A/N: Since this story will follow the episodes of season seven, rather than doing complete episode rewrites, this story will focus on diverging moments. That means shorter chapters... which are somewhat newer to me. But good for frequent updates.
I originally thought of this story before Season Eight came out, so I only plan to do Season Seven for now.
By the time you read these words, Rory and I will be long gone. So know that we lived well and were very happy. And, above all else, know that we will love you always. Sometimes I do worry about you, though. I think, once we're gone, you won't be coming back here for a while and you might be alone, which you should never be. Don't be alone, Doctor.
And I know you. You're going to ignore every single word on this piece of paper and hole yourself off in some cloud. You're going to blame yourself for something that was never your fault. That was never your decision.
But I'm telling you, Doctor, as my last command. Stop moping. Keep running. And remember us.
The Doctor looked up from Amy's hand-penned epilogue. Her last page.
His hands shook as he fought the urge to crumple up the fragile piece of paper and hurl the entire thing into the nearby stream. If the gravestone hadn't already confirmed it, this had. Both of the Ponds were dead. They gotten sucked back in the past and now walked a linear path like all the other humans on their planet.
Linear and dead.
A tiny sob escaped him. He clamped down on several others that threatened to follow. His chest ached, painful and hollow as his hearts ripped themselves into infinitesimal pieces.
Somewhere, some nasty conscious part of his brain reminded him that this was his first true loss in this lifetime. Amy had been the first face he'd seen, like a baby chick imprinting upon a mother. And while everything else before... everyone else from before hurt, they were more distant… easier to push to the back of his mind and forget…
She'd even had the gall to lecture him, ordering him not to be sad. He scoffed at that. How did she ever expect that when she was the cause of it all?
He paused and reread her letter despite knowing that doing so would make no difference. It hurt as much as the first time, perhaps more, now that he knew there were no new words. Nothing new to be said. It was a recording now, the words just as much as a ghost as the woman who'd written them.
But there was something odd about the final words she'd chosen. Something vaguely familiar…
Unbidden memories flashed across his mind of a dying mechanical world draped in snow. Of yelling and crying in the darkness. Of a disembodied voice that had guided them all to safety and her impossible soufflés…
Run you clever boy. And remember me.
Of promises he'd been unable to keep.
A ridiculous, half-mad thought rushed through his head, sparking against all his neurons and standing his hair on end. The Doctor leapt up, hearts racing, and then quickly fell back down to the park bench.
No, it wasn't half-mad. It was completely mad. He shouldn't... couldn't be so impetuous. After all, it'd been a long time since he'd been stirred to defy the internal river of the universe and had proclaimed himself Timelord Victorius.
And he'd failed.
Or perhaps the universe had succeeded.
Despite that, he told himself that he had saved Yuri and Mia. The two astronauts had lived on, each making changes in the fabric of reality as small and influential as the flap of a butterfly's wings. Their lives mattered - they mattered - just as much as Adelaide had.
The thought gave him little comfort.
And what did he really hope to gain? The notion of crossing his own time stream to rescue a girl that he'd always sacrificed once, sacrificed because her existence was not a way for anyone to live... He would go and save her merely because he couldn't save Amy. It would be a cry for help, a pitiful demonstration to himself that he wasn't completely powerless after all.
With such an emotional basis, did he really have a right?
But as the Doctor closed his eyes and began to plump the depths of his genetic knowledge of the universe with his mind, sifting through everything that was and everything that would be… he confirmed that, no, the girl herself was not a fixed point. Maybe it was true that he was only contemplating the rescue as a way to vicariously fix what he'd let happen to Amy. At the same time, none of that detracted from the fact that it was possible.
Oh yes, the explosion had happened. The Asylum had been destroyed. He could feel at least that much in his bones. However, everything that came after was veiled in a thin shroud of mystery.
The Doctor's eyes snapped open. He was still sitting in Central Park. The same ducks quacked. The same bike bells rang out as their owners passed by, tossing up flurries of leaves as they did... but everything was slightly different. Colors were brighter. Sounds were clearer. The world itself was crisper.
He had a new focus. A new goal.
Oswin Oswald would see her stars.