He hovered inches from the video screen, his hands clutching the edge of the console. Whirring away quietly in the slot beside him was a single disc, marked simply "beach trip" in green marker, in a messy scrawl that he had run his fingers over so many times, it had nearly smudged away. The disc had been scraped and beaten, but with a little help, it was readable again.

The screen flashed images at him that flickered and jumped, but told an understandable story.

There she was, as beautiful as he remembered her, in her bikini top and skirt, sitting in the sand near the water's edge. But she wasn't alone. The video jumped, skipped a few frames, and there he was, too, coming to sit beside her. That man. He hated him, but he knew it wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault. Not entirely.

Her blonde hair whipped around her face, and she turned around, laughing. He smiled with her. Oh, how he had missed that laugh, that look on her face that told him he was the only man she would ever need in her life, no matter how many new ones came along. But she wasn't looking at him, she was looking over her shoulder. A little girl approached, and he nearly wept. The child was the spitting image of her, down to her beautiful eyes, that were sometimes brown, sometimes green, sometimes something in the middle, but always full of light. The child threw her arms around the man. She hugged him around the neck, and though he couldn't hear her, he could see that she was calling him daddy. A baby toddled after her through the sand, naked but for his diaper, giggling, and he was a perfect mix of the two. Her eyes, his dark hair, her nose, his smile. She picked him up and held him in the air. The baby seemed to roar with laughter.

He pressed his forehead to the screen. No. This was all wrong. They should be his. That little girl, she should have been calling him daddy, not that man. The baby, that little boy should have been his son. His children.

But no. They weren't his. They belonged to the man that he hated more than anything. And to her. She should have been his, too. Had it been possible, she would have been.

He opened his eyes, face still pressed against the moving pictures. She was looking at the camera. For a moment, he could pretend she was looking at him, looking into his eyes and saying, Yes. I will go anywhere with you. Show me.


He pulled back from the screen abruptly, slapping a button, and shutting it off. He breathed in sharply through his nose, screwed up his face, and used the back of one hand to dry his face, before turning. The redhead stood behind him, hands folded neatly in front of her, frowning.

"I was just going to ask where the observatory went. Rory and I can't find the door anymore," Amy said. "Are you alright? What were you watching?"

"Nothing," the Doctor said, hopping towards her. "Of course I'm alright, I'm always alright. Anyway, I was tired of the layout of the place. I rearranged. The observatory's where the garden used to be." He put his arm around her back, leading her back towards the hallway.

"There's a garden?" Amy asked. "I've never seen it."

"No?" The Doctor grasped her hand in his. "I'll have to take you!"

"Okay," Amy laughed, curling her fingers with his. "Show me."