(no subject)

[madeelly]

that which is forgotten, eleven/rose, PG-13, The Great Gatsby AU
Their kiss reminds her of so much she so desperately misses; of the nights on the road, in the car, with nothing in front of them but more land to explore; of times so nearly, almost forgotten that it makes her heart ache. 5818 words.
A/N: In order to properly parallel The Great Gatsby, I needed a narrator; for this I chose Amy Pond. She features heavily in the fic. Just saying. Just in case.  Also, it's a little long. I tried to cram the entire Great Gatsby into this fic. >_<


If Amelia were able to see beyond her present, she never would have moved to West Egg, with its mansions and relationships and complications. On the other hand, looking back, she would never have missed it for the world. It was there that she met the Doctor, and it was there that she realized that some things are better left unsaid.

Amelia Pond is twenty-one years old when she decides to pack up and leave home; she’s just graduated college, and is ready to start the rest of her life. She hopes that the rest of her life entails more than getting married and settling down; it’s in the hopes that her second cousin Rose Smith can teach her how to hold a steady job that she decides to move across the bay from her. It’s a short drive, and just far away enough that Amelia doesn’t feel like she’s living back at home with her mother watching over her shoulder.

The house she’s rented is small in comparison to the two mansions that loom on either side of it. But as she enters the small home, she realizes that there are too many rooms in it; she has the uncomfortable feeling that she may get lost in it if she stays too long.

She immediately gets into her car and on the road, heading for East Egg across the bay. As she pulls out of her driveway, she hears music coming from the mansion on her right. It’s a beautiful, navy blue structure, the interior glowing as if lit by candlelight. She’d stay to look at it longer but as soon as she notices it, she’s already a quarter of a mile away.

Rose Smith, for all her wonderful charm and talent, was never good at introductions. When Amelia arrives at her door, fresh faced, red scarf thrown over her shoulders, Rose becomes flustered. Is the house clean? How will John take having a visitor? What will Amy think of the life she’s chosen? She scrambles around to straighten a few things up as soon as she hears the doorbell.

It’s fairly cold outside, strangely enough; the summer heat seems to have not settled in yet. Amelia is grinning, hands clasped together rather awkwardly. “Can I come in?” she asks.

“Of course!” Rose exclaims, and quickly ushers her cousin in. “Oh my God, Amy, it’s so good to see you!”

“You too!” Amelia replies, giving Rose a soft hug. It’s not tight, or strong, but it lingers and it’s enough to tell each other that they were missed. They part and Amelia tucks a piece of red hair behind her ear. “So, how’s John?”

Rose nods quickly, and she can’t tell whether or not it’s enthusiastically or nervously; her head keeps moving around, looking for husband. “He’s…he’s alright. Doing well. Work is going great, which is nice. He’s not home much, though.” She tries to brush off that last part quickly, regretting saying it the moment it’s out of her mouth.

She can tell Amelia notices by a gentle flick of her eyes, but Rose’s cousin is discreet and pretends she heard nothing. Rose silently thanks her for allowing her to keep that small shred of dignity.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Amelia mentions as she looks around the well-lit, highly decorated room. “Lots of…pink.”

Rose grins. “Yeah, I know. John wasn’t too enthused at first, but he’s a sweetheart and indulged me.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Amelia says, turning to Rose. “I love it when a man does something sweet and small like that. I don’t think they realize how nice it makes us feel.” She smiles brightly and Rose nods.

“Definitely. Care for some tea?” she asks.

“Oh, yes!” Amelia says. She begins to follow Rose into the kitchen area, but her footsteps are echoed by heavy footsteps coming down the long staircase.

“Rose, do we have guests?” Rose hears, and she feels her heart constrict. “What have I said about guests this late at night?”

“It’s just my cousin, Amelia, dear. You remember Amelia, right?” Rose shouts back.

“No,” he says simply, and he approaches the kitchen. John Smith is very tall, over six feet, and extremely slender. His hair is tamed only by the massive amounts of Brylcreem lathered in the brown locks. His eyes are wide, and manic, and matched only by the eccentricity inherent in the blue pinstripe suit he’s wearing.

“Well, here she is,” Rose tells him, timidly pointing to her cousin. “She just moved to West Egg.”

“Oh, West Egg? How’s that going?” John asks, a smile breaking out on his face. A dimple punctuates his cheek.

“Very well, thank you, sir,” Amelia answers, and Rose smiles at her cousin.

“Yes, and I was about to make her some tea. Care for some?” she asks him. He shakes his head.

“No, no, no tea this late at night, please. You don’t need the caffeine,” he tells her. She feels frustration squirm in the pit of her stomach, but he leans down and kisses her on the forehead, and some of the frustration dissipates.

But a cheerful knock on the back door is all it takes to set her rather cranky husband off. She doesn’t blame him: all those long nights at the office must be hard on him.

“Oh, hello, Martha!” Rose says, and she goes to door, but she feels her husband’s hand tightly around her wrist. She wrings it away from him, not bothering to look back. Opening the screen door, she lets her friend in.

“Martha, this is my cousin, Amelia,” Rose says, motioning to the girl. “And you already know John,” she says dismissively.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” Martha answers, refraining from making eye contact with Rose’s husband. “Hello, there.”

“Hi,” Amelia replies quietly. The kitchen has gone silent.

“Amelia, my love, why don’t you and Martha go into the living room and you can tell her all about your travels?” Rose says, seeing the angry visage of her husband out of the corner of her eye.

“Certainly,” Amelia says quickly, and files out, leading Martha into a separate room.

Rose turns to John. “Can’t you be polite for one second? I have family and friends that occasionally like to see me and that can’t happen with you acting like they’ve disrupted you!” she yells at him, fists clenched.

“Do you have any idea how hard I work? Do you? All I ask for is some peace and quiet around here!”

“It’s just a few friends, I’m not throwing a party!”

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means, Rose.”

“They’re really intense, aren’t they?” Amelia says flippantly, as she reaches for her purse and begins to leave.

“Oh my God, I know,” Martha whispers. “You have no idea.”

Amelia turns around and looks down at Martha. “What does that mean?”

Martha shrugs. “Oh, well, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Amelia says, folding her arms. “Tell me.”

“Goodness, you really are new here, aren’t you? Well…” she begins, looking around to make sure no one is listening. “They say John entertains a lady friend in the city.”

Amelia’s mouth drops open ever so slightly. “Since when?”

Martha shrugs. “Dunno. These are just things I hear around, you know.”

“Well, keep them to yourself,” Amelia snaps as she slings her purse over her shoulder and turns around, heading out the door.

The second week since Amelia moved in is rather unentertaining. She spends an uncomfortable amount of time attempting to make her small house feel exponentially less large, moving pictures here and there, rearranging furniture. Often she’ll give up after a little while and take a break, heading to the bookstore to pick up a few more books to clutter up the place.

As she comes home on Friday, an obscenely large amount of books in tow, she retrieves her mail. Bills, bills, a letter of correspondence from an art dealership concerning her job application (no way she’s opening that one until she’s had at least one beer), and something very peculiar; a creamy white letter, her name and address scrawled on the front in old fashioned black lettering. She rips it open as she enters her house, and pulls out a small invite:

Ms. Amelia Pond,

I would be very pleased if you were to attend a party I’m hosting tomorrow night, beginning at 8 PM. It will be at my place of residence.

Cordially,

The Doctor

She glances at the return address and realizes that it comes from the mansion to the left of her. A small smile of curiosity appears on her features as she entertains the idea of going to this soiree. She’s never been one for the “in” crowd, and she certainly wasn’t planning on starting now. But she’s spent every night of this week alone, with a book and a glass of wine, and maybe it would be nice to get out for a little bit.

She leaves the envelope on the kitchen counter, and reminds herself that she should wear something nice for tomorrow night.

The music is loud, almost unbearably so. But the vibrations from the live band give her a small thrill she’d never admit to having. The glass in her hands helps feed the buzz, and she walks along the poolside, marveling at the Doctor’s enormous mansion, and occasionally mingling with people who have considerably more money and style than she.

The lights in the pool entrance her: the orange-yellow of the underwater lights contrasts with the thick aqua of the rippling water to great a sickening, entrancing green. The color is soft, and flows, and creates a feeling of nostalgia in Amelia that she has never felt before: as if she is nostalgic for something that hasn’t happened yet.

A tapping on her shoulder interrupts her trance. She turns around violently, glaring up at whoever disturbed her.

Martha jumps back. “Woah, Amelia, calm down. Sorry.”

“Oh, you,” Amelia says, standing up. “What do you want?”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m really sorry. It’s just been really tense at Rose’s place for a while and it’s getting uncomfortable,” Martha explains, and she sticks out her hand. “Friends?”

Amelia slowly looks down at Martha’s extended hand, and cautiously takes it in hers.

“Good, then,” Martha continues, dropping Amelia’s hand. “How do you like the party?”

“It’s…nice,” Amelia says. “A bit intimidating.”

Martha giggles, and Amelia smiles along with her. She notices that Martha’s smiles are not patronizing, unlike many attending the party.

“Yeah, it’s pretty scary,” Martha agrees. “My first one scared me half to death! My sister Tish made me come and I nearly refused. But it all turned out for the best.”

Amelia nods. “So, who’s this ‘Doctor’?”

“Oh, the Doctor? He’s a nice bloke, I guess. I’ve not really talked to him, ever,” Martha says, shrugging. She fondles the stem of her empty champagne flute.

“Why’s he called that? The Doctor?” Amelia asks, scanning around, looking for any trace of a man who would be pretentious enough to refer to himself as such.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Martha tells her. “I guess he’s a doctor of something or other. I don’t know if it’s of medicine or philosophy, to be quite honest. He tends to keep to himself.”

“Oh. That’s…a bit odd,” Amelia notes.

“Yeah,” Martha says quickly, her attention drawn away by something. “Hey, it’s nice seeing you, but Sally Sparrow is over there and I have just got to tell her about something that happened yesterday. See you later?” she asks, but does not wait for Amelia to answer.

“Yeah…sure,” Amelia says, and then sighs. She begins to wander around again, always seeing the green of the pool in the corner of her eye.

There’s an open space at the end of the pool, near some trees that lead to a dark fence. A lonely bench sits there, and she heads for it. As she gets closer, a well-dressed young man plops down on the bench. She silently curses and plans on turning around, but he’s already seen her and is giving her a welcoming smile.

“Hello,” she greets, sitting down next to the man.

“Hello, you,” he says, looking at her. “And what brings you here?”

“Oh, well, I got invited, you see. I just moved in next door,” she explains, awkwardly crossing her legs.

He laughs. “No, I mean, to this bench. There’s an entire party going on all around you and this bench is the most appealing of all?”

“I guess my legs are tired,” she answers. “And hey! You’re sitting down here, too.”

“My legs are tired, too,” he replies, and flashes a smile at her.

Her breath catches in her throat. He’s by no means the most attractive man at the party, but his eyes carry such gravitas that it surprises her; especially since, as he smiles, she realizes how young he is. His soft, light brown hair drapes over his forehead in a nearly feminine manner and Amelia has the urge to brush it out of his deep green eyes.

“So, what do you do?” she asks, taking a sip of her drink.

“I….dabble. I do a lot of dabbling. Just me, here and there. You know,” he says, looking out at the crowd. In truth, Amelia doesn’t know, but she’s not sure whether or not she should, so she keeps quiet about it.

“And you?” he asks, still looking around, his gaze finally settling on her.

“Me? I…well, it’s kind of silly, but I’m hoping to become a curator at one of the museums in the city. It’s a longshot, but it’s worth it, I think,” she says, feeling slightly flushed.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” he tells her, grinning. “You seem like you’d make a wonderful curator.”

“Thank you,” Amelia answers, a blush showing on her pale cheeks. “So…um, how do you know the guy who set up this shindig?”

He winks at her and stands up, holding his hand out to her. “Come with me?” he asks. She takes his hand, softly grasping it and raising herself off the seat.

They walk side by side through the crowd and the noise until a question occurs to Amelia. “Who are you?” she asks.

Her questioned is answered by the call of a man off at a nearby table. “Doctor!” he shouts at Amelia’s companion.

The man next to her gives her a grin and bows slightly to the man calling him. “Nice to see you, Wilkinson!”

“Oh. So…so you’re. Oh, um, I’m…wow, I’m sorry,” Amelia says, shifting uncomfortably.

“It’s not a problem at all, Amelia,” he tells her. “And you’re welcome at my home anytime.” He turns around and walks in another direction, mingling seamlessly with those around him.

“Thank you,” Amelia mumbles, fists clenched in embarrassment. She can see Martha come towards her and secretly she wishes that this unnecessary night were simply over. Her throat itches, incredibly parched from nervousness.

“Can I talk to you?” Martha asks. “In a place that’s a little less crowded?”

“Yeah, okay,” Amelia says, and the two walk over to the corner that she and the Doctor just emerged from.

“Listen,” Martha says, and Amelia looks at her.

“Yeah?”

“You know how I mentioned about…about John’s extracurricular activities?” Martha asks, her voice betraying her uncertainty.

“Yeah,” Amelia says dismissively.

“The reason I don’t feel bad about entertaining that is because I think…I think Rose is in love with somebody else,” Martha says, already cringing from what she knows is going to be Amelia’s reaction.

“Mind your own business,” Amelia mumbles; she doesn’t put much heart into it, and she curses herself for letting curiosity get the better of her. She doesn’t move, which signals Martha to continue.

“It’s the Doctor.”

“What?” Amelia exclaims. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m really not. It’s quite sad, actually. Everyone thought they were going to get married, you see. But one day he just up and leaves. No one’s really sure where he went, or why, or with whom. He just left, and he let a distant cousin take care of his property while he was away,” Martha explains. “Rose was devastated.”

Amelia stares blankly down at her drink: suddenly she doesn’t feel so thirsty anymore.

The next time Amelia sees the Doctor is outside of her porch, early in the morning the next week. He has a cheerful look on his face, his hands stuffed into his black trousers. His tweed jacket looks quite dapper on him; and Amelia smiles as he tries to move the hair from his eyes without taking his hands from his pockets, flicking his head to the side.

“Hello, there,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“I always remember interesting people,” he says. “And you, Amelia Pond, are most certainly interesting.”

“Well, thank you,” she tells him, grinning. “And thank you very much for inviting me to your party last week. It was lovely.”

“I’m glad you think so, quite glad,” he says, breezing past the topic. “You see, Ms. Pond, I have quite the predicament.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It seems that I accidentally ordered two tickets for the special Vermeer show they’re hosting at the Metropolitan, and I really don’t know what to do with the second one,” he says.

“I’d love to!” Amelia squeals excitedly. “That is,” she begins, composing herself, “if you’re inviting me.”

“What else would I be doing?” he asks with a knowing grin. “Come along, Pond?”

“Yes, sir!” she answers enthusiastically, and follows him down her porch steps.

For the next few weeks the only person Amelia sees regularly, besides Martha, is the Doctor. His cheerful expression greets her early each morning, and he treats her to many of the city’s hidden marvels: a greenhouse in the middle of Central Park; a Middle Eastern eatery that has the most delicious lamb Amelia has ever tasted; a small gallery in an abandoned city block; a dock that divides the harbor between East Egg and West Egg.

They sit on the dock as they look out on the ocean. Amelia’s legs are folded, and she looks over at the Doctor, who serenely stares out toward the horizon.

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” she asks.

“Of what?” he replies, still looking out toward the ocean.

“I don’t know. Of hosting parties every night; of doing nothing but spending money here and there; of hanging out with your poor neighbor,” Amelia says, saying that last part with a reluctant smile.

He turns his head toward her, and she looks into his ocean green eyes again. The green of nostalgia twinges her heart.

“Not ever,” he answers, his voice soft. “Because once I stop, I have to start thinking about other things that don’t need to be thought of.”

Amelia doesn’t ask what those other things are.

Rose closes the door of her car, and she looks at Amelia’s house. It’s small, and white, and in stark contrast to the navy blue mansion on the right. Her heart begins to beat more quickly because she knows who lives in the mansion on the right, and she so desperately does not want to remember.

She walks slowly up to the plain door of Amelia’s home, and she can feel that something is off. Something is telling her to turn around and get back into her car and to drive home to her husband and her pink wallpaper and her fancy tea.

She turns the doorknob and finds that the door is open. Hesitantly, she walks inside.

Rose’s heart catches in her throat as she sees him there.

He’s rifling through a large book collection in the foyer off of the main hallway. “Amelia, what’s this book? I haven’t seen this one in your collection before,” he yells to the kitchen as he flips through a rather large book. His soft brown hair is all over the place, and he runs a hand through the bangs to move them out of his face. Rose grins as she notices that he’s still wearing that old tweed jacket they found in a small thrift shop on the road so many years ago.

“Amelia?” he asks, and turns around, his eyes immediately catching on Rose. “Oh,” he says. “You’re not Amelia.”

“No, I’m not,” she says, surprised at her calmness.

“What are you complaining about again?” Amelia shouts as she walks through the hallway and into the foyer, carrying two cups of tea. She looks at the Doctor, and follows his gaze. “Oh. Rose, you’re early.”

“Yeah, I…I had things to do later today and I didn’t think it would be a bother, but I see you’re busy, so I’m just going to leave,” she says, turning around. She can feel the nervousness and pain and longing surrounding her, as she hopes that as soon as she gets to her car she can let it all go and have a good cry.

A hand pulls her back. She turns around and sees that he’s gotten up from the ground and has come toward her. She traces her arm to her hand, and her hand to another, stronger hand, and from that hand up to his face, looking down at her. His green eyes are staring in hers, and his mouth is slightly open. “Don’t go,” he says, his voice nearly a whisper.

They stand that way for a while, staring at each other, until Amelia says: “Yeah, stay. Please.”

Rose shrugs. “Oh, well, okay,” she says, and heads toward the couch. It isn’t until she’s nearly there that she realizes the Doctor hasn’t let go of her hand.

They sit down, side by side, and as Amelia serves tea and chats with the Doctor about her new book, his grip on Rose’s hand only grows tighter. They interlock fingers and she can feel his warm palm in hers.

Everything sets in and after five minutes, it all feels so right again.

They meet again, the next day, at his house. She goes there under the guise of visiting her cousin. She doesn’t even have to knock on the door for him to know that she’s there. The door immediately opens, and he’s standing behind it.

“Hello,” he says, and then gives her a smile.

“Hi,” she replies, and bites her lip as the beginnings of a smile appear on her face.

“Come in?” he offers, and opens the door for her. He turns around, but holds his hand out in back for her.

She takes his hand, and follows him in, closing the door behind her. The house is quiet, and clean, and the light streams through the skylight in the ceiling. She can smell something good cooking in the kitchen.

“What’s that smell?” she asks, smiling. “It smells so delicious.”

He looks back for a moment to smile at her. “You’ll see.”

The Doctor leads her into the kitchen, and excitedly sits her down in a chair. He looks nearly giddy, his lips spread in a wide grin. “Ta da!” he announces, as he brings a skillet over to her. “An omelet! Exactly like the one I made you that -”

“That time in France!” she finishes, laughing. “That was amazing! I can’t believe you remembered that, much less recreated it.”

“It took a lot of work, but I made it happen,” he says, his voice full of pride. “For you, Rose.” He leans down over her shoulder, inspecting his handiwork.

The left side of her face tingles at his presence. Their faces are so close, and Rose can feel what she wants in the pit of her stomach. She turns her head ever so slowly, and looks into his eyes; those beautiful, deep green eyes. She feels his breath on her lips, and she softly presses them against his.

The kiss grows deeper, and quicker, and he lifts her up on to the counter. Her hands grab his hair as she opens her lips for him and his tongue explores her mouth. She wraps her legs around his waist and presses herself to him, barely breaking to take a breath. His mouth is warm and sweet, and reminds her of so much she so desperately misses; of the nights on the road, in the car, with nothing in front of them but more land to explore; of times so nearly, almost forgotten, that it makes her heart ache.

They leave the omelet to grow cold.

That night’s party is in full blast and Rose has just left to go home for the night; John would not be happy if he heard rumors of his wife at one of the Doctor’s parties. The music makes the entire wide patio area vibrate with jubilance; the voices are so loud it sounds like a swarm of bees behind Amelia’s ears. She and the Doctor sit at their bench, the one they met at so long ago, and watch the party. They managed to preserve their own little slice of silence.

“I never should have left her,” he murmurs, looking out at the illuminated pool. The turquoise water mixes with the orange of the underwater lights, and the steam rises up slowly and steadily from the surface.

“It’s only for the night,” Amelia tells him. “You’ll see her tomorrow.”

“No, no, not that,” he says. He doesn’t continue; he doesn’t have to.

They sit there for a little while longer, until he stands up. “I think I’m going to have a walk around.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“You know me.”

She does, and she’s reluctant to leave him at the end of the night; but the party is winding down.

Later that night she hears screams of anger from next door, but is not fully stirred from sleep, and instead dreams horrible dreams of never seeing the Doctor again.

“Rose? I demand that you tell me what you were doing here with this…this vagrant!” John yells, and the party immediately begins to thin.

“I can spend my time with whomever I like, as you know well enough!” she spits with venom.

Five minutes earlier the partygoers heard the screeching of tires and the yelling of a man and a woman. The yelling grew louder and louder until Rose appeared, her honey colored hair glinting in the bright lights of the party. Behind her trailed her husband, red with fury.

“And you!” John continues, pointing at the Doctor. “You’re the reason I even came to your filthy den in the first place! I demand that you leave my wife alone!”

The Doctor nods, quietly. After a few seconds of pause, he looks up again. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”

John raises an arm, prepared to hit the Doctor, as Rose steps in between the two men. “No, John. No. If you harm him, you and I will be over. Forever.”

John sighs, and slowly lowers his arm. “We’re already over, Rose,” he says, and his voice becomes pitifully soft, cracking at points. “We’ve been over since we started. You were always just waiting for him to come back.” His gaze drifts from her to the Doctor, whose expression hasn’t changed since the confrontation first started.

John shakes his head, puts his hands in his pockets, and turns around, walking out of the party.

Rose is an utter mess: tears streaming down her cheeks, she buries her head into the Doctor’s chest. She’s sobbing and shaking; her feeble attempts to compose herself falls flat.

The entire party is silent as the Doctor leans down and picks Rose up, letting her drape her arms around his neck. “Well?” he shouts to the party. “Aren’t you all going to clap for this wonderful piece of theater, you miserable leeches?”

He turns around, Rose in his arms, and heads into his house.

The Doctor’s managed to clear out the kitchen, sit Rose down, and pour her a glass of milk. She takes the glass, drains it, and then crashes it back down on the table. She rubs her face messily as she looks up at him. “Oh, Doctor,” she sighs.

“I’m going to take you home, Rose,” he says, walking toward the doorway. “I can help you up, if you need it.”

“I want to drive,” she mumbles.

“I’m sorry, I’m driving,” he says, taking her hand.

“No, let me drive home!” she screams at him, yanking her hand from his. She takes a deep breath, clutching her purse with both hands, hard enough that her knuckles flash white. “I just need to drive. Please, I beg you. It will…it will help me sort things out. Remember when we used to go on long journeys, and…and sometimes we didn’t need to say anything at all because I had you and you had me and we both had the road and that was enough? I need that now.” She can feel the tears coming down her cheeks and she avoids looking at him.

He pauses for a second, looking down at her, hands in his pockets as he leans against the doorway. His long, brown hair drifts over one of his eyes and as she looks up, she’s struck by the enigmatic shadow it casts. His eyes are narrow, his lips tight, and she’s rarely ever seen him like this before.

“Okay,” he says, his voice never changing tone, and turns around to open the back door for her.

“Thank you,” she whispers to him. She feels the bursts of cold air in the purple night against her cheeks.

He says nothing back to her, and that’s all she needs.

It’s after four in the morning when Amelia’s phone rings.

“Yep,” she answers groggily.

“Ms. Pond? We’re here to inform you of a serious car accident that occurred less than an hour ago,” a calm, feminine voice tells her.

Amelia shoots up in her bed. “What? A…a car accident? What happened? Who was in it?”

“It seems that your cousin, Rose Smith, was driving down the highway at dangerous speeds and lost control of the car. She’s in intensive care. But, Ms. Pond, that’s not the reason we’re calling you. There was a man with her and we pulled his records and you are the only contact on his emergency contact list.”

“Oh,” Amelia answers. The woman keeps talking, but Amelia doesn’t hear her. “I’ll be right over,” Amelia says, and then hangs up. She doesn’t move for at least a minute; and her eyes water until she realizes that she forgot to blink.

It’s at least a half an hour later when she rushes into the emergency room of a small hospital nearby. She tries to look inconspicuous as she follows a group of nurses into the intensive care ward. As soon as she gets in there, she sees what looks like a never-ending hallway, many rooms on each side, and her head begins to swim. She manages to muster up enough courage to pull over quickly moving nurse. The nurse look at her, surprised, and then expectantly.

“I’m looking for…” she trails off, as she realizes she doesn’t know the Doctor’s real name. “My…my sister, Rose Smith,” she lies. “I’m Amelia Tyler and I was told she was in a serious car accident not long ago. There should also be a man with her, a young man in his mid-twenties,” Amelia explains.

The rushed nurse nods, concentrating on her clipboard. Amelia wonders if the nurse even heard her. “They’re over in that room,” the nurse says, and runs off.

Amelia rushes into the room, heart pounding, head throbbing. A sigh of relief washes over her as she first glimpses John, leaning comfortingly over Rose as she sleeps peacefully.

Next to her is an empty bed.

The only ones present at the funeral are Amy and the priest.

Amy’s not even sure the priest should be there; she’s certain the Doctor would think such things rubbish.

The sky is a bright blue and finally, finally the weather is warm and the air is seeded with pollen. Not even Mother Nature will mourn him.

The service is short and as Amelia heads back to her house, the house next to the mansion of the bluest blue ever, she wonders if the world has already forgotten about the Doctor: a man known for parties and intellect and loving Mrs. Rose Smith, but never known for himself.

As she strolls back, she feels a dull pain at the realization that even she did not know him.

“You’re leaving?” Martha asks later, as Amelia is finishing packing her bags into her car.

“Yep.”

“Are you okay?” Amelia slams the trunk down and glares at Martha.

“Are you?”

Martha avoids Amelia’s gaze as she whispers, “No.”

“Well, shut up then.”

As she drives away the thundering blue of the clouds mixes with the orange of the setting sun, and the area in between them is that green: that same green she saw in the Doctor’s pool. A green of nostalgia, and the tears that run down her cheeks tell her exactly what she was nostalgic for all that time ago.

Amelia receives a letter a few months later from Rose. It’s written in perfectly composed handwriting on beautiful stationary with silver flowers on it. At first she feels her heart speeding up: there was some part of her that always knew Rose would acknowledge what happened; at best, even open up to Amelia. She hurriedly scans the letter over, looking for the part she wants to read the most. It’s the part of the letter that will finally make her heart stop aching, and make her feel like not all of it was some unavoidable cosmic prank; the part that explains to her that actions are influenced by emotions, and that having those feelings is not a curse; the part that shows her that consequences should be taken note of, because people should never, ever be forgotten.

There’s a recipe for cake; an invitation to a new art gallery opening; a detailed description of a recent party Rose and John attended; a small note of Martha’s goings-on; a book recommendation.

It ends with:

Hope all’s well with you.

Love,

Rose

Amelia reads it again, this time with more desperation. A hint, a clue, anything would be better than the emptiness she feels inside. Her eyes frantically scanning, Amelia begins to feel that she is the only one left in the world to remember him.

She finishes reading it for the third time, and stands up from her chair. She puts her brown coat on gingerly, playing with the collar as it wraps around her neck. She picks up the letter, and as she walks out the door, crumples it up and throws it away.