Author's Note: Last chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!

Chapter 12

The Doctor had asked her to travel with him.

Laila trudged through the town as the shadows fell about her, the first stars beginning to peek out in the night sky. The Doctor had asked her to travel with him. A few trips to the future, maybe? A peek into the past? You're a seasoned time traveler now, he had said with a grin.

But she couldn't.

The image of her gravestone hovered in the back of her mind, of her and Rob's gravestone. Died. 1945. The knowledge that would haunt her for the next two years. And then, for the rest of her life. Died. 2013.

She had had enough of seeing the future.

There was Miller's department store. The store that would be a post office in 80 years. And the Cartwright's house—where Eddy would live. She slowed as a car passed her on the road—how different they would look in 2018. She thought of the strange devices on the dashboard, of the little robot that followed Rey like a loyal puppy. Of the calendar hanging on the wall in her attic. Of the walls painted a different color, the furniture, the light switch, the—

She couldn't think about it. She felt as if she could go crazy under the weight of knowing.

Yes, she had had enough of seeing the future.

Her house loomed up before her, a silhouette in the darkness, and she hesitated for a moment. How long had she been gone? Mother was going to kill her….

She took a deep breath, stepped up to the door, and knocked.

She could hear the sound of running feet inside, and the door was flung open. And in the doorway stood—

Rob?

For a moment she just stared at him, and then her hand flew to her mouth. "Rob?" she said in a small voice. "Rob—"

And then he had thrown his arms around her, and was twirling her in a circle, laughing, almost crying. "Laila! Laila….oh, Laila." His voice was a bit strangled, and he gazed at her as if he couldn't get enough of her. "Laila….I thought you were dead."

Her eyes widened and she stared at him. "How….how long…."

"Two weeks!" He put his hands on her shoulders, still staring at her as if he couldn't quite believe it. "It's been two weeks…."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Two….weeks….I've been gone for…..oh my…." She let out a little squeak. "Two weeks….oh goodness. Doctor, you…." She shook her head before grinning, and throwing her arms around Rob again, burying her head in his shoulder.

It must have been three o'clock in the morning.

Allison sat curled up in a little window seat, staring up at the stars, the cracked journal on her lap and a pile of yellowed letters at her side. Somehow, she felt odd opening the journal—felt odd, reading those letters—now, after she had—

After she had met her.

It had been a month now. The town had been chaos and her and her brother had had to explain a lot of things that no one had believed, but finally they had gotten everyone out, and Edward had even managed to get the town investigated and most of it condemned and gated off.

And now here she was, finally settled into her new home with Laila's journal in her lap, wondering if she dared.

A flashlight lay balanced on the windowsill, casting long, distorted shadows as she opened the journal, her fingers ghosting over the yellowed pages. Where had she stopped, last time she had read? April 23, 1943. Rob had just left—

She flipped to the next page and froze.

May 24, 1943.

My dear Allison. I know you're reading this, and I just want to say that I don't mind. I'm dead by now; at least I'm fairly certain I am, if you're reading this when I think you are. Oh, that's a rather strange thought—but I simply must tell you what happened, for I'm certain you'll want to know.

When I arrived home, I discovered I had arrived two weeks late and everyone thought I'd been killed somehow. It was—rather horrible, but rather dramatic, I suppose. At any rate, Rob was certainly glad to see me! Oh—Rob! He had come home with a bandage over his heart—he told me the bullet had just missed him. And—well—we were going to wait until the war ended to get married, but—

And here the writing became a bit shaky, and a dark splotch of ink spread across the paper, as if she had laid her pen down.

But—well. I wanted to, and he wanted to, and well, we both thought—if we lost each other again—and the handwriting became shaky again, shaky and a bit weak. Well, we'd rather have a little time. So we're to be married tomorrow, and oh dear, I'm so excited I'm quite certain I won't get a wink of sleep. So I decided I must write to you.

My dearest Allison. I'm afraid I don't have the words to say. I'm sorry we had such little time together. I would have liked—we are so much alike, you and I. I believe we would have been wonderful friends if we had been born in the same time. And I will be forever glad I was able to know you, even just a little.

And here the entry stopped, and a new date was written underneath it. Allison let the book fall from her fingers and gazed out the window for a long moment, staring unseeing at the twinkling stars. She wished she could reply. She wished—

She didn't know what she wished.

But as she stared at the night sky, she thought she saw a familiar shape pass across the moon. The shape of a rather square, and probably blue, police box.

The End

So I have the next story written and should hopefully be posting it in the next week or so if I can get my proofreader (i.e. my mom) to review it for me. ;)