Doctor Who - A Brighter Star
He’d always been the one star that made the night a little bit brighter. Rushing from one place to another in his little blue box, he seemed to wink in and out of existence with every blink.
It was really just a trick of the eye, a flicker of the lights.
But every time it had happened she felt her heart twist and her hands clench. He’d never said anything about it (she knew he noticed; he noticed everything), and she’d never volunteered an answer.
She hadn’t wanted to admit that the thought of him not even existing was so wrong and so very painful.
She hadn’t wanted to admit that she loved him.
Sometimes, she wondered if she had admitted it, if they might have had more time. If things would have been different.
If she hadn’t waited to realize the truth until it was a day too late.
That star that had burned, it had given him so much. It had taken so much. Robbed him of his last chance, last words. He wondered if that star had been his hearts, burning away with every moment that he said goodbye.
Maybe if he’d been faster he could have told her.
Maybe if he’d thought about it for a moment, every time she looked at him and adoration shined in her eyes, it shined from his as well.
If he hadn’t been such a dense stupid old man he might have noticed what was right in front of him. All the ifs in the world couldn’t bridge universes, though.
He should have seen that for all of the stars that burned away in the sky, they were only dull lights until she brought them to life.
She knew the cannon would burn stars. Destroy a sun with every jump. But she knew the universe was ending anyway.
In her heart she really didn’t care if one sun burned or if they all did. It was a way home, a way to him.
He’d burned a sun to say goodbye. Surely she could do the same, if it meant a way to the little blue box and its single pilot.
She’d told him she’d stay with him forever.
She hadn’t known forever would be so short.
It hurt. So very badly. There were no more stars to burn, no more goodbyes to say. She had everything he could give her and if it made her happy, then he would live.
He’d continue, because she’d shown him how to live. He could make the night so much darker, or he could be the light in the blackness.
He knew which one she’d have picked.
When she looked at the stars at night, she wondered which ones she would have visited. Which ones she had already seen. It wasn’t many. Far, far too few. But no matter when she looked, one always caught her eye. One lonely star that always shone for her.
And so the night was a bit brighter.