Word Count: 742.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
This love she feels
Everything she's ever known
Or ever thought was real
Seems like it's been thrown away
Now how's she gonna live?
She Don't Want the World by 3 Doors Down
It takes precisely thirty-nine-point-three-four seconds. Not a moment longer and certainly any sooner. No, no. It takes exactly the thirty-nine-point-three-four seconds. Before that, this entire time, they've been dancing back and forth between the TARDIS and the boring Leadworth–between reality and a dream–and she never knew. Never knew which was real and which wasn't. Hadn't a single idea. Not even a hunch. Not in the slightest. None at all.
Until now. Because, as it turns out, all she needs is thirty-nine-point-three-four seconds. But not just any set of seconds; no, no. It's far more than that; far less. Far more complicated; far simpler. All Amy needs, as it turns out, is the thirty-nine-point-three-four seconds it takes for Rory to die. That's all it takes for her to make her decision. To make her choice.
He knows she's made it before she even says it. She doesn't have to say it. He just knows it. He can see it in face, in her frown, in her eyes, in her tears (even the ones that haven't fallen yet). So no, he doesn't need the words to know. He just does.
Except she's Amy and she's always been a stubborn one. His mad, impossible, stubborn Amy Pond and she can't accept it. Can't take it laying down. Won't take it laying down. Refuses to just take it laying down.
He can't. He knows that she knows he can't. He can't change time like that. Can't meddle in the middle of time stream like that. Especially his own. Time can be rewritten, but not all of it. And she knows that. He knows that she does. But he can see the hope in her eyes–her faith in him–like little Amelia's, like young Amy's.
Except it doesn't belong there, because he can't do it. Wouldn't do it even if he could. It's doesn't work that way. It isn't his way, and he's too old and too stubborn to change his ways now.
He means it. This him–this version, this Doctor–doesn't apologise often. It isn't in him to do it. He never apologised for ruining her life, for taking fourteen years, for putting her in danger time and time again. Never. Not once. But this time, he says it. He means it.
Only this time she doesn't care. No, not at all. That isn't what she wants now. Because all she wants is Rory. All she wants is her big-nosed-fiancé back. She doesn't want apologies. And certainly doesn't want him. No. No, no, no. She doesn't want him anymore. She's made her decision.
"What is the point of you?"
She doesn't mean it. He knows she doesn't. He knows that because he knows her. Because she's Amy: angry, temperamental, emotional Amelia Pond. She's upset, mad, hurt. She's only lashing out at him, because there's nothing else. No one else.
"If this is real life, I don't want it."
Because she's made her decision and it's not him, but he's all she has left.
"I don't want it."
She'll regret it later, he knows. Much later when they're out and safe (and they will be; he'll make sure of it), she'll feel guilty. She'll find him and seek forgiveness. She won't apologise–no, no, of course not, it isn't her way; she's a bit too like him when it comes to that–but she'll ask for it in her own way. In her face, in her fake smile, in her eyes, she'll ask him to forgive her. And he will. Of course he will. How can he not when he knows that she doesn't mean it. When he knows exactly why she's saying it.
"I just want him."
And that's what he wanted, isn't it? For her to choose, to make a decision. To realise that he isn't the one for her. That Rory is–always has been. Always will be. Funny, gorgeous Rory. Rory, who will never leave her side. Not ever. He's the one for her. Forever and ever. Not him; not the Doctor. No, never the Doctor. Never ever the Doctor. It can't ever be him. He won't ever let it be him. He won't let himself be that selfish. Not this time. Not with her. So he wanted this: for her to choose. For her to choose Rory.
It takes her thirty-nine seconds to do it.
Thirty-nine-point-three-four seconds for her life to change.
Note: I was having a bad day and needed to write and this was sort of born. Haha. I'm not too crazy about it, but it did put me in a better mood.