Word Count: 1368
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Note: There will probably be one more chapter. Sorry this one took so long to come out.

Sometimes he finds it harder to sleep–to lay in bed beside his wife and let himself relax–and that kills him the most. He loves Rose–really, he does–and that hasn't changed. But sometimes he finds it harder to live this life. To follow the same routine in and out every day. To live this life, this life that is so…so…human. He has travelled the stars, seen the depth of the universe, flown across time, only to settle into a nice, little domestic routine. Whatever happened to not doing domestic?

Yeah, trick question, he knows. After all, he knows exactly what happened.


And after all she's done for him, after all she's gave up for him, he knows he should do this much for her. He should want to do this much for her. He should be happy to do this much for her. Because if he's with her, nothing else should matter. Not his past and certainly not whatever future his other self has. It shouldn't matter.

And that drives the guilt even deeper in him.


One night, when he can't sleep, he takes a drive. He gets in his car and drives straight out of the city, away from the noise and the lights. He drives until he's far out enough that he can see the stars. He drives and drives, until he spots a young girl walking along the side of the road. Ginger and alone with her eyes glued to the sky.

He slows his car, rolls down his window, and calls out to her. Amy stops her walk and stares at him with wide eyes, clearly as surprised to see him as he is to see her. After a moment though, a small smirk tugs at her lips and she asks him if he's stalking her now. He smiles and tells her to just get in the bloody car already. She laughs and does.

Once they start driving, he asks her what on earth she's doing all the way out here. She doesn't miss a beat and tells him that she was just taking a walk. He frowns and reminds her that they are nearly an hour away from the city. She shrugs–so it was a long walk then.

He laughs. She's mad, he tells her. Mad, impossible Amy Pond.

She laughs, winks, and turns the radio on. She claims control over it for the rest of the drive and flips madly through the stations. They're half way back to her flat by the time she settles on one playing the Beatles. Her eyes light up and she sings along (awfully, off key, and to the wrong lyrics). He laughs and joins her, and they sing all the way back into the city.


Amy laughs as he pulls the car up in front of her flat and tells him that she wishes she could see them in concert. Actually see the Beatles, ya know? Imagine how brilliant that would be! Oh, he tells her, she'd love them. They're brilliant.

He expects her to laugh and make some sort of joke, but she doesn't. She just stares at him for a moment. She tilts her head slightly and gives him a look crossed between amusement and curiosity. He always says things like that, she finally says, talks as if he's actually done it. As if he really has seen all these amazing things happen.

The other him–the man he had been before, the man he isn't any more, the man he will never be again–would play along. He would wink and tell her that maybe he has, he would ask her if she'd like to see them. And he wants to, he so desperately want to do it, but he knows that he can't so he doesn't. Instead, he looks down at the steering wheel and waits for her to leave.

After a moment, he hears her sigh. Before he can even open his mouth, she tells him not to laugh at her. She doesn't wait for his answer and confesses that she wasn't out there just because she wanted to take a walk. She went out there to, well, to look at the stars.

He gives her a confused look. Why would he laugh at that?

As it turns out, she doesn't just look at her stars. No, of course not. If she did, she would be normal and there's absolutely nothing normal about Amy Pond. She doesn't look at the stars, she imagines. She takes long walks out of the city so that she can see them clear enough to imagine what it would be like to be up there, to see them up close. To touch one, she confesses. She wants to touch a star.

A heartbeat barely passes before she shakes her head and looks down. Stupid, eh? He smiles and hakes her hand in his. She looks up at him with a startled look. No, he tells her, not stupid at all.

She stares at him as if she's trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He smiles at her and, after a moment, he feels her hand tighten around his and a small smile tugs at her lips.

He doesn't know how long they stay there for, sitting in silence, with their hands intertwined. What he does know though is that they shouldn't be staying at all, that he should tell her it's late and that she should get inside. That he should drive off as fast as he can and probably not look back. But he doesn't.

Amy moves first. She leans over to him and, before he can turn and face her, her lips brush against his cheek. They linger for a moment and then another, before she finally pulls back.

He turns to look at her and she smiles at him. Thank you, she mumbles.


Married. The word falls off of his lips without his consent. Married. Probably the worst word he could possibly say in response. Married. The word he probably should have told her from the very start. He's married.

Silence falls between them again, only this time it's different. It's hard, tense. He expects her to stare, to not believe him, to yell. He wouldn't be surprised if she slapped him; he probably wouldn't blame her either. But she doesn't. Instead she tosses back her head and laughs. It's not at all like her usual laugh; it's soft and sad and even a little bitter.

Before he can even ask, she makes her own confession: she's engaged.

What? His eyes snap open. What? He stares at her absolutely baffled. What? He glances down at her left hand; she isn't wearing a ring. Amy rolls her eyes before he can even vocalise his thoughts and points out that he isn't wearing one either.

He doesn't have a response to that.


Once again, it's Amy who breaks the silence in the end. She looks at him with those curious eyes of hers and a half broken smile and tells him that she never thought it possible. He frowns and stares at her for a minute before he finally asks her what.

"You're just as much of a mess as I am."

He stares at her, a bit more dumbfound that he cares to admit. She's already opened the door and out of the car by the time the weight of her words sink in. And he knows this is the part where he's supposed to tell her that she's not a mess–at least not compared to him–but he doesn't. She gives him a little wave through the window as she wishes him goodnight. She turns after that, climbs up the steps to her flat, unlocks the door, and goes in. She doesn't look back once.

He sits there for a moment, staring at her door. Finally, he shakes his head and sighs. He starts the car and drives off, but he doesn't go home. He can't. Not yet at least. Not when there's only one thought on his mind.

Amy Pond.

Mad, impossible, engaged Amy Pond.

Oh, Doctor. What has he gotten himself into?