The Time of Change

Goodbyes

I quietly sip on a cup of tea, one leg crossed over the other on a wooden bench, staring at the flame-saturated painting of the Citadel. The thin, decorative ceramic is warm in my cold hands. All three of the TARDISes are parked against the wall to my far left, side by side by side. The first in the lineup is shabby and old-looking whereas the second is only slightly battered. The last appears so new that it's unreal that she ever left this place, but she has traveled more than the other two combined. My eyes drift to the three in the peaceful silence that surrounds the Doctors and me. The Warrior sits on my right; the other two are standing in front of us, their eyes glued to the three-dimensional art. They both hold little china cups as well.

"I don't suppose we'll know," muses the Warrior suddenly, his voice low and pensive, "if we actually succeeded... but at worst, we failed doing the right thing as opposed to succeeding in doing the wrong."

A short, uncomfortable beat follows, and I break it by commenting good-naturedly, "Life and soul, you are." He smiles at me, and I hear soft chortles from the other two.

"What is it actually called?" asks the Tenth with a nod toward the painting.

"Well, there's some debate," my husband tells him, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's either No More or Gallifrey Falls."

"Not very encouraging either way," the Warrior speculates.

"That's what I said," I whisper.

The Tenth appears to not hear us and continues, "How did it get here?"

I see the Eleventh shake his head slowly. "No idea," he replies.

"There's always something we don't know, isn't there?" laughs the Tenth.

"One should certainly hope so!" grunts the Warrior as he gets to his feet. He stretches his legs, groaning, then straightens himself to his full height. The others are looking at him no longer with hatred, regret, or dread but with newfound respect. "Gentlemen," the Warrior says to them in an official tone, "it has been an honor"—He nods at my husband—"and a privilege." This time he inclines his head toward the Tenth, his eyes gleaming as they catch the light from the ceiling panels.

"Likewise," the Tenth tells him kindly.

"Doctor," insists the Eleventh with a smile.

The Warrior flushes, gratitude and happiness flooding his expression. He gives them another nod. "And," he adds after a second, "if I grow up to be half the man you are, Annalise Song..." He turns to me and winks as I stand, setting down my teacup. "Then I shall be happy indeed."

"That's right!" I giggle. "Aim high." I hug him tightly and plant a kiss on his scruffy cheek. He pats my arm with a gentle twinkle in his eye.

"The man I'm to be next," he says under his breath, leaning closer to me, "what is he like?"

My smile widens, though it's wobbly, and without so much as a thought, I reply, "Fantastic."

I watch diluted relief wash over him, my husband and the Tenth sharing a grin behind him. With his hand still on my arm, he turns back to his future selves. "I won't remember this, will I?" he asks.

The Eleventh's face falls. "The time streams are out of sync," he explains heavyheartedly. "You can't retain it, no."

I glance at the Tenth, who winks at me as if to say, Told you so.

The Warrior stares down at his feet. "So I won't remember that I tried to save Gallifrey rather than burn it. I'll have to live with that." He claps his hands once, just as my husband does so often, and continues, "But for now, for this moment, I am the Doctor again. Thank you." The last two words are spoken so slowly and sincerely that goosebumps rise on my skin. With a heavy breath, he moves toward the three TARDISes parked together. "Which one is mine?" he jokes, then barks out a laugh at his own statement. The other two exchange an amused look.