X –This Dies with Us
By Chronic Guardian
Written for Twelve Shots of Summer: Eleventh Hour, Week 10: Last Secret and Final Years
After things wound down with the Toymaker, the Doctor had more or less gone into retirement. He would emerge eventually, surely. There were still the odd outings with Rose, or Mel, and he had seen himself going forward thanks to the unorthodox bi-generation. So now his job was to connect the dots and get himself back to where he knew he would end up.
But part of connecting those dots was just not doing anything.
And that was what he was doing when time snapped and the Reaper finally found him.
"Doctor?" the cloaked figure called from the garden gate. Its voice was smooth, deep, like the undisturbed waters resting at the bottom of a pond.
The Doctor, sitting up from his afternoon sunning, frowned at the figure. "Sorry, Doctor's not in. On sabbatical. Can I get you a referral?"
"I've been watching you a long time," the cloaked figure rumbled on. "Shall I come in, or would you prefer to come to me, Tecteun's Child?"
"...Who told you that name?"
"I heard it," the cloaked figure shrugged. "I had to investigate all the deaths she induced. Shall I use a deeper name for you?"
The Doctor, who had had enough of being on the defence in this conversation, crossed his arms and defiantly raised his eyebrows. Perhaps not scottish attack eyebrows as he'd once had, but they were pointy enough to portray his disdain. "Well, what should I call you, raggedy man? Rassilon? Omega?"
"Reaper will do," the creature sighed. "Some call me grim. That got rather tiresome. After a while, I left more work to the Quantum Shades than doing it myself, but you made an exception to that policy."
"Ah, Reaper," that was something he could work with. The Doctor nodded and started mentally thumbing through his mental catalog of cultural personifications of death. Mentioning the Quantum Shades brought technology into it. He'd always wondered why the Shades were so careful to observe contractual distinctions… most fancy guns didn't care who they were pointed at when the trigger was pulled. "Sorry, I think we'll have to reschedule. My timeline is already set to—"
"Your timeline has been truncated," the Reaper cut in. "When you bi-generated, your other incarnation walked away with your regenerative properties."
"What? No. No, no, no," the Doctor lifted a finger and suddenly wished he had a dimensional blackboard to sketch out the error on. "Look, he's me in the future. So since we've already crossed paths," he put two fingers together and added a pointed look, "he has to happen. I'm terribly sorry Mr. Reaper, but that's a fixed point in time, now. You'll be invoking the wrath of—well, the reapers, if you step on those toes."
The Reaper leaned on the garden gate, sagging into the motion with weight of countless ages. "You will not regenerate into that man. You have already bi-generated him into existence. That was his beginning. There is no historical point for you to reach before he becomes because he already is. However, due to my immense respect for you as a worthy adversary..." the cloaked cadaver-maker straightened up and offered a hand, "I am willing to offer you a deal."
"I don't like making deals that end up with people dead."
"I could kill you now."
Immediately following the statement, a sharp pain surged through the Doctor's chest. He clutched at his waistcoat buttons to loosen the stress before realizing it was a double heart attack. Well, that complicated things.
"I take no joy in this, Doctor, but it is a necessary operation."
"What?" The Doctor hissed between his teeth, "No taste for the exotic? I should've guessed you'd be tacky. Is it you that's always bringing back the Daleks?"
"I had my fill in the confession dial. By the billionth death, you had become routine. Although, I suppose those were mostly shallow recreations. Perhaps you will be the same, but I am at least allowed to offer you my regards this time."
"Right… what's this about a deal..."
"Call it professional courtesy," the Reaper produced a form from its robes. "Name your conditions: a place and trigger event that you make happen. No super novas, no once-in-ten-lifetimes events. Give me a proper last request and I will be happy to honor it: from one fate-bringer to another."
The Doctor winced and slowly gathered himself. Was this really it? He could still poke around the edges of the contract—he could hardly help himself on that front—but on the off chance that the Reaper was playing his cards straight, he would like to name something good.
"I would like," he began matter of factly, choosing his words like a surgeon selecting his scalpel, "to go out in my TARDIS after saying goodbye to my best friend."
"Done, and well met," the Reaper nodded in approval. "I'll meet you there."
"You don't want to watch me do it?"
The robed creature gave a strange gurgle that was probably meant to be a laugh. "I'll know when you're ready. Don't keep me waiting, I've a schedule to keep."
"Right..." The Doctor bowed his head and gave a quick salute. If he really was leaving, then it was time to get down to business. Heading into the house, he started composing his going away speech. "Donna?"
He found her with a bag of crisps in the parlor. Hardly an adventure to Mars, but not everything needed to be life or death. "What?" she gave him a furtive look. "Missing your keys again?"
He smiled. "No, got my keys. Just… I think it's time to shuffling on again. Didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."
"Oh, bollocks. You'll be back for dinner," she popped open the bag and surreptitiously offered him a handful. "Hop off if you like, but I think you'd have just as lovely an afternoon here. Mel's got some computer gig thing with dancing and waving your arms about that she's bringing over. You could use the exercise. And don't even think about taking Rose, she's got a driver's test tomorrow."
"...I'll miss you, Donna Noble."
She stared at him for a long moment, sorting through the seriousness of the statement. Finally, it seemed to hit her that this wasn't joke, that this would be the last goodbye, and that he really meant to share the moment with her. And that was part of what he liked about Donna: maybe she liked to fill space with a few more words than necessary every now and then, but she also understood him without a full explanation.
She put aside the crisps and got to her feet, then pulled him in for an embrace.
"You were a good mate," he told her, "Take care of the others."
"Good? Oh, don't give me that, Spaceman! I was the best, wasn't I?"
He grinned, "Donna Noble, the temp from Sheffield, you turned an upsidedown universe back on its feet. You really were kind of fantastic."
She cried. He felt like crying, himself, but there would be time enough for that later. For now, it was just saying goodbye to the first person after the Time War to really know him as just a friend. Donna didn't deify him. She had walked alongside his paths and reminded him why he kept coming back to Earth after hundreds of years.
"Oi, Spaceman," she managed after a moment. "Don't you dare go erasing your tracks this time. No filching the memories, alright?"
"Well..." he forced a smile, "No. Not this time. I won't go underestimating you. And you won't go underestimating yourself, will you?"
She shook her head and regarded him gravely. "I've gone full-time, mate. None of that wishy-washy temp business, now."
"Good," he nodded and gave her a firm handshake. "Goodbye, then, Donna Noble. Don't stop doing what you do. It's the little things like you that hinge the universe together."
He hurried on back to the TARDIS after that, taking a crisp as a final souvenir, before breathing deep and stepping through the doors. There, leaning against the console, the Reaper waited for him.
"So," he popped his eyebrows, ate the crisp, and rubbed his hands together, "are you waiting until I set a heading?"
"That wasn't your best friend," the Reaper rumbled. "I know how to honor my word, Doctor."
"Oh?" He put on a frown for show while inside he beamed at the unraveling of the rules. "And how would you know? Keeping score at home?"
The Reaper shrugged. "I could guess, likely enough, but I'll be able to feel it when our deal is done. You still have another voyage to make before we conclude our business."
"Well, I won't say no to that," the Doctor remarked brightly, stepping smartly up to the center console and checking the dials. Throwing a switch, he let out a carefree cheer, "Here's to friendship, then!"
[§]
The TARDIS doors closed again behind him.
"You're stalling."
"What? Me?" The Doctor tried to give his most serious insulted face. "I would never."
"You stopped by Elizabeth Shaw to tell her how brilliant she was—"
"Well she is! Isn't she? Reverse engineered Dalek Tech for UNIT in the nineteen seventies!"
"—despite that she is not your best friend. You then played fetch with K-9 and Sarah Jane Smith—"
"Right: Man's best friend!"
The Reaper did not give him so much as a pointed look. "—who were also not your best friends, for you are more than a man, Doctor. You then tested my power by slipping past the time lock around the Ponds to have afternoon tea."
The Doctor spread his hands, "and you didn't join us! Rory makes a lovely cup, I'll have you know."
"Regardless, they were not your best friends. Neither was Craig, whom you played football with."
"I am offended on his behalf that you do not account for Stormagedon in possible best friends," the Doctor shot back primly. "Now if you're done complaining—"
"I grow tired of your game, Doctor," the Reaper said flatly. "I have shown you professional good will and you have decided to mock me. This curse I lay on you, then: Any timeline you touch will be henceforth forbidden to you. With the six degrees of separation running through your world, I doubt you'll be able to make more than five jumps before the universe locks you out. Take whatever winding path you like, but I'll be waiting for you at the end of it."
"Oh… Skipping ahead?"
"I have an idea where you'll end up," the Reaper sighed. "I will see you there and escort you back to your TARDIS for the end."
"Well, your choice, mate." The Doctor gave his best salute and leaned on the console to fake contemplation while the Reaper shuffled his way out the door. "See you at the final hole, then."
The moment Death's hound dog was out, the Doctor set the dials and sped off. Time travel had long made the entire concept of racing trivial, but he still got a slight thrill out of pretending to beat the Reaper to the final punch.
[§]
The inside of Clara's TARDIS was neat, well organized, and stuffed with anachronistic relics that would make any history professor go mad. Unlike Ashildir, who had mostly given up on having a place in history and even assumed "me" as her preferred moniker (Clara had tried to explain the grammatical issues with the construction, but Ashildir seemed set on the change), Clara liked to collect the threads of where she'd been. It was nice to have a record of her role behind the scenes, now that she was living the longest last second in the history of time.
"You know, you are both on my list as well," the Reaper commented from the sitting room sofa she'd picked up just before the Bolshevik revolution. "If you like, I can bring you all together now."
"I suppose that would be a change of pace," Ashildir murmured over a cup of tea, sitting across from their guest. "But who did you say you were waiting for?"
"Doctor 'John Smith'," the Reaper said. "Commonly known as 'the Doctor'."
Clara, arms crossed, exchanged a glance with her partner in crime. "And why would the Doctor show up here?"
"His last request was to see his best friend before I take him. After discussing the matter another narcissist Time Lord, I concluded it would likely be you: the impossible girl who has been spread across his timeline like..." the creature of death tilted its head, clearly making an effort to try an analogy, "...butter in French cooking."
"Ah, well… yeah, I suppose that's fair." She smiled to herself, satisfied that Death itself sided with her over the Master, who regarded themselves as the Doctor's true best friend. "That should be alright then. One last goodbye and then we can go."
Ashildir frowned and gave a minute motion for her to come closer. "I thought the Doctor forgot about you," the other girl said under her breath, inaudible over the background hums of the TARDIS.
Clara pursed her lips and glanced at their guest to make sure they won't being monitored. "Don't say the quiet part out loud," she whispered back and kept moving to rest at the control console. "While we're waiting," she said at a more casual volume, "I'll run a few final errands."
"...I suppose that will be acceptable," the Reaper said. "The Doctor will come eventually."
[§]
Meanwhile, in the seventeenth century Scottish Highlands, the Doctor had come to the final stop on his farewell tour. Rifling through his closet, he found a smart tartan, a kilt, and a fine set of clubs to sling over his shoulder. Then he set off.
He crossed the hills in long strides and soaked in the bonnie sun upon the bright morning dew. Emerging from the mists with a jaunty step, he came to a halt to sight out his target, then sallied on. Intently whetting a hunting knife on his porch, the lad didn't see him coming until they were hardly an armsbreadth apart.
But then, that earnest intentness was one of the Doctor's favorite things about him.
The lad stopped and frowned at him. "Eh?"
"Hello Jamie," the Doctor said cheerily, setting down his clubs and enjoying the guarded hospitality of his best friend in the universe, "care for a round of golf?"
[End X]
A/N: By my own reckoning, James Robert McCrimmon of the Patrick Troughton era is really the Doctor's best friend and doesn't get properly outdone by any ensuing companions. When Clara and the Master fight over who his confession dial is supposed to go to, I yelled as much at the TV screen. And While I get that the black and white, low-budget, hokey scripts of the Second Doctor aren't for everyone, the screen chemistry of Frazer Hines and Patrick Troughton have made it one of my personal favorites to date.
As for the Final Years, I feel bigeneration is a cheap writing trick unsupported by canon (not that canon has ever stopped Dr. Who before!) and that the Fourteenth Doctor may be as good a terminus as any. And while I toyed with the idea that the Last Secret would be his real name, I personally see it more that his real best friend remains unrecognized by time.
Anyway, thank you for reading!
-CG
[8-17-2024]