Title: Just Words
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
A/N: Spoilers up to and including 5x03.

The third day in a row Amy wakes with a lump in her throat and a hollow in her belly and a blazing in her chest, she finally accepts that she needs to talk to someone properly; or rather, that she needs someone to listen. She abhors both things and the intensity of her need surprises her. Somewhere deep down, she's convinced she'll feel better afterwards. And anyway, she'll practically be talking to herself. She drags the duvet out of bed, wraps it around her shoulders and sinks down on the floor, resting her back and a temple against the wall. The soft vibrations behind it (from it?) sound like purring.

She has talked to the TARDIS before, but only saying shallow little things, like 'Thanks for leaving that burning pit so quickly.' Mostly she just whispers 'Good night'.

This time is different, because the topic is actually something of substance. She imagines telling the Doctor, which only causes the hollow in her stomach to grow. He would be disappointed, she thinks. Even though he's got arch enemies that he'll gladly pummel and is a bit of a hypocrite, he'd be disappointed in her. She desperately doesn't want that. She's also quite sure he would make tea and sit her down to discuss it.

"I've realised something," she starts, quietly, staring at a discarded sock on the floor. When did she last wear that?

The purring increases encouragingly.

The words feel awkward in her mouth and refuse to leave her tongue smoothly; she slurs as if drunk, but she gets them out on the first go. She feels silly, because they're just words. Just a personal pronoun, a noun, and a name. Done. Simple. Yet she feels really, really weird now she's said them.

At her temple, the vibrations pick up even more in intensity, momentarily, before returning to the pre-revelation purr. First the side of Amy's face itches, and then she feels calm, suddenly; the proverbial weight has been lifted from her shoulders. The TARDIS is a good listener. And she's been around, she understands. She doesn't judge, either, Amy hopes. She wraps the duvet tighter around herself.

She's never hated anyone this strongly before. It's scary.

"Please don't tell the Doctor," she mumbles, and closes her eyes.