Disclaimer: I do not own any material pertaining to Doctor Who.
Author's Note: Short blurb lamenting the Angels Take Manhattan episode.
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All those years he already stole from her, he knew, he knew in his heart of hearts, he would always be selfish with Amelia Pond. He dangled the universe in front of her as a child, tempted her with the promises of a thousand galaxies, a lifetime of blinding, beautiful suns, all the planets she could dream of and beyond, and life in all its overwhelming, variegated, dazzling, glory.
And the girl no one said no to, could never say no to the Doctor. He knew.
He made selfish decisions to keep her. As much as it grinded against every atom in his ancient being, he knew that if he had to, he'd sacrifice planets for his sassy, reliable, gutsy, brilliant, Amelia Pond. But, he was never pushed into a corner where he'd have to see millions burn to see her live. He always found the way to save everyone. The problem was, he knew he'd choose her if he had to.
The Doctor knew she could never stay, because no one ever could. It was nice to pretend that he didn't know, but the Doctor always knows. He knew that her life would eventually end, and his would not. But that end was not in sight.
(So long as they're breathing, so long as she's breathing, it's not ending)
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The Doctor had no qualms with it when he knew it was time for her to settle down. He could visit her every day of her life anyway, and though those were finite, there were still at least eighteen thousand two hundred fifty days that he could go and see the pair of them, the Ponds, his Pond. He planned to save up those days, and visit them between his own adventures, when he had done enough running to take a slow day and have tea and be domestic for a few hours. He could stretch out his life into decades and still have them be a part of it, without putting them in perilous danger. That was the plan anyway.
It was meant to be a romantic, wonderful evening; a gift to his favourite Pond and her favourite Williams. Just a safe, quiet trip. But trouble seemed to follow him wherever he went (which he loved and Amy loved and Rory learned to love), and before they knew it, they were interrupting weddings and Amy was accidentally marrying into the French monarchy and it was all such terrible, wonderful, fun.
The next time he popped by for a short visit, he accidentally (he pretends, the Doctor never does anything by accident) mentions the Truoxian ruby waterfalls, and Amy insists on seeing them. The three of them end up stopping a full scale invasion, inventing a new hat, and Amy is allowed to take a cantelope-sized jewel home from the falls.
Before each visit he'd persuade himself to remain within their time, their world, and during each visit, they persuaded him otherwise. They went to the fifteenth century, then the fifty first, then the third, to Galaxium, to the Jlaqquirian moons, watched sunsets and sunrises, saved children, adults, families, civilizations. Then he'd drop them off back home and promised himself again it would be the last time. But, he couldn't stop and they couldn't stop.
Then they went to New York.
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He thought he'd escaped it one more time. When he saw Amy jump off the building with Rory, he promised himself he'd really stick to tea-only visits, no bounding into the TARDIS, no pasts, no futures, just presents, he swore, he crossed his hearts, tea-only, if they came out okay. He thanked the stars for their wit. He was swelling with furious pride. The Ponds, rewriting time, changing the future. He still had his friends, still had his best friend, safe and sound.
One blink later, Rory was gone.
(I'm so, so, sorry)
She could still be happy, he thought. He'd bring her smile back, he'd stop the tears, the universe could do that, he knew it could. There was still so much she hadn't seen; the vast marketplaces of Allanquor, the diamond shores of Linth, the domed cities of New Japan, rollerskating on the rings of Qjun'kar, there was a universe out there waiting for them to tumble through and be in awe of. She could heal.
He knows it is a lie.
Because the Doctor is so very old and kind, and so very lonely. Because the Doctor is selfish with Amelia Pond. He lies often, and quickly, and because you'll trust him anyway. And he would lie to himself to keep her. For however long he could, so long as she could run and her name was Amelia Pond, he would want to keep her forever.
(Don'ts and pleases and no's came tumbling out of his mouth as he tried to think, think, THINK - )
He loved Rory. His hopeless human devotion to her only kept Amy safer, which helped balance out the fact that the Doctor's very existence usually put her in harm's way. She didn't belong with anyone other than someone who recognized the unique make up of her existence, and revered it. He loved Rory, he did. But the Doctor would choose her over him any day.
(He says they will figure something out, they will find him, she will find him. He wants to believe himself so badly that he almost does.)
Amy, brilliant Amelia Pond, who made him good, made him laugh, who ran, ran, ran, never stopped running with him, to him, anywhere. The first face he ever saw. The girl who waited – he owed her the stars, and he hadn't finished paying that debt, he never wanted to be finished, but don't ask him to pay this way, please not this way.
(Desperate words spill out: no, I don't know, nobody knows! When he knows it is a yes, it is the only way, I know)
And just once, just this one bloody time, would it be so much to ask that the universe throw him a bone? He wasn't asking for forever. But a day more. A month. A year. A few more years. The rest of her years.
(Amy, please, just come back to the TARDIS, come along, Pond, please – )
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The universe said no.
"Raggedy Man, goodbye."