Hello everyone! I am so, so sorry for not posting in so long. But here it is, right after Matt Smith's last episode. I'm going to miss him quite a lot. He's my Doctor. But welcome Peter Capaldi. Anyway, here's a new chapter. I hope you all enjoy.
The TARDIS door slowly creaked open, allowing the two time travelers to quietly slip inside. The door snapped closed as soon as they were inside, nearly catching the end of Clara's dress. "Hey!" She cried indignantly.
"Clara," The Doctor said weakly as he nearly fell on top of the railing. ", not now."
"Sorry." She muttered, as the Doctor struggled up the stairs.
He cringed each time he had to lift his feet and, although he was huffing and puffing, he barely cleared the stair each time. He shuffled like an old man who was missing his walker; his legs suddenly seemed limp and stick-like, as if they would give way at any moment. Apparently the Doctor thought they might too, since he held onto the railing for dear life.
How much longer will his hearts last? Clara thought and the Doctor silently wondered the same thing. He could hear them, the beating, slow and no longer rhythmic. The gaps between beats were growing larger and during them a strange emptiness filled him. Is this what death, real death, feels like? He asked himself. Each time he'd regenerated he'd never felt anything like this. There was no room for it; as his old body burned, immediately was a new one created filled with the sweet energies of life.
But this feeling, it was dark and deep and grey. It hurt him and yet numbed his senses. It felt like he was being torn to shreds and yet also like he was drifting off to sleep. It was a feeling of contradictions, and yet, he realized, it only felt this way, because he was losing the ability to feel anything.
"Not much time." He muttered. "Not much time."
Clara stood watching the old man. She had come this far and now didn't know what to do. Should she help the Doctor or stay out of his way?
"Clara! Help me up the stairs!" The Doctor cried and she almost laughed, he sounded so much like a grumpy old man.
She ran over to him and, using her as a crutch, they climbed the stairs.
"Right," The Doctor said, now that they'd reached the control panel. ", this is going to hurt a lot."
"Couldn't hurt more than dying." Clara said with a nervous laugh. The Doctor shot her a look. "Right, not funny. Sorry."
The Doctor sighed. "Clara," He said as he pressed a red button. Old gears started to grind and a metallic helmet was slowly lowered from the ceiling. ", if anything goes wrong… if this doesn't work, please, don't be afraid to…"
"It'll work." Clara reassured him.
"But it might not." The Doctor said softly, saving his breath. "If it doesn't work, Clara, you've got to kill me. Right then and there."
"I… I can't." Clara stammered. How could she possibly ever do that to the Doctor? He was the man who had shown her the universe, who had taken her aboard his ship, who had become her friend, a better friend than she'd ever had before.
"Don't even think about it." He put his hands on her shoulders and gripped her as tightly as he could. She felt his bony fingers dig into her shoulders. And she stared into his eyes. They were sad, old eyes, surrounded by a hollow, cadaverous face. That's what he'd become. A walking corpse. "Just do it. It doesn't matter what with, just stab me through one of my hearts. I think that'll do it. Actually, do both, just to be sure."
Clara shook her head. This was all so like a bad dream. It didn't feel real; it felt like she wasn't in her body, she was just looking down from some unknown place watching herself. But she knew she couldn't disconnect herself from this reality. The Doctor needed her.
But really, how was she supposed to kill him? "Doctor, I really can't."
"You have to."
"No, no, I can't. How am I supposed to Doctor?" Clara cried, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. "How can you expect me to kill you? You're my friend! My best friend!"
He sighed and closed his eyes as his skeletal finger pressed down on a bright red button. There was a sudden grinding of gears high above their heads. Clara turned and saw the shiny silver helmet lowering down from the ceiling.
The Doctor opened his eyes and smiled. It was a tired smile, half-hearted. It was ready for a nice peaceful sleep. It was ready for death.
Clara leaned against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It was faint, barely audible, but it was there. A single heartbeat left, trying to keep his body going, even though it couldn't. That heartbeat, faint as it was, gave her hope. There was still time; there was still a Doctor.
"Clara," He whispered into her ear. ", you've got to let go of me."
"Oh!" She said, not even realizing she'd started hugging him. "Right." She released him and he smiled at her, not a tired smile, but a friendly one. It was the smile of a friend.
He shuffled down the stairs again and held the silver helmet in his hands. He just held it for a moment, smiling at it. And then, he put it on and the screams of pain began.