Before You Go (Sequel to The Visitor)

ii. Requiem

Annie was floating. And no, not because of the events of the explosion that occurred in the exterior, but because she felt lost inside. Take any night, for example, where she would lay in solemn silence on the TARDIS, just like this one. With the exception of the crack in the wall. As she lay in agony, unable to tell if Amy or Rory or Anna were alright, she could only think of his last night in the Third Universe on the TARDIS.

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In the chronology of events on the show, Annie assumed that by failing at Demon's Run, they were sometime between A Good Man Goes to War and Let's Kill Hitler.

"I will find her. I will find Melody, I swear."

Annie squirmed under her duvet- rolling back and forth, achieving nothing but messing up her sheets.

"Except you've already lost her, and I swear I will never letyou anywhere near her again."

Her hands fisted at the comforter.

"I remember everyone. Hey, we ran,you and me. Didn't we run, Lorna?"

Tears welled in Annie's eyes. This was a bad idea. A stupid idea. Why did she ever suggest this? And how could the Doctor just agree so easily? Lorna still died, baby Melody was still lost, and Annie was no closer to doing anything to help the Doctor being stuck on Earth. They hadn't gone back to Earth, yet, but it was about time.

"And now they've taken a child, the childof your best friends..."

Annie turned over to bury her head in her pillow.

Turning her head to the side, Annie saw the time illuminated on her digital clock: 3:48 AM. The TARDIS measured time as a relative thing, for example, what time she should be sleeping- it was basically a body clock.

This was getting ridiculous. Yes, sometimes her lack of good mental health meant Annie could go well into the night without sleep, but now she had no reason. She couldn't stay up and write in her notebooks, recite the plot over and over again- what was the point? She couldn't change anything. She tried.

Annie huffed angrily at herself, turning over again to lie on her back- looking up at the starlit ceiling of her room in the TARDIS.

This is better, she thought to herself. It's clearly what the Doctor wanted. He wanted you gone again. But he still doesn't know. He doesn't know that you know his future.

Annie hated this. She knew it was all lies. She really did. But it would also be a lie to say she hadn't believed all those things at least once in the past.

She just needed a sign- any sign- to tell her this was worth it.

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And now, Annie was dying. Well, it felt like she was dying. She would never speak to Amy or Rory or the Doctor or Anna again- maybe she would be back in the First Universe once more, with her old Aunt Margaret. Remember her? Maybe she wasn't ever meant to save the Doctor, or make a difference.

She had no way to tell how much time had passed. Everything alternated between black and blinding white. When she awoke again, everything tasted like blood and smoke.

Sorting out her thoughts was nearly impossible, but her gut told her she was in trouble. She tried to push through the murky confusion and the searing pain to figure out where she was and how to get out. She tried turning her head to look to her left, and it hurt. She could make out crumbled stone, bits of glass, smoke.

What happened?