Word count: 794
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Inspiration: Boyce Avenue's cover of Last Kiss by Taylor Swift and Karen Gillan.

Amy Pond has lived two lives: one normal and one dysfunctional. She grew up without her mum and dad and they've been there her whole life. She slept through her third year history course and she met Winston Churchill. She nearly failed basic maths and she saw the end of the universe and lived. She remembers every last detail–all the joys and all the pain–of both.

Amy Pond has lived two lives but nothing–nothing–has prepared her for this.

She knows something is wrong the moment an astronaut walks out of the lake and he doesn't bat an eye or shed a curious grin. Because her Doctor should be thrilled, astonished, ridiculously intrigued. But instead he's old and tired and defeated and it's not right because he's the Doctor and he's not supposed to look like that–not supposed to give up without ever trying.

"Whatever happens now, you do not interfere."

But it's not as if she's ever been the one that's listened to him.

There's silence and then a light and a bang and oh God he's been shot and Amy doesn't think she's ever run so fast before because she doesn't know what's going on but she has to get to him. They grab a hold of her but that doesn't stop her because he's getting shot at and she can't just stand by and let that happen. How can they just expect her to stand there and watch when it's her Doctor–her Raggedy Man–and he's so obviously hurt. She can't do it. She doesn't care what they say: the timelines and rules be damned because she has to save him. She just has to!


When the shots stop he stands up his hands are glowing and she would know that golden light anywhere. He's dying! she wants to scream. Can't they see that? How can they just stand there and let that happen?

She knows they realise it too because she can feel them loosening their hold and it's just when she's about to break free again that he looks up at her and suddenly she can't breathe because she doesn't think she has ever seen him so heartbroken before and it isn't right. It isn't right, isn't him, isn't her Doctor! It can't be…

But his eyes meet hers and she swears that he's saying he's sorry and her heart is beating a million miles a second but she can't even feel it because she's so shocked and every bit of her is screaming rundamnitrun but she can't move. Oh why can't she just move?

The glow engulfs him and he holds his arms out ready to embrace the change and it's more than she thinks she can take but then there's another bang and he falls–he just falls–straight to the ground with his safety glow all gone. And they let go because they finally understand and she begshopespleads that they aren't too late.

But River's scanner says that they are and suddenly Amy curls herself into a ball away from him too scared to touch him because if she doesn't touch him–doesn't feel the lifeless-ness–then maybe it isn't real. Because it can't be real, it just can't. It has to be some sort of trap or trick or one of his stupid-stupid-brilliant ideas and it's actually a clone or a duplicate or anything that isn't actually him. Because how can the Doctor actually be dead? He can't be that's how, he just can't!

And then there's gasoline and River is saying things that she just can't handle and her hands are on his face and she is begging him to just wake up already youstupidbloodyidiot. But he doesn't move and she presses her ear against his chest and listens and listens for any sign of a heartbeat. Not that she could possibly hear it because she is crying so hard and she can feel the pieces of her heart falling apart and she can barely breathe.

Please just wake up. I'll buy you a brand new fez and another Stetson. I'll never make fun of your bow-tie or hair again but you have to wake up first so pleasejustwakeup Doctor. Please!

He doesn't answer her but she holds onto him as if her life depends on it and for the first time in longer than she can actually remember, Amy prays. She prays that it is all one of his awful-cruel-terrible tricks (she will even forgive him this time!) and that he will open his eyes or smile at her again or even that she will hear his heart beatbeat again. She holds onto him and cries and cries and prays and prays.

He never moves.

Note: Because what got me the most wasn't Eleven dying, but Amy's response. This is the result of obsessing over Doctor Who while studying modernism in my Introduction to BritLit class and wanting to try semi-stream of consciousness. I'm not particularly proud of this piece; it's my "3am nerdgasm." The title comes from the song mentioned above.