Good-bye
"It's not a real good-bye, not for forever."
I was repeating this sentence in my head over and over again.
"It's not a real good-bye, he'll come back."
I was the best for us all. For Rory, for me, for the Doctor and certainly for the baby. The TARDIS was not the right place for a child to grow up. Too much danger, and even if he would try to stay out of danger, the danger would always find him.
"It's not a real good-bye, he'll visit."
I still can't recall the exact moment when I first noticed that I had to leave the TARDIS, leave the Doctor. I wasn't sudden, it was a slow realisation. I suddenly started to see all the danger in and around the TARDIS and how it would affect my baby.
In my dreams my baby had a big nose, and two hearts.
"It's not a real good-bye, just for short."
My last days with the TARDIS and the Doctor had been beautiful. He had showed me the Moulin Rouge in Paris, Woodstock, the fall of the wall in Berlin. He took me to many places, many planets. Rory stood back in this time and I knew why. I love him. Yes, I do love Rory. But what bound me to the Doctor had so many layers. So Rory gave me this gift. He knew theses days were the Doctors gift to me and this was his gift to me.
In the last night before we left I went to the Console-room and I found the Doctor there. Sitting at the open doors and staring at a extinguishing star. I went to him and joined him.
"I knew you would come here."
"And I knew that you would come back."
It was one of theses moment where anything could happen but nothing ever did. I could hear his double heartbeat and smell the scent of his jacket.
"I want to give you something. It's a present. I want you to keep and don't open it before tomorrow."
This night I felt asleep in the Console-room, in his arms. Safely guarded. Just in the moment between waking and sleeping I felt his lips touching my forehead and how he whispered something into my hair.
The present was a book.
"It's not a real good-bye, you'll see him."
It was the perfect weather in Leadsworth when he dropped us off. The sun was shining, and the birds were singing. When I opened the TARDIS one last time I felt nothing. No regret, no pain, no love. I had his present in my hand and it felt warm. The other hand lied on my belly.
"I guess this is a good-bye now?"
his voice was free of all the jokes and very serious.
"It's not a real good-bye."
"I guess so."
I turned around because I couldn't endure the sight of a disappearing TARDIS again.
"Hey."
"What?"
"Gotcha."
This had been to much. I flew into his arms and whispered.
"Me too."
"It's not a real good-bye."
And I stood there. In one hand his present and the other hand over my baby. I didn't cry.
"It's not a real good-bye."
It was after the birth of my child when I opened his present. It was a book full of storys of the adventures of a Mad Man whit a box and his ginger companion. The adventures of the Doctor and the girl with the fairytale name. the story of something ancient and brand new, of something borrowed and of something of the bluest blue ever.
"It's not a real good-bye."
This night I went outside and looked at the stars. I've seen so many of them. This was when I cried for the first time. And with the memory of the word he had whispered to me in that last night I fell asleep.
"It is a real good-bye…"