He catches you staring out of the window, not looking out onto the road nor into the small park across the street, your eyes are glazed over, staring into space. He can see your ears straining to hear the noise, the unforgettable funny noise of that amazing blue police box.

'Amy, sweetheart' your husband says placing a calm hand on your shoulder 'Amy, he's not coming'

It's been a week now since He left you on Earth. He said it was to protect you, giving you this dream house and your husband his dream car, but you liked those adventures, the thrill of opening those blue doors and stepping onto a far away planet and the rush of excitement as you ran. You miss the running. Time seems to pass so slowly back here in mundain Leadworth, nothing seems to be happening, it's boring.

You wait for Him to change his mind and come back, surely he misses you, and surely he's lonely? Doesn't all the adventures you've had together count for anything? You're friends, best friends and friends don't abandon each other.

Your husband's words jog you from your thoughts and you blink.

'I know that' you reply with false bravado

(but you're not fooling anyone, especially not your husband, who knows you better than anyone else)


'Honey I'm home' you cry as you enter the house, saying a phrase you picked up from Him. Your hands ache from the numerous of bags of shopping you are carrying. There is still no responce. You stagger thought the hallway and into the kitchen, dropping the shopping bags down with a thump. You had to go out an restock the fridge, do something as boring as that just so you can exist. What you are doing now is not living, its just existing. You take every day at a time, trying to readjust yourself to 'normal' life and try and forget about him.

(you still can't help buying fish fingers and custard)


You think that your husband is adjusting better than you are. He was the one that always wanted to come back to Leadworth. However a sound from upstairs puts a stop to that thought.

You race upstairs to find the noise is coming from the room at the end of the landing. You pause before entering and take a deep breath. This is the room in which you dumped all the baby things. All the things you had bought that long summer when He promised you he would bring back Melody.

'Rory, Rory is everything ok?' you ask your husband. He's kneeling on the floor cluching a small pink teddy bear.

(The one you bought for your baby – the baby that never came home)


You start to make progress, you have a new job and a business. The modelling is a bit boring but creating your own perfume is exciting. Rory encourages you though all the stages, from the original pitch, to finding the right scent and designing the bottle. You know it makes him happy to see you moving on with your life. You're not sitting at home staring out of the window anymore, you're actually quite well known (well at least around Leadworth) people are actually asking you for autographs!

Petrichor, you call the perfume – for the girl who is tired of waiting.

(but you still hope he'll come back some day)


It's after your first Christmas without Him, that you realise that your life does not make any sense. You're sitting at your computer sorting though the photo's you took at Christmas and remembering past Christmases when you realise you've got memories of Christmas with and with out your parents. Its like you have lived your childhood twice, or as if one was a very vivid dream and you don't know which is real. You know Rory has the same problems as you, you feel him next to you tossing and turning in bed mummuring things in latin, reliving his time as a Roman. You wrap your arms around him and whisper to him that you are safe and nothing is going to take you away from him again.

(then it hits you that the Doctor is dead)


You sit staring into the night's sky, gazing up at all the stars, like you did as a child, and imagine what adventure's he is having among them. You've made progress, learning to live without the Doctor, but there are some things that remind you of him. The cardboard TARDIS that is locked in the attic, photos from your wedding and a fez you find hidden in one of the cupboards of the house he bought you.

You take a sip from the glass of wine you are holding and wrap your husband's jacket around you tighter, trying to keep out the summer evening chill. Your husband is at work, probably working over time, but he likes helping people. The wine glass in front of you isn't for him, but for your daughter. There are reports of a meteor shower so you hope that she's going to turn up.

This is your life now, the adventures with the Doctor are gone, but a new one is about to begin

(it takes a couple more glasses of wine for it to sink in that you are now your imaginary friend's, mother-in-law)