Her name was Amy, he tells her when she discovers the miraculously dry and undamaged photograph in the pocket of his tweed jacket, which is hung up on the railing in the console room to dry.

She traces the pretty, round face of the girl in the photo; with hair a fiery red identical to her own, and wide eyes so like hers. She looks at the girl's easy smile, at the way she has her arm draped with such casual confidence over his shoulder. He looks younger, in the photo. A lot younger, and a lot less broken.

"Amelia Pond." He says it almost as though he's talking to himself; his eyes slightly dazed and a reminiscent smile playing on his lips. "The Girl Who Waited."

She watches his whole demeanour change at just the memory of this girl, and she silently returns the photo to his breast pocket, so it can sit right above his left heart. Her own heart sinks as her head swirls.