Amy left the foyer, sliding in her unhelpful flip flops on the marble-esque floor; surely a beach resort would be catered for flip flops. The sand provided much more purchase, but she ignored it.
"Doctor!" She yelled out, also ignoring people who turned round to stare at her. "Doctor!"
There was no reply.
But Amy wasn't going to give up. She had never been one for keeping her mouth shut when something was bothering her, she was always the loud, Scottish red haired girl, teased mercilessly at school and had to learn how to defend herself. But then the Doctor came back, he stole her away from her dreary life and showed her things that had been beyond even her imagination, the girl with the crack of time and space in her room; she couldn't risk angering him, she couldn't risk that he'd send her home. So she stayed quiet.
But not anymore; things had changed. She wasn't going to be the girl who waited any longer, she was the girl who followed, she always followed the Doctor, and she was going to sit him down and make him TALK.
The Doctor speed walked out of the foyer and round the corner of the hotel before Amy could see him leave.
Oh, he was such a chicken! He could stare down Dalek's, Cybermen, Slitheen and countless other monsters in the universe... but talk to a girl? About real issues? Never. What was it that Donna had said once? "You talk and talk, but you never say anything."
Something like that. That was the way he liked it; make friends but keep them at arms distance. Of course, it didn't often work, they'd worm their way through, the scrappy little humans, find their way into his heart. More often than not, they did. And that's what made it hurt all the more when they inevitably had to leave.
Even so... Amy deserved an answer, an explanation, for what happened. He just needed to work it out for himself first. It was like he had been working on auto pilot; his primary concern being to keep Amy safe, and damn all the rest. It was a habit he always worked himself into with those closest to him, and it always had a habit of turning out badly.
"Doctor!" He heard her call. "Doctor!" She repeated. She was looking for him, of course she would be. He had simply vanished from her side like the chicken he was.
He held his breath as the listened to her, focused on her, on her breathing, her heartbeat, the blink of the eyelids. Finally he heard her move, walking straight ahead instead of round the building towards him. He breathed a sigh of relief, and carried on around the back of the building to where he had found a delightful little non-indigenous plant growing the day before. He could think back there.