Because, you know, I don't have CRAZY AMOUNTS OF SCHOOL WORK TO DO. Possibly inspired by true events, but I could never admit to being that sappy. Dedicated to LiveJournal user effie214.

Story title borrowed from a phrase in Alanis Morissette's song "Still". Italic lines inspired from the song "Bessa" by Tilly and the Wall. Yeah, I'm unoriginal.

Amy Pond.

Amelia Pond.

Amelia Jessica Pond.

This woman, this magnificent woman, is touching his back. Smoothing every curve, memorizing every flaw, scratching the whole expanse of it, she is searing it into her memory.

Moving to his shoulder, she flattens her palm against it and felt its roundness, its strength, and moves on to his biceps. She grips his upper arms ever so lightly and when she does that, she pushes her body just a bit more into his side.

Never mind how she convinced him to stretch out with her in her bed and matter-of-factly stated that cuddling could only be complete when some key clothing was removed. She was touching every bit of him as he lay on his stomach, his eyes struggling to stay open. So soft. So content.

She is a goddess, he swears this.

She moves down to his forearms and grazes her manicured nails through the soft hairs there. She moves her hand slightly so that the pads of her fingers traces over the same spot her nails dragged and coasts up and down like a boat at sea. He may as well be floating.

Her fingers then trace down to his wrist and holds for a longer-than-necessary moment at his pulse. She breathes in deep, letting the knowledge of his other-worldliness take over her. Then slowly, she traces her fingers down into his hand.

His hand is a whole other conquest. Each crease in his palm has to be traced, each finger print inspected. She then takes the time (bless her) to kiss each finger. Even his thumb. It isn't even necessary yet she does it anyway. But the kiss to his palm was the one that makes him look into her eyes.

He knows what each kiss said, even if she didn't. Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me.

Please don't leave me again.

It is her voice that completes this experience. She narrates everything she does to him with her Scottish clip.

"Your back dips low just here. Do you feel that?"

"There's a freckle on your right shoulder blade. Or maybe it's a mole. Or a birth mark. Maybe I can call it a beauty mark."

"This is nice. This round part, my favourite part."

"All of these hairs, and not one ginger. Aren't you jealous?"

"Pointer." Kiss.

"Middle." Kiss.

"Ring." Soft kiss.

"Pinky." Kiss.

"And of course, thumb" Kiss. Kiss.

"Ooh, how about the palm?" Kiss.

And for this sweet, tender moment, he forgets about The Thing The Doctor Will Not Forget. The Thing that has brought the two of them here. Maybe not lying in Amelia Jessica Pond's bed, but to this point in their lives. How different would things be if He were still alive? Or existing, at least?

A part of him doesn't care.

Another part of him hates that he doesn't care.

Another part doesn't care that he hates he doesn't care.

And so the cycle goes on and Amelia Jessica Pond continues to touch him, making him forget.