Chapter 3: The Blue Envelope

The sun shone through the windows, playing across the comfortable couch and the two people curled up on it.

"Rory, it's sunny."

"Uh-huh."

"And yesterday was sunny."

"Uh-huh."

"And the day before that was sunny."

"Uh-huh."

"Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Rory, pay attention and turn off the television."

He sighed, and flicked off the telly.

"Do you know what Mrs. Poggit told me yesterday?

"Oh, I bet this is going to be good." He straightened up and gave her his full attention.

Amy cleared her throat and imitated Mrs' Poggit's breathy squeak, "in my day it rained a proper amount, too much sunshine these days makes you young people soft and orange, very orange. Young people these days look like Oompa Loompas. Except for you. All the orange went to your hair."

"Your hair is perfect." Rory leaned forward and tucked a piece behind her ear.

"That's not the point Rory. She's right about the sun. It was never this sunny when we were kids."

"Maybe it's global warming or something." He shrugged. "Why worry about it? It's not like it's dangerous or anything." Unless," he snickered, "you're afraid the rest of you is going to turn orange."

"That's not it at all. It just feels wrong. So many things feel wrong, Rory. I think," just then the doorbell rang and Rory sprinted from the couch. She knew he was relieved to have an excuse to end the conversation. He never wanted to talk about anything being wrong. Well this time she wasn't going to give up. She wasn't going to let him distract her with kisses or anything else, but when he walked back into the room clutching a blue envelope, a Tardis blue envelope, her words died unspoken.

It was only five minutes later that the first ping hit the alarm center of her brain.

"Rory," yelled Amy.

"What?" He yelled back from the storage closet where he was trying to find their backpacks, his voice muffled by the pile of winter coats that had just fallen on his head.

"It's Sunday."

"So what?"

"The post doesn't come on Sunday."

He emerged a little breathless from the closet. "You're right." He frowned. "Well was it our usual mail carrier?"

Amy appeared at the end of the hall. "I was just going to ask you that."

"Why would you ask me?" Rory shot her a concerned look.

She answered with a look just as concerned. "Because you answered the doorbell."

"Don't be daft. Of course I didn't. I distinctly remember you answering the doorbell." He paused and wrinkled his forehead. "But, now that you mention it. I remember answering the doorbell too."

"The Doctor," Amy declared.

Rory looked even more concerned. "He definitely didn't answer the doorbell."

"No silly." Amy smiled a little sadly. "We have to remember to ask the Doctor why our memories aren't matching up.

"I've been running...faster than I've ever run, and I've been running my whole life. Now it's time for me to stop. And tonight I'm going to need you all with me." – The Doctor

She never did ask him about the doorbell incident. He died. He was 1103 years old and he died. His 908-year-old self was still gallivanting around who knows when and where, but nothing felt more real to her than his death. She didn't think anything could ever feel that real again.

"My life in your hands, Amelia Pond." – The Doctor

She hadn't saved him. She couldn't even stop him from dropping her off once again at the house he had chosen for them, for the Ponds, no not for the Ponds for the Williams'.

"Doctor, it's happening. It's changing me, it's changing my thoughts". – Amy

"I can't save you from this, there's nothing I can do to stop this." – The Doctor

"What?" – Amy

"I stole your childhood and now I've led you by the hand to your death. But the worst thing is, I knew. I knew this would happen. This is what always happens. Forget your faith in me. I took you with me because I was vain, because I wanted to be adored. Look at you, glorious Pond, the girl who waited for me. I'm not a hero. I really am just a mad man in a box. And it's time we saw each other as we really are. Amy Williams. It's time to stop waiting." – The Doctor

She had been waiting for those words since she had shown him her wedding dress after the weeping angels. She was so afraid. So afraid that he would reject her that he would leave her for good, but he hadn't. Instead he'd picked up Rory, and she pushed her fears of abandonment down to the very bottom of her subconscious. Lately those fears had resurfaced. She'd been goading him for months now if she was honest. Testing, seeing how far she could go. She'd rejected his Flesh version, blamed Melody's kidnapping on him, told him she hated him when she was trapped on Apalapucia, and most recently started acting bored by everything. The whole time hoping desperately that he would not let himself be pushed away.

He had called her Amy Williams on their last adventure together. He thought he broke her faith in him, the faith that was sustaining the alien Minotaur. He hadn't broken Amy Pond's faith, little Amelia's faith; he'd killed her. Amy Williams didn't belong in the Tardis having adventures, never growing up. Amy Williams belonged in Leadworth with her husband. And it was because of the death of Amy Pond, his magnificent, glorious Pond that Amy Williams didn't object to being once again dropped off in Leadworth. She didn't tell him about her memories, about the dreams that caused her to wake gasping in fear, she didn't tell him that something was terribly, desperately wrong. She kissed his forehead and let him leave.