River had fallen asleep about a half an hour ago in the pilot's chair of the TARDIS, finally leaving the Doctor with his own thoughts.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. Cheer up, Raggedy Man, she'd say. No use being so glum.

His Amy Pond, his beautiful, brilliant Amelia. There were so many things he had meant to ask her, so many things he didn't know about her life. And now it was too late.

Where had you gone to Uni? What was your favorite breakfast cereal growing up? Who was your first kiss? What is your favorite book?

A few tears fell as the Doctor ran his thumb absentmindedly around the rim of Amy's newly acquired – and quickly misplaced – reading glasses. Had he loved her? Perhaps. It wasn't the same as Rose – nothing ever would be. But the feelings were there, different, but the same.

He'd sat, watched from the shadows, her and Rory's budding relationship flower into a beautiful love story. He was happy for her. And after all, he had River. But it wasn't quite the same.

It was natural with Amy, as easy as breathing. He just knew. With River, it had felt more like being tripped and falling headfirst into a relationship – a marriage, nonetheless.

What kind of telly do you like? What is your favorite color to paint your toes? Did you get along with your mum when you were younger? Did you love me?

River awoke to the sound of the Doctor's muffled sobs, and she consoled her husband as best she could. She was mourning her mother as well, and she tried to pretend the Doctor was simply mourning the loss of his two best friends. But she knew, somewhere in the deep recesses of her heart, that there was something else, something more.

As she stroked her husband's hair, she felt as if they were both lightyears away from each other, and hurtling in opposite directions. Look after him, she'd said. I'll do my best.

For the next few weeks, River pretended she hadn't heard when she awoke to hear her husband shouting Amy's name. Eventually, it dropped off, then stopped altogether. Slowly, the Doctor regained some of his charismatic charm. But his smile never reached his eyes. He'd taken to wearing Amy's reading glasses.

The Doctor sat up late one night, remembering. Her red hair, her pink smile, her freckled cheeks.

Was your life all you'd hoped it would be? Did you miss our adventures? What did growing old feel like? Was someone there to hold your hand while you lay dying? I'm sorry, Amelia Pond. I love you. I'm sorry.

River found him curled up outside Amy's old room, repeating the last two sentences like a mantra.

I love you.

I'm sorry.

A/N: Oh, look, after months of not updating anything, this happened. I'm sorry. I'm a bad person. I hope to try to update some other stories soon, this just popped into my head walking home and wouldn't leave me alone.