A.N. Thanks to NekuYasha for the great review! I was tempted to use that line after reading it :)
His eyes are ancient, memories and snippets of time hidden in their untold depths. They sometimes are sober, full of old hurts never really forgotten. When he is planning some mad scheme, a wild gleam lights them, a lust for adventure that is unfailingly contagious.
A rich, deep brown, they are expressive, passionate, distant, and unfathomably alien.
They are like stars-not in the tired, clichéd way of banal love songs, but in an intrinsic, rawer way.
The infinite, immediate, overwhelming power of a star. A fire so strong it surpasses the meaning of the word, never staying still, never resting. Its surface is, while enough to make ordinary people whisper without comprehension, only a small part of the whole. His eyes both hold the terrible, scarcely contained magnificence of a star close up, but also the imperial remoteness of a diamond gleam in the night sky.
He knows more of stars than he has told me, I think. One day (how is one to approximate a 'day' in a time machine? An hour? Even a second can be countless centuries with him), without explanation, he pulled levers, pushed buttons, and we stopped moving. The door opened onto deep space, and he went to the threshold, I following hesitantly. The TARDIS ensured that we still could breathe, and we stood there, watching silently as a carmine star slowly pulsed. It emitted a rich ruby light, streams of fire swirling and rippling slowly over its surface. It seemed…tired, defeated. As though it was ready to give up.
The Doctor breathed a long sigh, rubbing a hand absently through his permanently disheveled hair. "I'm here," He spoke softly. I gazed at him, unsure of his meaning, or even why he was speaking.
The star's automatic rhythm was thrown off. It pulsed once, twice. Tendrils of light lifted upwards, and it looked at us. Up at the tiny blue box, and its keeper.
He stared unblinking into the heart of fire, and an answering flame lit his eyes, kin to the fading brilliance of the star. The Doctor jerked, and I steadied him wordlessly. He looked at me in thanks, and in his eyes was a strange emotion, and the light of the star, desperately burning bright. I kept a grip on his arm despite my alarm, and he rubbed at his face, eyes sightlessly opening and shutting. Flame blazed and died, and familiar gold-brown returned. "I can't," He muttered, though he wasn't speaking to me. "It's your time, not mine. I am with you, but I can't burn along with you. Not yet."
The star flared a scarlet reply, and he shook his head. "I am with you, that's all I can do."
The tendrils drooped, faded, coiled around themselves, holding each other in sadness. They retreated back into the star's mass. For a moment, the star glowed brighter, and I looked at the Doctor, to see a solemn, thoughtful expression.
He looked to where I sat beside him, and the ghost of his usual smile lit his face, pale imitation of the venerable splendor below. I returned it, unsure of what his history with this living star was, but captivated as to what would unfold. He took my hand, holding it in his familiar grip, warm and firm. "Now, just think!" He said in enthusiasm. "How many people can say they've seen a star at the end of its life? Something to write home about?" The Doctor raised an amused brow, his smile stronger, and infinitely amused at the openly stunned expression I knew was covering my face.
I returned his smile, and our eyes met before returning to the star below. Its glow had increased; scattering drops of deep wine light on a small misshapen lump of twisted rock. I pointed it out to the Doctor, all that remained of a planet.
It continued to pulse, until suddenly it…stopped. We watched with a painful wonder as the star stopped, edges of the sphere shivering with energy. The star exhaled, and energy spread in all directions, shining in a maelstrom of gilt and diamond stardust that seemed to go on forever.
Then the starbreath ended, and only the ashes were left, a misshapen carcass of violet dust and roiling flame.
The Doctor bowed his head, eyes faraway. He remained like that for a moment, then softly closed the door, and led me back up the ramp. Once up, the Doctor stopped, staring into a past that only he could begin to understand. A muscle twitched in his neck, and with a snap he was back to normal. He capered around the controls, smile back in place as though nothing had happened. But I knew better. Still, I said nothing. There was nothing to say. Whatever was in his past that let a star's light live in his eyes was his own secret, not mine.
"What would you say to a visit to the Himalayas? Say, the year 8,000? They have a brilliant Yeti facility there."
"What sort of a facility? I wasn't aware Yetis were more that a myth!" I asked, curiosity roused.
"Ah!" He exclaimed, beginning to work the console with a fevered energy. "Well, you see, they are! A myth, that is. Pure fakery. Well, that's not strictly true, there is something living in those mountains. Not from Earth, though."
"What…?" I began to ask, only to be cut off with a hand flapping in my direction.
"No, no, no, no, no! Don't want to spoil the surprise!"
And off we went again.