The Doctor landed with a flash of static in a place that was filled with familiarity.
"Amy's house," He said as he checked his watch. "When she was seven." This was the first night they met, but judging by the exact local time, which was half eleven at night, this was shortly after he had left her. A twinge of guilt passed through him. "The night she waited."
He walked through the house, barely stopping to glare at the sixth room, and exited through the front door. What he was here for was in the garden.
He could see evidence of where he had been just a few hours before, the crushed shed an all too harsh symbol of how he had crashed into little Amelia Pond's life and left her behind with the ruins of broken promises. He stood over her sleeping body, his sad old eyes lamenting. Of all he had done in all of his lives, of all the people who had died because of him, of all those he had disappointed; this somehow felt the worst.
"The girl who waited." He spoke softly, careful not to wake her. He knelt down carefully and hooked one arm behind her knees, one behind her back, and picked her up, cradling her against his chest. She slept through the movement, tired out by the evening's exertions.
He placed her in bed, removing her hat, coat and wellies before tucking her under the duvet. He felt protective over this little Amelia, knowing all the troubles that his Amy had been through: the four psychiatrists, the years of exclusion. Maybe this time round she'd be okay.
He sunk back into the chair next to her bed, suddenly exhausted. He watched her little sleeping face, astounded that she had slept through him carrying her, and suddenly felt depressed. She wasn't alert to anything happening around her, let alone the invisible man in her bedroom.
"Funny," He sighed. "I thought if you could hear me I could hang on somehow. Silly me... Silly old Doctor." He sat there and looked at her, pondering what to say. This wasn't his Amy, this wasn't the Amy he had grown to love so dearly, the one it hurt almost painfully to be apart from. It was like River had said, oh so very long ago, a lifetime ago – she wasn't done yet.
He had made his goodbyes to his Amy, now he had to do the same for Amelia. Perhaps he could finally make amends.
"When you wake up, you're going to have a Mum and Dad." He told her with a smile. "And you won't even remember me..." He allowed the smile to fade. "Well, you'll remember me a little. I'll be a story in your head." He sighed. "But that's okay, we're all stories in the end." He smiled reassuringly, reaching out to gently pat her shoulder. "Just make it a good one, ey? Because it was, you know, it was the best." He told her with a smile, remembering all of the times he shared with Amy, every smile and every tear. "Amy Pond, and the daft old man who stole a magic box." He smirked – it really did sound like a story. Soon that would be all it ever was. Unless...
"Did I ever tell you I stole it?" He asked the unresponsive child. "I did. Well, I borrowed it; I always meant to give it back." He smiled, thinking of his beautiful ship, his closest friend. "Oh, that box, Amelia, you'll dream of that box." He knew it was true; psychic connections with the TARDIS never just died, and especially not with a girl as remarkable as this, a girl who grew up with a crack in the skin of the Universe in her bedroom wall. "It'll never leave you; big and little at the same time; brand new and ancient, and the bluest blue ever." He glanced out of the window as he heard thunder, smiling at his own words. He knew how the TARDIS felt, his body brand new yet he had never felt older, his very bones aching and his soul crying out for a billion losses. He was old. Perhaps it was time for someone else to save the Universe now.
"Oh, and the times we had, Amy." He said, half speaking to his own Amy again. "Woulda had. Never had." He sighed, swallowing down tears. He would go out with dignity; the little girl would not know he was crying. "In your dreams they'll still be there," He chuckled softly, happy to simply not be forgotten. "The Doctor and Amy Pond... and the days that never came."
He looked behind him as he heard the storm rumble again, but knew it was more than before. The crack was glowing, and he watched as it sunk back into the wall, throwing white light across the room before leaving him alone with the girl. Had he missed his chance to say all he had to say? The crack was gone, he had seconds to spare.
"The cracks are closing." He said aloud, before wincing at himself. He shouldn't waste valuable seconds on science. He turned back to her quickly, forcing himself to do what was right, to finish his promise to Rory, to allow Amy and the Centurion a happy life together; the girl and boy who waited – a match obvious to anyone. He would give them this parting present. He leant across, careful to steady himself so he wouldn't fall onto her, and whispered in her ear. "Live well." He told her, and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Love Rory." He swept back her hair, taking her in one last time, remembering his future version of her. He would miss her, if there was anything left of him. "Bye bye, Pond." He told her, lingering a few seconds longer before straightening up and looking towards the wall where the crack had been. He didn't belong here anymore.
He thought carefully, weighing up his immediate options. Presumably he would keep reversing, following his own timeline back for who knows how long, before he eventually wasted away. He could see everyone he had ever loved again, his family, his friends, Gallifrey, once more. But he shook his head. He didn't look back; he never looked back because he daren't.
It would be too painful seeing it all again. He had left it all behind a long time ago, accepted his decisions and lived with them.
He took a deep breath as he entrusted all of himself unto the child behind him. She was his only chance of him ever being alive again; her dreams would harbour him forever. He thought of all the adventures they would still have. That girl had the whole of time and space running through her head, into her dreams. The whole universe as her playground, and he would be there, her imaginary friend.
Smiling, he stepped forwards, letting the crack engulf him. He was gone.
He never saw Amelia sit up briefly, the little girl feeling a sudden absence of something. Sleepy and bleary eyed she lay back down, ready to return to her dream world, to explore the universe in a little blue box.
So I've been reading about series 5 on t'interwebz, and I've found things that genuinely scared me. All through the series there are moments where the Doctor and Amy look scared at something they can see, usually out of shot, and then something will distract them, like someone talking, and it's forgotten. You'd've picked up on it, but then thought nothing more of it, like they do! The freakiest one is in The Big Bang at around 13.30. Keep an eye out for what's behind the sarcofogi. Go have a look-see.
Series 5 was apparently way more clever than I realised.
Hang on, Darlings, not long now :D