Epistolary: The 50 Years Before We Were BornBy:Maribor
In 1942 Manhattan, Amy contacts Edwin Bracewell & begins a friendship that will last half a century. Through correspondence & journals spanning 50 years she & Rory leave a chronicle of their lives and a legacy for the Doctor to remember them by. Post The Angels Take Manhattan.
I'll be honest. Amelia's Afterword left me rather cold. I don't blame her character because the truth is I found it to be written rather out of character. And while I loved The Angels Take Manhattan, I think the whole episode was really, really rushed. They deserved more time and they all deserved better. So, egotist that I am, this is my attempt at a post TATM magnum opus. Not a fix-it fic, per se. It's not really about fixing it, it's about giving us a glimpse into Amy and Rory's life after the Doctor is no longer in it and allowing them a real, final goodbye.
Oh and fair warning, because it takes some people off guard: implied history of Amy/Rory/11, though no actual sex scenes. I ship them polyamorous, Lord knows Moffat dropped enough hints. If you want a detailed explanation of why, check out my profile. I updated it to answer a few questions. Relatively speaking though it's a minor plot point.
Epistolary: The 50 Years Before We Were Born
Exhibit No. 92,388,295,686,191
Ancient Correspondence including but not limited to: letters, journals, diaries, messages etc.
To be retrieved only by: The Doctor
Tag Reads: Come Along, Doctor
To Mr. Edwin Bracewell
From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams
22 of February 1942
Remember me? Sure hope so. If I timed this right, this letter should be arriving to that little Scottish village where your family owned the post office about a month after you last saw the Doctor and I. Wow...so much has happened since then. Maybe we should just start off with the basics. I'm married, to the best man in the world. His name is Rory Williams and we've known each other since we were wee bairns in Leadworth. We've settled in Manhattan...in 1942. We arrived here in September of 1938 and we've managed to build a life for ourselves.
We're not travelling with the Doctor anymore. In fact, we won't ever be able to see him again. Rory and I were both transported back here and there's no way we can get home again.
This is home now. We've been living here for nearly four years and its been hard but we're surviving.
There's a lot of things for which we had a heads up. WWII for instance but then again you're probably not calling it that just yet are you? With the help of our daughter (long story) we've established a history for ourselves. We're officially US citizens now, some story about our respective parents being expats. No one seems troubled by certain inevitable inconsistencies, people don't investigate as thoroughly here as they did in my time. Back in 2018 they could have ferreted all of this out on the internet in about five minutes flat. Oh, I'm doing it again, aren't I? You don't know what the internet is either. I still keep slipping up like that every now and then. Rory tries to get me to be a bit more careful. I am trying, honestly.
Anyways, I realize this may be a big favor to ask but I was hoping you could help us. We never got to say a proper goodbye to the Doctor. He was our best friend. The best friend anyone ever had and in a moment we got ripped from his life and he from ours. We miss him, terribly. I've enclosed a book which should make our situation a bit more clear, it explains just about everything that lead us to here. My daughter encouraged me to write an Afterword. I struggled with it, knowing it would be the last time I ever got to communicate with the Doctor. Rory and I went through dozens, literally dozens of drafts before settling on the one we thought explained it all. Then when the book was published, they gutted it.
One hundred and ninety five words.
One hundred and ninety five words to sum up a thousand lifetimes worth of adventure. One hundred and ninety five words to describe travelling the universe with the two men I've loved more than anything in creation. One hundred and ninety five words to say a final goodbye. Rory and I were destroyed.
But then I had an idea.
I thought of you, Mr. Edwin Bracewell, a living bomb who loved life so much and fought so hard that he became a real boy. I thought maybe you could help. I know you can't send the Doctor a message now anymore than I can. But, well not to be indelicate, you just might be the closest thing we have on this planet to an immortal. You might just outlive and outlast us all. If you did, if you do, could you deliver a message to the Doctor for me? The real final message from Rory and I? I know it's a lot to ask, I know it's probably pretty indecent to bring up death in our first correspondence but I thought it might be worth a try.
Sorry if this is rude, Paisley. I still haven't developed much tact and 1940's New York isn't helping matters. So, did you ever find Dorabella? I hope so. No matter what you decide, take care Mr. Edwin P. Bracewell, the man who fought to be human and won.
Yours most affectionately,
Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams
The fantastic image for this story is supplied courtesy of missyserendipity, please check out her Tumblr and DeviantArt at missyserendipity dot tumblr dot com and missyserendipity dot deviantart dot com.
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