On the Hands of a Broken Clock

Chapter 1: The Last Great Time War

Hindsight is, without a doubt, the worst curse in the universe.

It gnaws at the back of Amy's mind, making her overthink things, forcing her to wonder when she got it all wrong, when she left it too late to ask.

Thinking about it, she probably should have asked when they were still down in the Cabinet War Rooms together, when the situation had still been happening, when all the avenues of possibility were still close at hand.

She should have taken the Doctor by the lapels, stopped him in his tracks and inquired –

Are you okay?

Because he hadn't seemed okay at all. All afternoon, he'd been seconds away from crying, from running tired hands down his face in bursts of ungodly desolation. When he'd leant up against the pillar at the end of it all, he'd given her the most dejected look she'd ever seen.

And still, Amy hadn't had the courage to ask him.

She supposes she hadn't wanted to pry too much on his personal business. But now she's realising how big a mistake that might have been.

She's pacing around her bedroom in the TARDIS, and she needs to find him and ask him. She needs to get it over with, and just be straight with him, because if she pictures him being miserable for another second, she thinks she might lose her mind. Certainly, the fear she'd felt when he'd looked at her earlier; well, it had been enough to make her blood run cold.

That deep, expectant, lost stare of his. God, she's pretty sure he could shatter the skies with that look alone.

If Winston Churchill and a host of Daleks have taught her anything today; it's that she really doesn't know him at all. That ridiculous raggedy man of hers, he's prone to spontaneity and downright idiocy just like she is, ready for a good time at a moment's notice. But there's something else in there too. And she can't quite put her finger on it.

Looking down the eyestalk of an Ironside had almost been enough. Just for a moment, she'd been able to catch a glimpse of who he really is, all that rage and fire, all that temper.

You can always judge a man by the quality of his enemies. She knows that now more than ever. The cold metal death machine and the mad man in the blue box. It stops at nothing to break her heart.

---

She finds the Doctor in the library. Cross-legged in an armchair like an uncoordinated school child, the sight of him almost makes her cry before she's even started. He's been quiet for hours, just sitting, putting things out of his mind.

"Are you... okay?"

Finally, Amy asks him. She crosses her fingers behind her back, although she isn't sure she entirely means to. Slowly, the Doctor replies, looking up at her with a somewhat distant gaze.

"I'm always okay.

Amy's not happy with that explanation.

"The Daleks are the reason for it, aren't they?"

She's never spoken so quietly to him before, never asked with some much heartache. She's almost relieved when he gestures softly for her to sit by him.

"The reason for what?"

Amy walks around to sit by the fire, sinking into the winged armed chair. After a moment of twisting her fingers together, she just looks at him.

"You. Being the last of your kind."

At that, the Doctor sighs. He should have known it might come to this. Look a Dalek in the face, and you're never the same again. He knows that more than anyone.