Star Boy

The wall of cold hit me immediately, small flakes of white falling steadily to the ground in the empty alley. I could see streetlights at its mouth where it connected to the rest of the road; there weren't any footprints here to mar the perfect blanket of snow. I watched a puff of my breath catch in the air before turning back, lips pursed. It was certainly a stark contrast to the trip to the Sahara we had just taken. Blistering heat followed by freezing cold; where exactly was the happy medium? With my current host, that was a tricky, almost nonexistent spot.

There he was, flitting quickly around the console, managing to look awkward and graceful at the same time. Awkward was easily the most accurate adjective to describe the creature; all tweed and bow tie and flailing limbs. Not to mention the distinctive lack of eyebrows crossed with the childish demeanor and bright eyes. The grace came from the way he seemed to know the controls before him, touching each one with a familiarity and love that left me slightly awed. The way he went about it was strangely beautiful, like a dance I would never be able to learn. He stopped for a moment on the far side of the console, smiling lopsidedly as his nonexistent eyebrows rose slightly.

"A little weather warning may have been nice, Star Boy," I called. "You said Manhattan in the 1920's and I more or less expected a bit warmer weather than this."

I could feel the goose bumps springing up on my legs. There was a thin layer of hosiery between them and the chilly air as the flapper style dress cut off just below my knees; a bit longer than I expected, but as he has put it, 'the TARDIS always knows what kinds of clothes are acceptable for the time'. My bare arms faired no better, and I pulled the door shut behind me. The look I gave him wasn't kind, but he smiled all the same, straightening his bow tie as he moved around.

"Grab a coat from the wardrobe, I'll be there shortly to change," he replied.
I slowly trekked back up the steps and past where he stood at the console, giving him a pointed look.

"Oh come now, Monroe! It’s the roaring twenties! Prohibition, gangsters, speakeasies, and jazz! What more could you ask for?"

"What about a trip back home? Oh, wait..." I snapped over my shoulder. To that he had no reply, just silence. I stifled the twinge of guilt that hit me as soon as I felt it; why should I feel guilty when my situation was his fault? He was the one who had a slip of the tongue; he was the reason Tabitha...

I shook my head, quickly moving into the wardrobe room to the coat rack. It didn't take long to figure out which one was meant for me; a dark wrap-over coat with a fur trim collar. I slipped it on, heading back down the corridor to the control room. I stiffened a little as he came down the hall in my direction.

"Monroe, I’m sorry," he muttered in passing. His voice sounded heavy, just as it had countless times before, every single instance had involved an apology. At first I had been so angry I could look him in the eyes and ignore the deep-set regret and pain he so clearly felt. After a while though, I had to stop. I couldn't see that without feeling guilty. He had tried, so very hard to make up for what had happened, to keep me happy and appeased as much as possible. But I was still bitter and resentful. It was hard not to be when seeing my friends and family again seemed like such an impossible feat.

I waited for him by the doors I had peeked out of a little while earlier, lips set in a hard line as I heard his approach, shoes clapping on the glass floor. A quick glance turned to a full on stare as I found myself a taken back by his appearance. There was no tweed; the one fabric I had become so accustomed to seeing him in wasn’t anywhere on his figure. Instead he looked as though he would fit into the era right along side the inhabitants rather than standing out like he always seemed to. It was all black and white, black suit, white shirt, black and white oxfords, a black fedora, and even a black bow tie. I smirked a little at the sight of the bow tie; I really should have known he would find a way to incorporate that. He slowed to a stop beside me, watching me cautiously as he placed his hands in his pockets. I reached up, flicking the brim of the fedora down a bit over his eyes.

"Going for a bit of gangster look, are we?" I scoffed.

He cleared his throat, straightening the hat before opening the door. "Fedoras are cool."

I openly laughed at that, walking past him and into the cold, snow covered alley. He caught up and fell into step a moment later, breathing out white puffs of air as we found ourselves on the crowded sidewalk.

"This way, Delaney." I felt his hand on mine, giving me a tug through the crowd as he turned to our right and marched down the sidewalk at a steady pace. We cut through groups of people as he left shouts of 'Sorry!' in our wake. It went on for a good three blocks before he finally came to a halt, tugging me through the doors of a building where you could hear music from at least a block down. I barely caught the sign just above the entrance; just a simple 21. Inside we were met with people flowing in and out of a doorway where the sounds of horns made it almost impossible to hear anything else. The coat check was our first stop so I could drop off the wrap-over the time machine had produced for our outing. We reached the man who stood guard between the two rooms, and as usual my companion merely flashed him his psychic paper before starting to shout over the music.

"I'm the Doctor and this is my guest, Delaney Monroe. Are Scotty and Zelda here by chance?"

The man gave a brief nod, stepping through the doorway with us before pointing towards the far right corner. The Doctor turned, still clasping my hand and gave me a quick smile. "You're going to love this!"

I furrowed my brow as we cut through the room, heavy with smoke and the smell of spirits. I glanced all around, the couples dancing on the floor, the band was swinging, the gentlemen looked cooler than I ever would have imagined, and the women were so much more…painted.

"Scotty, Zelda! Hello, how have you two been?"

I turned quickly to see just who the Doctor was speaking to. An attractive--albeit confused looking couple-- stared at us from their private table as we approached. The woman was rather beautiful, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed from alcohol, lips a harsh red as her hair hung in a short, wavy bob around her face. The man had a glass to his lips, eyes settled on us uncertainly as we slowed to a halt before them.

"I’ don’t believe I’ve had the chance of making your acquaintance,” he stated politely.

"It's me, the Doctor! New face, but still the same! Apologies again for the time I accidentally parked the TARDIS in your living room!" The alien at my side grinned like a child.

The couple froze then, his eyes widened as she took a large swig from the glass in front of her.

"Doctor? No, you can't be! You were far older last time I saw you! Not to mention that ridiculous scarf!" The man scoffed, shaking his head.

“Regeneration, remember?” The Doctor paused a moment, fishing around in his pocket before retracting his hand and holding something out to the gentleman at the table. “Would you like a jelly baby?”

At that the man reached down, fingers trembling while grabbing his glass and downing the contents entirely. He reached out slowly, taking the small, gummy looking thing from the Doctor before examining it.

“I can’t believe it,” he stated over the music, eyes slowly drifting up to the man at my side. “My god, Doctor. That was three years ago, yet here you are again. You’ve grown younger. Pull up a chair, my boy. We’ve got things to discuss, don’t we?”

“Actually, I’m older. 1,116 give or take.” My companion smiled, pulling a chair out at the table for me. I slid in, lips pressed slightly together as my eyes shift to the woman across from me. Zelda and Scotty, as the Doctor called them. Zelda and Scotty. The 1920’s, prohibition, a stunning couple that dazzled Manhattan with their young love.

Oh my god.

“Doctor, who’s your date, dear?” The woman inquired, tipping her glass back again, a dazed look still dancing across her face.

“Oh! Sorry, this is Delaney Monroe, Delaney, this is—“

“F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda Fitzgerald,” I finished for him, stretching my hand across the table and giving the author’s a firm shake. “Oh my god. It’s a pleasure to meet you, you’re my favorite—“

I felt a quick nudge in my ribs, jumping slightly before I looked over to catch the Doctor giving me a brief, cautionary glance before his smile slipped back on to face the author and his wife. The two stared at me uncertainly and I felt my face flush a hot red to match Zelda’s lipstick.

I cleared my throat, pushing a few strands of hair back from my face. “Ah, anyone up for drinks?”

The author let out a bark of laughter as his wife looked at her now-empty glass. He signaled for the waiter, ordering a round for the table. The man was gone a max of thirty seconds before four tall glasses of a dark liquid were set on the table before us. I reached for mine, clinking it against the couple’s glasses before preparing to down it. I was still in shock; mind swimming at the prospect of sitting across from the writer of my all-time favorite novel. It kicked into over drive as I realized I was doing much more than that; I was drinking with what some considered one of Manhattan’s golden couples at the time, drinking in an age where the sell of alcohol was prohibited and gangsters ran the cities while jazz pulled the young and daring to their feet like nothing before had. I was living a dream. My eyes caught a shift in the figure at my side that was pushing his drink back. Oh, I was living an impossible dream at his hands.

“What, Doctor? Not your preference? Come then, I’ll get him to bring you something else,” Scott said, motioning again for the waiter.

“No, no, Scotty, thank you though. Never been big on the spirits, I’ll gladly take a cup of tea though,” the Doctor countered.

“Strange as ever, you are, Doctor,” Fitzgerald chuckled. “More for your lovely companion then; seems she doesn’t have an adversity to the strong stuff.”

“If you knew my family you’d understand.” I smiled. The Doctor held his silence, and I soon joined him in it. My family; my parents weren’t even thought of yet, my father with his ridiculous alcohol tolerance and my mother with her love of red wines-- that would be at least another forty years. They weren’t conceived, let alone dreamed of. My sister was an even farther reality than that, not coming into existence until five years after my birth. And as things were I couldn’t see them again, ever.

I turned the drink back at that, leaving less than half in the glass when I set it back down. It burned as it made it’s way down my throat; an unpleasant flame sitting in my stomach as it finally came to rest. Displeasure radiated from the alien at my side, his eyes burning holes in my skull. As if he had a right to take issue with my actions; my actions were all because of him.

“Well, she can drink, can’t she?” Zelda mused, taking a short swig from her own glass.

“Oh, we’re just starting.” I smirked in reply. “Now, how is your writing coming along, Scotty?”

The author grinned a bit, sitting back in his chair as his wife fixed him with a gaze of admiration. “Quite well actually, you see I’ve had this idea…”

I tuned him out, enjoying my drink as I fixed the Doctor with a steady stare. His face was hard; lips pressed into a thin line, as his jaw seemed locked into place. He was displeased, so very displeased. But the question was with what? Me, himself, or both of us? Had he been this way with the others?

I knew there were others; he had mentioned that before, but never dwelled on it. Yet, there was one name in particular that had come to surface, and that one name was the reason I was stuck travelling around with the thousand year old Time Lord without hope of seeing home again. He had uttered it more than once, always on accident, always when we were in need of running. Oh I had lost count of how many times it had slipped from his lips and I had let him have it in return. It was a brutal cycle. I hated how much I reminded him of her, or just how much he related us. I was my own person, and as I was stuck with him I just wanted him to remember that, to see it. I was Delaney Monroe, I was short with a temper to match, an ability to drink with the best of the boys, and a desire to just go home to my family.

I reached for the Doctor’s glass without a second thought, mine empty of the amber liquid. His hand caught my wrist as I went to pull it back to me; our eyes met as he once again fixed me with a cautionary stare. That look had sent many enemies running, tail between their legs back to their homes or spaceships. That was the look the universe had come to fear, the warning gaze of a Time Lord. I gave it another miniscule tug, gracing him with a gentle smile.

“Doctor, I thought you didn’t like alcohol,” I stated levelly.

His gaze flickered momentarily to our guests, fingers slowly releasing my arm. “Sorry, just think you downed that a bit fast, don’t you, Monroe?”

“Are you my dad or something? Oh, hang on, I don’t have one now, do I?” I retorted quickly, pulling the glass to me. I took a sip of it, our eyes still locked in a bitter stare. Fitzgerald was still talking, tuned out by both of us with only the attention of his increasingly drunk wife. Here I was, in the presence of one of my personal favorite authors and all I could do was take cheap jabs at the man who had brought me here.

“…So you see, this has all helped out quite a bit,” Fitzgerald finished as I blinked, giving him a nod and an understanding look that generally translated to ‘I wasn’t paying attention’.

I jumped as the band suddenly picked up, glancing towards the horns that shone brightly in the spotlights. My heel tapped lightly on the floor, the song strikingly—and surprisingly familiar. I looked back to our table, eyes wide, slightly excited.

“This is the Charleston, isn’t it?” I queried. Zelda nodded, watching the couples on the floor dance to the captivating noise. I smiled, letting out a slight laugh of amusement. “I know this!”

“Then would you care to dance, Miss Monroe?” The author called over the music. I spared a quick glance to the Doctor, his eyes still settled steadily on me.

“It would be my honor, Mr. Fitzgerald!” I replied, pushing the chair back and sweeping past the Doctor towards the dance floor. Fitzgerald quickly got into the swing of things, I watched a few seconds, trying to remember the motions I had learned at my eighth grade dance. After a few missteps and chuckles from the author I managed to pick up the hang of it. I smiled; the crowd was lively, drunk and tipsy, swimming with the rebellious youth of the day. And I was with them, a part of the magic that was the Roaring Twenties.

“You’re a quick learner, Miss Monroe,” Fitzgerald stated, barely audible due to the sound of the band.

“I’ve had a bit of practice, actually.”

“The Doctor taught you well, then.”

I smirked, rolling my eyes. “No thanks to him, actually.”

“My mistake, apologies.”

We didn’t talk after that, a slow warmth seeping into my system; a combination of the alcohol and the packed space on the dance floor. It was glorious and fantastic, and all so surreal. I smiled to myself, still in a slight state of disbelief that I was there, dancing with the F. Scott Fitzgerald. Alas, all good things must come to an end.

“Sorry, Scotty, may I interrupt?” I felt a hand quickly pull mine in the opposite direction of the author my head began to slightly spin with alcohol. I was turned towards a new partner; a vaguely displeased looking one at that. The Doctor stared down at me, fedora casting his eyes in the shadows. I looked away, pursing my lips as the music slowed. A waltz; how fun.

“You actually dance?” I asked, the realization hitting me as I gave him a quizzical look. “I mean, are you going to step on my feet or take us both down in this dangerous attempt? I’ve seen you walk, there is no way you can dance without potentially causing damage to yourself or those around you.”

“Yes, Monroe, I dance. Not very often, but I have been known to bust a move,” he quipped. I couldn’t fight the laugh that pulled from me. “Now, care to talk?”

“What is there to talk about?”

“You. Your behavior. What’s wrong. Oh, come on, Monroe, you’re extra snippy even though we’re here, in Manhattan, with Scotty and Zelda,” he stated in a low voice. We shift a bit to a proper waltz stance, my eyes level with his chest, the fact it wasn’t eye-to-eye contact made it a bit easier. I still felt tense as we danced around the room, barely moving my foot before he stepped on it at one point.

“Careful, Star Boy. If you step on me you’re carrying me back to the TARDIS,” I hissed in warning.

“You humans always have nicknames for me: Star Boy, Martian, Mr. Smith, Spaceman.” He paused, a bit of a sigh falling from his lips. “Pond used to call me her Raggedy Man.”

“Of course she did. Your precious Amelia Pond, tell me, Star Boy, are you ever not thinking about her?” I snapped quietly. I looked up to find his face a mixture of shock and regret.

“Is that what all this is about?” He countered. “No, Monroe, I don’t—“

“Oh Doctor, isn’t that what it’s always been about, what it boils down to in every aspect of my presence with you? That name is why I’m here, why Tabitha is dead, why I’ll never be able to see my family or time again. All because you can’t let go of darling Amelia Pond, even if it’s been a hundred years since you dropped her off at her house and said your goodbyes. I was starting my new job in one of the premiere restaurants in London the day after you showed up. But you, you just had to stop me on the street, adjust my hair clip and tell me to ‘be careful, Pond.’ You sashayed off after that, leaving Tabitha and I so utterly confused. Twenty minutes later we’ve got upside down trashcans with eggbeaters and plungers surrounding us. Just after they killed her, you showed up again, grabbing my hand as you shouted ‘Come along, Pond!’ and pulled me through the streets of London and into your little blue box. So yes, I’d say that is what it’s all about. You took my life from me, the life I was happy and content with. You took my family, my friends, everything, with no hope of return to any of it. Because they’re still looking for me, because they think I’m her, you told me that, and I can’t go back to my old life because of you and your never-ending obsession with her.”

We had come to a halt midway through my rant, standing in the corner of the dance floor as my fingernails dug into the back of his hand. His lips were again a thin line, eyes completely closed. The alcohol made me bolder, made the words come out stronger than they ever had. It helped me realize I wasn’t done, there was still plenty more to be said.

“We both know I’m just her replacement, don’t we? And we both know that unlike the others, I don’t want to be here, I never did. I would give all of this up in a heartbeat if I could have my family back.” I could feel the tears beginning to form. “But I can’t have that. And I’m stuck, travelling with you; you—who from the stories you’ve told me—don’t age. While every day, and every year I’m growing older, next to an immortal figure. I’ve got no one to share the flare and fade of my life with. At least no one I’ll be able to keep in contact with very often because we’re always moving. I’m sorry, you may have been Amelia Pond’s life, but you stole mine from me.”

The room had lapsed into a temporary silence as I finished, ripping my hand from his grasp. I turned away, nearly colliding with Fitzgerald as I attempted my retreat.

“Sorry, I…” My voice trailed off, blinking back tears before I pushed past the author and out of the room.

The coat check was barely a blip in my line of vision, tearing through the incoming crowd and out onto the snow-covered streets. I exhaled a puff of white, closing my eyes as I leaned against the building. The one place he brought me we weren’t being chased by aliens with risk of losing our lives was where everything fell apart. Maybe that was why he was always running; you were far too busy to actually confront the problems surrounding you, they couldn’t catch up if you were on the go. But the second you slowed down it was over; there was no escaping the issues that were on your heels like ravenous lions. That blue box had kept us on the move, making it impossible for me to focus on just what I was feeling when a life-or-death situation had been around every corner. There were always the moments we were in the TARDIS, between adventures when the feelings seemed almost unbearable, but those were quickly doused by the liquid curiosity that I received when he opened the doors to a new world with creatures I wouldn’t have been able to imagine.

“I think you left this inside.”

Through the blur of tears I caught sight of the author standing in front of me, holding out the wrap over coat. I gave him a slight nod, wiping a few tears away before taking it. I had been too warm from the liquor consumed to notice the cold beginning to nip at my bare arms, or to pay attention to the increase in snowflakes falling from the heavens. Fitzgerald lit a cigarette, coming to lean on the wall beside me as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

“Any other person—myself included would find the Doctor fascinating, but you just see the pain that comes with being in his presence.” He fell silent, only for a moment. “Forgive me, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”

“You already know his secret. I can’t say it’s done any damage.” I shrugged.

“Well, no. But it’s clear his… inability to age could do you harm in the long run, correct?” he asked, glancing in my direction. I shook my head; looking towards the white sidewalk that was marred with footprints going in every direction.

“Don’t you have an intoxicated wife you should be taking care of?” I inquired. It wasn’t a discussion I wanted to have with him; I had said my peace to the Doctor.

“She’s powdering her nose currently, probably catching up on the latest gossip with the other girls. I don’t expect her back for at least twenty minutes. Given your avoidance of the question I’m also going to take that as confirmation my assumption was correct.” He fiddled with the cigarette between his fingers, flicking off the ash. “Now, Miss Monroe, my apologies, but that man would never do anything to intentionally hurt a fly. This scenario of yours was never brought about to hurt you. It happened, and every time you’re not looking he watches you with a sorrow I’ve never seen before. He knows what he’s done, Miss Monroe. You didn’t see the look on his face when you left that room just now. You didn’t see the self-loathing, the bitter regret I did.”

“If you’re here to make me feel bad for what I said to him back there it’s not really working, Mr. Fitzgerald. He did this to me and I’ve never been completely honest with him about what it makes me feel because I don’t get the chance, we’re always too busy running, or meeting people like you, or—“

“People like me?” he interrupted. “What exactly does that mean, Miss Monroe?”

I stopped, staring at the author as a trail of smoke left his nostrils, eyes never leaving my face. My words came back on themselves; I couldn’t tell him how important he would be to the world of literature later, or how high of a regard I held stories he hadn’t even written yet. I couldn’t explain to him about the others, Bradbury, Poe, and Vivaldi. All figures I admired; all whose time periods had somehow become tangled up with some type of alien life forms. Bradbury had gotten the basis for his Martian Chronicles in the creatures we had encountered on a brief visit to meet him. Poe had been snatched away by a dark creature the two of us had barely managed to escape in his last days, only to appear near death and totally delirious a very brief time before he passed. But regardless the experiences had been unforgettable; my time with each and every one of them was far more fantastic than I ever would have imagined. I remembered how the Doctor had smiled when he introduced me—or us, depending on how well acquainted he had been with them. I remembered the laugh he had let out at my shock—and joy. That was how it had been from the moment he swept me through the TARDIS doors, after an explanation and a heart wrenching apology I hadn’t wanted to accept, we had been off. Eight months of traveling with him had revolved almost entirely around me, around my happiness.

“Oh god,” I breathed, eyes widening as I looked towards the building’s entrance. I caught sight of him after a moment, slowly stepping out as he looked around. It had been for me; all for me. All of the traveling, all of the distractions, the running, and the people, had all been for me. They had been his way of making up for what he had done; giving me experiences no one else could have because he knew he had ripped my life away from me. So he had given me the only thing he had to offer; the entire universe in the palm of my hand.

“I think you’re beginning to get it now, aren’t you, Miss Monroe?” The author took another drag from his cigarette, glancing towards the Doctor. “I think it’s time for me to go find my wife. And perhaps you should have another conversation with your Doctor? It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Monroe. I must say, it’s been quite inspiring.”

Fitzgerald gave me a brief nod as he stubbed his cigarette out against the wall, and then trudged back across the snow-covered sidewalk towards the Doctor and the speakeasy. I watched the Doctor heave a sigh, taking his fedora off as his dishelved brown hair fell partially in his face. There was a lump in my throat and a tightness in my chest when he caught sight of me. His forehead creased, lips forming the word “Delaney” as his eyes fixed on mine. My lips parted, inhaling a quivering breath before turning to take off through the crowded sidewalk of Manhattan. I shut out the sounds of his shouts, pushing past the flappers and their gentlemen at an accelerated pace. Fitzgerald’s words twisted between the realization of just where the Doctor had been taking me between the brief stints inside his time machine that were filled with apologies and my snippy comments. He was trying; he had been since the very start. And I shut him down, threw it in his face time and time again.

A slight light caught my eye to the left, I stopped only a moment, the top of the TARDIS gleaming brightly from the back of the alley, calling to me like a beacon in the dark of the night. I glanced down as I went, the two sets of footprints we had left in the snow catching me with a new jolt of pain. He had known what he was doing all along; anger and resentment had blinded me like the tears that blurred my vision. The door gave way under my touch, the dim light of the console room warm and inviting as I barreled up the stairs and across the glass floor. My steps came to a slow halt; both the corridors I was heading for were closed off.

“You traitor,” I hissed at the time machine. She had a will of her own; apparently that now involved a confrontation I was unprepared for. I heard the swing of the doors behind me, closing my eyes.

“Delaney!” His voice carried with the cold breeze from the outside world up to where I stood. I took the turn to face him slowly. The hat was gone, nowhere to be seen. There was just an out of breath alien in black-and-white with a desperate look in his eyes.

Against the warmth of the TARDIS the chill of the outside world left a ripe wave of goose bumps across my legs. I pulled the coat closer, sniffing back the gunk the tears had left in my airway.

“Close the door, would you? It’s cold.” I muttered. After a moment the alien obeyed before slowly stepping up the stairs and in my direction. “I’m not going to run this time. She sealed off the corridors, you can stop acting like I’m some kind of skittish animal.”

“Did she now?” He asked, looking anywhere but at me. “Well, that makes finding you a lot less difficult.”

His fingers danced lightly along the railing at his side, while I stood a few feet away, arms wrapped around my torso as though my life depended on it.

“Delaney, look, I just want you to understand that I’m—“

“Don’t. Don’t say it again,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that you haven’t apologized, has there? Or that you’ve tried taking me to a new planet or to meet someone to get my mind off of it? You’ve apologized enough. You’ve spend the past eight months, trying to make it right, trying to keep me happy. Everything you’ve been doing, the places we’ve been going, I’m just sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate it, I’m sorry for all the awful things I’ve said. You’ve given me so many things I never would have experienced had you not just crashed into my life. You’re trying so hard to make up for the life you stole. I’m going to age, yes, but why should I worry about that when you’ve brought such color to my life? If this is how I have to spend my years, I suppose there are worse ways it could have ended, right?”

I shift, sitting on the step behind me that would have led to the sealed off halls, pulling the coat tighter. He stood next to the console, eyes fixed on the glass floor, strands of his brown hair falling in his face.

He took a heavy breath, looking around the room before clearing his throat. “I’m supposed to die, Monroe.”

I blinked, once, twice, slowly settling him with a blank gaze. In that instant you could see the age that was caged behind his young appearance, the heaviness of thousands of years of time and space slipping by; the countless lives he had encountered, the races he had destroyed, the planets he had burned, the pain he kept hidden so very well behind his smiles and bow ties.

“But you can regenerate. You mean you’re supposed to regenerate, right?” I asked.

“No, no, not this time,” he scoffed a little, shaking his head as he came to sit next to me on the step. “It’s a fixed point in time, the day the Doctor dies on the shores of Lake Silencio.”

“How do you know that?” My mouth felt dry, a side effect of the alcohol.

He smiled wryly down at our feet. “It was a slip of the tongue, just as your encounter with me started out. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“How long?”

“87 years,” he replied. “Just a bit more than you’ve got I believe.”

There was an icy grip on the pit of my stomach. It was a sickening thought, a charming, magnificent creature like that slipping into the void of death. Someone who had given so much to humanity, and races I never would have imagined, protected them without thanks or even their knowledge for the most part. He was going to die, flicker out of existence like a candle in the night.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to mutter. I turned, watching the figure at my side stare blankly at the console. He returned my gaze after a moment, a heartbreaking smile pulling at his lips as he gave me a once over.

“So am I.”

That, I prayed, was the last apology he would utter to me. I reached over, grasping his hand. He gave it a squeeze back. I understood why he was constantly on the move, constantly running from time to time, planet to planet. There was so much to distract you from the horrifying realities as time and space slipped through your fingers. The monsters on your heels made it all seem like a distant dream, made the truth of reality and it’s bitter constraints slip away—if only for a time. And that was something
we both needed.

I stood, hand still grasping his as I gave him a good tug. “Come on, up you go.”

He stood unsteadily, nearly toppling over as he managed to get to his feet. A quick, questioning glance met me. I smiled; it was the same one he gave me when he was trying to put on a show for my sake.

“Didn’t you promise me a trip to the collision of the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies?” I inquired, dragging him towards the console.

“I may or may not have,” he replied slowly. “Sure you don’t want to drop by and see David Bowie first? I believe I owe him a trip.”

I turned quickly, a coy grin spreading across his face as he flipped a switch on the console. “Oh, Star Boy, you didn’t…”

“Monroe.” He pulled a lever, moving fluidly around the console as I followed him in a daze. “We just inspired The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, if you didn’t realize. Do you honestly think Bowie and I haven’t had a run in or two?”

I shook my head, rubbing the back of my neck as he continued to grin in the childish manner I was so used to.

“You still owe me a galaxy collision.” I pointed at him, realizing that the doors to the corridors were once again open.

He typed something in the keyboard, as the sound of the TARDIS’s engines roared to life. It took off with a shake and a rattle, I grabbed onto the railing beside me, a peal of laughter cutting through the air.

“Monroe, we’ve got the rest of our lives.”

He stood back, green eyes settling on mine. I could see all of time and space glittering from their depths, the black expanse dotted with glittering stars and loaded with life. He was the very essence of it all, magic in the form of a lanky man with a love of bow ties.

He was my Star Boy.