I wrote this after coming home and discovering the 'Amy x Eleven' tag on tumblr. (emperor-daleksnewclothes, if you didn't know). I was in a Coldplay mood. The first bit is based around 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' and I'll give you points if you can guess the other?

You should all totally send me names of other Coldplay songs that I could based things around. And I'll try to write them, I promise? (I'll take any song, haha)

Anywho, enjoy!

"Now stop that Pond." The Doctor whispers, brushing away a tear from her cheek. "I'm not worth crying over, eh?" His lips press against her forehead as a gesture of comfort. Amy feels her pulse ratchet. It's always the forehead kisses that get her. There's always that underlying promise of something more, even if there never is. For the most part, she can ignore it. She can keep her desires trapped inside, well fed and curios. Today, however, she can't. Feelings she didn't even know existed were swelling inside her, threatening to spill.

"Oh Pond," The Doctor mumbles into her hair. "I'm going to miss you."

And that's what does it.

There's nothing left of dignity now. Amy's cheeks are damp with tears, red and streaky. Her eyelids snap shut; she doesn't want to see the look on his face. His expression will only make this worse. His face is the last thing she needs to see, and that makes her all the more desperate.

"Please don't go." She says quietly, knowing her attempts are in vain. The decision's already been made, if there even was one.

"You know I can't stay." For just a moment Amy can pretend she can hear his hearts breaking.

In the Doctor's embrace Amy feels herself go rigid. The shakes that consume her stop, like the energy is being used somewhere else. She's crying so much that there's no noise, not even a whimper. Her breaths are short and sharp, the air barely filling her lungs. Her bones feel like they've ignited, causing a searing throughout her. It's pain, but it's nowhere near as monumental as the heartache. It's been brief minutes since it started but already it is too much. Amy just wants the Doctor to hold her the way he used to, like he was never going to let go. All good things must come to an end, Amy thinks, but not this. Never, ever this. Her stomach rolls, and she isn't ready. How could anybody ever be ready to say goodbye to somebody they felt this way about? Perhaps if the Doctor died, it would be easier. Then she would know that there was never going to be anybody else, he wasn't going to utter those words again. This wasn't death, this was just him leaving. An old acquaintance bidding farewell.