Summary: The door is blue, and Amelia is crying on her wedding day. These things are not unrelated.

A/N: The style of this piece was greatly influenced by "Ghosts of Gunkanjima", a short story by Catherine Valente. This story mostly takes place during "The Big Bang" but also references up to "The God Complex". I feel like I should do something with Clara instead of going back to Amy, but this really wanted to be written. Sorry, Clara, maybe another time.

Echo in Blue

The door is blue.

Amelia. Amy, wake up. It's your wedding day, love.

The door is blue like a childhood memory, a starless sky that veils a neverending network of worlds that are now but in the past were not.

Your dress, dear. Why are you crying? Salt-tears that waterfall down her face while the concoction of a dress flows over her body like a silken river dusted with snowy flowers.

The door is blue like a childhood memory, a starless sky that veils a neverending network of worlds that are now but in the past were not. The door of her childhood home is the same color of the door of her married-life home is the same color of a box with a blue light on top, with doors that reveal softly lit corridors that stretch on forever-ever-ever.

Why is she crying? She doesn't know why she is getting married. She thinks it's because there's a blue, locked door in her head, and seeping from its edges and hinges is a voice, old and sad: Live will, love Rory. Remember what I told you when you were seven.

When Amelia was seven she ran out of the blue door of her house and waited in her garden for a man who wasn't a man, but she doesn't remember that yet. She does remember: two parents, a fiancé with a big nose and kind eyes, the Macarena, a duck pond.

What happened?

You don't remember?

Am I sad? Why am I crying?

The universe ended. Pity, really.

Oh.

The universe ended because a man who wasn't a man was locked into a box that wasn't his blue box. He was screaming when they locked him in the not-blue box, and you were dying. He saved you.

The not-blue box. He got out somehow?

He put you inside of it.

Stop.

You were locked up for two thousand years—

Stop. It's my wedding day. I'm crying because I'm happy.

You slept. You couldn't remember it even if you wanted to.

But the man who wasn't… he's in my head. He had—

Brown hair. Suspenders. Tweed jacket.

A bow-tie.

A bow-tie.

The raggedy man! I remember him now!

You needn't get so excited. No use in remembering anyway. He's gone, shut in behind the closed cracks of a broken universe.

But I remember!

Amelia, you should be focusing on your wedding.

No! I remember! I want the raggedy man! Give him back! GIVE HIM BACK!

…If I must. We'll just… open the door in your head.

Blue like a starless sky and an old bow-tie and a stolen box with a light on the top. I wonder if the light ever wants changing?

There you go, then. You'll regret this, later.

My raggedy man. Old, new, barrowed, blue. Stars in his eyes and an infinity in his box.

She stands outside of the home that is now hers and her husband's. A red car parked out front, and the void left by the raggedy man as he disappeared (again) still imprinted on her eyes. She turns to her new house.

The door is blue.