By the time 1950 rolled around, Amy and Rory were in over their heads. Their precious baby, Brian, was no longer a baby, but a stubborn young boy of nearly 7. Writers block has fully set in for Amy, leaving her to only write her memories. Amy had purchased a thick leather journal, very much like River's and tried to write in it everyday. If she didn't capture the memories now, they'd soon fade from her forever. Especially her memories as a little girl.
Amy didn't always write about the Doctor, though, but about Rory. She often encouraged Rory to journal himself but he often did not want to talk about the past. It seemed to Amy as though the 2,000 years he had waited for her were as clear in his mind as their travels, and it saddened him. He must've been lonely, she thought, nothing but a big box to keep him company. Though, as she thought, that was the Doctor's fate anyway. Big blue box, counts decades like hours, yet doesn't seem to keep anyone for long. Amy supposed that she was probably the best it got for the companions. She met him as a little girl and travelled with him consistently through her adulthood. She often wished she could go on another adventure, maybe even visit Vincent, but she wished the Doctor would find a new companion even more.
Amy and Rory hadn't heard from River since she had received the manuscript for the Melody Malone book years ago, which had long since been published. Amy never expected them to be the hit they were, and in fact often wondered why she hadn't heard of them until 2012.
"Timey-wimey stuff," Rory says, in answer to her question, "We are like the king and queen of changing timelines."
Amy smiles and looks up to him, "Remember when we jumped off that rooftop?"
"Yeah I remember how you screamed bloody murder in my ears until we dropped into the graveyard," he says with a joking grin, "If I had known that I wouldn't have taken you with me."
Amy punches him on the arm lightly, feigning annoyance. "Where's Brian?" he asks, switching the subject.
"At a friend's house," Amy says, setting aside her typewriter, "How'd work go today?"
"Fine," Rory says, throwing himself into his crimson armchair beside her, "I always wanted to be Dr. Williams, but I never realized how hard it would be. I keep getting thrown for loops, trying to prescribe medicine that hasn't been invented yet, I've nearly invented 3 vaccinations this week."
Amy laughs and says, "What's one more paradox, for old time's sake, eh?"
"I never die anyway," he says, "And besides the gravestone said 82 and I'm only 45."
"Oh, my old, old man," Amy says, cupping his face and giving it a gentle slap.
"Just because we travelled with an ancient alien who was intergalactic infant doesn't mean I'm old," Rory snips.
"Besides not all of us can be 37," he says, air-quoting in reference to the fact that the Doctor de-aged her by several years on her birth certificate.
"I wonder if that's our real ages on that gravestone," Amy says, "Not our fake ones. Because if mine says 87 and I was 32 when he lost us here…and he said I was 25 that would be 7 years difference."
"I actually die before you?" she adds, laughing, "Can't be."
"Well I'm not going to let that happen," he says, kissing her on the forehead.
Several hours later Amy collected Brian from his friend's house and put him to sleep, eager to get some shut-eye herself.
Amy was restless that night, her dreams disturbed. She dreamed of the TARDIS, of the Doctor, but he was old.
Somehow it all felt realy, though she couldn't explain why. "Rory!" she yells, smacking him, "Rory, wake up!"
"Is everything alright?" Rory says, sitting bolt upright.
"It's the Doctor!" she exclaims.
"What? Where?" Rory says, cocking his head around 360.
"Oh, no, not in here you idiot, in my dream!" Amy says.
Rory rolls his eyes dramatically and says, "You woke me up because you had a dream about him?" he asks irritated, "Amy, go back to sleep. I have work in the morning-I really can't afford—"
"Oy! Just let me tell you what happened, alright?" Amy says, Rory finally conceding to roll back over and to listen to her.
"He-he regenerated," she says breathlessly.
"What?" Rory says, "You think he actually regenerated?"
"I don't know, Rory," I had this sort of funny feeling while I was there that it was real.
"He was with a girl…Clara I think her name was and he was eating fish fingers and custard in a different console room, with all of our names spinning up above his head- even Brian's, in Gallifreyan."
"I don't even know how I could read it if I wasn't actually there," she says, "I mean I know it translates things in your head but only if he's around, yeah?"
Rory shrugs and she continues, "So there he was talking to Clara, assuring her he'd be okay and suddenly I'm walking down the steps, looking straight at him, in that pineapple dress you love so much and I didn't know what to say."
"I sort of just smiled on him and told him goodnight and then it was like I was gone and he burst out- all yellow. Like that one time on the beach."
Rory nods, trying to keep up. "And when the light faded away he had a different face, an old one. Not really really old, but you know what I mean. He had grey hair and these fierce eyes."
"Amy, you couldn't possibly have been there, you haven't left this room. I've been here the whole time!" Rory says.
"Physically maybe, but the TARDIS is funny like that. I think he wanted me there, like he wanted to see me one last time before changing his face."
"I don't know, Amy," Rory says, rolling over to face the window, away from her, "You're crazy."
"I am not crazy," Amy says, turning her back to him, "I was there."
Amy pouted the rest of the night, but was firm in her belief that what she had just witnessed was reality. If dream lords could exist, as they had forced her to choose many years ago, why was it so impossible that she could come to the Doctor in a dream?