Amelia Pond leaned back against the TARDIS railing and watched the Doctor silently. Her head was still doing wild somersaults after the events of the day, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. He was her best friend… the man who could save worlds and then end the day with a satisfied smirk before swaggering back to his TARDIS. It appeared that he could destroy worlds in the same way.

The Doctor was absorbed in the ship controls, and a smile flickered across his lips as he gave a quick pat to the console before moving on. You could almost think that nothing had happened.

She could still feel vivid echoes of the terror that had been coursing through her veins less than an hour ago, despite not being able to so much as remember her captors' faces. She could only wonder how much of her past year had disintegrated thanks to Silence influence. The only reason she could even recall how the Doctor had managed to save the day for them was because as soon as she'd tumbled into the TARDIS she had burrowed her face into Rory's comforting jacket. She hadn't left the refuge of Rory when the Doctor finally came in after her, but she had not missed a word of the altercation outside.

The moon landing. One of Earth's most triumphant moments, and he had managed to turn it into a weapon. No, he had turned them into weapons. The human race. It was then that Amy realized how sore her fingers were. Her hazel eyes darted down to her lifted hands, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest as she realized that the long nails were cracked. She rubbed her fingers gently together; there was something that felt like blood and shreds of skin caked beneath them. Amy's eyes left her fingers and her unease abruptly vanished.

At last the Doctor seemed to notice her, and as he glanced up his face brightened.

"Up and ready for another one, Pond?"

Amy tried to smile back but failed, and he looked back at her for a long moment. "Have I ever taken you to that planet where they live exclusively on custard and fish fingers? Don't answer, I haven't. Let's fix that!"

The Doctor kept rambling, but now he wasn't looking her in the eye. Amy could tell that he was trying to cheer her up, but sweets wouldn't work this time.

She ambled down the steps until she was behind him.

"Doctor, did you really have to—" This time when the Doctor glanced up it was Amy who avoided his eyes. "I mean, what you did to the Silence…" She trailed off and waved a hand around vaguely.

Of course she trusted the Doctor's judgement… of course she did! But she had seen something different and strange in the Doctor that night. She was still struggling over how to finish that sentence when the Doctor turned to face her fully and leaned back against the console. His eyes were solemn now, and Amy felt certain that he had read her mind.

"Amy, if I hadn't stopped the Silence when I had the chance we may never have found a way to do it. They would still be out there, watching you. The world left oppressed by a bunch of nasty yet forgettable tyrants—now, would you want that?"

The Doctor was trying to adopt a playful tone, but this only served to remind Amy of his icy flippancy during the unleashing of the human race.

"You didn't need to enjoy it."

Those harsh words were not intended to be said aloud. Amelia Pond rarely, if ever, said what she actually felt aloud… but now she had, and she had also managed to say exactly the wrong thing. No sooner had she said the words than the Doctor's eyes darkened and in a moment they was mere inches from hers. Her regret melted into a confused sort of fear as she took in the iron glint of his eyes. They were the same green eyes that had filled her childhood dreams, and yet so different.

"Do you think I enjoy it?" he hissed, "After everything I've been through—after everything that I've done, do you really think that I—" He broke off and twisted away to face the console.

It seemed as if they stood like that for hours— or years… all rigid shoulders and empty silence disrupted only the steady hum of the TARDIS. When the Doctor finally spoke, it sounded more like a soft groan.

"Oh Amy, Amy… Go back to bed. Please."

He hadn't expected Amy to look back, but at the top of the stairs, she did. Though he didn't appear to have moved from where he had stood before, the Raggedy Man's head had drooped, and his chin rested against his chest.