Of Blunders and Butterflies
When Rory was seven, he caught a butterfly. He didn't mean to, honestly. He was running a net through a field, looking for beetles for a project at school. He watched the butterfly in awe. One of its delicate wings was caught. Rory didn't want to touch it; his mum had told him never to touch a butterfly's wings. He wasn't sure why he wasn't supposed to, but he didn't touch it all the same. So he sat there, in silence, watching a butterfly die, and he could do nothing about it. He was sure he could hear its heart beating, a frantic thudding, over and over. Once he was sure it was gone, he carefully untangled it from the net and gently placed it by the oak tree behind him. He mumbled, "Sorry God" and took off home quickly, not looking back.
His first proper patient. This was his first proper patient and he was dying. No one had come in with him, he hadn't given them a number for them to call; he was completely alone. He was going to die alone and unhappy. Rory couldn't let him go like that. He had promised, all those years ago, to the butterfly, he would never let anyone die alone. He couldn't let anyone die alone. To die alone, he thought, would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to someone. He was crying now, Rory couldn't leave him like that. "Want a tissue?" He took the box gratefully and Rory sat down on the visitor's chair, telling him that he had been told to keep an eye out for him. He was lying; he just didn't want him to have to be alone…
She was ill. She refused to go to the doctor's surgery, but he thought it was probably depression. He had left her, again. Rory didn't understand why she was hanging onto him, the Doctor wasn't coming back, but she wouldn't let him go. He came home from work one evening to find her staring at a bottle of pills on the table; he locked the medicine cupboard after that. Another time, he had to take the day off to sit with her; it had gotten so bad he was worried at what she might do. It all came to a head on the 23rd of May 2009; she sat down next to him on the sofa, put her arms around him and whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry." And then he started to cry, he couldn't stop himself. He could feel Amy's hair tickling his ear, her hands rubbing circles on his back, her lips murmuring words of comfort, but he couldn't be consoled. He cried like a baby, for himself, for Amy, and for a butterfly. Her lips captured his own, it would be alright.
Amelia Jessica Pond died of an overdose on the 23rd of May 2009. She was suffering from severe depression and had become addicted to drugs. It was a quiet funeral in the local church. She was buried underneath the willow tree, "She always preferred the shade" her aunt had said.
Mark Roberts died alone on the 4th June 2007. It was discovered, after further research, that he had no relatives to contact. The hospital organised the funeral, only the priest was present. He was alone.
The Doctor found a new companion, with plain brown hair. He still dreams of Amelia Pond, he wishes she could have had the fairy tale ending she deserved.
A small butterfly flew through a field, untroubled by the troubled world. The leaves on the oak tree rustled in the wind…
A/N: Wr
