Fish fingers and custard – the one thing that could save him by reminding him of the girl who waited and never lost faith, the girl who believed for twenty minutes and for so much longer.
My sweet little Amelia Pond, thought the Doctor fondly, from before I got it all wrong. Oh, how I've missed you, the girl with the fairytale name.
His thoughts were becoming harder to focus, though. As he lay dying on the floor, gasping out his last breath, he pleaded with her. "I need something for the pain now. Come on, Amelia. It's me. Please . . ."
But she refused to listen, constantly repeating that he would die in thirty-two minutes and that she was a voice interface.
"Listen, Amelia. I can be brave for you. But you have got to tell me how." He would hold on for her, his Amy. He wasn't ready to die, not here, not now. He couldn't, not yet. At the thought of never seeing his loved ones again, he wanted to cry. He couldn't bear the loss of any more of his companions or friends. The hologram cycle, before it had settled on a seven-year-old Amelia Pond, had filled him with a guilt he was surprised hadn't killed him on the spot. So much pain - and it was all because of him.
"Amelia," he murmured, as he felt the poison spreading like an unquenchable fire through his veins. "Amelia, please . . ." His voice trailed off, overcome with exhaustion.
"Fish fingers and custard," said the girl standing before him.
His eyes popped open. "What did you say?" He couldn't believe it – he'd gotten through to her. "Fish fingers and custard," he began to laugh, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Oh, you are brilliant, Amelia Jessica Pond . . . my mad, impossible Amy Pond – and I love you for it.