Since you guys apparently liked this, I'm turning it into a story.
Upon entering, the room looks as though it's never had an occupant. It's a fairly large room, as most rooms on the Tardis are, containing a neatly made bed, a bedside table, a dresser, a desk, and what appears to be a vanity. However, even with all of that furniture, the room still has an air of emptiness encompassing it as all of the furniture had been pushed to the edges, skirting along the walls, and leaving a large space in the center of the room.
The room is spotless, and Amy almost wonders if it's simply a spare bedroom. She'd come across a few rooms that had belonged to past companions of the Doctor, and all them contained at least one thing each person had left behind. A shirt, a blanket, a hat. Just little things, as if to remind the Tardis herself that they had been there. But not this room, no, this room is spotless with not even a speck of dirt to indicate anyone's presence. It looks as though no person had ever even laid eyes on the room. Well, no one except the Doctor who's sitting quietly at the foot of the bed, tea mug in hand with that terrible, time worn look still on his face. He gives no notice to Amy and Rory, though it certainly isn't because he doesn't notice them.
The silence that surrounds the group can not be described as nervous or fearful, but, instead, as patient. Each one seems to be waiting quietly for the other to speak, and, yet, no one has anything to say. Sure, Amy can start the conversation by asking the Doctor a million and one questions, but she knows from experience that he'll simply ignore them before changing the subject to some far away planet. And, of course, Rory can simply console the Doctor, assure him that no explanation is needed while Amy glares daggers at him. And the Doctor, well, the Doctor can finally open up to someone, let out all the hurt and frustration he harbors about the, frankly, unfair situation that took something of his away. But, the doctor hates endings, and to talk about this? No, he can't face endings, let alone acknowledge them.
However, something certainly needs to be done as they can't simply walk out the door, and forget this ever happened. To do so is idiotic, unnecessary, and, admittedly, a bit cowardly. So, with that thought in mind, the Doctor is the one to break the silence.
"Have I taken you all to New Earth, yet?"
"Doctor." Amy says, a clear disappointment in her voice. Apparently her raggedy man has, once again, decided to shut everything, and subsequently everyone, out.
"It's where I got this mug." The Doctor continues, holding it up for demonstration.
And then, Amy understands. The Doctor doesn't quite speak her language of people, and conversations. Instead, he speaks his own language of far away galaxies, distant planets, and alien races.
"More specifically I bought it as this little shop in New New York, though the city itself was the fifteenth New York since the original, hence the mug." He elaborates, holding the mug in such a manner that, sure enough, Amy can read 'I (heart) New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York' much like the design she'd seen on modern day t-shirts.
"So you bought a souvenir? From a planet that you can visit any time you like?" The certainly isn't very Doctor-like at all.
"I didn't buy it for me!" The Doctor defends, "I bout it for a….. a friend. And old friend."
Amy doesn't miss the pause as he searches for the right word, and the one he lands on is seemingly unsatisfactory, judging by the look on his face.
"Why are you telling us this Doctor?" Rory asks, speaking for the first time on the subject.
"You both know I hate endings. They're complete rubbish. There's always a loose end, someone is always lost, and someone is always, always left disappointed. But do you know what's absolutely brilliant?" The Doctor asks.
Amy and Rory simply stare at him, waiting for the answer.
"Beginnings."
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