|Stars Doth Fade
Author: Kirra White Tigress PM
The Doctor knows the lifespan of every star in the galaxy. Even he knows that every light must go out, and every star must fade. Written in memory of Elisabeth Sladen.Rated: Fiction K - English - 11th Doctor & Sarah Jane S. - Words: 653 - Reviews: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 04-19-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8039052
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: I would like to thank the wonderful Nina Webster for being my Beta all those months ago. I haven't made any changes to it since she looked over it, but I figured now was the chance to publish it.
RIP, Elisabeth Sladen. The world will never forget you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, nor any of the characters mentioned below.
Stars Doth Fade
Kirra White Tigress
The TARDIS glided smoothly past the stars, whirring almost happily in its travels. The man at her controls spun around the console to push buttons and mash things, anything to keep them on a steady path. Never slowing. Never stopping. Destination: anywhere.
The Doctor grinned. He swung the psychic monitor toward him so he could take a look outside. Galaxies and nebulas and planets sped past them (or rather, the travelers sped passed them) at an fascinating rate. Where should they go next? The Planet of the Talking Lemurs? Planet Colarime? Maybe even pay a visit to the Ood? He hadn't seen them in a while. Funny species they were, the Ood…
He swiveled the monitor around to look in another direction. The Doctor reached toward the keypad to put in coordinates, a specific planet, put the destination on 'random', anything that caught his eye or tickled his fancy.
And then it did. Way off in the distance, almost unnoticeable to those who didn't frequent the universe enough, was a giant, blazing ball of gas. It looked like any other star, except that its light was fading and its mass was rapidly decreasing.
The Doctor watched it in confusion and curiosity. To anyone else, it would mean nothing. But he knew the significance of this event.
He knew that this star was not supposed to die for another billion years.
A light is going out.
But why now?
The TARDIS slowed its pace through the cosmos. The engine's purr turned into a slow, sad mechanical moan. It was as if it were in mourning. Not over a star—that he knew—but because of something else. Something different, and also not quite right…
The Doctor paused, his eyes fixed on the dying star. It flashed at him like a beacon, as if beckoning for him to save it, keep it living, something. But he couldn't save it. He couldn't do anything besides watch it burn out. All stars had to die. Everything—living and non-living—had its time. Only this time, the ending came prematurely. There was nothing he could do.
He watched as the star finally faded into nothingness. When it did, his twin hearts panged with an unprecedented and very bitter remorse. He didn't know why it hurt. Perhaps he was getting too old for this; the death of a nonliving thing was starting to get to him. He smiled a bitter smile to himself even while his chest ached. He was becoming too human…
The Doctor heaved a sigh. He looked away from the monitor and blindly put in a few coordinates. The TARDIS stalled for a moment before complying. The matter of the star was over, but the sadness still lingered. He looked up again. They were headed to Earth. Somehow he didn't think that was any better, but he might as well. He may stop by and visit a few people. Martha, maybe. Or Donna, though she wouldn't remember him even if he hadn't regenerated. He could even see Sarah Jane, if she was available. He hadn't seen Sarah Jane in quite some time. He might as well.
The TARDIS gave a sick whirr; the Doctor ignored it. "13 Bannerman Road," the Doctor said aloud as he pulled one of the many switches on the console. The TARDIS hesitantly switched into its phasing mode, whirring loudly as it disappeared from space to relocate onto solid ground.