The thrumming of the TARDIS, the rush of leaves through the air, even the feeling in her skin was familiar. Amy Pond sat lazily in her large, yellow (rather ugly) chair, balancing a thick book between her trembling hands. It was a cold March 1st, though whenever her husband was away at work, she threw all of the windows open and let the crisp breeze run through the house like blood through its veins.

Her eyelids lightly fluttered at the sound, and immediately, her face held still and the cold finally brought the suppressed bitterness to her skin. No, it wasn't him. She repeated as many times as the wind gently brushed against the defiant pages of her book. The leaves danced violently outside, yet she closed her eyes in a futile attempt to pretend that a decent amount hadn't already raced through the windows and onto the hardwood floor. They quietly skid across to her, and she looked to them, this time, with a shroud of sadness. What if it wasn't him? She swallowed dryly at the thought. The crunching of footsteps, coupled with the creaking shut of a wooden door, and her denial faded all the more with the gentle knock at the front door.

Amy slowly lowered her head into the book as the knocking persisted, and she sighed. Her legs dragged out from the mouth-like chair and she placed the book on the small table where a picture of her and Rory sat. She caught her reflection in the glass, and she paused, watching the breeze gently sifted through her short, red hair. For a moment, she found herself thoughtlessly staring, slowly bringing her hands to touch her shoulders. Her thoughts replayed the illusion of the long locks of hair that had once lazily sprawled across them, and for once in a long while, she replayed the day she cut it all off.

His quiet knock had become a worried pound, and his voice called through the wood as she approached the door. It was him. But was it? She quickly tied her hair back into somewhat of a mess, yet when her hand reached for the rattling doorknob, she paused again. With a single move, she reached into the pocket of her baggy sweater, and pulled out a pair of dark glasses. She found herself somewhat smiling at them as she fit them past her ears, and when her hand drifted for the doorknob, she was surprised not to see it trembling.

She felt her consciousness skip a beat as her hand lunged for the doorknob, stopping before that Amy desperately tore the door open to see her Doctor. For a moment, she tried to concentrate on breathing, to calm herself, using an exercise she was taught at her therapy session. She inhaled slowly, concentrating on the way her lungs seemed to fill themselves, and she released, concentrating on how the air effortlessly escaped. She leaned forward to see through the peephole of the door, and silently gasped as she saw his face, his head inflated from the curved glass, beaming as he stood there on the doorstep. It was him. But was it?

"I hear you breathing on the other side, Pond!" He said with an excited tone, and she watched as he anxiously bopped up and down in place, his hands folded in front of him.

She brought her fingers up to the lock, as the dual voices shouted in her mind, the echoing sound of it clicking free, and the possessed feeling as she turned the doorknob. Was it that Amy again?

The door slowly creaked its way open, the wind assisting, and she immediately leaned against the wall, staring at him behind her dark glasses. He stood there, with a stupid, wide smile on his face, as if he had just won a prestigious award and came running to tell her about it in person, excited for her excitement, anxious for her to throw herself onto him and hug him as tight as possible. Yet as she stood in the shadows, what had been playing in his mind for so long, suddenly dwindled to her unemotional silence.

He nervously nodded to himself, quickly glancing down as his mouth had some sort of spasm, and he glanced up, his wide smile returning. "Hello."

She watches as his excitement slowly dwindled, and yet his face seemed only to fade and be replaced with an endearing expression. He looked at her, and somewhat felt even more anxious as he couldn't connect with her eyes, until finally succumbing to the wave of self-loathing and he tilted to hang his head.

"I don't know how long-" By his tone, it was evident he was tearing himself up inside of his head, and slowly his eyes drifted up to her, "But I needed to see you." Another internal slap at his idiocy. "I w-wanted to see you, I mean." He released a short, nervous laugh, and it spread into a sweet smile. "H-How are you? How's Rory?"

Yet still, she remained silent. The only sign she was actually alive was her quiet breathing and her eyelids lightly fluttering beneath the black lenses.

Suddenly, his concern overtook him, "Amy?" and she felt his sweet, attentive whisper cut through her skin.

Amy carefully blinked away the boiling tears, and she swallowed dryly in attempt to swallow the uprising feelings. "Good to see you, Doctor." Her voice was quiet. "Though I'm afraid I have to go. Rory's in the kitchen and he-"

The excited smile spread at the sound of normalcy, "Rory the Roman!" His voice burst cheerfully, and he resumed bobbing anxiously up and down. "Mind if I come in for a mo?" His eyes drifted past her, and then returned to her face, forcing his smile past the suffocating silence.

Without another word, he slowly moved towards the doorway, and she immediately flinched back from him. He watched as her body language stiffened in defense and he looked at her with a confused expression.

"Amy, what's wrong?"

His tone continued to cut through her, yet she shook her head, and glanced up at him as coldly as she could force herself.

"Doctor, we're in the middle of something important..." She uttered quickly, moving her arm to pull the door shut, but before she could glance up, he had slid his foot in the door, and slipped through.

"Amy, what's happened?"

Her eyes finally registered his face being inches from hers, and she shivered at the feeling of his words on her skin.

"Tell me." He whispered, gently running his hand into hers, and she felt her skin burn at his touch.

Yet almost immediately, she choked back that Amy as he moved to hold her, and quickly slid back down the wall away from him, throwing her arms up at him as he followed.

"Doctor, please." She quietly, breathlessly pleaded, and his concern was validated.

With a single nod and a self-deprecating glance, he moved back out the door.

"I'm sorry." He said, and the sincerity in his tone killed her. How she just wanted to-No. She choked away that Amy from even picturing it.

The Doctor looked up at her as he blindly slipped his foot on the step outside the door, and he forced himself to muster a smile, yet it was faint and quickly lost in his sadness. He stepped down, trying not to watch her, and he opened his mouth to speak, yet stood silent as the door the creaked shut. With the quiet scraping of his shoes against concrete, he turned to his TARDIS and stared.