Little Amelia was sitting atop her suitcase in the pale light of morning, shivering under her woolly hat. Her body was angled slightly away from the ruined garden shed, as if she was discreetly keeping guard of it. Hour after disappointing hour had passed, yet the gutted shack remained, solid proof of her encounter with a strange man fallen from the sky.
What a long, cold night it had been for Amelia Pond, alone in the dark, her hopes growing dimmer as five minutes turned into the longest night of her life. Yet she would not admit defeat. Amelia was nothing if not stubborn. He had promised to come back and meant it, she knew.
At first, she'd thought he might be a lunatic, with his torn clothes, his crazy hair and his unconventional tastes in late dinner, but it had taken him one look at the crack in her wall to understand the seriousness of the situation. Amelia had known, at once and in all certainty, that she should trust this man, she who never trusted anybody.
And so she waited, and waited, and waited until finally a faint wheezing sound ripped through the air. There was no crash this time, no exploding madness disrupting her familiar ground. Her heart pounded and soared as she watched the police phone box materialize quietly before her eyes without breaking a thing.
She hadn't made it all up. What a relief that was.
"You changed your clothes!" She had meant to greet him, but when the Doctor emerged from his box in a tweed jacket and old-people glasses, Amy felt thoroughly affronted. How dare he take the time to try on suits when she was endlessly alone in the dark of night, teeth chattering, too afraid of missing him to run and grab the scarf she'd forgotten inside?
"I know I'm late. Very, very late." He sounded so weary her anger dissolved. He looked older too, depleted and bone-tired, his bursting energy long consumed.
"You said 'five minutes'," Amelia pointed out, with only a trace of reproach.
"I did," he admitted. He sat on the ground beside her with both elbows resting on his knees, his long body folding awkwardly. Amelia's frown deepened. Clearly, he was no longer ready to embark on a great adventure with her in tow. If anything, he looked like someone who needed to lay down and rest for a long time.
"Will you take me with you now?" she asked needlessly, bracing herself for rejection.
He didn't answer, the contrition in his eyes and the grim set of his mouth telling her enough.
Amelia felt a surge of anger, not toward him so much as her own disappointment. She'd been silly, believing in him. Only in stories did people fall from the sky to rescue children from loneliness and boredom.
"But you said–"
"And I will, I promise. I'm sorry, Amelia, but you'll have to wait some more."
"How long?"
The Doctor breathed a long, dejected sigh that sounded suspiciously like–
"Are you crying?" Amelia asked sceptically.
"No," the Doctor said, patting his cheek. "I don't think so. Maybe. Never mind."
He reminded her of an old animal, desolate and wise. Something between a centenary turtle and a retired lion, both cuddly and cold-blooded.
"Tell me what's wrong," she said resolutely. "Maybe I can help."
"It's complicated," he said dismissively
"Well, why are you sad?" She'd never seen anyone look so sorrowful and he troubled her. Perhaps she'd been wrong and she was the one meant to rescue him, after all.
"I–" the Doctor rubbed his face vigorously, sending his glasses askew. "I miss my friends."
Not knowing what to say, Amelia awkwardly patted his back. She didn't have friends. She didn't even have parents. "It's not so bad, being alone, once you're used to it."
It must have been the wrong thing to say, for the Doctor looked even more miserable than before, his eyes shiny and his shoulders hunched.
"Do you want something to eat?" she asked, trying for a different approach. "I think there are some fish fingers left. No more custard, though. You drank it all."
"Amelia Pond," the Doctor said with a bittersweet smile, "I would like nothing better than to have fish fingers and custard with you again." His wistful eyes searing into hers, searching for something he couldn't seem to find. "Those were the days," he concluded softly.
Once more, Amelia was struck speechless, but wouldn't look away.
"You know what?" the Doctor said suddenly, shaking off the heaviness of his thoughts. "I'm going to tell you a story. The most gripping story. It has… everything. Pirates. Romans. Space whales. Geniuses. Dinosaurs. And monsters.Lots and lots of monsters."
"I love monster stories," Amelia grinned happily. "They're my favourites."
"Why am I not surprised?" the Doctor smiled back, right up to his eyes.
"What's the story called?"
"It doesn't have a name."
"Of course it does," she countered, outraged. "Every good story has a name."
"No exception?"
"No exception." Amelia shook her head vehemently.
"Alrighty, then. If it must have a name, we should call it... 'The story of Amelia Pond'."
Amelia made a face. "That's cheating."
"No, that's the story's actual name," he insisted. "And do you know what's really extraordinary about it?
"No?" Amelia was captivated already.
"Well, believe me or not," the Doctor said confidentially, "it's entirely true."