This drabble was created from random thought and sad feelings. I'm really liking Clara, but now and then I miss Amy and Rory too. The talk in Hide about ghosts made me think of the Ponds, and I was in a writing mood. (She says with a paper due soon and little work finished on it.)

Mention of a line cut from The Angels in Manhattan, about the Doctor making a desert out of the Angels.


At some point, Clara brings out 101 Places to See.

Even though his machine can go back and forth and all around any of those places, he listens to her suggestions happily.

When Clara asks if they can see New York with an excitement he fails to match, he strains not to make a face before throwing a story at her about getting banned from Central Park in a falsely cheery tone.

He really wants to rip that page out of her book and light it a blaze. Throw it into the nearest supernova. Will it out of existence.

New York is thinking of a grave with two names and a still burning pain on his scarred hearts.

It is two people who waited and waited, only to be disappointed by an ever growing older man.

It is a rapid change of thought from raggedy man, goodbye to I will grind you into sand.

It is a girl with red hair who was seared onto his hearts and disappointed constantly, yet retained a comforting amount of faith in her best friend.

It is a man who had courage, bravery, and strength beyond his years, and trust in a man he once called dangerous.

It is a love so strong as to fall into a paradox together and survive.

It is a place that tore the power of three from his fingertips with the blink of an eye.

It is where two members of the little family he got to play a part in lay long dead.

He thinks of ghosts as Clara shoots him a curious look and places the book back in her bag, having decided on another place.

Somewhere Amy and Rory Williams, his Ponds, are not dead, and yet always will be.