Amy wishes she had a picture of him to sit over her mantle, but the images on her phone are too blurred to print. So she holds it next on her mental shelf, next to the memories of Melody and River, alongside the childhood pictures of Mels with her and Rory. Her mum did get a few pictures during the wedding, but the oddity of situation overcame the natural photographic tendencies. That's how she wants to remember him, though, eyes gleaming with joy, so satisfied, like a cup that could not be filled with one more drop or it would overflow.
The other memories—the other pictures, the ones that drift in her mind when she tries to relax—sting like a hundred little bees. His face in the Minotaur's maze, with a look in his eyes that said he wasn't seeing Amy Williams. Not at first. At first he was seeing Amelia Pond, the little girl he'd met and abandoned so many years ago. He must carry pictures in his head too, so many pictures of people who hadn't left like the two of them. "Because you're still breathing."
There must have been some who did not, who died on these adventures. Even on her first trip with him, she'd seen terrible things, awful monsters and disasters. But it wasn't just limited to friends or passersby.
He'd died too.
That picture is burned into her mind forever.
In honor of 11/11/11, a piece for Eleven