Part 3 of 3:

Deliverance

For all the Doctor's efforts...

He tries not to eavesdrop too much.

Instead, the Doctor focuses his attention on what he should say. What he needs to say.

While he's not been too naive to implicitly place his faith in just anyone – to blind himself to the realities of this world, as Carol pointed out – he still fervently places his hope in the belief that these particular humans are inherently good. That they will listen. For his own sake, he can't bear to think otherwise.

With such thoughts to keep him company, he waits anxiously.

(It seems a recurring theme as of late, having to wait.)

His nerves make the minutes seem to pass more quickly than he prefers because, when the rumbling murmur outside his door cuts off, the Doctor feels as though it's too soon – please, not yet. He stares at the door, hearts fluttering almost painfully as he desperately attempts to compose himself. It doesn't help that the continuing silence proves more eerie than he cares to admit, makes him worry about what must be going on behind that door, and his hope threatens to crumble into uncertainty. Doubt becomes a poisonous, slithering thing that infects his mentality – planting seeds of paranoia that make him wonder if his captors will simply leave him to rot, or worse – when the door is abruptly pulled open.

So pensive is he, the Doctor jumps at the movement. Not a moment later, three people enter. He suspects that their group is much larger than this, but he wisely keeps such thoughts to himself.

He recognizes the first as the man he met in the forest, Rick, and the other two are unfamiliar: a dark-skinned woman, who stands slightly behind Rick, and another squinty-eyed man, who quickly takes a place against the door they'd just entered through. Momentarily overlooking what that particular action means for him, he pays close attention to the unusual weapons they carry. Namely, the katana and a crossbow.

The atmosphere is strained, amplified by the tenseness of their stances as they stare him down with varying degrees of wariness, distrust, and indifference. Surprisingly, it is the last emotion that concerns him – apathy makes room for more appalling outcomes.

"So, Doctor," Rick, the apparent leader of this group, scoffs his name in a manner that sends a chill down his spine. The Doctor doesn't even feel comfortable enough to protest, not with the downright hostile glance that man pins him with. "Should we be expecting anyone to come after us?"

Do you have a group?, is the unspoken question.

"No, no, nothing of the sort," he hurries to reassure them. He raises his hands in a pacifying gesture, ignoring the jingle of the handcuffs, and nervously attempts to steady his voice. "I'm traveling alone," he tries for a smile, but he knows it comes across as a pitiful grimace.

They all share a glance, wordlessly coming to some sort of conclusion before Rick addresses him once more.

"Let's say we believe that," the man drawls, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. He waves a hand to the side, his voice gradually taking on a rougher quality as he speaks. "And let's say you actually do want to help us – to befriend us."

So they've questioned the boy, the Doctor thinks to himself. Hoping that this will help him, he opens his mouth to make his practiced offer –

– and quails in shock, feeling his throat close up, when Rick's disposition changes. It's a subtle thing – the glint in his cold gaze gaining a foreboding look as he stares down at him like one would a pest, the way his hand twitches toward his sidearm, the way he seems to absolutely loom over him, muscles tense – the man visibly morphs into something darker. It's a pale shadow against those humans without morals, those less than human, those living monsters – it hasn't quite reached that point but, it's there, it's festering – and he feels a chill settle in his chest. Dear Rassilon, this can't be happening.

The human leans down imperceptibly, a menacing figure if he ever saw one, and all he can think is not yet.

"You want to be friends?"

Not yet.

"You want to help?"

Please, not yet.

"Why should we let you?"

The Doctor forgets how to breathe. He fears that he may have horribly misjudged these humans. Oh, does he fear.

But then, there's movement, and –

"Rick," the woman rebukes sharply, if quietly, frustration lining her hard expression. Their leader doesn't spare a glance towards her, but he does seem to pause and ultimately – thankfully – the lurking beast retreats, leaving behind a hardened man who takes several steps back. He's beyond relieved when the sword-wielding woman steps in place as interrogator, shooting a somewhat agitated look at her leader, and turns to the shaken Time Lord with a stern wariness that belies the budding hope in her eyes. "Were you the one following us? Did you leave those water bottles in the road?"

Confused, and panting, he shakes his head. "No. On both accounts."

Something like disappointment surfaces before it disappears with a stiff nod. "Then how do you want to help us? How can we trust you?"

The following silence is rife with suspense.

Taking a breath, the Doctor begins.

"I doubt you'll trust me so easily, but... I have the means to provide your entire group, however many of you there are, with the supplies and tools necessary to survive. I don't expect anything in return – other than my safety, of course. And," the Doctor is quick to add, spotting their rapidly growing disbelief and suspicion, "You are within your rights to deny this offer, as much as I urge against just that. My purpose is to provide. Nothing less."

"Bullshit," the squinty-eyed man suddenly scoffs from his place on the door. When the man realizes that all eyes are focused on him, he adjusts the crossbow on his back and gruffly explains, "Nothin's free."

"That's not the only issue here," Rick deadpans, fixing him with a doubtful stare. The Doctor looks away. "He could be lying. Trying to lead us into a trap."

"Again," the woman nods, clearly in agreement with her comrades. "How can we trust you?"

The Doctor knows that this is it. All or nothing, as they say.

"Alright," he exhales, briefly closing his eyes. "Right. First off – I'm going to say quite a few things that seem unbelievable. You're going to want to stop me, perhaps even demand for the truth, but I assure you that this is it. If you'll allow me to say what I need to say, I'll leave it to you to decide."

When he hears no objections, the Doctor opens his eyes.

"I am the Doctor. I am not human. I am an alien from a planet called Gallifrey. I am a Time Lord. I travel through space and time in a blue police box, and I want to save the human race from extinction."

For all his love...

They think he's insane.

"You really 'spect us to believe that shit?" is the elegant response from the squinty-eyed man, coming as more of a growl than anything.

The dark-skinned woman shakes her head, dreadlocks swaying with the movement.

Rick clenches his jaw, occasionally running a hand through his graying hair.

"It's the truth," the Doctor insists, eyes flitting between all three of them. He can see that there's not much left he can say to convince them, but he goes on – he can't leave them without giving them his full effort. "If you'll allow me to show you –"

"No," Rick whips around with a burning glare. "No."

"You're making a mistake," the old Time Lord returns just as fiercely, unwilling to back down. "I'm not a threat to you, to any of you – you must have noticed by now! I don't even carry weapons with me!"

Another tense silence falls, following his proclamation.

They all regard him with unreadable expressions, though their prolonged stillness speaks of their reluctance to simply brush him off. He takes advantage of that, careful not to be too insistent.

"Just – just consider it, please. Don't let his world rob you of hope."

The Doctor looks at each of them – even Rick, despite his misgivings – and chooses to linger on the woman. Out of the three, she appears to be more willing to accept his earnestness.

"Hope," Rick suddenly drawls, gaining the attention of his comrades. Shaking his head, the man crosses his arms and a shadow appears to fall over him. The look on his face is nothing less than heartbreaking, and it is then that the Doctor knows that this man is not beyond saving. "We don't have the luxury."

Despite himself, he can't come up with an argument against that.

"Can't trust 'im," the crossbow-wielder grumbles, but there is sadness in his eyes, compassion. He vaguely gestures to his temple. "Ain't in a right mind."

"Could be that you do want to help us," the woman addresses the Doctor, lightly resting her hand on her weapon, steadfastly keeping her gaze on the ground. "But everything else you say doesn't seem right."

"Yeah," Rick drawls in agreement, giving him a sideways glance. "Seems insane enough to try and lure anyone who'll listen."

It sounds like the man is speaking from experience, if their suddenly dark looks are anything to go by, and the Doctor doesn't appreciate the implications behind it. He feels adrenaline coursing through him, nostrils flaring as he meets their hardened expressions with one of his own. He's a Time Lord, for Gallifrey's sake – a being old enough to witness countless things beyond their comprehension. It's time enough that he reminds himself of that, and stops cowering under the influence of children. No matter how frightening they appear to be, it does not – cannot – compare to his own lurking darkness.

The Doctor sees the moment when they notice the shift – when they understand that he's different. They cradle their weapons more intently, coiling in preparation for a fight that will never occur, but he ignores it. And, for once, he isn't afraid.

"I wouldn't," the Doctor addresses Rick's accusation with quiet indignation, straightening from the authority of his own statement. If the humans are surprised by his change in disposition, they're skilled enough to veil it. "My word is all I have at the moment but, for what it's worth, I swear to you that I'm not the sort to go around tricking people. Not about this. Never about this."

They're still unsure, swaying between what their experiences have taught them and what their hearts are telling them, because whatever decision they come to won't just affect themselves. It's a battle he's all too familiar with, and he feels an immense sorrow beginning to settle when Rick sighs heavily – a wretched sight. It's plain to see his struggle in the shakes of his head and how he all but paces a hole into the ground. The other man isn't much better off, clearly unconvinced.

He turns to the woman next, last, imploring her to understand, but she regards him with an equally dubious expression.

They don't believe him. They can't.

His resolve crumbles a bit. Resignation begins creeping in.

"My purpose is to provide," he repeats the sadly familiar words as they turn to ash on his tongue, bitterly singed by his failure. It wouldn't be the first time, but it burns all the same. "There are enough horrors out there without me adding to it, which I'd never do. And I won't just stand by while the world rots," the Doctor looks down at his hands, watching them tremble as his strength leaves him. "Even if – even if it kills me. Even after each failed venture. Even after this. I simply refuse to stand idle when I can do something. I refuse."

"That isn't enough," Rick snaps harshly. He can hear the conflict in his voice – as if the man wants to believe it, wants to believe that he's not talking to a raving lunatic – but the man, and his comrades, have been burned one too many times. Like many others, it's clear that they are so inured to false promises of safety that they aren't capable of recognizing a genuine one. He can't blame them for not trusting him. It's a difficult decision. Near impossible.

(His hearts are perpetually in a sorry state, broken beyond repair.)

He peeks up at them from under his fringe, feeling more vulnerable and exhausted now than he had during his near-death experience in the forest. It's the same for every other group that refused to budge. "I won't force you. If you truly don't accept my offer, then I respectfully request that you allow me to leave as I arrived. Unarmed and unharmed."

They tentatively agree to his terms, not without reservations, still closely watching him for any hint of deception.

He lets them see his anguish.

It only takes a few moments for them to confer with each other, and with someone else beyond the door, before they move toward him to release him. Once they reassure him that they'll be returning his sonic after they reach their destination, the Doctor slips into a cooperative daze. He distantly notes how Rick keeps his firearm up, both as a clear warning to stay compliant and as a supposed deterrent for hasty attempts. It's unneeded.

The Doctor allows them to maneuver him as they wish, following their firm directions and staring at the ground the entire time.

Just as they're leading him out of his makeshift cell, coming upon a larger room, he instinctively glances up to observe his surroundings. He catches sight of a rather large group, at least ten people, and, just there, he sees –

By Rassilon, he sees –

A baby.

Less than a year old, by his approximation.

The Doctor seizes up, ignoring the sharp commands to keep moving – they sound tinny, besides, ringing in his ear like a far-off buzz – because all of his attention narrows in on the infant, staring back at him with wide, clear blue eyes.

"Stranger look funny," she gurgles curiously, wriggling in her caretaker's arms, and extends one pudgy hand towards him. "Play?"

Paternal warmth fills his chest, hearts fluttering at the sheer innocence –

– and then he finds himself being torn away by a furious Rick, aiming a gun between his eyes. "I won't tell you again."

He didn't hear what was said before, but the Doctor dismisses it in favor of confronting this new development. Resisting the insistent tugs of the people herding him, he feels a cloying desperation clawing at his throat, urging the words out of him. "Wait, wait – you never said there was a baby."

Rick just about snarls in warning, lip curling. "It doesn't change things."

"It does," he implores, wild-eyed. He feels like something is possessing him, feels like his body and mind are out of sync when he impulsively decides to impart extremely personal information about himself – the kind of information he hasn't even shared with most, if not all, of his companions. Not even River. "I-I know what it's like, Rick. I know you've experienced loss before, and for that I'm truly sorry, but it does not compare to suffering the death of your child – let me spare you from it. Please, please accept my offer."

For a moment, he thinks Rick will listen, but the man's eyes take on a hard edge.

The edge of a protective father.

"Move."

He can't let this infant grow up in a world like this, if she even gets the chance to grow up.

"No, no, no, wait –" the Doctor gasps, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He feels his stomach clench as he makes a decision, steeling himself. "It does change things. Please forgive me. I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Breathing heavily, he latches on to Rick –

Multiple hands are on him –

People are shouting, trying to pull him away –

He sees Rick's eyes widen, heat and righteous fury swirling madly. "Don't –"

The Doctor doesn't wait for him to finish. This will be his last attempt, in one manner or another.

Rearing his head backwards, he quickly brings it forward again to collide with Rick's in an outwardly savage headbutt – ignore the pain, focus, focus, focus – and in that brief moment of contact, the Time Lord hurriedly transfers as much relevant knowledge and memory as he's able. As the other surrounding humans clamor and growl, successfully pulling him off, he hopes it'll be enough.

For all his hopes...

Someone punches him.

The Doctor's head snaps to the left, blood filling his mouth, and he scrambles away from his attacker.

"Wait, wait."

He can barely hear the call to stop – can barely hear himself think– his head is pounding and white noise dominates most of the hearing in his right ear. Whoever hit him has an incredible amount of raw power, he observes faintly as his disorientation slowly begins to ebb away. He hopes they don't punch him again; he doesn't know how much more damage his thick skull can take.

After a moment of carefully not moving, the Doctor finally returns to the sight and sound of an upset baby, crying – "No fight! No angry! No!" – of people trying to bounce her, to calm her down with quiet words and desperate shushes, but that isn't right, they don't know -

"You should rock her," he manages to gasp out, cradling at his aching jaw. "Gently, rock her gently, and tell her – tell her that no one's angry."

There's a heavy pause, before an exhausted-sounding Rick breaks it with a sigh, nodding curtly.

The Doctor watches as the boy he'd met in the forest follows his instructions, warily keeping an eye on him as he rocks the baby girl – no, his family, his sister – whispering lowly and cautiously moving her from side to side. The infant quickly settles down.

Once the commotion dies down, the Doctor realizes that several firearms are aimed at him (he feels nauseous when he spots Carol near the front line, calmly pointing a sleek handgun at his forehead). They all but dare him to make another move towards their leader.

He stills.

Rick makes his way over, flanked by the same two people from his cell, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You wanna explain what that was?"

The Doctor can visibly see the strain he'd unintentionally inflicted on the poor man, deep lines of bemusement and sorrow etched onto his face, and he knows that Rick is still trying to assimilate the new information. He thanks Rassilon that the mind transfer seems to have gone favorably, but it will have been for nothing if he can't convince the man of his authenticity.

"Will you hear me?"

It comes out more cross than he means, like a parent scolding a child.

Rick notices, unsurprisingly bristling at the perceived condescension, and clenches his jaw. "Depends on what you have to say."

The truth is all he has left, for all the good it's worth, but the Doctor is nothing if not persistent.

So he tells them.

He studies the group as he explains his telepathy, garnering looks ranging from impatience to pity, and, yet again, it's clear they think he's either lying or gone mad. It's to be expected, really, so the Doctor despairs when he feels a wave of frustration clawing around inside his chest, unjustly demanding that these people simply listen. It's unfair to think they'd so readily go against ingrained instincts - instincts which undoubtedly keeps them alive.

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor silently reprimands himself and allows their disbelief to wash over him. They don't know any better. They can't, in the face of their truly horrifying experiences.

While the group as a whole appears thoroughly unconvinced, there's a glimmer of consideration in Rick's eye. The Doctor latches onto it.

"We're not that different, you and I," he begins, growing uneasy at the sudden silence following his words, but he refuses to cower under the intensity of their scrutiny. He raises his head. "You have something precious that you want to protect - your family - and you'd go to incredible lengths to ensure their safety," a small, wry smile lifts his lips and he locks gazes with Rick. "You have done, if I'm not mistaken."

"What's your point?" a brown-skinned woman snaps from the edge of the group, expression cold and suspicious.

"I was getting to that," the Doctor sighs, adjusting his bow tie. Remarkably, it was still neatly tied. "My point is, that's exactly why I'm here. As hard as it may be to believe, the entirety of the human race is precious to me - so I'm doing everything in my power to save those who will allow me. And here we are."

"Here we are," Rick agrees, though his tone makes it sound like an ominous thing.

They stare each other down, at some sort of impasse.

Until the tension breaks with the quiet sound of a babbling child. "Hungry," the infant complains, wiggling for attention.

"She's hungry," the Doctor translates dutifully, smiling at the sight.

"How do you know?"

This time he bends the truth, tells Rick that he's had experience with children, which is true, instead of saying that he understands Babblespeak, which is also true. Saddening though it may be, he silently admits that telling them the whole truth in this instance would be pointless - they already have enough cause to dismiss him as a lunatic, from their standpoint. But seeing the baby only reminds him of what's at stake here, and the Doctor is that much more determined to save this particular group of humans.

As if they sense he has more to say, they watch him closely as he makes another bid for their consideration.

"Look, I know it isn't fair to ask for your trust, after all that you've suffered. Keep your weapons aimed at me, keep me handcuffed, but please, please, just give me a chance to show you," the Doctor tries to entreat them gently, yet desperation colors his tone. The baby has changed things. He doesn't think he can walk away from this. "I can't save the world, but I can save a few people. As many as I can."

They seem less certain after that, murmuring among themselves and casting him thoughtful looks.

One of their members, an Eastern-looking young man, approaches Rick and speaks lowly. Their conversation is short but meaningful, if their expression are anything to go by, and the Doctor tries to keep his hope aloft on the fact that Rick holsters his weapon.

Of course, no one else has, so it could mean nothing.

When their leader simply crouches in front of him with a calculating look, he isn't sure what will come next. Some members of the group seem disgruntled, especially the woman who'd snapped earlier, but they largely seem to be in agreement.

"How many walkers have you killed?"

The question startles him, as it was likely meant to, and he blinks back to frown at the man in front of him. "You know the answer."

Rick persists. "How many?"

"None."

"How many people have you killed?"

The Doctor lowers his gaze. "You know that one, as well."

There's an odd expression on Rick's face, but the man doesn't budge. "Just answer the question. How many?"

"Directly, no one. Indirectly - I don't know."

"Why?"

"I was only trying to do the right thing."

Several seem skeptical to accept his response, but they don't question him further.

Sometimes...

They're finally beginning to listen.

"I'm gonna be straight with you," a ginger-haired man, who introduces himself as Sergeant Abraham Ford and as his glorified keeper, says plainly. "We have fought and bought our right to eat, sleep, and shit in an environment that ain't exactly conducive for us to practice said rights. That being said, we will not hesitate to remove anyone or anything that threatens our chances of survival. Got it?"

"Of course. I understand completely."

The Doctor holds Abraham's hard gaze steadily, doing his best to convey sincerity.

After a beat, the other man nods, mouth ticking up wryly. "Sure you do."

He doesn't have time to ask what the man means by that because Rick approaches them, gesturing for them to join the rest of the group to work out an arrangement.

They tentatively agree to follow him back to his ship, though not without sufficient threats against his life. He accepts their terms - and perhaps it speaks of his state of mind that he's satisfied by their thoroughness - allows them as much of their peace of mind as he can offer in this situation, and he isn't bothered by it. The Doctor can't remember a time he's ever been so happy to be held captive (he learns that they've settled in one of many abandoned neighborhoods).

He can't help but admire the way humans rally together. How they go to such lengths to protect those they've come to care for, so willing to sacrifice their lives for each other - all for the chance to defend their patchwork family. This is what he wants to save.

Only a few decide to go with him while the rest remain in a separate location (which is smart, they're scouting a potential threat). He's introduced to a small band of people, some he recognizes - Daryl, Sasha, Glenn, Rosita, Abraham, and Rick - who will accompany him.

He leads them through the forest, nearly vibrating with excitement as they steadily make their way to the TARDIS. It's a foolish thing, to get so absorbed in his enthusiasm, but he simply can't help himself. He can't be bothered to note how the others are getting increasingly twitchy and paranoid as time passes, can't be bothered to worry about their hushed whispers. No, he can't be bothered at all - not when he catches a glimpse of royal blue just beyond the foliage.

"There!" he exclaims, perhaps a bit more loudly than is wise.

He surges ahead of the group, dismissing the warnings, and runs back to the feeling of home.

He nearly cries at the sight of her.

When the group catches up, they are predictably disbelieving of the blue box in the middle of the forest, and are throwing him looks that clearly spell out their thoughts (they think he's a madman now, instead of someone with malicious intent - and that is a preferable notion, in his opinion). He runs up to his ship and leans his forehead against it, hands tied behind his back, and whispers to his beloved ship.

"I've brought some more refugees, dear. Dazzle them, won't you?"

He senses a hum of approval.

The doors swing open, but the inside is out of sight from the group. He gestures for them to take a look, wide grin in place.

Rick decides to be the first, much to the archer's discontent, bringing his weapon up in caution. The Doctor doesn't mind, so long as he doesn't shoot his ship, and keeps his gaze fixed on the other man's expression. He wants to see the moment of realization.

He isn't disappointed.

The man's eyes widen and his lips part slightly, as if to say something, but no words come out. He shakes his head minutely and stumbles backwards a bit, unresponsive to the of concern from his group as they rush up to him. The Doctor watches, content, as they all turn to look inside his ship (which shines just a bit brighter than usual, greeting their guests warmly).

They are astonished yet afraid to board his ship, so the Doctor goes in first. He manages to bounce around and gesture with a long-buried enthusiasm, though probably not as effective with restraints, tossing information about his TARDIS out too quickly for the humans to really understand. Once the shock fades, they enter and tentatively touch the surfaces on his ship, as if they can't quite believe what they're seeing. Silently, one of the group members, Daryl, approaches to un-cuff him and he thanks the man gently, rubbing at his wrists.

Finally, the Doctor hears the words he's been waiting for.

"It's... how is it bigger on the inside?"

He gleefully re-explains the origins of his ship, as well as himself. He tells them the truth and, this time, they listen. They also ask questions. Some are more bitter than others.

"Have you done this before?"

"How many have you helped?"

"Who's still out there?"

"If this is a time machine, can't you go back to stop this all from happening in the first place?"

"Why weren't you here from the start, to save us?"

It's somber and guilt-inducing, leaves him subdued, but he details the laws of the universe that even he must follow. He can tell that they're overwhelmed by the information, and that some don't agree with him, but they believe him. They do, he can tell.

Most of them decide to stay overnight - Sasha, Daryl, Glenn, and Rick - while the remaining two returns to the rest of their group to fill them in. Before they do, however, he urges them to take a few supplies (food, blankets, medicine). Still a bit dubious, yet grateful, they accept and begin the trek back before it gets dark. He tells them that they're welcome to a warm shower, a change of clothes, certain foodstuffs (he knows enough of human biology to know that their stomachs would be sensitive to what they ate), and a bed.

They still don't quite trust him because they don't understand his intentions (as they understand it, people don't do good things simply for the principle of it, not anymore), and the Doctor understands completely. He tells them that, although it makes him uncomfortable, they don't have to part with their weapons. They can even sleep in shifts, if it makes them more secure. As long as they don't harm him or his ship, they are welcome to establish any safety measures they deem necessary (not including bodily harm). They seem mildly surprised and satisfied by his assurances, though they still regard him warily. As they move about his ship, no one is ever without a partner; they guard each other.

The night is spent in relative peace. They ultimately do decide to sleep in shifts, to be safe. The Doctor tries chatting with them to help keep them awake (they are exhausted but still determined to protect each other) and ultimately slinks away when it becomes clear that they'd rather sit in silence.

The next morning, things are better. His TARDIS can sense their general hopefulness beginning to rise.

He is worried, however, when he sees the three of them having a rather serious-looking discussion after a simple breakfast. He allows them their privacy and moves on towards the console room, fiddling with bits and bobs until their leader approaches him. The man still looks haggard (he privately thinks that Rick looks much older than he actually is) and begins an awkward conversation. This too, is familiar.

The Doctor smiles and waves his worries away. He understands.

Freshly showered, clothed, and fed, they decide to bring their entire group. When they arrive, they begin the process all over again. The day is filled with many tears of relief and well-founded suspicions, but the Doctor takes it all in stride. Yet, he can't help but wonder when they'll decide to leave, as all the others have. He doesn't think he can bear it, especially not with a baby in the mix. He really doesn't know what he'll do.

The next day, Rick approaches him again.

"We need to talk. All of us."

He takes the group to the first door in the second hallway, which usually appears as a common area complete with a fireplace, comfortable couches, and plenty of bookcases.

"This reminds me of something out of Harry Potter," one of them muses, bringing a smile to the Doctor's face. After all, he is a fan of J.K. Rowling.

There is plenty of room for everyone, so they sit and get down to business. The Doctor sorrowfully thinks that this is the moment where they ask him about where he can take them, or if he can help them find their Someone. He prepares himself.

Surprisingly, they ask if they can stay.

The Doctor is in shock. He simply sits there a moment, gaping. But most of all, he is unbelievably relieved. "Of course," he whispers hoarsely, feeling his throat tighten. "You lot would be the first to stay, but yes. Of course you can stay."

It will not be easy, and there are several more things they need to address, but that doesn't matter. Not right now.

Some cry, others hug him, and a few remain seated, quietly accepting their new reality.

Sometimes it is enough.

The Doctor cannot save everyone, nonetheless, he can't help but try.

Even in the face of Death, the Doctor will never stop; not until his dying breath.

For all the Doctor's efforts, for all his love, for all his hopes, sometimes... sometimes it is enough.

I realize the ending may seem abrupt, but I've tinkered with this chapter so much that I would never get it done if I don't publish it now. That being said, my eyes are officially numb to this installment - if you spot any errors, please point them out.

Also, there may possibly be an epilogue after this. But don't count on it. Unless you want to wait, like, five years.

Jokes aside, shout out to those who actually waited for this chapter for an ungodly amount of time. Seriously, thank you so much for your patience.