Amelia Pond stood rather awkwardly as he silently stared at her.
"What sort of nightmare?"
She lightly smiled at his question and the fact that he immediately he threw himself into his serious, protective mode. Though it wasn't exactly the time for her to watch him and feel some sort of importance about herself, she casually shook her head, "Opposite of a good-mare." She said playfully, coupled with a nervous laugh, so that her smile could break once more and it wouldn't bear a different assumption.
The Doctor humored her a small smile, yet his eyes were filled with unusual concern, almost as if he had feared that something like that would regrettably happen.
"Did this nightmare cause your injury?" His tone seemed to borderline anger, and she quickly shook her head to try to put him at ease. "You're lying."
Although his expression boiled with self-deprecation, she couldn't stop herself from trying to lighten the mood, even when she didn't mean to. "Rule number one?" She blurted before she could stop herself, and she quickly hung her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."
In the seconds it took her to glance back up at him, his face was already inches from hers and he stared with such intensity that it put her on edge.
"Of course you should've." He whispered, somewhat laced with hurt.
The Doctor broke his gaze and glanced around the rather small bathroom, squinting at the copper walls and comfortable décor that he would make note to rearrange whenever he found the time. The longer he looked away, the more uneasy her eyes on him had made him.
Without a warning, he stepped back from her, his eyes remaining on the floor and he began to briskly walk out of her room. "Gather your things, Pond." He said sternly.
She followed after him with the same pace, "Why?"
Amelia stopped only a mere second before he did, and barely avoiding running into him. He turned around and fished his hands in his coat pocket, effortlessly taking out a small apple. "Do you really want me to say it?"
For a moment, she just stared at the carved apple in his hand, and suddenly looked up at him. "That's not the one I made you." She said frankly.
His scoffing-flinching mannerism took over, and he stuttered a response, "W-Well of course not! Yours got all….withery and brown, and it was starting to smell."
"That also looks like a wax apple." Amelia gave him a curious, 'Have you been eating wax fruit again?' look, to which he scoffed as he flinched once more. "You're not supposed to eat those."
"I know that!" He announced quite loudly, and very defensively, his arms lifted in the air as if to say, 'It was one time, will you ever forget about it?', and he tossed the apple up, expecting it to fall back in his hand, yet she swiped it before it could.
"It looks familiar though."
This time it was a nervous, sentimental-denying twitch, and he unsuccessfully tried to swipe it back. She held it firmly as she sifted through the memories, and finally her mouth somewhat dropped and her head darted up. "These are from my kitchen when I was a little girl!" She said, sounding more offended than flattered or self-conscious.
"You weren't awake when I took it." He shrugged. "Obviously didn't miss it."
"No, I definitely noticed this was gone." She lifted it up to his face, "It's a tomato, ya' moron."
The Doctor's eyes narrowed, "What." And he took the wax fruit in his hand and inspected it. "Well it definitely looked like an apple eighteen years ago. Must've…..seen the salad dressing." He lightly shook his head disapprovingly at it, and returned it to his pocket.
They spent the next few moments just staring into each other's eyes, reading each other's minds, and knowing that none of it would matter, even if they stayed the way they were. Amelia reached out her hand to his, and he reluctantly took it, they both nodded reassuringly, and slowly they left her room.
The way to the console room was shorter than they expected, and they stopped in front of the stairs that would lead her back to her life. If she could ever call it that. She stared at the door somewhat curious of its design, ignorant to him watching her in the corner of his eye. The same sentence, or rather excuse, hung on both of their tongues, yet they both no longer had the cowardice to say it. Instead it throbbed inside their heads, tearing through their very sanity.
He looked away from her, and of course, that was the moment she looked at him. She watched as the sentence festered around in his chest, closing his eyes as he slowly mouthed the words for practice. Amelia watched him practice them wordlessly, and for a flash, she felt a jolt of something screeching its way to her consciousness. Yet before she could open her eyes to it, she squeezed his hand just as he took a breath to speak. He tightened his eyes shut, and knew without even looking at her, she was gently shaking her head.
"We could." She said quietly, intertwining their fingers as she brushed the inside of his hand. "We could run, and we could laugh, and we could live, and we could-" She stopped herself, and stared back at the door. "But you can't. Because even if we see everything together, even if we do everything, if anything should happen, you're going to kill yourself over every moment that was meant for life. You're going to replace every feeling with death. You're going to allow a bad thing to make the good unimportant and they're not going to matter to you because you'll drown yourself in regret and guilt. You said yourself that Time Lords borrow time, and it eventually catches up to them and the people they love are the ones who pay the price. But you can try and stop being the martyr; they're not the ones who suffer. The only thing I see is you killing yourself over a bop on the head, because you're terrified that you'll soon add my name to the list of the ones you've 'failed' and 'lost'."
Amelia brought his hand with her as she turned to stand in front of him, "But honestly, Doctor. You believe you could ever lose me?"
His eyes were still closed, and she lifted her hand up to his face and kept it to his skin. "You've lost so much, haven't you?" She gently played with his hair, and he felt the sentence throb even more viciously at her touch. How could he ever let her go? Yet how could he not? "Sad boy." She whispered, and finally he opened his eyes. "I love you, Doctor. And whether or not the rest, time can't kill that."
"Whether or not the rest?" He murmured.
She felt a shrill of reality, and her hand began to fall from his face, "Doctor, it doesn't matter—"
He quickly grabbed her wrist as it hung from his chin, and held it tenderly still. "How could I not? Through everything," He paused, and reviewed every inch of her face as he lightly shook his head. "Everything. How could I resist?"
Amelia nervously smiled, "I can think of a few dozen reasons."
He quietly murmured, "So can I."
She leapt at the chance to lighten the mood, and casually pulled her hand from his face and playfully shoved his shoulder back. "Shut up." She lightly laughed, and he found himself joining her, the way her face held a smile and her eyes lit up, it could buckle his knees and break his hearts. Yet he settled for the lie they both smiled through as they walked to the TARDIS door.
"Pond, you be save, all right?" He forced as much of a best friend tone as he could, and buried the thrashing of fear in his chest.
She nodded, and smiled, and it caught onto him. "You take care of you. And remember," She unlatched the door, "Wherever you are in the vastness of everything, doing whatever it is you do," forcing to give him almost a motherly 'I know you do bad things, young man' look as she raised her eyebrows at him, "Through the diamond seas, and the stars that burn ice, and the statues that love-hate relationship with eye-contact. Throughout everything that ever was, is and will be." She leaned in, and pressed her forehead against his. "I'll always be waiting." And she pulled back to quickly kiss his forehead before he could see the pain-stricken tears in her eyes.
The Doctor closed his eyes as tight as he could, as he felt her gently tug on his bowtie, yet he opened them to only see a wave of red hair slipping through the shutting door.