I wake up on the floor of the TARDIS. I sit up and look around confused. "I survived. Again. I keep doing that. Rory and I should have a contest," I say to no one in particular.

"Auntie Jane!" Junior walks into the console as his young self. I haven't seen him look like that since he was about twenty years old. I'm about to question him but someone else answers.

"What's up?" I turn and see my younger self coming over to him to see what he needs.

He holds up the journal. My journal of impossible things. "Journey's end. No one ever said. Why would Dad leave Mum on the beach? That doesn't make any sense."

I remember this. He was around twenty at the time. Since he needed to know the truth about me, I gave him my journal as a history book of my past. In a way. He was quite upset by the fact his Dad could even think of leaving his Mum. I had to explain to him that it was a different universe with different circumstances. What I think bothered him about it so much was that he realized that his world wasn't the only one for the first time. Logically he knew, but knowing and understanding are completely different.

"Just because that was what happened as fiction in my world, doesn't mean it would've happened here. In fact, it didn't happen here." I watch myself as I comfort him. "Just because that reality exists, it doesn't make your reality any less real."

It took me a while to come to terms with that, but I'm glad I was able to make his knowledge easier for him to bare. I remember when he asked if he could talk to my young self when I was in my original universe. If I was there watching, why couldn't he? I told him he could, but that I wouldn't talk back. But I remember how I had realized that that was why Eleven always seemed to be talking to the audience. Looking at the camera. "I will always remember when the Doctor was me."

The scene in front of me changes. I realize that I am dead, or rather dying. Eleven did this at the end of season five. He went back through his life. He rewound. But he hates repeats. I look up and see a very young me standing up on the hill in Wilf's backyard. I remember this too. It was before I regenerated, just after I lost Meta. I climb the hill and look up at the stars, ready to play my part.

"You come to tell me to remember again?" she asks. "Because I have no idea who you are or what you mean by that."

I smile. I haven't told her that yet but I will do. "I forgot how snarky you could be."

"I'm insulted. People should never forget that."

"Oh they won't. You make far too much of an impression. But I'm not here to tell you to remember. I tried that. It didn't work the first time. I'm here to remind you."

"Of what?"

"Life is too long to harbor regret." Only now do I realize just how true that statement is.

"I've never heard that before. How am supposed to remember it?"

"Well, you've heard it now. So you better not forget."I shrug slightly.

"You're rather bossy aren't you?"

"Side effects of being a commanding officer." I've been one for a long time. And in the Time War no less. But she won't understand that yet.

She turns more fully to me. "Who are you?"

It never ceases to amaze me how I've never lost my love for quotes. "Spoilers. Major spoilers. But you like twist endings so it's going to be interesting."

I start to leave before I let something slip that I shouldn't but her voice stops me. "Is that it? You just going to leave now?"

I turn my ear toward her so that she can see my profile. I remember not being able to see the mysterious woman's face. And now I'm her. "I've been leaving for a long time. Just...it was always coming. It comes for all of us. One day, you'll understand what I mean when I say that."

I do understand it. Death comes for us all. I was never going to last forever, despite the universe's tendency to wake me up. "Meta died for you. Not because of you. And that needed to happen, it just...I know it hurts you. Right now. But it gets better, and I don't want you to hate yourself for it." And with that, I fade into the next step in my life flashing before my eyes.

I next find myself in a galactic bar. I'm confused by it at first. I was never one to prowl these kinds of places but then I see a man drowning his sorrows. Jack. I can tell by looking at him that he's here out of guilt. Guilt for Ianto, guilt for me. So I buy him a drink, and write him a note. "She would want you to know. It was her choice and she didn't regret it. And his name is Alonzo if your interested."

I send it over to him and he looks up at me. I give a little wave. I can tell by the way he looks at me that he knows exactly who I am. He always was clever. I nod toward Alonzo and winks at me in thanks. I roll my eyes as I fade away.

The next stop on memory lane is Vegas. That time that Meta and I went on a road trip. I smile as I think of our car Helga. She's still in a garage back on Earth. I wonder if anyone will take care of her.

I see my younger self. I get myself a drink and head over to plant the seeds for a long and complicated history. "You need to remember."

She looks at me startled. "Remember what? Who are you?"

"Spoilers. But that's not the point Jane Ryder. You have to remember." With that, I swig back the rest of my drink, and walk away. She calls after me, but then I'm gone.

Music is playing in my next destination. A young me is leaning against the wall, watching as the Wedding party dances. I lean next to her and give her some more insight. "You're going to remember this for the rest of your life."

She looks around but sees right through me. My smile fades. She can't see me any more. But she can hear me. She asks the TARDIS if it was her, but it wasn't. It was me. It had always been me. Without warning, I'm sucked away again.

This time, different music is playing. A song that I haven't heard in a very long time. I run the corner to see myself playing the piano for Rose in Pete's house. I remember this too. We were preparing to jump to find the Doctor the next day. I'm about to sit and continue list behind but once again, I'm pulled away.

The next stop is more painful than any of the others before it. It was a few days before the plane crash. I was packing for the trip. And my Dad came in to help me.

"You got everything?" I gasp as I see him walk through my old bedroom door. He's just as I remember him, except he seems smaller. Of course I'm taller now. But there are things I'd forgotten. I forgot the cleft in his chin, I forgot how one of his eyes was a shade darker than the other. Most people didn't even notice unless he told them or oh we're looking for it.

"Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Great. Do you want to break for lunch? I'm thinking something from that polish place."

"Sounds great!"

This is all going on in front of me as I break down crying at the familiarity if it all. But they don't hear me. I can't reach out and hug my father. Even if I could, he wouldn't know me. Not with this face. What would I tell him? Nothing. That was the point in the first place. Protecting my family from knowing things better left hidden.

The next one hurts just as much. It's before my parents divorce. I was eight years old. Just around the time we started watching Doctor Who together. We went out for a park day. We ate sandwiches on the grass and mum and I ran around chasing bubbles that dad was blowing from the little plastics bottle. It was one of the last good days.

I hadn't realized how beautiful my mum was before. I haven't seen her in even longer than my dad. She lived so far away. I never understood why she needed that much distance but it doesn't matter any more. The turn my life took gave me a new perspective. The world is bigger than our ordinary personal problems.

"I'm going to get you!" The eight year old me shrieks and laughs as her mother swoops her up and tickles her. The tears are running even more freely now. I wipe them away and when I look again, I'm standing in front of my bedroom door.

I slowly open it and walk inside. The eight year old me is sleeping. I notice the nightlight and smile. Once upon a time I was afraid of the dark. Except it wasn't the dark that scared me, it was the monsters that lived in the dark. And here I am, all grown up, and I'm the one that fights the monsters.

I sit down on the edge of the bed. Something rubs up against me and I look down to see Pippa curling up in a ball into my side. I give a watery smile as I stroke her fur for the first time in a hundred years. I look back at my sleeping form.

"You wouldn't believe it," I speak softly. "You would believe how big it all is. How dangerous, and frightening, and utterly wonderful. The dark isn't so bad once you let your eyes adjust. You can't let it consume you." I sigh heavily.

"Few realize just how vast our surroundings truly are. The omniverse breaks down into millions of multiverses which then breaks down into billions of universes that breakdown into countless stars and planets and people of all shapes and sizes. How can anyone even begin to fathom the extraordinary depth in the creation that builds and expands continually until no number is large enough to count it? And in the center of it all there's just one little rock. It's metaphorical and true all at once in it's complicated simplicity. And though that shouldn't make sense, it does, because it's innocent ignorance makes it so. This rock in the center of the omniverse is the prime universe. The one where all the others stories are told."

I've gotten sentimental in my old age and I keep talking, this speech that I've prepared for such a moment. "Those few storytellers that seemingly have a talent for writing a fantasy that transports us to another world have an altogether different gift than is supposedly evident. Their imagination is their gift, for it opens their mind to the possibility that those other worlds exists. To the fact that those stories might possibly be so much more true than that. Because the best stories always have a bit of truth in them."

"And so of the many stories told there was one that many couldn't let go of. And it grew into something entirely different. To many it became their life. They wrote it and acted it out and dreamed it and read it. It became a little escape from reality until some it consumed and others it made stronger. But isn't that something that all stories do? Don't all stories become so much apart of us that we can no longer distinguish what was us before the story became our definition? When did people begin to recognize us for the stories we love and share?" Asking these questions bring me comfort. I close my eyes and continue.

"I no longer remember who I was before the story. I don't remember when the story became my own. I only know that it is the only story that I have left to tell." On the edges of my past existence I stand and keep watch over my young self as I tell the story.

"I use to be sad when a story ended. But I realize now, there is no such thing as an ending. Only breathes between beginnings."

"Every universe tells a different story. Except that one. That solitary rock floating alone in the vast space. It tells every story. It tells yours and mine and every story ever thought of or ever told or ever will exist. And each and everyone of us has a story to share. It's just a question of whether or not we choose to tell a good one. So I ask simply of you, which story will you tell? Will it be yours? Or the story of another world, and which is more fulfilling in the end?"

"The best way for you to understanding any of this, is to hear the story of someone like you. A person from your world who was defined by the stories that they loved, until one day they defined the story itself. They became woven into the tapestry of that piece of truthful fiction. So I ask you to listen. Please. Bare with me. Because this is not just anyone's story, it's yours."

I think about what has made me who I am today, and I tell her, even though she'll never truly remember this, I know that it will linger. "I never wanted to be just any companion. I want to be compassionate like Rose Tyler, steadfast like Mickey Smith and brave like Jack Harkness. I want to be strong like Martha Jones and determined like Donna Noble. I want to be protective like Amy Pond and loyal like Rory Williams. I want to be fierce like River Song and clever like Clara Oswin Oswald. I never wanted to be just any companion. I wanted to be them all." A single tear escapes my eye and rolls down my face.

"You have a hard road ahead. Things are going to happen to you, horrible things, but in the end it will be beautiful. Because it's your story. And between you and me...I think we made it a good one. You just...need to remember. Remember. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel." I turn and see the bedroom door glowing in an unearthly way.

"That's my cue." I stand up, much to the protest of Pippa who had gotten quite comfortable. I kiss the little girls forehead. "Goodnight," and I whisper her real name. My name.

I head to the door and move to open it. I look back one last time. I've spent more than a life time in the dark and this is it. This is where I can finally see the light. I can finally rest. And I don't want to go. I understand why Ten didn't either. "Sweet dreams." And with that, I walk through the door, and leave my past behind.

DW DW DW DW DW DW DW DW DW DW

I open my eyes and find myself standing in a white hallway. Brown doors appear to lead off into more colorful rooms but you would have to open them first. I furrow my brow. I've seen this somewhere. Wasn't this part of season eight?

I don't have time to finish that line of questioning because I am forcefully turned around only to find myself in a desperate kiss. It's new and familiar at the same time. It's hungry and gentle, the kind of kiss I could lose myself in. But in the end, the need to see overwhelms me. Part of me doesn't want to know, because if I'm wrong my hearts will break all over again.

I pull away only to look into deep chocolate brown eyes. "Meta?"

He widely smiles at me. "Welcome to Paradise."

THE END