Keeping this short and sweet {Look for a longer explanation at the end}. This fic is pure angst, based on the song 'Bullet from a Gun' by The Script.


Moments as tragic as this are meant to pass like lightning. Go so quickly that the mind can't differentiate between what's real and what's not and it all becomes a blur. The expectation of this lets him down, down further than he's ever been before. Everything is painfully defined, the smirking glint of the bullet as it bites through the air, the way the sound echoes around his head again and again. He can see the revolutions of the metal as it ploughs through her chest, hear the rip and snarl of breaking flesh. It happens so slowly, he can see her heart stop. It should be impossible, the moment should pass in the blink of an eye. But it doesn't. Her heart, a red, bloody muscle in her torso, shudders to a stop. The life just vanishes as if it were never there. And then it starts again, beating in a sickening slow motion.

Her body crumples, hitting the ground with a matted thud.

His legs should feel like lead, weighted to the ground. He shouldn't be able to move. To breath. To think. To feel. The moment should now be going so slowly it has stopped, frozen like someone's hit pause, but it doesn't. It goes faster than his heartbeats, the scene uncurling with abominable force and entirety.

There's a tingle in his muscles as he approaches, telling him, begging him to walk away. His eyes stay on hers - they've lost their colour, that beautiful emerald green - and he can't look away. She's not an actress, the pain exploding across her face. Somehow the gaunt, afraid, dead expression is still graceful. No matter how hard Amelia Pond tries, she simply can not be anything but beautiful.

Even now, even here.

He kisses every inch of her dying body he can reach, the soft expanse of her neck to the lithe contours of her arms and shoulders. He whispers demolishing pleas against her cooling skin, like his words will spark the life in her.

"Amelia."

Gently, he lays a hand over the wound, letting her blood stain his skin. The pigment will go deep under his skin, a gruesome last part of her to keep and cherish forever. He can see the glimmer of tears in her eyes as the pain literally rips her apart. He buries a hand in her auburn hair, teasing the curls with his fingers as he always does. Her breaths sudden deteriorate into shallow gasps, lungs now punctured and failing. She has minutes, if that.

He holds her, embraces her in his arms, as she slips away.

He doesn't cry until she's gone.

'What's done is done, can't resurrect the setting sun, what's done is done, you can't reverse the bullet from a gun'


Exciting times are these, I finally felt well enough to write and publish something! Consider it my new year's present albeit a week late. This song is my favourite by The Script, a band who mean a lot to me, and the fic really just wrote itself.

I do so hope that I've done it justice. As always, if you liked it {even if you didn't} do leave me a review! I am very grateful for reviews and messages I recieved upon 'finishing' Science & Faith. I don't meant to excite and I am not promising anything, but I am slowly working on a new long fic. Be patient.

A lot of love and hugs,

Maddie xo