Amy smells like clean soap. And he hugs Rory the Roman, too, the other half of the Pond set.
His best friends.
It's been a long time since he's seen them.
("It's what the universe does as a joke . . ." his voice fades off, trails down into the tangled yarn of his hearts.
The Williamses, looking bright and happy and young. He holds in his happiness at seeing them, hides behind a clothing rack as they pass, because he's giving them the life he and River can never have.
And then he looks behind him.
Petrichor. For the girl who's tired of waiting.
Oh, Amelia. His fairy-tale girl.
In that moment, he's never been prouder.)
"The Ponds!" he cries, exuberant, and holds them tight. And of course there's the usual questions: why are we here? Why Utah? Leave it to his friends: they'll always ask.
Hang on Ponds. We're waiting.
She enters by murdering his Stetson. At least it isn't the real one.
She always did like to make an entrance, his hell-in-high-heels girl, killer of anything cool.
"Hello sweetie," she purrs.
Just in time for the funeral.
(except it turned out to be a wedding instead)