Amelia Pond was tired of waiting. The Doctor's "five minutes" had turned into ten years, and there hadn't been any flashing blue light, no sound of airplanes flying overhead, nothing to indicate that he was coming back for her. Amy had honestly thought that the Doctor had been different. After all, he'd said that he wasn't like other people. And Amy – silly, foolish Amelia Pond, the girl with the fairytale name – had believed him. But she'd been wrong to trust him, for he'd been exactly like everyone else – a disappointment. He'd let her down, and since then, she'd vowed to never let anyone get close to her again. But the Doctor – whether imaginary or not – had been special, and Amy continued to cling to her faith in him. Every Easter night, she would go outside and wait for her Raggedy Doctor to appear. But he never did. There were times when she wondered if she really had just made him up – the figment of a lonely child's imagination. Then there were times when she knew – without a shadow of a doubt – that he'd been real, and that he'd sat in her very kitchen eating fish fingers and custard. The truth of the matter, though, was that Amy didn't know what to think. So, she waited – for what, she didn't know.
It was Easter once again, and Amy was settling down for a camp-out in her backyard, something she'd done every year since she was seven. Though she was seventeen now, Amy refused to let go of this particular tradition in case it brought the Doctor back to her. And for that to happen, Amy was willing to do or go through anything, which she nearly had, as over the years she had had to endure countless bullying and teasing as a result of her declaration that a man with a blue box had crash landed in her backyard and that she'd taken him in and fed him. Because of the Doctor, Amy went through psychiatrists the way her peers went through electronic gadgets. Nevertheless, Amy couldn't find it in herself to blame the Doctor. See, over the years, she had begun to fancy him. As such, she couldn't hold anything against him. Despite the pain he had caused her, both physically and emotionally, Amy knew – in the deep recesses of her heart – that she would forgive him the moment she saw him again. Oh, she'd make him think that she was mad. But when all was said and done, she'd forgive him. And she wouldn't even make him get down on his knees and beg. Well, not much, anyway.
The night's frigid air hardly fazed Amy, used as she was to the icy glares of her aunt and anyone else she was forced to associate with. She tugged the sleeves of her leather jacket further down her arms in an effort to hide the scars that littered her pale skin – a constant reminder that the Doctor hadn't left her completely unscathed. Desperate to control some aspect of her life, Amy had turned to self-harm as a way to feel something other than the ever-present numbness that threatened to weigh her down whenever she thought too long about the Doctor's continued absence. The pain that came with slicing through her skin – and the blood that would ooze down her arms and stain her skin as red as the shirt she was so fond of wearing – sent a fire racing through her veins and brought her a feeling of satisfaction, even though she knew that the Doctor would disapprove. Her rebuttal to such an argument was that he wasn't there, so she was free to do as she pleased. This didn't completely assuage the guilt, but her excuse was that she'd only been fourteen when she'd started. School had been too much for her that day – the taunting by her peers had been positively brutal – and she'd come home desperate for an escape. She'd found it in a razor one of her aunt's 'acquaintances' had left out, and since then, she'd never looked back.
"Oh, Doctor," she murmured to the night sky, which was dotted with stars that supposedly formed constellations, but which had never made much sense to her. "I miss you. I need you. Where are you, Doctor?"
"I'm right here, Amelia," said a voice to her left.
Her breath caught in her throat as she cautiously turned her head in the direction of that oh, so familiar and welcoming voice. "Doctor," she gasped, before flinging herself at him.
The Doctor deftly caught her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. "Hello, Pond," he murmured into her auburn locks.
The pair stayed locked in their embrace for many minutes. At long last, though, they forced themselves to pull away, instantly missing the sense of security that came with being in the other's arms.
"Based on your reaction," the Doctor said, breaking the silence that had settled over them, "and your appearance," he added, eyes roving over her body, "I'd guess that I've been a bit more than five minutes. How late am I?"
"Ten years," Amy whispered, taking none of the pleasure she had thought she would in the guilt she knew he would surely feel at learning the truth.
"And you've been waiting all that time?" The Doctor was incredulous that anyone would think he was worth the bother.
Wordlessly, Amy nodded.
"Amelia Pond, the girl who waited," he whispered, leaning over to press a kiss to her brow and bestowing her with a new nickname. "You don't have to wait anymore, my mad, impossible Amy Pond. I'll never leave you alone again – I promise."
"I would wait forever for you, Doctor," she revealed. "You'd be worth it."
A beat of silence followed, during which the Doctor did his best not to show how much Amy's simple faith moved him. "Well, I'm here now," he replied at last, gently squeezing her shoulder.
"And for that, I'm glad," she said, snuggling further in towards his body so that she was practically resting on top of him.
His arm wrapping around her instinctively, they turned their heads upwards to gaze at the heavens – together, as they'd always been meant to be.
Soon, though, the Doctor became impatient to learn what his Amelia had been doing with herself while he'd been gone. He propped himself up with one arm and shifted to face Amy, only to find her rubbing at her arms as though she were cold and attempting to get the blood circulating again. This action alone was not what alarmed him. No, what terrified him like nothing ever had before were the seemingly endless scars that crisscrossed her wrists, and, he suspected, her upper arms as well.
"Amelia, what have you done?" he asked, tone solemn to indicate his displeasure and horror at the notion that the little girl with the fairytale name he'd first met had been driven to this. He had yet to examine exactly why she would feel the need to harm herself, but he dreaded her answer, fearing that he was to blame.
Startled, Amy's head snapped to the side and met the Doctor's eyes, which seemed to have aged significantly since she'd last looked.
"I-I ..." she stuttered nervously, afraid of saying the wrong thing and incurring the Doctor's wrath.
"Amy," said the Doctor intensely, gripping her wrists and bringing them towards his chest for a closer look. What he saw ... he couldn't even begin to describe how he felt at seeing Amy's arms covered with scars, some white and fading, some an angry red, all of them many years old. "How long has this been going on?"
"Three years," Amy whispered at last, closing her eyes to escape the Doctor's sure-to-be disappointed expression.
"And why would you feel the need to do this?" he continued, holding her arms up to the moonlight to emphasize his point.
"I was alone," Amy cried, her outburst surprising them both. "I was alone," she said again, more brokenly this time. "I didn't have anyone. No friends, no family, no one who believed my stories of a madman with a blue box who ate fish fingers and custard. They all thought I was crazy, and that I made you up. If anyone did pay attention to me, it was to tease me – cruel, hateful words against us both. Eventually, my resistance wore down, so much so that when I found a razor one of my aunt's 'acquaintances' had left out, I cut. It felt good, so I cut again – and I've been doing it ever since. It gave me a release and let me actually feel something."
"Amelia, my Amelia," the Doctor murmured sadly, hardly knowing where to start in all he wanted to do to comfort her.
"I'm not yours," she hissed angrily, shifting within his arms to face him. "And I go by Amy now."
"Why?" The Doctor was momentarily confused. "Amelia was a brilliant name."
"A bit too fairytale, don't you think?" she shot back at him.
The Doctor winced. He deserved that – he deserved so much worse. He deserved for all her barbs to be dipped in poison and for there to be no cure.
"I don't suppose 'sorry' would begin to make up for what I've done to you and what I've made you do?"
"Not even close," Amy replied. "But you shouldn't blame yourself. I'm my own person, and anything I did or didn't do was my own choice. It's not like you cut me yourself. I did that – it was all me, everything that's happened in the past ten years. You are not to blame."
The Doctor shook his head, chuckling slightly, in wonder at how Amy could go from accusing him one minute to reassuring him the next. She was a mystery, that one, a mystery he couldn't seem to make sense of.
"Amy," was all he could say as he held her, gently patting her back and stroking her hair as soothingly as he could. "I'm sorry. I know that doesn't even begin to cover it, but that's all I can say at this time. That – and I will never let you down again, I swear."
Amy took a shaky breath, her body trembling from the many emotions she was currently experiencing. "I believe you," she whispered, so softly that the Doctor had to strain his ears to catch the lovely cadence of her voice.
"Thank you," he whispered, blessing whatever higher power there was that Amy thought him worthy of her.
Throughout their discussion, the Doctor had been cradling Amy in his arms, balancing her body on top of his own. Now, though, he released her, and they returned to their original positions, with his arm about her shoulders as she lay tucked in to his side.
"Pick a star," he said suddenly, "Any star, and I'll take you there. With all of time and space at our disposal, where do you want to start?"
Amy turned to face him, and the Doctor was momentarily dazzled by the hope – however tentative it might have been – that he saw in her eyes.
"What?" she whispered breathlessly, hardly daring to believe that the Doctor meant what she thought he meant.
"Come with me," he demanded, desperate to always keep her with him. Watching Amy, he recognized the moment that understanding dawned and she realized that his earlier statement was an invitation for her to join him on his travels. His hearts broke at the notion that his Amelia could have ever felt as he often did – alone. He made a vow, then and there, to do all in his power to make up for what his absence had cost her. "I want you ... I-I need you – please," he said softly, begging her to let him fix what he seemed to have broken – her faith in love.
"Okay," she whispered, letting out a shaky breath as the enormity of what she'd just agreed to hit her.
"Thank you," he replied, leaning over to press a kiss to her brow – only he missed, for Amy had been turning her head at the exact same moment, causing their lips to end up meeting instead. There was a moment where neither reacted, not know how to respond, until, as if of its own accord, the Doctor's hand moved to cup her cheek, pulling her body closer to him.
And then – oh, how the sparks flew.
Later, Amy would swear there had been an explosion behind her eyelids. She saw stars, fireworks, every cliché that could be applied to a first kiss. Every nerve ending felt as if it were on fire ... every pressure point ... every part of her body that was in contact with the Doctor – she'd never felt anything like it before. If this was love, then she wanted more.
All of a sudden, though, there was a blinding white light that seemed to surround them. As it drew nearer, Amy felt the Doctor slipping away from her. Desperately, she reached for him and held on for all she was worth.
"What's happening, Doctor?" she cried out in alarm.
"Amy Pond," the Doctor said urgently. "I'll be back, remember that – I will always come back for you. Don't forget me. Whatever happens, hold on to your faith and never let go."
"I promise," she whispered, and then the Doctor was gone, consumed by the light that, strangely enough, resembled the crack in her bedroom wall.
With a start, Amy woke up, a cry of despair already half-formed on her lips. Shaking off the depression and melancholy that had settled over her, she took in her surroundings and found that she was still in her backyard. She hadn't moved, and the Doctor hadn't come back.
Someday, she thought to herself, holding on to her faith in the Doctor just as he'd asked her to, in what she now knew had been a dream, or had perhaps been a visitation of sorts (Amy wouldn't put it past the Doctor to cross his own timeline to let her know that he was on his way). Someday, my prince will come, and we'll ride off into the sunset – together, as it's always been meant to be.
Until then, Amy decided, she could be patient. Even if it killed her, she would continue to wait for the Doctor and the happy ending that they both deserved.