This marks the last chapter I have written so far. But if enough people are interested I've been seriously considering continuing this story! Anyway, enjoy!

It began with a letter. A simple note with a simple scrawl of pencil, complex lines looping and scratchy, giving the distinct feel of a heartfelt message. The entire thing had begun with a letter. A letter from a very special girl, who had been waiting a very long time. And the letter read as follows:


How have you been? I haven't seen you since last year. Sometimes I find myself wondering if I imagined the whole thing. Did you really come back? Or was it just a dream?

The only reason I haven't gone crazy is because Rory still dreams about it too. Lately, I've been wondering about him. Does he only believe what I say now because this time there was tangible proof?

I've been reading a lot of books too. All of them have been about the most fantastic adventures. Some are classic western tales or about a group who embarks on some long journey. I read one about to kids who took a cross country road trip. I've even been reading some hideously long books. Like Lord of the Rings long. (I know what you're thinking. And the answer is: yes.)

Will you be coming back anytime soon?

If you are…if I had a way to send this to you I would. But…it's awfully hard to communicate with a man who travels through time and space. Sometimes I think that these letters are more for me than for you. I've written ten of them already. This one will be the eleventh.

Funny thing about the number eleven. I find that I'm liking it more and more every day. Even though they say that one is the loneliest number, eleven certainly proves them wrong doesn't it? I'd like to think that every one finds its partner in the end. All ones become elevens. It's silly isn't it? Thinking of numbers like people. I already have someone I'd like to see again. It would be nice to go on an adventure with my special one.

Don't you think?

As Always,

Amelia Pond,

(The Girl Who Remains Waiting)

Despite not having an address, or an envelope, or even a stamp, the letter wound up right where only he would find it. Underneath the main console of the TARDIS.

He found it exactly eleven minutes after it was written, after its sender had gone to bed, still doubtful (but always just a little hopeful). The letter was in a pretty blue envelope, with postage stamps from all over the world, ranging from Utah to Egypt to Paris. The Doctor found it as he was rewiring one of the navigational matrixes, and thought to himself: Now, that's a TARDIS blue if I ever saw one. Before he carefully opened it up, and read the simple letter, written in simple pencil. It was the post script message at the bottom of the page that bid him to scurry up the stairs to the main floor and begin punching in coordinates as if there were some emergency.

It all began with a letter. A letter that ended with one simple question: Will you ever take me with you?


She was quick on her feet for only being in a nightgown.

The white dress she wore for the night was loose fitting and long, draping all the way down passed her knees. The garment did nothing to protect her against the chill of the night air, her breath forming marshmallow colored puffs, as she rubbed numb fingers against her arms. Amelia Pond glowered at him from under the archway of the garden.

"Hello!" He jerked his arm up suddenly, pulling it left and right in an overall awkward wave. Amy thought he looked quite stupid waving so nonchalantly like that.

The young woman in front of him scoffed, pacing stiffly forward to poke him with a solid fire colored fingernail, "Look here, mister, you can't just show up in the middle of the night after saving the planet—a year late by the way, I've counted, and that's now thirteen years late, and say something as stupidly simple as 'hello'!" His greeting was recanted in a much more mocking, dim-witted way. But regardless, he couldn't help the wide grin on his lips.

"How have you been?" He tried instead, earning him another glower, heavier than the smoky air in Erebor.

Wait a minute.

He pressed a hand over her mouth just as she had begun to speak; earning him yet another variant of what was easily becoming the Amelia Pond "unhappy face". "Before you say anything, I got your letter. And the answer is: yes." His clammy hand lowered, giving her the chance to wipe at her face and gave him a puzzled stare. "Your letter," He said again, stuffing a hand under the front fold of his jacket and pulling free the distinctly TARDIS blue envelope. A few moments passed before he registered her continued confusion. "Oh Amelia honestly, if you're going to send someone a letter you could at least have the decency to remember writing it."

"I…well I do remember." Her eyes (green as emeralds, and twice as beautiful) glittered with confusion, pale forehead creasing, what did he mean? He couldn't mean the letter I just wrote earlier today…could he?

Amy reached (with a hesitant hand) for the letter he held toward her as his tangible proof. The envelope was light and smooth in her hands, easy to unfold, and as she pulled the letter she had written free, her heart fluttered. "This is…" The letter was still freshly folded and neat, her hand writing legible even in the gentle glow of moonlight. "I wrote this letter."

"I know," His grin made her uneasy and giddy at the same time.

"No." She swallowed, hands beginning to shake in the face of the sheer mystery and excitement. "I mean, I wrote this letter just ten minutes ago."

The Doctor pursed his lips, as if the situation weren't curious and part of the everyday routine, and lifted his wrist to check his watch. "Eleven minutes ago actually." He got a stunned laugh from her for his trouble. "So," He held out his hand again. "What do you think? You've read about all sorts of adventures. Want to have some of your own?"

"But where would we go?" She took his hand despite all the responsible grown up voices in her head telling her what a childish idea this was. She couldn't just drop everything and run off with some imaginary friend! Be responsible.

"Anywhere you'd like!" He pulled open the front door of the mysterious blue box, sweeping his free arm forward to gesture her ahead of himself.

Be. Responsible.


Amelia! For heaven's sake be responsible!


Amelia! Think about thi—

"What if I told you I wanted to go somewhere that doesn't exist?"


"Oh Amelia, you'd have to try very hard to come up with a place I couldn't find." At his confident word she stepped inside, where those responsible voices were promptly silenced.


The wide smiles she gave him were quickly becoming addictive, sweet and excited, the Doctor prided himself on instilling a sense of adventure in others. He was telling Amy about his recent trip to Erebor, when something dawned on him. "You know, I can't figure out how I ended up there in the first place."

"You didn't fly yourself there?" The hemline of that night gown was (potentially) becoming a distraction. He would have to tell her about the TARDIS' expensive closet system before that hemline became a real problem.

"Ah, no I didn't. She flew herself there actually…" He turned to face the main console, that pillar of machinery, and set a steady hand on one of the three keyboards there.

"You mean like autopilot?"

"Well yes…Except she doesn't have an autopilot function."



"But if you didn't fly her there, and she apparently can't fly herself there, how did you end up in Erebor in the first place?"

"That is a very good question," She yawned, pressing a dainty hand over her mouth. He gave her a small smile, "That I will gladly answer when you're fully awake."

"I am fully awake!" He only chuckled at her insistence, she only yawned again. "What? I am!" Those dainty hands went to her skinny hips, but a tired girl was still tired, and not at all threatening. It was endearing really, the frequent yawns, the tired claims; all he had to do was wait her endurance out. "I've waited for thirteen years for this already!"

The reminder quickly weighed on him, his previous promise to twelve year old Amelia Pond resurfacing in a rush. "Just give me five minutes. I'll be right back!" He stilled, blue eyes greying at the memory and the picture of that sweet little girl waiting, and waiting, and waiting for his return. Waiting for far more than five minutes, waiting for a solid twelve—thirteen years. She had waited long enough. Rather than hurrying Amy off to bed, he gestured to the only chair in the control room, grinned and said, "All right, then. Have a seat over here."

Amy trudged over to the chair, increasingly inviting the more she moved around. Plopping herself down, gracelessly and tired, she yawned yet again.

"Is there anywhere you would especially like to go?"

"Yeah…that Erebor place sounds interesting."

"Huh? But I just finished telling you about its demise!"

"So? Erebor has dwarves! And dragons! I want to see some dwarves and dragons." A brief pause to push herself further up on the seat, straightening her back, she thrust her fist in the air and said, "Bring on the dwarves!"

His cheek twitched, only half out of amusement, the other half at her tired enthusiasm. How could he resist? "But, Pond!" The nickname, well suited in a protest, came easily. "I don't even know how I got there in the first place!"

The red head wasn't deterred in the least, slowly waving her hand back and forth in dismissal. "So figure it out. You're a smart boy, aren't you?"

An eyebrow twitched in response to being called a boy, but he bit his cheek to quell that rant (he would save that for later). "But it's not that simple. It's a lot more compli—"

"Thirteen years." She interjected with yet another yawn.

"But, Pond!"

"Thirteen years and four psychiatrists!"

This was the point in the conversation where it became absolutely clear to him, being a very wise Time Lord, that the Doctor realized he would not be winning this argument. So he might as well concede while she was too tired to actually scold him into submission. Shoulders slumping, he surrendered as gracefully as only a Time Lord could. "Oh all right. Fine! I'll try to set us on course." The fatigue must have kept her from noticing his lack of confidence in the chances of him finding Erebor again.


By some great chance and a well-practiced patience, the Doctor fiddled about the control room until Amelia fell asleep. She was a pleasant, light weight in his arms, as he carried her down one of the ship's many corridors. He paused first at an orange door, before deciding against it, he would stop next at a yellow door, then a red one. This escapade continued, with Amelia warm in his arms, until he came upon a lavender door, and with a triumphant grin he said, "Here we are! This is the perfect spot for you, Pond!"

As he lay her down on the fluffy white duvet, he was reminded of the twelve year old girl he had promised an adventure to. He tucked her in, brushing a few stray strands of that fiery curled mane away from her forehead, smiling softly to himself. "I'll take you wherever you'd like."