A/N Part 2 of Amy's thoughts. I don't own. Enjoy and review if you want to.
2. Eleven
Is it the eleventh year of waiting yet? The unofficial anniversary of meeting and parting that you endure because you still hope that he'll come back. Once a year on this day you sleep in a tent in the garden (nowhere near the shed) with a packed suitcase and think of what you'll say to your raggedy man when he arrives. The eleventh time you've been disappointed. The eleventh time the fish fingers and custard waiting in your fridge has gone uneaten. The eleventh time you've had to ring Rory to come and bring extra tissues. Perhaps you think – however briefly, that this is the last time you'll do this, because frankly it has been eleven years, and who can possibly be this late. But then you remember; he promised he'd come back. He fixed the crack in the wall, and held your hand because he knew without you having to say that it was scary, and he promised he'd be five minutes. Maybe five minutes is eleven years inside his box? Maybe it's longer than eleven years. Who knows? All you know is that he is your Raggedy Doctor, and you will keep waiting - for as long as it takes.