She'd known for a while now. She isn't waiting as such, although with every rise and fall of his chest, she dreads the slight possibility that his body will cease to move, drained of every last bit of life he still had left. It's his eyes; he's in so much pain, but there's nothing to be done. She couldn't be bitter; at the ripe old age of eighty two, Rory Williams had lived a good life. It was only a matter of time before he'd be welcomed into the arms of death himself, but still, he was holding on.
"Amy," he lifted Amy's frail little hand, smiling lopsidedly as he croaked
"How are you feeling?" she's holding it together as she strokes the back of his hand.
"On top of the world," his voice is slurring with tiredness, but he's keeping his glassy eyes open, fixated on his wife.
The doctors haven't really given her the specifics on what he's dying of; or better put, she hadn't really listened when they had told her. Whether it's his heart, his lungs or his brain or just his body in general, she doesn't really care. She knows what is coming. They hadn't really spoken about it. The unspoken word has said enough already.
"How's he doing?" Anthony, their adopted son, walks in straight towards his mother and wraps his arm around her.
"They think it'll be tonight," she whispers as she watches her husband give in to the tiredness.
The pair had lived a good life in New York. Amy was a published author, and having decided to properly fulfil his dreams, Rory had succeeded in going back to medical school and becoming a doctor. The 'American Dream', had seemed to have become their reality. Anthony's arrival within the first few years of being there greatly filled the empty hole in their hearts that had been left by the loss of The Doctor. It hadn't been all highs though, with Rory feeling gravely upset over leaving behind his father, and Amy missing the great life they'd lived with The Doctor. They still spoke about those days, every once in a while, but overall, it was a topic better brushed over.
Rory keeps stirring from his restless sleep, staring towards Amy with his bloodshot eyes. He whispers, albeit incoherently, and Amy can just about make out her name, and Anthony's name. In his youth, Rory had been nothing but the picture of health, but now, the life is being drained out of him with every little cough and splutter. The doctor who's looking after him sends a glare in his direction, his brow furrowing with worry. His worry is soon confirmed to be well placed, as Rory's body falls limp, and it becomes obvious that he's not breathing.
The crash team fires in. Amy and Anthony step aside. There's a doctor pounding away at his chest, and the image is all too similar. She sees his limp body, having been taken from the siren. He's lying in the TARDIS, and she's desperately trying to get him to breathe again. Every attempt seems like it's becoming more and more unhelpful. She's brought back to reality, listening as the doctors shouted for adrenaline and monitors. The most authoritative doctor takes a look around the room, the desperate attempts becoming futile in saving Rory's life.
"I think we should stop here," she spoke calmly. "Any objections?"
The other members of the crash team remain silent. Rory's called as dead. 'For real this time' Amy noted to herself. She lets herself cry, for the first time in what seems like years. Anthony's arms are wrapped around hers, and he's crying too. Her already weak bones feel weaker and weaker by the second, as she thinks of life without Rory.
The life she'd have had if she hadn't let the weeping angel take her away; if she'd walked back into the TARDIS and forgot about good old Rory Williams. The Last Centurion. The boy who waited. Mr Pond.
Death stands over him now, his bony hand hovering over his bare chest. There's still life in him; his soul. Amy's head buries further into her son's shoulder. Anthony's just about keeping it together too, as he clutches his elderly mother's hand and tells her it'll all be okay.
The sight of the tombstone being unveiled makes Amy feel like her heart is about to break from her chest. She sees the angel. She sees The Doctor and her daughter standing by the TARDIS.
And worst of all, she sees Rory fade away yet again.
Her name joins the tombstone five years later; she's with Rory now. The last page of Amelia's fairy tale has been read. It's time to close the book.
