A/N: Spoilers for Asylum of the Daleks... The sad chapter... Enjoy anyway!

If you missed chapter 3 because of my awkward posting time, check that one out real fast- it was my favorite to write! :) And please, if you have two eyes and ten fingers and a computer keyboard and a brain with an opinion on what you read, drop a review! :D

4.

Amy Pond stared at the single blue line and remembered a time when her life had been full of miracles.

(She wished that fantastic dream could bleed through to the mundane, just once, oh, please, just one more miracle, even though she'd already had more than her share.)

Amy stared at the single blue line and the acceptance came, gradually, that there wouldn't ever be another. She leaned against the sink and watched that other redhead in the mirror sob.

(Her makeup was perfect when she walked out again.)

Rory marveled that his wife was even rigid in her sleep. He pulled off his scrubs and collapsed into bed beside her in the dark. The silence would be so cold and empty when she awoke, but for the moment, he could make-believe it was simply peaceful. He pressed his lips to Amy's forehead, and she wasn't ice after all.

(She wasn't asleep either, and her eyes slid open just a crack. She could still see his lips on little Melody's forehead, the oh-so-natural tenderness in his eyes. That miracle she couldn't give him again.)

He deserved miracles.

Her hand shot out to flick on the lamp as she sat up, promptly folding her arms across her chest. "How am I supposed to get a wink with you crashin' around at three in the morning?"

And the softness in his eyes instantly evaporated, as if he never meant for her to see it. "Excuse me for having the night shift. I know you need your beauty sleep," he muttered. He would sarcastically curtsy if he was upright.

"Yeah, I can tell you're real sorry."

But it was almost a subconscious act when he reached for her hand, and he was startled back to wakefulness when she jerked it away.

"Why can't you ever just give me some space?" Amy hissed with a sudden influx of venom.

(Of course he could.)

Rory rose, grabbed a pillow, and gave her some space. He let the door slam behind him.

The next night, he came home to find his stuff moved into the living room. All of it. It was a new low, and he considered bursting into their room and telling her off, but then he was much, much too tired.

(He never moved back in.)

In the end, they would tell all their friends it was finances, because they were talking about a bill when everything crashed down. For the thousandth time, he called her irresponsible- "This is not your bloody TARDIS. Real life has a cost, alright?"

And she told him that she never asked for real life. She didn't ask to settle down.

He huffed and stormed around the kitchen and looked everywhere but her icy gaze. "But when we have a family, Amy, we can't afford to live like this." It was his last attempt at pleading.

She stood up and gripped the kitchen table with both hands, leaning forward, and her voice was so dark. "Get this through your thick head, Rory. We will never be a family again."

(She willed him to understand what she meant, because she couldn't say it, she couldn't cry. If she cried, even now, he would hold her, and then she'd never be able to let go.)

"I can see that now!" her husband shouted. Full-volume shouted- Rory never shouted- "Because family is not what I'd ever call this!" He gestured to his evicted belongings in the living room.

(Of course he didn't understand at all.)

The chair screeched when he pulled it out to sit across from her.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," Rory murmured into his fingers.

She nodded across the table and those three little words dropped off her tongue, ever so coolly, lightly. "I hate you."

(And wouldn't you know it, sometimes that was Amy Pond for I agree.)