“This time, say it.”
“Goodbye. My Sarah Jane.”
He sometimes just called her Sarah.
He’d seen her several times since then and so the farewell had felt lighter, as they all do when he leaves them, alive and well. He knows that they age, knows that they die — that’s why he leaves them, if they don’t leave him first.
But Sarah, because he was the only one she let call her just Sarah, Sarah had managed to work her way into his life more than the others. He’d seen her at that school so many years later, unchanged, beautiful, feisty, and saving the world, as she could.
She always seemed to be worried about whether or not she’d see him again, he never really considered that one day he’d not be able to see her, to save her — timelines and all that.
She’d had that theory that she and all other companions would feel it when he died. He’d said that the universe would shiver.
As he walked towards the stone he felt every single year of his age and was ashamed that she’d only had 63 years herself.
He hadn’t seen it, in all of the what ifs and must not’s and could haves...no for some reason he’d not seen this possibility.
And now, though he could hardly believe it, hardly form the words, this time he was saying it.
“Goodbye, My Sarah Jane. No one is ever going to forget you.”
He walked away.
As the engines whined, the universe sighed and suddenly felt the loss of that ordinary, extraordinary woman.
And it shivered.