“I'm just popping down the shops, OK Gramps?” Donna called over her shoulder as she walked out, turning and smiling at Wilfred Mott, her grandfather, who, unbeknownst to her, would peacefully pass away in the time it took her to come back. The old man gave a weak smile, and nodded, his eyes fluttering as his granddaughter walked out of the house, and left him alone.
He coughed, and adjusted the blanket that was draped over his knees. He'd been sick for a few months now; nothing that could really be done. Simple wear and tear, the doctors had told him. His body was too old to sustain itself, and that was that.
It was OK though. Wilf didn't have many regrets. He'd gotten married, lived to see his daughter grow up, and his granddaughter in turn, both getting married and having kids of their own. He knew he was lucky in that regard.
And yet there was one thing that gnawed at him, always. He shouldn't have been at his granddaughter's wedding, shouldn't have held her hand when his great grandson was born. Wilfred Mott knew that he should have died long ago. Not from disease, not from old age, but from a lethal dose of gamma radiation. Almost every day he thought about the man who'd saved him from that. Who had sacrificed himself just so a silly old codger could live a few more years, and hold his granddaughter's son in his arms before he finally passed away.
Every day he thanked that man for what he did.
And every day he wondered if he should have shouted more, been firmer when that look of horrified acceptance had finally crossed the Doctor's face, if he could have stopped that wonderful man from killing himself.
Wilf's lower lip began to tremble as he remembered the day of the wedding. The last time he'd seen the Doctor, in pain and alone, limping back into his lonely blue box, suffering as the radiation that should have killed Wilf coursed through his body. He should have called to him. Asked him to stay. Instead, he'd stood there, tears rolling down his face as the box began to fade. He could almost hear it, that deep thrumming as the Doctor left his life forever, off to die however his people died.
And as the old man sat in his chair, and cried softly to himself, he didn't realise that the roar of the TARDIS’ engines was, rather than fading, becoming progressively louder…
Wilfred looked up, and was overjoyed when he saw before him a sight he'd wished for countless times; a tall blue police box, the door swung open to reveal an interior that had no right to be sat inside a casing that small. Wilf's smile grew as he examined the box, but his face fell when he realised that its sole occupant was a short, blonde woman, and not the lanky, brunette man that he'd come to expect.
“A-are you-” Wilf coughed, his voice croaking as he tried to focus on the woman.
“Are you another one of them aliens?”
She smiled, and stepped towards him.
“Nope. Not another alien. The same alien. It's me, Wilf; I'm the Doctor.”
“You changed, then?” he asked, still not totally convinced by her.
“Three times now. Three times since I last saw you,” she stepped forward again, and she was kneeling next to his chair.
“I've been putting this off for over 1,000 years,” she admitted, placing a smooth hand on Wilfred's old, wrinkled one.
She looked up at him, and saw that her eyes were filled with sadness, and yet also with pride, and in a moment he was transported back to the observation deck on the Vinvocci ship.
“I'd be proud… if you were my dad," he'd said.
The Doctor took a deep breath, and then said “I want you to know that I was never angry with you. I never hated you for what happened. I only hated myself for even considering leaving you in there. I'm happy that you got to live a little longer, Wilfred.”
Wilfred tried to suppress the hot tears rolling down his face, and failed. The Doctor had forgiven him. Hadn't hated him. But…
“But you're not the same person,” he murmured.
“He told me that changing is like dying… that he'd be gone, and someone else would go wandering off with all his memories.”
Wilfred was loath to point this out, especially since this version of the Doctor had been nothing but kind to him, but the simple fact remained that she wasn't his Doctor. She looked crestfallen at that, and Wilfred wished he hadn't said anything.
“He always was a drama queen,” she smiled, and tightened her grip on his hand.
“I'd hoped you'd forgotten about that, if I'm honest, but I suppose you were always sharper than I took you for. Which is why…” she closed her eyes, as if preparing herself for some great exertion, “he left you this.”
Wilfred's vision blurred, and suddenly, standing before him, was the Doctor, his Doctor. He looked straight ahead, above Wilf, and started to talk, and the new Doctor held Wilf's hand as her old self told him in no uncertain terms that whatever he chose to do with those extra few years, they were worth sacrificing one of his regenerations for.
Wilfred listened raptly, but even then he couldn't help but feel sad. The Doctor's expression was almost blank, and he was staring at nothing. The message had been prerecorded, because the man was about to die. For Wilf, it was the ultimate confirmation that he would never see the Doctor again.
The Thirteenth Doctor noticed his pained expression, and breathed in again.
“... and I just want to say Wilf, before I go…”
Wilf looked up from his lap, where his gaze had fallen in his despondency, and to his shock saw the Doctor looking him in the eye, that same fantastic, slightly manic smile on his face that he'd always had back in the old days.
“Thank you. You showed me the absolute best of humanity, and frankly you deserved longer than I could give you. Goodbye, Wilfred.”
And with that, the Doctor faded.
And so did Wilf. The other Doctor, the one kneeling next to his chair, felt his grip on her hand slacken, until he wasn't holding it at all, and his rattling breaths slowed until he lay still in the chair. She stood, and planted a kiss on his forehead, before staggering back to her TARDIS. Creating that mental projection had taken a lot out of her, but Wilfred had deserved the closure, and her very best. Her previous incarnation had not, in fact, left such a message for his friend, but the Doctor had his memories, and knew that if she'd plucked the man from his time stream and put him in front of Wilfred in that moment, he would have said much the same. She turned, and gave the old man one last smile, and then phone box faded away, and left Wilfred Mott to his rest.
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