Here's the final part! Thank you so so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, everything. I had so much fun with this story and I hope you enjoyed reading it :D

Where does he actually go when he leaves her?

She's wondered this almost continuously since she was seven years old, since he promised five minutes which turned into twelve years. She thought about it when she was eating dinner, when she was sitting at her desk at school, when she was with Rory. If he had really existed – and despite her valiant efforts to convince herself that she'd had an overactive imagination as a child, she'd always known he was real – where did he go?

She has a pretty good idea now.

It's a nice life, probably. Hopping from planet to planet, skipping through time. Picking people up at random and dropping them off seconds or centuries later, completely changed and reeling in the aftermath. He gets to coast on alone, forgetting.

(But did he forget her, though?

A century went by and he couldn't let her go.)

Amy shakes her head in frustration, getting to her feet. One of Alcyone's twin suns is just beginning to crest the horizon, glittering gold chasing away the black. She wonders if maybe he's left her here permanently.

After a few minutes of walking through the field, another icy cliff rises out of the ground and catches her eye. It looks similar to the one where they'd left the TARDIS, although it's hard to tell – she racks her brain, remembering their mad dash out of the blue box through the roaring, hurricane-force winds. All of that is gone now. The sun has risen higher now, painting everything in shades of red and orange. Its warmth washes through her and urges her on.

The Doctor had told her that as soon as the storms ended there would be seven perfect days of peace, no storms or even rain, but as she steps closer to the cliff, Amy sees what looks like a sheet of water falling to the ground. It's clear, almost like liquid crystal. She frowns, hurrying forward. It makes no sound as it falls to the ground, silently pouring from the top of the cliff down to the planet's surface. The grass beneath it doesn't even seem wet.

Amy reaches one hand out to touch it, wondering if it's really water, but before she can make contact, it ripples in front of her and there's her reflection staring out at her. She yelps and draws her hand back.

Her reflection doesn't move.

"What the…"

"Hi," her reflection says.

Amy's mouth falls open. The water is still flowing like it's being poured from a never-ending supply up above, but the surface is crystalline like a mirror. She can see the glowing gold sky and the soft grass ruffled gently by the wind. And her face. Her own face.

"You're… me, right?" It seems like a stupid question, but clearly when it comes to this travelling stuff, she's way out of her element.

Her reflection laughs, and now that Amy's looking a bit closer, she realises that other-Amy's hair is a bit longer and wavier, her face a bit thinner.

"I'm you, yeah. Look, I don't have much time."

Amy shuts her eyes firmly, taking deep breaths. "I'm hallucinating. That's what's happening, I'm totally… hallucinating."

A sigh of exasperation. "No, you're not. You're nineteen and the Doctor brought you here. He was never supposed to do that."

"What?"

"Well, I've been working really hard trying to figure it all out. I can't ask him, of course, because it hasn't happened for him yet, so I've been sneaking into the TARDIS library in the middle of the night and reading as much as I can. It doesn't help, really. He's got every Harry Potter book and about nine thousand volumes of e.e. cummings poetry in every language – and some alien languages too, I think, but who really knows…"

"Wait, wait." Amy feels like she's starting to get a headache. "You're me from the future."

"Yes. Wow, Rory was right, I really was an idiot when I was younger."

"Hey!"

"Sorry." Future Amy doesn't look very apologetic, but right-now Amy decides to let that slide. "Listen, I can't get too close to you. The timelines are really scrambled at this point."

"That's why you're standing behind the water?"

"It's not water, but yeah." She pauses, biting her lip. "Okay. Alright, I don't know how to say this. I don't know what happens to me in the future-"

"You are me in the future!"

"No, no, my future. Even further. I'm only two years older than you. I don't know what happens to me in the end, but I know… I know it must be something. Because he's alone, the Doctor, yeah? It's been a long time since I left him?"

"Yeah. A century."

She shuts her eyes, almost like the idea is beyond unbearable. Amy watches, speechless. It's surreal to see how much she's going to love the Doctor in her future.

(More than Rory?

Honestly, she doesn't know how it could be possible to love Rory enough to marry him.

She wants to ask herself this, but she guesses now's not the time.)

"Okay, I don't think he wasn't supposed to ever see me again. He was supposed to let me go. But there was this one gap of time that was unaccounted for, and he just saw that opportunity and took it. But he shouldn't have."

"He came back for me."

"Hey, there's one thing you always, always have to understand, okay?" Amy nods, leaning closer. "He will always come back for you."

"Yeah?"

"You just wait and see." Future Amy glances over her shoulder, and when she turns back, her eyes are wide and sad. "I really don't have a lot of time. I'm here with him. He brought me here because he got some message on psychic paper, but he thinks it's my first time. I had to sneak away to tell you…"

"What? What's wrong?"

"You have to forget this."

Amy doesn't understand but she's already shaking her head.

"Listen to me. You have to. Bringing you here… it was stupid. It was selfish. He just wanted to see you again. I don't know why he picked here, this planet, but that doesn't matter. This wasn't supposed to happen."

She's furious now, indignant. "Why not? Why does it matter?"

"There's a crack in time. In the fabric of the universe. Look." Future Amy points above their heads and there it is, a jagged line like a mouth splitting the ice of the cliff. It's visible even through the water, which seems to be pouring out from it. "I'm with the Doctor now and he's trying to figure out where it came from, but I know now. It came from this. Because he brought you here."

Breathless, Amy stares at her future self through the sheet of water. "The crack in my bedroom wall."

"Because of this. Yeah. Two parts of space and time…"

"…that never should've touched," Amy finishes. "Pressed together."

"Exactly."

"So how am I supposed to fix it?" She bites her lip, helpless. "I can't do anything about it. It's already done."

"I told you. You have to forget, okay? You have to forget that he ever picked you up. You'll remember him leaving you when you were nineteen, standing in the garden with Rory… and then…" she trails off, not wanting to say too much. "He'll come back for you later. But not when you're nineteen, do you understand? It's too soon."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Amy is so frustrated she thinks she might actually cry. "I can't just force myself to forget something."

"Yes you can. And I don't know if this is actually going to fix the crack in the universe, but it can't hurt. It'll rewrite your – our – timeline, at least a little bit. This water… he told me about it, the Doctor explained it to me when we got here. It looks like water, but it's not. It's leftover residue from the storms… really dangerous for humans. When it touches your skin, you'll start losing your short-term memory."

Amy stares at the water – or whatever it is – and inches backward slowly. "That's… crazy."

"Trust me, there are crazier things."

"So if I have to forget all of this and you're me in the future, how did you even know to come here?"

"I didn't," Future Amy says honestly, wide-eyed and shaking her head. "Not until we got here and it all rushed back. So I can tell you… it'll really be gone. Until you're my age. You won't remember until you're back on this planet."

"So I have to… what? Stand under the water?"

"I'm… I'm really, really sorry…"

"I don't want to," Amy says, voice shaking, and she hates herself for it, wishes she was braver and smarter and stronger. It hurts to see that feeling echoed in her future self's eyes, wide and teary, long lashes fluttering.

"I'm so sorry," she hears herself say again.

She has two seconds to ruminate on how utterly strange it is to be standing here on the surface of some distant planet, talking with herself, before future Amy thrusts out an arm and grabs her shirt, pulling her under the torrential sheet of water.

On the cliff high above their heads, the Doctor finds his past self pacing back and forth exactly where he knew he'd be. He's staring at a piece of psychic paper in gleeful bewilderment, tweed jacket billowing in the light breeze.

The Doctor already knows what he's supposed to say.

"Right here." His voice is loud and hoarse, exactly the way he remembers it. His past self whips around, flyaway brown hair ruffling across his forehead, and he raises one hand in greeting, smiling broadly. Striding forward. All confidence, completely assured.

"Got your message!" Seeing himself like this is like watching a ghost. His face looked young then, eyes greener and wider. "Something about Amy? Is she okay, then, in your time?"

The words fall out of his mouth automatically. "She's fine. She's fine. I just called you here because…"

And he remembers this silence, too, the way it stretched on and on until his ears were ringing, the air heavy with things unsaid. He remembers that feeling of general uneasiness settling over him, that ever-persistent fear that something is coming, something is wrong. And Amy, Amelia, always Amelia.

"It's not just about love, with her," he says finally.

"I know." His younger self frowns.

"It's more than love. You're all she has." He pauses, turning around to face into the wind. It stings his face and sparks tears in his eyes. "Remember that."

He's climbed halfway down the cliff when he hears her scream.

Amy sees everything as it happens, but instead of cementing in her memory, sights and sounds slip away like water through her fingers. She hears herself scream, and then it's forgotten. The grip on her shirt loosens and then disappears, but she forgets who was even holding her in the first place. A voice calls her name and she screams back, screams, tearing her throat, a sob ripping out of her chest because she's so relieved that it's him, it's him… it's who?

"Amy, I'm here."

His voice is so close and she's so glad – she chokes on her tears – why is she crying? Who is he, why is he here, why is he holding her?

"Amy, listen, it's going to make you forget-"

"I don't want to!" It comes out hysterical, almost a scream. She's lying in the grass now, hair soaking wet and streaming across her back, and she's shaking.

"But you're going to." The sadness in his voice is so palpable she actually aches, even in the midst of her panic.

"Doctor, please, please, don't let it take me…"

"That's why you didn't know… you didn't remember the TARDIS in your future… you won't remember, oh Amy, I'm sorry, Amelia, I'm so sorry…"

"I'm scared," she hears herself saying. The echo of the words is instantly erased, but the feeling remains. Scared. Scared. Everything she feels comes in a sharp, clear burst, then it's gone forever. His arms tight and warm around her, lifting her up… gone. Panicked double heartbeats thudding in his chest… gone.

And then he's saying it, just like she'd dreamt for years – but not like this, not like this.

"Amy, Amy, I love you, I'm so sorry, please Amelia, I love you, so much, oh God, oh I love you…"

Say something!

The words die on her lips. Over and over she tries to voice them, and over and over they evaporate. Just before she fades away into blackness, she hears three last words. Words she strains to remember, clinging to as tightly as she can, clawing wildly through the air. Words she'll half-remember in dreams for years, but never entirely.

"Goodbye, Amelia, love…"

He lays her down on the floor of the TARDIS, and he knows she's fine, just unconscious, but the sight sends him out of his mind with blind panic. Her eyes are shut gently, lashes fanned out over pale cheeks. Shuddering, trying to catch his breath, he traces the tear stains on her face. He tugs off his wool coat and folds it under her head, a makeshift pillow, and then gets to his feet.

One last trip.

They land in her garden, and according to his calculations they've only been gone for fifteen minutes. Less than a split second for Time Lords. Nothing at all. When he carries her into the house, he remembers her at seven years old cradled in his arms. He remembers carrying her unconscious body through the smoke and ash of a Dalek prison ship, her hair streaming in waves like fire. He remembers her very first night in the TARDIS when, after running around the console in a frenzy trying to figure out what every single lever and button and switch did, she'd succumbed to exhaustion and fallen asleep sprawled out on the staircase. He'd carried her to her bedroom then, back when it was only hers and not Rory's. Even in the dark, he couldn't bring himself to leave. He'd sat at her bedside and listened to her breathing and told her everything. Every companion he'd ever had and lost. Rose's tears when he told her she could never come back from the parallel world. Martha turning to walk away from him without looking back once. Donna's face when he made her forget. The Master dying in his arms. Every species extinction he'd watched or caused. Every living thing that had slipped away from life before his eyes. He talked until he lost his voice, until tears streamed down his cheeks and soaked into her hair.

("That first night… I was awake," she told him during a quiet moment four years later.

He'd stared at her and she'd stared back, hard, and that's when he'd known for sure that he was doomed.)

"I'm not going to do this anymore," he says in a soft voice now, standing in the doorway of Amelia Pond's bedroom in Leadworth. She's fast asleep, really sleeping this time, tucked into bed. He stares at her silhouette, engraving every detail in his memory and slamming the door, locking it tight so he can't ever go there again.

"You were the last one."

Rory proposes to Amy the day before her twenty-first birthday. She can tell it's a proposal the minute he shows up at her door, but she feigns ignorance for his sake, listening as he stumbles through an obviously rehearsed speech.

"When I first met you, I knew that we were supposed to be together." We were six, she wants to scream at him. How can you possibly know something like that when you're six? But she plasters a smile on her face, leaning up against the doorframe, as he rambles on about the 'dumb games' she made him play when they were kids and the way she was always better at climbing trees.

"When I was eight, my parents told me that we were going to move to a different town, and I was just so… heartbroken that I would have to leave you, Amy, before I got a chance to tell you how much I loved you…"

"You loved me when we were eight?"

"I knew I loved you when I found your note."

"My…?"

"The note you left for me in the trees where we always played," he explains eagerly, and she nods like she's just realised what the hell he's on about. "The note where you said you liked me too. Remember, you left in on the lowest branch of your favourite tree? And you wrote my name at the top. I found it on Christmas morning. That's how I convinced my parents to stay. Because of you."

Get to the point, Rory. She knows it's coming. Enough with the childhood anecdotes she doesn't even remember. She feels antsy, like she needs to go run around outside. Over his shoulder she catches a glimpse of the shed and she imagines the blue box materialising in front of her eyes. If it showed up right now, what would she do? What would she choose?

It's pointless. It doesn't matter, because here's Rory, down on one knee now, a red velvet box in his outstretched hand and all the hope in the world shining in his eyes. She sees her whole life stretching out before her: being fitted for a white dress and buying a house in Upper Leadworth and making dinner while Rory's working at the hospital and chasing a little boy and girl around the garden and growing old in this town, walking the same streets and breathing the same air day after day after day.

But she also sees herself in this house forever. Sleeping in the same room, always alone. Head cocked to the side, listening for a sound she's convinced she will never hear again.

Waiting.

She doesn't know why, but the urgency grips her, tightening around her heart like a fist of ice. It's imperative that she accept. And fast.

"Yes," she blurts out.

Rory's trying not to cry. Amy actually does cry, but it's not because she's happy. The tears are hot on her face.

"Let's do it soon," she says as soon as Rory slips the ring onto her finger. He looks up, startled.

"Soon? How soon?"

"A month?"

She laughs shakily at the expression on his face. But he wraps his arms around her and pulls her in for a kiss, and she knows she's won. They set the date. June 26, 2010.

The ring is still in its little velvet box next to her bed a month later. She slips it on during the day, especially when she knows she's going to see Rory, but she can't bring herself to wear it around town. The night before the wedding, she falls asleep staring at the box on her nightstand. The rest of her life, chained to someone else by a little diamond ring.

That night, she dreams of pale sunshine and chilly morning air spreading across the garden. A pair of deep green eyes staring into hers. A face, older and wiser yet childlike and sad, and a smile that's contagious. It's a dream, but it's also a memory, and she wakes up with a jolt.

The TARDIS engines whir outside her window.

She jumps out of bed, runs across the room, and pulls the curtains aside. Stares down into the garden at the blue box perched neatly in the grass.

She runs downstairs. She runs away.

And it's the beginning of the end.