When Amy Pond was seven, a magic man fell out of the sky with a bump. His suit was torn and raggedy; his eyes sparkling like the sky above. There were solar systems in his pupils. There was fish fingers and custard, monsters, the tallest of tales and the glimmers of hope. He whirled into her life, a hurricane, beautiful in its terror, destructive, but she'd never felt more alive. Then, he was gone. She spent the night in the garden, suited and booted, waiting. Sleep tugged at her eyelids, her in, but she would not give in...Which was why it was so odd to find herself waking in her own bed. Visions of Doctors and fish custard tormented her after that.
When she was ten, there was a peculiar boy called Rory Williams. He trailed after her, never tired of her company. She shook her head at him, called him Stupid Face and spun webs and weaves of stories. He listened, grinned at her fiction. Chronicles of Doctors and Prisoners, little girls and bacon. He went to sleep dreaming of blue boxes.
When they were thirteen, they were both in love. Williams had fallen for the girl with flame for hair. He dreamt of them, growing up, marrying, having kids, growing old. Together. He smiled lazily into his pillow, content. Then there were the nights, were the moon frowned down on him, filling his head with the worst of dreams. Her raggedy man swooping in, dashing, a hero, before stealing the fiery female away from him. That was when he realised, he needed to impress her, he needed a brilliant job. It only took him only a few moments to realise he'd always wanted to be a Doctor. On the other side of Leadworth, a girl twisted in her sheets. He'd left her, and he was never coming back. Her champion. No more fish custard.
At the age of sixteen Amy Pond wasn't scared of anything. Monsters under the bed didn't exist anymore, Prisoner Zero was long gone and she knew her Prince Charming was never coming back. She tugged on her school tie, wishing the days away, the hours she detested lounging in a classroom shattered with a tug of her tie. At least, that was what she wished would happen. She would prance into school, arm linked with Mel's. Their eyes glittered, hunters after the prey. Amy's narrowed. Her eyebrows linked, knitted, became best friends and parted in a fraction of a second. What was Rory doing talking to Alicia? Sandy hair fell to her shoulders, shining golden in some lights. She smiled, shoulders shaking, sandy strands. Was she flirting with him? She would almost be certainly be disappointed when she found out he was gay.
Mel jerked her arm, "Come on, looks like Rory's got a crush." She winked, yanking her friend with her. Pond couldn't help the sinking sensation in her stomach, or the bad dreams that followed that night. She never told anyone how much it terrified her to see Rory with anyone else. She didn't even tell him.
By the time they were nineteen, he came back. Just like that. There was a mad man, a woman in a police uniform and a nurse. There was chaos, Geoff's laptop and threats of incineration. The raggedy man had come back. Nothing else mattered.
Some days pass like you're trudging through mud. They're the hard ones. They're the days when minutes snag and catch, hours trundle by. That day passed in the blink of an eye. Moments blurred into the next, romance and wonder melting together. Amy knew she had Rory, and she always would, but it didn't stop her crying herself to sleep. Her Doctor had left her. Again.
He never meant to leave her; he never meant to leave anyone. He could feel them, heavy in his hearts. Time Lords and humans, enemies and lovers, the ones he couldn't save. Some of them lingered in the TARDIS, ghosts or heavy fogs, shrouding the corridors. The smell stayed behind, the most evocative sense, unlocking memories and heartbreaks from centuries ago. The other visited him in the most ghastly of creatures; nightmares. Twisting and turning, heart wrenching and wrong. Gallifrey, burning. Rose, falling. Donna, dying. The girl who waited, missing him every day for twelve years. Fury and guilt clawed at his hearts, a shudder travelling the length of his spine. Why couldn't he save them?
"Doctor!" Scottish, loud, Pond. His eyes flew open. There was gasping, panic in his blood. "Doctor, are you alright in there? You were shouting..." tentative knocks at the door. The Time Lord screwed his eyes shut and ignored the throbbing his arm.
"Yes! Fine, Amelia...Go back to wherever it is you came from" he looked around and acknowledged the fact that he was lying on the floor. A myriad of sheets and blankets formed an unsteady bridge between him and his bed.
"Don't call me that" sulkiness tinged her tone. The Doctor smiled. She would never change. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Absolutely, never been better" he swallowed, the back of his throat bitter. "You mustn't keep Mr Pond waiting..."
"But I'm worried about you"
"Your husband did die today...Again...He'll be wanting company, now go...Do a few laps in the swimming library" he knew she'd give in eventually.
"Goodnight!" his eyelids clamped shut in reply. How long was it before he ruined her too?
"...Doctor?" A voice returned, this one was deeper, more muddily. Rory. He stood in the doorway. Pyjamas hung off his frame. Shadows clung to his eyes. "Are you alright?"
"I'm always alright." He echoed his previous regeneration. Williams nodded, processing.
"So I was wondering...What do Time Lords have nightmares about?" the Doctor's eyes sparkled, like they had so many years ago. He was so young, and so old. He smiled at the glorious, dishevelled human in front of him.
"Go back to sleep, Rory...Sweet dreams"
When the Doctor was 907 years old, two raggedy humans fell into his life with a crash. Earths and moons twirled in their eyes. Light and love danced through their souls, and the last Time Lord had never slept more soundly.