Disclaimer: Rights? Who needs the rights to a show anyway when they've got this glorious website to express themselves on? Sure, you don't make money on here (or at least you shouldn't), but who needs money when the appreciation of so many is at your finger tips? So who needs the rights? I don't. Those kind of things are for greedy corporations, like BBC.

Author's Note: So this is it, folks. The End. I can't say that I wanted this day to come…but everything ends. But what I can say is that I never expected for so many people to read, review, and love this story. I was basically just writing for the sake of writing it, although I will state that my readers did motivate me at times…I love you guys, my loyal readers and reviewers. It was fun, and real treat. I will miss writing this story. It had taken up so much of my thoughts and time, but it was well worth it. I've very proud of my little creation. I can't think of any way I could've done better (although I bet a few of you could…).

I would just like to add though, that I wrote this story in tribute to both Donna Noble (as said in the last chapter) and the Tenth Doctor (my favorite, and probably always my favorite Doctor). Also, if any of ya'll are curious as to what the magazine I keep talking about looks like, just search Doctor Who Magazine, year 2009, issue 407.

That's all. Enjoy the finale…

And the red double-decker bus flew off into the void of the starless night sky. The Doctor watched it go, a painted smile on his face, and dread in his stomach. When the red bus became only an obscure dot in the distance, the Time Lord finally left the highway and stepped back into the TARDIS.

Throwing his jacket on the railing, he walked purposefully to a grate that sat next to its other identical brothers, together making up the floor of the time machine. The Doctor hastily pulled the grate up and reached a hand inside of the gaping hole that it left behind. Brushing his palm past a couple of long metallic cables, he grabbed hold of something and yanked it out.

The glossy pages crinkled in his hands as they clutched it, further wrinkling and tarnishing the ratty magazine. A picture of what appeared to be him, and Lady Christina de Souza stared up at the Doctor, burrowing into his soul. In the background there was the same red double-decker bus that he'd just seen fly off into the deep dark sky. The words END OF THE LINE?, screamed up at him from the cover of the magazine titled Doctor Who.

For awhile the Time Lord just stared at. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to open it up like the last time he'd held it in his hands longer than a few seconds. That happened when he'd laid eyes on it for the first time, when Donna had rushed in and showed it to him. Memories and emotions flooded his senses, paralyzing him.

It seemed like such an absurd idea. His life and travels displayed on a show for the world to enjoy, when he had worked so hard to stay in the shadows. The concept was so bizarre that, if he was true with himself, he didn't really fully process it until those two teens had showed up at the TARDIS's door. And that it took so long was also ridiculous, him being as intelligent as he is. But there are just some things that even geniuses like him have a hard time wrapping their heads around.

However, when he left that universe, the show was no longer an absurd brainchild of an unknown human, but something to wonder, ponder, and be apprehensive about. Nevertheless, when things in his life started to unfold, he forgot about Doctor Who, and all the questions and emotions it was saddled with. It might've been because, somewhere in the back of his mind he'd come to the conclusion that, yes, there seemed to be similarities between the show and his life but they were not the same thing. The show was just a blip, a side product of the randomness of timespace. Nothing more.

But now after turning down Lady Christina de Souza, watching her ride off into the sky on the red double-decker bus, and listening to the prophecy about his future, he couldn't help but wonder about and question that strange, absurd show. It seemed so long ago that him and Donna had accidently traveled to that universe. So many things have happened. So many things have changed.

The Doctor wondered if those two teens knew more about Donna and him then they let on. Donna sure seemed to suspect it. He did hear her talk with Rachel about what she knew about Donna's future, after all. That woman did always have a way of reading people and seeing things that others usually ignored. She also made him laugh. That was what he loved about her. That was why he missed her so much. And that was why he was not going to take on anymore companions. They always ended up damaged and/or trapped in some way shape or form. There was also the fact that he didn't think he could stand losing another one.

And as he continued to stare at the copy of Doctor Who Magazine, he pondered once again about the truth and accuracy of the show, and if it captured more than he'd told to any other living being to date. There were so many questions and memories that tailed that pondering that they seemed like a bunch of wasps that he'd just angered by knocking down their nest, stinging him, pestering him, until he couldn't take it anymore and shut the whole thing away, back into a far reaching corner of him mind.

The Doctor redirected his focus back to the cover in all its tattered glossiness. The words END OF THE LINE? once again shouted back at him, while the phrase 'your song is ending' whispered in his ear. Something about those two things together, made his body quake in apprehension and dread. Even though Doctor Who wasn't exactly correct, or that was what he kept telling himself, it still made the Doctor uneasy and a tad fearful about the road ahead, which filled his mind with even more angry and pestering questions, questions he knew wouldn't or couldn't be answered.

But he was used to it. His life was filled with questions and worries and what if's. Where ever he went, whatever he thought about, whoever he was with, they always seemed to follow him. That was a fact of his life, a fact that would be true until his dying day…which hopefully wouldn't be in the near future.

On the magazine his photographic eyes, no, the eyes of one David Tennant, the man with his face, the actor, the imposter, bore into the Doctor and questions by the billions buzzed about his brain. The Time Lord sat like that for what felt like hours, mind zooming and hands clutching, until he suddenly stood up and turned towards the control console.

One hand still tightly gripping the dilapidated magazine, he set the TARDIS on a course to a certain location, only one tiny speck in the vastness of the universe. He instinctually held on while his ship rocked and bumped along through timespace. Another plan, another plot, had planted itself in his mind. He knew what he had to do.

Emotions, meanwhile, were squirming inside his belly, and questions and thoughts were buzzing in his head. All the same, he managed to focus on driving the TARDIS. After hundreds of years of existence, he had learned to suppress his thoughts and feelings like that. He had to. He had to straighten up, lock everything away, and paint a smile on his face. He'd never get anything done if he allowed himself to succumb to his emotions and thoughts. He wouldn't be able to save planet Earth and/or the universe, for the millionth time. Things would fall apart. He couldn't let that happen, no matter how much that hurt or affected himself. He was the last of the Time Lords; he had to save the world.

One final jerk signaled that the TARDIS had reached its intended destination, and the Doctor let go of the console. Without a second to thought, he headed towards the door and swung it open. In front of him was a sight that, if he hadn't spent most of his life traveling the universe, would've taken his breath away and cause he eyes to water at its magnificent splendor. In front of him was a hungry monster, a dark, dangerous thing, tearing apart stars and planets left and right, creating a whirlpool of light, energy, and a myriad all types of matter. There was no soundtrack to the destruction, and the Doctor just stood at the threshold of his spaceship, taking it all in. The brilliant colors of the dying stars and planets lit his face and the photographic face of his imposter on the magazine that was still in the Time Lord's pale hand.

He gazed down at it, momentarily taking his eyes away from the black hole, and took one last look at David Tennant, the actress that played Lady Christina de Souza, the thrashed red double-decker bus, the sand that surrounded them all, and the words END OF THE LINE? that sat on top of everything. Then, without a second to spare, he tossed the magazine out into space, towards the hungry monster.

Next he just stood there, watching its wrinkled pages flop and flutter in zero gravity, and its glossy cover reflect the light of dying stars and planets as they were gobbled up, foreshadowing its own demise. It wasn't just a magazine now. It was a symbol of pestering questions, thoughts, emotions, and memories, of not just Donna but all of his companions and all the other brilliant creatures that had passed his path, of that strange universe of Rachel's and Nicholas's, and of that absurd and impossible show Doctor Who.

The Doctor watched the symbol of so much, drift closer and closer to the dark ravenous beast, its immense gravity slowly sucking it in. It was only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, until the symbol was swallowed, never to be seen again. It was then that the Time Lord stepped back into his TARDIS and disappeared into the mysteries of the time vortex.