*The Doctor's POV*
The Doctor continues to tell his stories until he realises that the little figure he’s hugging to his chest is snoring, quite loudly too.
“Oh!” he looks down and chuckles under his breath. “Little Amy Pond, all tuckered out.”
As if hearing him, Amelia mumbled under her breath and buried her face deeper into his shirt.
“Oh, Amy,” he sighs and looks back up at the stars. “I wish there was time, more and more time. It’s funny, I have a time machine and yet when I want time, I have none. I just want you to know that if there was anything I could do to get you and Rory back, I would do it. But there’s not and now I’m all alone again.” He glances down again and smiles. “Well, sort of. Does a little girl asleep in my coat with a hate for the name “Amy” count as you?”
He would say no, but at this perfect second, he knew he would do anything to hold Amelia and talk to her for those moments longer. He felt himself sadden more and more as time started to drift away. He had to be gone before she woke up, he knew that, but he didn’t want to let her go.
Yet, he had to.
After an hour or so of aimless rocking backwards and forwards on the swing and muttering stories to an asleep Amy, he finally dug his heels into the dirt and stood up, wincing a little. He had forgotten how heavy a seven year old child could be. Still, after staggering to balance her weight, he headed for the house.
The wooden floors creaked and squealed in the dark, making him jump at any given time. His journey upward the stairs was painful, but he was dedicated to the task of not waking the sleeping girl.
Practically sighing in relief, the Doctor lowered Amelia Pond onto her bed once he pulled back the blankets. He didn’t mind that his coat was still around her shoulders, maybe it could be a parting gift of a sort, something to give her hope in the darkest of times.
Stalling, he decided to wander around her room. He noticed a lot of stuff now more so then the first time he arrived. He noticed the roman figurines scattered over her desk, little Rory’s ready to follow her army. He noticed the open book on her bed, a book about an old box called the pandorica. He noticed pictures of Amy with Rory, playing in the yard. Feeling only partly bad, he reached out to hold it, wondering if anyone would notice if one, just one, photo went missing. The second his fingers touched the glass, Amelia let out a loud snore and the Doctor whirled around, sending the picture toppling off the shelf.
“Oh dear,” he winced when it cracked against the wooden panels of the floor. He turned it over carefully, breathing a sigh of a relief when he saw the picture itself wasn’t teared. Then, he quickly removed the picture and in a matter of seconds, it was tucked away in his trousers.
He turned around then, trying not to look guilty to anyone who might be watching him. As he did, his eyes fell on the wall where the crack used to be, beckoning for him to join. There was nothing there anymore, thank goodness. Amy would have a good life after all.
An idea began to form in the Doctor’s brain in that moment, one of utter craziness that initially had him bewildered at the stupidity.
But then it began to form into a plan which is always much more serious than an idea and before he could stop himself, he was planning ever so evilly. He knew that what he was planning was suicidal for them both, but he also knew if he left right now, he’d never be able to come back.
And he was not ready to let that happen.