Right then. A little story for everybody, in tribute to the fantastic Eleventh Doctor. It's a one-shot of the final moments between little Amy and the Doctor, hope you guys like it :)


"Can I come?"

His hearts leapt at that request. But it's too soon, not now, not with his magnificent space ship on fire and everything going wrong.

"Not safe in here, not yet. Five minutes. Give me five minutes, I'll be right back," he promised, racing to his beautiful ship, gathering up the soaking rope and wondering for the hundredth time why he's so against carrots.

"People always say that."

The disappointment hit him like a slap. He turned, staring at the little girl. She didn't believe- couldn't believe him.

He clambered down, even as his ship tugged urgently at the corners of his still-cooking mind.

Closed in carefully on the little girl, staring deep into those shielded eyes.

Saw in a split-second all the hurt she's always tried to hide.

Her feelings of abandonment washed over him in waves, and his sense of protectiveness only grew stronger as he spoke softly.

"Am I people? Do I even look like people?"

Her lips pursed, the doubt showing clear in her eyes as she struggled to decide.

The words flowed out of his mouth naturally.

"Trust me, I'm the Doctor."

The fateful words spoken, she smiled; not a big one, but one of hope, lighting up the darkest corners of his stuttering hearts. His logical mind told him that this part of his regenerative process was what's causing him to stick to her like a duckling to the first living being it meets, but his other half, the lonely, the oh so very lonely half, it's telling him five minutes.

He climbed back up to his upturned ship and looked back one more time. She smiled at him, a proper smile this time, her ginger hair glowing like a warm fire on Christmas Eve, eyes shining like the Medusa Cascade. It made his hearts sing with joy, and he returned the expression, a final vow of their reunion.

Five minutes, he thought, more towards his ship than to her, a warning for them both not to screw up, not now.

He grabbed the rope and jumped, yelling a word he's taken a strange inclination towards, hoping he knows what he's doing.

Because he still had no idea who exactly he's supposed to be, and truth be told, he was just as lost as his little ginger girl. But if she could trust the Doctor, then so could he.

He worked like a madman, secretly wondering if this new person was going to be this frantic and clumsy, like he needed to keep busy all the time, running all the more faster from the shadows. He shook his head. Five minutes. More of a challenge to himself than a promise to her. He is a Lord of Time; five minutes for her was all the time he would ever need. No, these five minutes were for /him/. He had five minutes to fix everything. Not to save the world, no, nothing of that sort.

He dashed over to the burning console, twisting wires and reattaching screws. He worked at a frenzied pace, plunging the lever down even whilst urging a stubbornly bent bicycle pump to keep pushing. As his beloved ship creaked through the Vortex, time rotor wheezing its way to safety, he closed his eyes and saw the little girl's smiling face. Hopeful, innocent, curious. He needed her.

"Right then, five minutes." He ripped a switch out and spun a wheel he never thought he'd ever use. Rotated a glittery ball and clicked two buttons. Waited till the machinery's hum reached its highest pitch, before lifting his favourite lever for the last time. His ship lands with a soft thump, powering down instantly as obnoxious fumes spewed from the ruined console. He smiled a sad smile, petting her central column in consolation and gratitude. His time was up.

Five minutes was what it took. Five minutes to save himself.

He's out of his ship, coughing into sunlight.

As he staggered towards the fairy tale house, his superior senses already tingling with wrongness, brain buzzing with the new mystery of the extra rooms, his mind held only one desperate thought.

Please wait for me Amelia Pond.

Five minutes to his salvation.


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