A/N: Here it is, ladies and gents! The final chapter, the epilogue, of Wedding Eve. I do hope you like it, and as always, please, read, enjoy, and review!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
All of her co-workers thought it strange, but none of them commented. Amy Pond never smiled. She didn't frown, quite, but she never smiled. Her face was almost a blank slate, but with a trace of sadness showing through. None of them asked her about it.
They were afraid to. Once, one of the guys in the office tried to ask her out. He called her Amelia. He got a broken arm, four cracked ribs, and a kick to the balls.
"Only one man calls me Amelia, and he's gone now."
Every day, when she left work, Amy walked the shortest route back to the apartment. She never varied. Left out the doors, right on main, four blocks down. The red-brick.
Every day, Jack was there waiting for her. She has no clue what he did with his day, if he worked or just lounged, but she never asked. She did know that he always made dinner. Home-cooked and always delicious, Jack hadn't made the same thing twice in the three years they had been living together in Cardiff. He was careful though, never to dip into the large variety of cuisine he had learned in his travels with the Doctor. He didn't want her to remember.
Sometimes false hope is worse than no hope at all.
She also knew that every night, right before she cried herself to sleep, he left. She always assumed that he went out to pick up some conquest, but he was always back in the morning with a hot meal for her on the table.
She did love him, even if it wasn't like that.
Tonight wasn't any different. Amy left the office, left out the doors. Right on main and four blocks down. She let herself into the complex with her key and into the apartment, which always seemed to be unlocked.
Jack took her purse into her room while she sat at the table. As always, she waited for him to come back before eating.
As always, there was a third chair, complete with a plate, silverware, and a glass. Jack forgot to set it once, and Amy broke down.
Sometimes false hope is worse than no hope at all.
After they ate, Amy went to bed. And just like every night, Jack came in an hour later and brushed her tears away. He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a whispered, "Good night."
Then he left. She heard the door close, and fell asleep some time later, fresh tears staining her pillow.
Tonight, though, was different for Jack. Tonight was the night he gave up.
For the last three years, Jack left every day and every night, searching for the Doctor. There hadn't been a single bone in his body that believed that the Doctor was truly gone. He had to be trapped somewhere he couldn't return.
So Jack searched. He had been all over planet Earth and throughout time and space with his Vortex Manipulator. It took him a few months to fix it, but fix it he did. It broke two years later. Then he started going through the old Torchwood files and the UNIT databases.
He hadn't found a single report connected to the Doctor. In fact, the only thing he had found even the slightest bit strange was the lack of reports of alien invasions and the like from UNIT. That gave him hope for a while, thinking that the Doctor might somehow be protecting Earth without coming down to the planet. But that was it.
Sometimes false hope is worse than no hope at all.
After three years, even the indomitable Jack Harkness lost hope. Tonight he left to get truly roaring drunk.
Even when travelling through time and space, Jack was never far. He always made sure to come back to Cardiff shortly after he left, and stayed near the apartment for the rest of the night. He took care of Amy so that when the Doctor did return, she'd be there for him.
Tonight, though, Jack went clear to the other side of the city. He found a hole-in-the-wall pub and sat at the bar. Halfway through his four doubles of scotch, a man sat next to him and ordered a tonic water.
Jack didn't even look up. He simply drank.
After a few minutes, the man paid his bill and stood up to leave. Before he did, though, he put his hand on Jack's shoulder.
Jack looked up at him through bleary eyes. The man didn't register as familiar, but something about him called to Jack.
His hair was long and red, a dark, fiery ginger. His eyes were a deep blue, the colour of the sea at night. And he was wearing a smart suit, looking more dressed for a night on the town than this tiny pub.
Jack didn't say anything, but the man did.
"Jack, tell her that he still loves her."
And he was gone. It took Jack a few minutes to register what the man had said, and only a few seconds to bolt towards the door. When he got there, though, there was nobody.
Sometimes false hope is worse than no hope at all.
Jack went back to the bar and paid his tab. He made the long walk back to the apartment, confused and unsure.
Was it the Doctor? Had he regenerated, or was that just someone that he sent with the message?
Jack never did figure out the answers. He got back to the apartment and checked on Amy, just like he did every night. She was sleeping fitfully, like always, and he tried to calm her.
And like always, when she felt his hand on her cheek, she whispered, "Doctor..."
He loved her very much, but not like that. She was the Doctor's, and the Doctor belonged to her.
Jack sat up all night, debating with himself whether or not he should tell Amy about the strange man. Eventually, he decided not to.
Sometimes false hope is worse than no hope at all.
And one day, many years later, Jack was walking back from visiting the cemetery. He visited every day and sat next to the gravestone that read:
Amelia Jessica Pond August 24, 1989 - July 4, 2034 "Faithful to her Doctor until the very last."
That day, though, Jack paused near his new apartment. Across the way, set back in a small alley, Jack noticed a blue police call box.
His heart sped up as he ran across the street, heedless of traffic. He reached the blue box, excitement filling his veins.
When he opened the door, however, all that greeted him was a small table with a battered incident book on top and a raggedy stool underneath. Jack dropped to his knees, sobbing with grief.
Sometimes false hope is worse than no hope at all.
A/N: And there it is. I cried writing it, and I cried re-reading it. I'm so sorry it wasn't a happy ending - I like them much better. But I'm much less a creator of these events than I am an observer. I can't change it, and even if I could, I wouldn't. Not for anything. So I hope that you all did enjoy it, even if it was much too sad. I am working on several ideas, so you won't be without my writing for too long. Not sure which will come first, but I am working on: A 10/Rose fic, a TW/DW xover with less, or no, romance, following Jack and the Doctor (10 or 11, most likely) in adventures across the universe, and a series of poems following the new series from Rose all the way through. Like I said, I'm not sure which will get to postable state first, but it shouldn't be too long until one does! So as always, please review, and I'm always open for a PM for explanations or if you simply want to chat! Thank you all, and au revoir.
Evan