Doctor Who fic: Do-Over (Eleven/Amy)
Jun. 5th, 2010 05:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Do-Over
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,727
Characters/Pairings: Eleven/Amy, mention of Amy/Rory
Author’s notes: Spoilers for 5x09 – Cold Blood.
Summary: If you love someone and they forget you, it's only polite to remind them. Just so long as you're remembering it right yourself.
Amy had never been in love. She'd had boyfriends and flings and an… experiment in college, but none of those had been heavy on the romance. She didn't mind as such, they were all good times, but just once, she would've liked some mystery, some adventure, some being-kissed-in-the-rain and having-mad-passionate-sex-with-a-bunch-of-candles (Amy mentally rephrased this soon after thinking it) and some other romance novel clichés. Not that she read those.
When she had flowers waiting for her at her intern's job in Dockson's, she was intrigued while her co-workers had nasty gossip about stalkers and sexual harassment. It was a tasteful bouquet, not too gaudy, but not as pretentious as a single rose. The card said it was from a secret admirer. Well, every girl could use a secret admirer.
When Valentine's Day rolled along, and there was a box of chocolates waiting on her desk with a card under it, she was a little suspicious. One, people actually sent Valentine's Day cards? And two, what language was it printed in?
The chocolate was good, though.
When she met the man, it took her a while to realize it was him. He just didn't look like the romantic type, with his broad, beaming features and crude-yet-styled hair and a bowtie. After three minutes of sitting on the bus stop bench next to her, fidgeting his fingers together like he was trying to tie them in knots, he spoke.
"Excuse me. I'm a little new in town, and clearly I'm a little mixed up, because I went to buy some groceries and ended up with two tickets to the Alfred Halloran gallery opening, and while I do have a passing fancy for Halloran's artwork and the way he captures the emotionality of humanity without sticking to gross physical concepts, I really do wish there was something who could enlighten me a little further, just if you weren't doing anything on Tuesday? And if you were a fan of Alfred Halloran?"
Amy set aside her newspaper. "Actually, I hate Halloran."
The man's face fell. He was so upset, he actually tugged on his bowtie. "Are you sure? I mean, that's not what I heard."
Amy set aside her newspaper harder, slapping it down on the bench between them. "Alright, who are you and why did you send me flowers?"
"I'm the Doctor, but my friends call me John Smith, but you can call me the Doctor." He paused, tongue-tied. "Do you greet everyone by assuming they've sent you flowers?"
"Only the ones who've sent me flowers."
The Doctor raised a finger. "And chocolates."
"Are you being funny?"
"Are you laughing?"
She wasn't.
"Look," the Doctor said, giving his bowtie one last tug to right it. "I really wish I could tell you everything, but it's a wee bit secret, so, probably best if we look at some artwork first. Then I'll tell you everything."
He got up to go, which was really just typical.
"What if I'm not interested?" Amy asked.
"Of course you're interested, it's a mystery!"
***
When she dressed up for the gallery opening on Tuesday, it had nothing to do with the fact that the Doctor, for a bloke with two equally fake names, was rather shapely. He could do with a haircut and a suit that had been made in the current decade, but as far as stalkers/men of mysteries went, Amy could do worse.
So, despite herself, Amy rather enjoyed her time with the Doctor. He was always putting off his explanation for an hors d'oeuvre, imploring her to explain to him the history of one more painting. He listened dutifully, adding his own quirky little insights, and Amy hardly noticed when the topic shifted to how, left alone as a child, Amy had paged through a book of Halloran's art and imagined she was at one of those far-off vistas. Before she knew it, the gallery was closing, and the Doctor was taking her arm and leading her down the steps.
"Doctor," she said, trying not to giggle. A moment ago someone had made a rude comment on ginger and, by 'magic trick', the Doctor had made his pants fall down. It shouldn't have been as funny as it was. "Doctor, you promised me an explanation."
"I promised you a mystery," he corrected her, playing fast and loose with history.
"A mystery's only a mystery if you solve it. Otherwise, it's just random flim-flam."
"You have something against flim-flam?" he asked her, his crooked smile straight and smooth for once, and really, could she be blamed for kissing him? Or maybe he kissed her. It was a little hard to tell.
Anyway, it was a woman's prerogative to kiss strange, charming men who were determined to show them a good time. Reminded them of who had to wear the high heels.
"Fish and chips," the Doctor said, interrupting Amy's realization of how sore her feet were.
"What?"
"Would you like some fish and chips? Because I'd love some, I'm starving. I think those hors d'oeuvres had absolutely zero nutritional value."
"Yes, I could go for some fish and chips. But!" She bopped her finger on his nose. "No more stalling."
"Would you like a hint? Care for a clue?"
"I'd like the Wikipedia page. Summary, citations…"
"Wikipedia became self-aware and tried to destroy the world in 2013."
Amy tried to think of a response to that all the way up until they were actually eating their fish and chips, sitting on a curb, watching a street sweeper turn the road bright with water. The sun had set and Amy didn't have work in the morning.
"Alright, I'm going to tell you the truth," the Doctor said, forgetting his mouth was full. He swallowed. "Because I trust you. So let me start at the beginning. I left Gallifrey because… wait, no, too far back. Uh…" He took a big bite of fish. Swallowed. "Ah! I'm what you would call a time traveler, although I'm none too shabby when it comes to space travel either."
"You travel through time?"
"Yeah! Backwards, forwards, occasionally a little diagonally, but that is frowned upon. See, look, I brought this from the future."
He held out his hand. On his wrist was…
"An LED watch?"
The Doctor looked at it. "That works a lot better in the 12th century. Okay, would you like to know who the next prime minister will be?"
"And wait a few years to find out you're full of it?"
The Doctor shook his head. "It used to be that people had a little awe and wonder. Okay, uh… I've got it!"
At that moment, the Doctor sat down on the other side of Amy. "Hello Amy, I'm the Doctor from the future, here to tell you that time travel is possible."
Amy turned from him to the original Doctor. "So you have a twin brother, what's that prove?"
A third Doctor hopped over them and landed in front of Amy. "Amy, I'm the Doctor from even further in the future!" He made a little 'ta-da' gesture that made the Doctor from less far in the future feel quite left out.
Amy looked them over before settling on the first Doctor. "Triplets. Now, if you were the real Doctor, why couldn't you just…"
"Bring me back in time?" Amy asked, coming over and leaning against the third Doctor (not to be confused with that fellow who practiced Venusian Aikido). "Because he can be a great big bloody idiot when he wants to be."
"Hey!"
"Hey!"
"Oy!"
"You should listen to this guy, Amy," Amy said to herself. "He knows what he's talking about."
"Well, if I can't trust you, who can I trust?" Amy replied to herself.
Amy winked at her, then left with the two Doctors to give causality yet more headaches and possibly make a point about vegetarianism.
"Alright, you're a time traveler," Amy conceded. "So couldn't you go someplace more interesting than a gallery opening with an intern?" She thought about it. "And you'd better not tell me that my son is going to lead a resistance against killer robots or something, because that won't do!"
"Not to worry, I'm 99% sure I've got the Cybermen sorted this time. In this universe. For now." The Doctor tried to help himself to some more fish and chips, but they'd grown cold. He aimed his sonic screwdriver at them and tried to find the microwave setting. Of course, all the good radiations had child-safety locks on them… "So, Amy, this is going to sound a little weird."
"This is going to sound weird?"
"Second." The Doctor held up two fingers to demonstrate this was the second of two points, then checked his hand to make sure there were only two. There were. "In another timeline, we knew each other. Quite well, actually. And we… well, there's no easy way to put this… we snogged a lot. In a loving way. I'm making a mess of things… we lived together, that's it! Well, technically, I've lived with quite a lot of people, and I never would've found time to do that with all of them, but the point is, you were special."
"Was there tongue?" Amy asked. She couldn't help it. Even though he was a time traveler, he didn't strike her as a very on-the-ball time traveler, and even if he was, anyone from the far-flung future should either have a sense of humor or stick to their own century.
"Amy, I do know better than to kiss and tell. Thirdly…" With a great deal of satisfaction, he held up three fingers. "There were these cracks in reality, and I fixed them, but to do so I had to stop a thing from exploding, and honestly, it's a long story which I don't care to go into… there were Daleks and Sontarans and this woman who keeps claiming to be my future wife who I'm a little sure is angling for some kind of alimony payment… but…" He faltered. Leaned back and calmed down, reaching for his bowtie and, after some fussing, undoing it so it hung down his chest. "To do that, I had to stop the cracks from ever opening. And that meant you and I never met. So we never… with tongue."
"So you thought you'd just pop back down to Earth, woo me, and back to the snogging?"
"I don't believe I ever used the term 'woo.'"
"And your grand plan was flowers, chocolates, and a night at an art gallery?"
"I also sent a card."
"Yes, I couldn't read it. What did it mean?"
The Doctor told her, softly, with no great nervousness or rush. It was like just saying the poem out loud was a worthwhile endeavor in itself, and if Amy found herself leaning closer to catch every lilt of his voice… well, he was shapely and his voice was quite nice to listen to and though he might not be a doctor or a lawyer, being from the future sounded like the coolest job ever.
She caught herself a few inches away from him. This close, there was definitely something otherworldly about him, a scent, an energy. She'd always dreamed of a man who would send her flowers and chocolates and go to overpriced gallery openings with her. And the fact that a time traveler had decided to make her dream come true… she could either see that as creepy or sweet. And she was so ready for a little sweetness in her life.
And besides, he was pretty good with tongue.
***
"So, how was your date?" Donna Noble asked from the couch when her flatmate returned. John Smith was a darling. He'd helped her move out of her parents' house, paid the lion share of the rent while she got her new job set up, and even helped her study when she returned to college. But the man was hopeless when it came to certain things. Like how he'd been gone for six hours, yet he hadn't spent one minute picking up a jug of milk.
The Doctor smirked at her. "It was…" He stopped to fix his bowtie. "Lingual. And how was your job interview?"
"You are now officially looking at the goddess of temps." Donna took another spoonful of yogurt and applied it to her mouth. It tasted of victory. "That ought to keep me swimming in textbooks until the end of the semester."
"See? I told you you'd get the job if you just believed in yourself." Eminently satisfied, the Doctor took up position in his customary rocking chair, not far from Donna's couch.
"You're not going to break into song, are you, Manchester boy?"
The Doctor smiled. He really should've seen that nickname coming when he introduced himself, but sometimes the universe cooked up a pleasant surprise for him. "Wouldn't dream of it. I've been tone-deaf for five lives."
Donna savored some more victory, then fixed the Doctor with a stare. "Are you bothered? Because you look bothered. Don't tell me you're one of those laddish wanks who're all about the thrill of the hunt."
"Quite the opposite, really. There's this one fella who keeps trying to destroy the universe, just to get me to pay attention to him. And every time I stop him, he turns around and blames it on percussion instruments…" The Doctor noticed the look Donna was giving him. He'd missed that look. "That is, in this story I'm writing. But it's based on real life."
Donna hmmed. "I prefer Helen Fielding."
The Doctor hemmed and tried to concentrate on the telly. One thing about his exile here was that it'd given him some time to catch up on television. He'd finally found out who shot JR, thanks to some handy disc things that he'd been sure humanity wouldn't discover for another fifty years. And though he didn't have anything against David Beckham, it was always nice when Donna tuned away from some rampant speculation about his love life to something involving the art of storytelling. It made him want to go door to door, convincing people of the superiority of the Royal Shakespeare Company to Big Brother. But for now, he should stick to Donna and Amy.
But Donna was right. He was bothered. It always bothered him when he lied, and he'd once been so good at it, too. The big things had all been true… fixing the cracks, the timeline being altered, River asking for alimony payments. It'd also been true that Amy had loved him, in a sense, and that he'd loved her, in a sense. It was so hard to explain to them how you could love someone without needing to be in bed with them, even though that was a part of it. They always called him hypocritical when he got to the part with Queen Elizabeth.
So he hadn't lied exactly. Except by omission, and if he was guilty of that, then so was the whole universe. He'd done all he could to save Rory, but some cracks had gone too deep to do more than seal up. Locking away the existence of Rory, his life, his memory, for all time.
And as much as he liked humanity, they had a lot of evolving to do if not one man wanted to make a honest woman out of Amy Pond. But there it was. Maybe somehow, on some spiritual level even the Doctor wasn't privy to, they knew she was in mourning and acknowledged her grief. But the Doctor couldn't let it go at that. He had to save her. It was what he did, so often that it was now who he was.
So he would woo Amy, and she would come to love him and he would come to love her, just an inch to the right of how things had really happened, should've happened. When she asked, he would tell her that Donna had been the one to accompany them as they kept Venice above the waves and the Silurians below the Earth and the Dream Lord within the Doctor's head. He liked remembering it that way. And if Rory still existed in some way, some spirit, some memory, the Doctor knew he'd be happy that Amy was happy.
The Doctor couldn't let himself think otherwise.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,727
Characters/Pairings: Eleven/Amy, mention of Amy/Rory
Author’s notes: Spoilers for 5x09 – Cold Blood.
Summary: If you love someone and they forget you, it's only polite to remind them. Just so long as you're remembering it right yourself.
Amy had never been in love. She'd had boyfriends and flings and an… experiment in college, but none of those had been heavy on the romance. She didn't mind as such, they were all good times, but just once, she would've liked some mystery, some adventure, some being-kissed-in-the-rain and having-mad-passionate-sex-with-a-bunch-of-candles (Amy mentally rephrased this soon after thinking it) and some other romance novel clichés. Not that she read those.
When she had flowers waiting for her at her intern's job in Dockson's, she was intrigued while her co-workers had nasty gossip about stalkers and sexual harassment. It was a tasteful bouquet, not too gaudy, but not as pretentious as a single rose. The card said it was from a secret admirer. Well, every girl could use a secret admirer.
When Valentine's Day rolled along, and there was a box of chocolates waiting on her desk with a card under it, she was a little suspicious. One, people actually sent Valentine's Day cards? And two, what language was it printed in?
The chocolate was good, though.
When she met the man, it took her a while to realize it was him. He just didn't look like the romantic type, with his broad, beaming features and crude-yet-styled hair and a bowtie. After three minutes of sitting on the bus stop bench next to her, fidgeting his fingers together like he was trying to tie them in knots, he spoke.
"Excuse me. I'm a little new in town, and clearly I'm a little mixed up, because I went to buy some groceries and ended up with two tickets to the Alfred Halloran gallery opening, and while I do have a passing fancy for Halloran's artwork and the way he captures the emotionality of humanity without sticking to gross physical concepts, I really do wish there was something who could enlighten me a little further, just if you weren't doing anything on Tuesday? And if you were a fan of Alfred Halloran?"
Amy set aside her newspaper. "Actually, I hate Halloran."
The man's face fell. He was so upset, he actually tugged on his bowtie. "Are you sure? I mean, that's not what I heard."
Amy set aside her newspaper harder, slapping it down on the bench between them. "Alright, who are you and why did you send me flowers?"
"I'm the Doctor, but my friends call me John Smith, but you can call me the Doctor." He paused, tongue-tied. "Do you greet everyone by assuming they've sent you flowers?"
"Only the ones who've sent me flowers."
The Doctor raised a finger. "And chocolates."
"Are you being funny?"
"Are you laughing?"
She wasn't.
"Look," the Doctor said, giving his bowtie one last tug to right it. "I really wish I could tell you everything, but it's a wee bit secret, so, probably best if we look at some artwork first. Then I'll tell you everything."
He got up to go, which was really just typical.
"What if I'm not interested?" Amy asked.
"Of course you're interested, it's a mystery!"
***
When she dressed up for the gallery opening on Tuesday, it had nothing to do with the fact that the Doctor, for a bloke with two equally fake names, was rather shapely. He could do with a haircut and a suit that had been made in the current decade, but as far as stalkers/men of mysteries went, Amy could do worse.
So, despite herself, Amy rather enjoyed her time with the Doctor. He was always putting off his explanation for an hors d'oeuvre, imploring her to explain to him the history of one more painting. He listened dutifully, adding his own quirky little insights, and Amy hardly noticed when the topic shifted to how, left alone as a child, Amy had paged through a book of Halloran's art and imagined she was at one of those far-off vistas. Before she knew it, the gallery was closing, and the Doctor was taking her arm and leading her down the steps.
"Doctor," she said, trying not to giggle. A moment ago someone had made a rude comment on ginger and, by 'magic trick', the Doctor had made his pants fall down. It shouldn't have been as funny as it was. "Doctor, you promised me an explanation."
"I promised you a mystery," he corrected her, playing fast and loose with history.
"A mystery's only a mystery if you solve it. Otherwise, it's just random flim-flam."
"You have something against flim-flam?" he asked her, his crooked smile straight and smooth for once, and really, could she be blamed for kissing him? Or maybe he kissed her. It was a little hard to tell.
Anyway, it was a woman's prerogative to kiss strange, charming men who were determined to show them a good time. Reminded them of who had to wear the high heels.
"Fish and chips," the Doctor said, interrupting Amy's realization of how sore her feet were.
"What?"
"Would you like some fish and chips? Because I'd love some, I'm starving. I think those hors d'oeuvres had absolutely zero nutritional value."
"Yes, I could go for some fish and chips. But!" She bopped her finger on his nose. "No more stalling."
"Would you like a hint? Care for a clue?"
"I'd like the Wikipedia page. Summary, citations…"
"Wikipedia became self-aware and tried to destroy the world in 2013."
Amy tried to think of a response to that all the way up until they were actually eating their fish and chips, sitting on a curb, watching a street sweeper turn the road bright with water. The sun had set and Amy didn't have work in the morning.
"Alright, I'm going to tell you the truth," the Doctor said, forgetting his mouth was full. He swallowed. "Because I trust you. So let me start at the beginning. I left Gallifrey because… wait, no, too far back. Uh…" He took a big bite of fish. Swallowed. "Ah! I'm what you would call a time traveler, although I'm none too shabby when it comes to space travel either."
"You travel through time?"
"Yeah! Backwards, forwards, occasionally a little diagonally, but that is frowned upon. See, look, I brought this from the future."
He held out his hand. On his wrist was…
"An LED watch?"
The Doctor looked at it. "That works a lot better in the 12th century. Okay, would you like to know who the next prime minister will be?"
"And wait a few years to find out you're full of it?"
The Doctor shook his head. "It used to be that people had a little awe and wonder. Okay, uh… I've got it!"
At that moment, the Doctor sat down on the other side of Amy. "Hello Amy, I'm the Doctor from the future, here to tell you that time travel is possible."
Amy turned from him to the original Doctor. "So you have a twin brother, what's that prove?"
A third Doctor hopped over them and landed in front of Amy. "Amy, I'm the Doctor from even further in the future!" He made a little 'ta-da' gesture that made the Doctor from less far in the future feel quite left out.
Amy looked them over before settling on the first Doctor. "Triplets. Now, if you were the real Doctor, why couldn't you just…"
"Bring me back in time?" Amy asked, coming over and leaning against the third Doctor (not to be confused with that fellow who practiced Venusian Aikido). "Because he can be a great big bloody idiot when he wants to be."
"Hey!"
"Hey!"
"Oy!"
"You should listen to this guy, Amy," Amy said to herself. "He knows what he's talking about."
"Well, if I can't trust you, who can I trust?" Amy replied to herself.
Amy winked at her, then left with the two Doctors to give causality yet more headaches and possibly make a point about vegetarianism.
"Alright, you're a time traveler," Amy conceded. "So couldn't you go someplace more interesting than a gallery opening with an intern?" She thought about it. "And you'd better not tell me that my son is going to lead a resistance against killer robots or something, because that won't do!"
"Not to worry, I'm 99% sure I've got the Cybermen sorted this time. In this universe. For now." The Doctor tried to help himself to some more fish and chips, but they'd grown cold. He aimed his sonic screwdriver at them and tried to find the microwave setting. Of course, all the good radiations had child-safety locks on them… "So, Amy, this is going to sound a little weird."
"This is going to sound weird?"
"Second." The Doctor held up two fingers to demonstrate this was the second of two points, then checked his hand to make sure there were only two. There were. "In another timeline, we knew each other. Quite well, actually. And we… well, there's no easy way to put this… we snogged a lot. In a loving way. I'm making a mess of things… we lived together, that's it! Well, technically, I've lived with quite a lot of people, and I never would've found time to do that with all of them, but the point is, you were special."
"Was there tongue?" Amy asked. She couldn't help it. Even though he was a time traveler, he didn't strike her as a very on-the-ball time traveler, and even if he was, anyone from the far-flung future should either have a sense of humor or stick to their own century.
"Amy, I do know better than to kiss and tell. Thirdly…" With a great deal of satisfaction, he held up three fingers. "There were these cracks in reality, and I fixed them, but to do so I had to stop a thing from exploding, and honestly, it's a long story which I don't care to go into… there were Daleks and Sontarans and this woman who keeps claiming to be my future wife who I'm a little sure is angling for some kind of alimony payment… but…" He faltered. Leaned back and calmed down, reaching for his bowtie and, after some fussing, undoing it so it hung down his chest. "To do that, I had to stop the cracks from ever opening. And that meant you and I never met. So we never… with tongue."
"So you thought you'd just pop back down to Earth, woo me, and back to the snogging?"
"I don't believe I ever used the term 'woo.'"
"And your grand plan was flowers, chocolates, and a night at an art gallery?"
"I also sent a card."
"Yes, I couldn't read it. What did it mean?"
The Doctor told her, softly, with no great nervousness or rush. It was like just saying the poem out loud was a worthwhile endeavor in itself, and if Amy found herself leaning closer to catch every lilt of his voice… well, he was shapely and his voice was quite nice to listen to and though he might not be a doctor or a lawyer, being from the future sounded like the coolest job ever.
She caught herself a few inches away from him. This close, there was definitely something otherworldly about him, a scent, an energy. She'd always dreamed of a man who would send her flowers and chocolates and go to overpriced gallery openings with her. And the fact that a time traveler had decided to make her dream come true… she could either see that as creepy or sweet. And she was so ready for a little sweetness in her life.
And besides, he was pretty good with tongue.
***
"So, how was your date?" Donna Noble asked from the couch when her flatmate returned. John Smith was a darling. He'd helped her move out of her parents' house, paid the lion share of the rent while she got her new job set up, and even helped her study when she returned to college. But the man was hopeless when it came to certain things. Like how he'd been gone for six hours, yet he hadn't spent one minute picking up a jug of milk.
The Doctor smirked at her. "It was…" He stopped to fix his bowtie. "Lingual. And how was your job interview?"
"You are now officially looking at the goddess of temps." Donna took another spoonful of yogurt and applied it to her mouth. It tasted of victory. "That ought to keep me swimming in textbooks until the end of the semester."
"See? I told you you'd get the job if you just believed in yourself." Eminently satisfied, the Doctor took up position in his customary rocking chair, not far from Donna's couch.
"You're not going to break into song, are you, Manchester boy?"
The Doctor smiled. He really should've seen that nickname coming when he introduced himself, but sometimes the universe cooked up a pleasant surprise for him. "Wouldn't dream of it. I've been tone-deaf for five lives."
Donna savored some more victory, then fixed the Doctor with a stare. "Are you bothered? Because you look bothered. Don't tell me you're one of those laddish wanks who're all about the thrill of the hunt."
"Quite the opposite, really. There's this one fella who keeps trying to destroy the universe, just to get me to pay attention to him. And every time I stop him, he turns around and blames it on percussion instruments…" The Doctor noticed the look Donna was giving him. He'd missed that look. "That is, in this story I'm writing. But it's based on real life."
Donna hmmed. "I prefer Helen Fielding."
The Doctor hemmed and tried to concentrate on the telly. One thing about his exile here was that it'd given him some time to catch up on television. He'd finally found out who shot JR, thanks to some handy disc things that he'd been sure humanity wouldn't discover for another fifty years. And though he didn't have anything against David Beckham, it was always nice when Donna tuned away from some rampant speculation about his love life to something involving the art of storytelling. It made him want to go door to door, convincing people of the superiority of the Royal Shakespeare Company to Big Brother. But for now, he should stick to Donna and Amy.
But Donna was right. He was bothered. It always bothered him when he lied, and he'd once been so good at it, too. The big things had all been true… fixing the cracks, the timeline being altered, River asking for alimony payments. It'd also been true that Amy had loved him, in a sense, and that he'd loved her, in a sense. It was so hard to explain to them how you could love someone without needing to be in bed with them, even though that was a part of it. They always called him hypocritical when he got to the part with Queen Elizabeth.
So he hadn't lied exactly. Except by omission, and if he was guilty of that, then so was the whole universe. He'd done all he could to save Rory, but some cracks had gone too deep to do more than seal up. Locking away the existence of Rory, his life, his memory, for all time.
And as much as he liked humanity, they had a lot of evolving to do if not one man wanted to make a honest woman out of Amy Pond. But there it was. Maybe somehow, on some spiritual level even the Doctor wasn't privy to, they knew she was in mourning and acknowledged her grief. But the Doctor couldn't let it go at that. He had to save her. It was what he did, so often that it was now who he was.
So he would woo Amy, and she would come to love him and he would come to love her, just an inch to the right of how things had really happened, should've happened. When she asked, he would tell her that Donna had been the one to accompany them as they kept Venice above the waves and the Silurians below the Earth and the Dream Lord within the Doctor's head. He liked remembering it that way. And if Rory still existed in some way, some spirit, some memory, the Doctor knew he'd be happy that Amy was happy.
The Doctor couldn't let himself think otherwise.
