He knows they lived long happy lives. He knows they'd want him to move on, to be happy.
And yet, a small part of him won't listen.
Maybe that's why he's sitting in the middle of a cemetery on this crisp October morning.
His emerald eyes wash over the cold grey marble for the thousandth time, trying to wear down the epitaph and the pain that plagued his hearts.
In loving memory: Rory Arthur Williams, aged 82, and his loving wife Amelia Williams, aged 87.
A chilled fall breeze greets fresh tears as they slowly roll from his ancient eyes to his youthful cheeks.
He won't let himself think about the two bodies beneath him. No, he won't, because they're not there; Amelia Pond was alive somewhere, having her own adventures with Rory the Roman. They're together, they're happy.
He's been repeating that like a mantra lately.
They're together, they're happy… They're together, they're happy… They're together, they're happy….
But they're not here, a part of him whispers. They're not here, with you, like they should be.
He's being selfish but he doesn't care. The Ponds, the Girl Who Waited and the Last Centurion, they made him forget.
They made him forget about his pain. Made him forget about losing Donna and Martha and Rose, forget about Time Lord Victorious and all the blood that will always be on his hands.
This is what happens when you travel alone for too long.
Her words from so long ago come back to him, and he can't help but let a small smile grow on his lips. This is what happens when I travel with someone for too long, Amy, he thinks to himself. She's been with him so long, longer than he's been with her.
He'd thought he had figured out the problem that came with all of his companions. He stretched out his visits, hoping to make them last. He's spent over 290 years with the Ponds, and he's been spoiled by it.
He's over 1200 now. He's so old and so tired. Tired of losing and tired of pain, and most of all, he's tired of himself.
Don't be alone, Doctor.
"Oh, Amy. Amazing, beautiful, caring Amelia Williams," he sighs, and he lets another crest-fallen smile sneak onto his tear stained face. He never told her, but she's grown up. She's no longer Amelia Pond, the seven year-old Scottish girl with a fairy-tale name. She's not Amy, the fiery kiss-o-gram who ran away the night before her wedding. "Even after your gone, you're still watching out for me."
She's Amelia Williams, wife to Rory Williams and mother to Melody Pond. She's smart and brave, kind and caring.
And he'll never forget her.