failing behind her. The Doctor announced that they could restore the systems manually, and led the way back to the air conditioning room with Barry and Jabe behind him.

"Heat levels critical," the computer announced, as the three of them gazed across the long platform at the switch on the far side of spinning razor sharp fans. Barry fancied he could hear the Mission: Impossible theme playing.

"Heat levels rising," the computer warned. "Heat levels rising."

Pulling a panel off the wall, the Doctor pushed down a lever to slow down the fans, but the moment he let go, they sped up again. Barry whipped off his crimson sweatshirt, tied it around the lever to protect his hands, and grabbed on.

"I got this, Doctor!"

"Hold on tight," the Time Lord ordered him. "No matter what, hold on tight!"

"I will," Barry promised. "Good luck!"

The Doctor nodded at him.

"Stop wasting time, Time Lord," Jabe ordered, and the Doctor gave her a brief, but genuine grin. Rushing ahead, he ducked between one row of fans, then a second, and a third. At first, it was only warm, but then it rapidly grew hotter and hotter. Within seconds, his T-shirt was drenched in sweat, and his hands were starting to blister through the sweatshirt, which was now mostly charred fabric. Swearing under his breath, he shifted his grip to leaning on the lever with one elbow at a time.

"Hold on!" Jabe encouraged him.

"I am!" Barry shouted irritably, blinking sweat out of his eyes. "Hurry, Doctor! I can't…"

There was a clunk, and the fans slowed down again. Barry jumped back, wringing his hands, as the Doctor ducked back under the fans.

"You okay?" he asked, examining his friend.

"I'll live," Barry grimaced.

"We'll get you some burn cream soon as this is over," the Doctor promised. "And a new sweatshirt. C'mon."

"So what now?" Barry asked as they entered the observation lounge. The Doctor stared ahead, his face like thunder.

"Here's the thing," he snapped. "Teleportation through five thousand degrees needs some kind of feed. And it must be hidden nearby."

He strode over to a nearby alcove and smashed the so-called ostrich egg, revealing a small device. "And if you're as clever as me, then a teleportation feed can be reversed."

He twisted a dial, and a blue glow appeared in the middle of the room, fading to reveal Cassandra in mid-speech. "You should have seen their little alien faces…oh."

"The last human," the Doctor said flatly.

"So, you passed my little test," she replied quickly. "Bravo. This makes you eligible to join, er, the Human Club."

"People have died, Cassandra," the Doctor growled. "You murdered them."

"It depends on your definition of people," she snapped, and with that, any sympathy Barry had had evaporated like the Moxx of Ballhoon. "That's enough of a technicality to keep your lawyers dizzy for centuries. Take me to court, then, Doctor, and watch me smile and cry and flutter…"

"And creak?" Barry put in, arms folded.

"And what?"

"Creak," the Doctor snapped. "You're creaking."
Having raised the temperature herself, and without her attendants to moisturize her, the inevitable happened, and Cassandra began to dry out in seconds.

"Doctor…" he muttered, then stopped himself, looking over at the curl of smoke which was all that was left of the Moxx, and remembering the barbecued smell of the Steward. His face and hands twinged. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if there was anything they could do.

"Everything has its time and everything dies," the Doctor said quietly.

"I'm too young!" she cried, before exploding.


Later, they stood before a large window, looking out at the drifting asteroids and the crimson ball of gas, which were all that remained of planet Earth.

"There goes the Earth," Barry muttered. "It's gone. We were so busy, and it…it's just…gone in a flash."

"Come with me," the Doctor ordered.

A brief, silent ride in the TARDIS later, they re-emerged in London in the present day. Children cried, adults laughed, and the Doctor and Barry stood in the midst of people living their lives, Barry just drinking it all in. The Doctor stuffed his hands in his pockets and spoke.

"You think it'll last forever, people and cars and concrete, but it won't. One day it's all gone. Even the sky. My planet's gone," he added, "It's dead. It burned like the Earth. It's just rocks and dust, before its time."

"That…that war Jabe mentioned?" Barry asked. The Doctor nodded.

"And your people? The other, uh, Time Lords?"

"Gone. All gone. I'm the only survivor. I'm left traveling on my own 'cos there's no one else."

"Not on your own," Barry promised him. "You've got me. I promise you, Doctor—as long as I'm around, you'll never be alone."

The Doctor smiled at him, and for a moment, his eyes looked a little wet. "Thanks."

Barry put a hand on his shoulder, and the Doctor squeezed his arm in return. They stood there, together, one young man and one impossibly ancient one, bonded by trauma and friendship. And then Barry's stomach rumbled.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm a growing boy."

The Doctor threw back his head and laughed—an honest, genuine, carefree laugh. "Let's grab some chips."

"Sounds good to me," Barry smirked. "Only five billion years until the shops close."

Please let me know what you think of the story! Next up will be Aliens of London. No, I haven't forgotten about The Unquiet Dead (I quite like it, actually), but honestly, the episode would be identical enough that it's not worth doing, unless I get enough interest. Imaginary cookie goes to whoever can spot a little foreshadowing.