The light has already begun to fade over the skyscrapers of Manhattan, yet the streets are busy as ever. Life is pulsing through New York City at every hour of the day. In contrast to it, the graveyard is still and almost deserted. There is only a single visitor. He stands over one of the multiple graves, his face filled with so much pain and loss. If you see it from the linear perspective people usually experience time, it is his first visit to this grave. From his point of view however, it is his second time and will be his last. He isn't one to linger, because if he stopped for too long the weight of all his loss would wear him down.
"How long has it been for you?"
His mouth twitches unpleasantly. It sounds different from the last time he has heard it – deeper, older – but he knows that voice. How could he forget that voice? Not even after all this time.
"A while," he tells the evening air vaguely.
Not even the lively noises of Manhattan can disturb the silence that follows his words. He is just standing there, registering no movement from behind him. It is as if she wasn't there and her words had only been in his mind. But he can hear her breath. He knows she's there. He's just not ready yet to face her.
"You missed Rory by a few weeks. He passed away peacefully – if that helps."
Yes, she definitely is there, probably not knowing what to say, not even knowing what to think right now. What is he even doing here? What is he doing to himself, to her? She already said goodbye, a long time ago.
"Doctor, what are you doing here?"
She doesn't sound pained, but fierce, demanding an answer. She has still that same old temper, almost. Age has worn it out a little, as it wears everything out. How he hates it.
When he finally turns to look at her, he has stretched their silence as long as he dared. She is in her eighties, five years from her death as he knows from her gravestone, the same gravestone that – now behind him – holds the name of her husband: Rory Arthur Williams.
Looking at her, he finds himself fighting the tears. How much she has withered. Her skin is wrinkled from age. The once auburn floating hair is now tied back in a white knot on her head.
He gives a weak smile. She does not smile back. Maybe she is too upset about his appearance.
"I liked it when you had it open," he indicates her hair.
"Those times are over," she replies and the words sting his chest. But he nods bravely.
"Why have you come?" she asks once more, weaker this time.
"I had to see you."
The words seemed so hard to utter, but now they are said, he feels relieved – if just a little. He cannot quite say what they do to her, though. And once again he thinks he shouldn't have come here.
"I thought you didn't like endings." Her voice isn't accusing.
"I don't," he admits quietly. "I just couldn't let it end like this."
She looks at him, her eyes wide, almost as if she was young again. Back in the days when they were still travelling together, she had looked at him like that when she had tried to understand his motivations. He had never been quite honest with his reasons, but now, seeing her definitely for the last time, he had at least to try and explain what this was about.
"I lost someone, a long time ago and I never really got to tell her what she meant to me. And a while later I got a second chance: Against all odds I saw her again and yet I was convinced that it didn't need saying. But it did. It always does. And yet I'm always struggling to say these words. So, Amelia Jessica Pond…"
"It's Williams, actually," she corrects him.
He presses his eyes shut and shakes his head. He cannot think of Rory now, even though he is standing right in front of his grave. Because if he does, he will think of how Rory loved her and how she loves him and then he would not be able to say what he is about to tell her.
She stays silent, understanding that he needs to do this his way. And when he looks at her again, he finds reassurance in her eyes, but also fright of what she might hear now. Taking a deep breath, he prepares for his next words – those words he wished he had said earlier and yet could not utter before it was too late.
"I love you; I always have ever since you stepped into the TARDIS and I always will until these two hearts beat their last."
He cannot bear to look at her, to see how the lines on her forehead deepened and her lips trembled. Trying to escape the sight, he lets his gaze trail towards the ground, but he forces himself to see into her eyes again. They are clouded with tears.
"Why? Why didn't you say anything before?" she demands weakly.
"Because I knew I could never grow old with you and you love Rory and he loved you. I couldn't have been so selfish to stand between you."
"And why now?" She is trying her best now, not to actually break out in tears.
He hesitates.
"Because we're both old, Amelia and it's my last chance. And once in a while I have to be a little selfish."
She shakes her head slowly. Closing the distance between them, she takes his head in her hands and presses her forehead against his.
"You stupid, old fool," she breathes.
Closing his eyes, he takes in her scent. She smells different from the last time, but he doesn't mind. As he equally takes her head into his hands, he can feel her hair. It has become thinner and less smooth. Oh, how he misses that auburn glowing mane. Why did it have to fade?
"I'm not going to kiss you with those wrinkly old lips of mine – it's far too late for that." He gives a weak snort, but her words pain him more than they amuse him. "But know that I love you too – as I loved Rory. I loved you both. You were my boys."
"But you chose him and that was for the better," he offers.
"Because you had River and I had become your mother in law."
He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry about that.
"I never knew…," she whispers.
"Amelia," he manages, then tears overwhelm him and he pulls her into a tight hug.
"Doctor, don't let me die alone," she begs. "Please!" He doesn't reply, just strikes her back. "I'm old; soon I'll follow Rory into death, I can feel it."
"Five years."
"How do you know?" Her voice is just as broken as his.
"It's written in stone."
"But why tell me."
"What does it matter now anyway?" he asks bitterly.
They cling onto each other, because it's the only thing they have right now. His scent is in her nose and with eyes closed she dreams of the long past days when she was still young and went onto all those ridiculous adventures with him. For a minute she feels young again. But that is just a fleeting moment, all too soon she remembers that she is 82 years old and has about 5 years left to live.
"I wish I could do something to reverse it, something to prolong our time together, something to keep you with me," he whispers into her ear. A painful smile touches her lips briefly.
"That's just the way of life, Doctor, you can't change that," is her reply. He simply presses his lips against her temple.
"Will you stay with me?" she tries once more, still entangled in his arms. He does not answer. Never again will the Doctor make a promise to Amelia he cannot keep for sure.