Change was coming.
He was coming.
The Doctor. The madman in a box, now even madder than ever before.
He knew it had been on the horizon for a while, the moment he saw his TARDIS join in with the others in co-ordinating the preservation of Gallifrey at the very edge of the time war.
The Eleventh Hour was winding down, however would he break this to Clara?
He would’nt, he would just break, and she would break with him, unless she was fully prepared.
It’s a silly notion he thought, she’s already seen all of me, all of my faces
He wondered if she would continue to see him. See through him, see all of him, the way he ought to be.
He felt this time that everything would hinge on her being able to know who he was, he was a good man, but how good could she be when faced with the reality of change?
That was the challenge facing him and her. Her bravery would be tested like never before. It would be a most trying Christmas for her, adjusting to the shock of the new, coming to terms with the loss of someone he knew she cared deeply about, and taking in the fresh coat of paint.
The truth field around Trenzalore compelled him to come clean about the consequences of regeneration, how the process can startle even the most well prepared individual, and how it can be the making of that person if they can adapt.
He knew Clara could adapt, he felt it, just as he felt everything come apart, he knew in his ancient bones that the Impossible Girl could make all things possible.
He would die, he would change, and if he were to live again, it had to be through her eyes. He had to be taught through her eyes.
He pondered aloud if he had chosen Clara knowing sub-consciouslly her career would take her into teaching.
He stared up at the burning belltower, he looked on at the wreckage of the Dalek mothership, he smiled, he could hear hyms being performed inside the church, the music tinged with a compelling sadness.
It made sense, he had caused a lot of damage with his regenerative energy in a bid to save the town of Christmas.
A part of him wondered if he was truly finished with Trenzalore as he picked up the TARDIS phone and dialed Clara’s number. He wondered if he had contributed to massive paradox by averting his fate here, or if the planet was always waiting for him in his twilight age, whenever that would be, however that would come.
Nothing can prepare you for death, so his mind was concentrated on preparing himself, and Clara, to live.
Time enough he thought.