He listens to Amy's message again, then twice more. Then backwards. Then in sixty-two different alien languages. But the message doesn't change and the meaning comes through even in a language made entirely of fragrances.
And he doesn't know what to do.
Not even a little bit. Not even enough to fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants-jump-in-and-tell-everyone-you-had-a-plan-all-along.
"Hello, Sexy," he whispers. "I miss you.
"These humans, eh?
"Connections, relationships, all that…messy stuff. Their lives, just a little blip. They'll all be dead by the time I…well, maybe not, old girl."
The TARDIS seems to growl and the lights flash.
"Bit late for vanity," he chides, and he can almost feel her chuckle. He still wants to be ginger after all. And she's had to look the same way for far longer than he has.
Or maybe it's not a chuckle, maybe it's something…she always knows.
"No matter what happens, it will just be you and me in the end. Just like always. Right?"
But it doesn't help. Because he's been with them too long, those humans. And their hurts are his hurts now. One heart for each world—the one he lost, and the one he found.
