The Girl Who Didn't Make Sense

Sweet Pea & Lavender

The Doctor really regretted coming to visit Craig. He was a nice fellow, one of the best guys he'd met, but still. He had told himself he was done saving the world. But he'd been feeling so lonely... The minute those TARDIS doors shut behind him, an overwhelming sense of melancholy and loneliness crept up on him. He hadn't felt like this since Donna left. All he thought about was Amy and it was driving him mad. If he didn't find a distraction soon, the Doctor knew he'd go right back and ask the Ponds to join in on some new adventure.

Craig was actually the Doctor's first choice. His last time with Craig made him believe for a second that he could live that life, that he could settle down and live the boring human life Amy needed to be safe.

"Can I have your autograph?" A tiny voice asked, dragging the Doctor's attention away from an angry Craig Owens, little Stormy in tow, leaving him alone in the department store. The Doctor turned his head and saw the one person he didn't expect to see at all, the last person he wanted to see... And at the same time... The person he wished to see the most. Maybe that was why he was dreading it.

"Sure!" Amy smiled, obviously unused to the attention she was getting. Of course, Rory was alongside her, carrying countless shopping bags. They were doing well for themselves, and they looked happy, genuinely content with this life on Earth. It brought some warmth to his two hearts but also a pang of jealousy. There they were, over it all, and his hearts still ached as much as they had the second he'd left them.

Why is she signing autographs? he wondered, trying to change the direction of his own thoughts. The Doctor opened his mouth to say something witty. Oh, the looks on their faces when they see their good, old Do- Wait... The Doctor took a few steps back, peeking behind a rack of clothes. She's happy. He's happy. Neither of them are safe with me. My end is near. They can't see me.

He watched as Amy signed the little girl's paper, watched the couple walk away and resisted the urge to call out to them. The little girl hopped back to the adult she was with, pointing in the Doctor's direction. Confused, the Doctor mouthed Me? and pointed to himself before turning his head and seeing something that had been right in front of his face. How had he not seen it before? It was a giant perfume ad with a face that he could pick out of a crowd anywhere. Amy. Amy's face. Amy's dark green eyes. Amy's ginger hair that he loved so much. Amy's porcelain skin, so soft and warm. Amy's lips in a tiny pout.

Then, he read over the rest of the ad: Petrichor... For the girl who's tired of waiting. The Doctor smiled to himself, despite the hurting of his two hearts. You told her it was time to stop waiting, he reminded himself, For once, she actually listened to you. Though it saddened him, he was also proud. He had known that she was too good for life as a kiss-a-gram. She was magnificent, his Amelia Pond. And impossible and brilliant. The Doctor was so happy that she had done well with herself, that she had reached for the stars. "Amelia Pond..."

LATER ON...

Before the Doctor left to deal with his death, he had one last stop: the department store. "Yes, hello!" he smiled cheerfully at the woman across the counter. Bright lights lit up the shelves of colored glass and various, strong scents assaulted his nose. "I'm looking for 'Petrichor.' It's a perfume."

"Oh, right," the woman replied. Her hair was in a loose, blonde ponytail and she had way too much eyeshadow on, in the Doctor's opinion. Her brown eyes were lit with fake enthusiasm as she returned the smile and reached into the glass counter for a sleek, simple perfume bottle with slightly pink fluid and a gold top. "It's a popular one."

The Doctor examined the bottle before spritzing the perfume on his wrists. "I'll take it," he said instantly, throwing down a few hundred pounds. He never had the patience to count through all of it and figure out the inflation or deflation of currencies in a particular part of time. "Keep the change."

The woman's eyes almost popped out of her eye sockets. She tried to call the Doctor back but he had departed as soon as she had scanned it, taking the bottle out and throwing the box over his shoulder. The Doctor held his wrist to his nose, puzzled yet so genuinely happy. He was puzzled because the name of the perfume was Petrichor. He knew that it meant "scent of rain on dry earth," but it didn't smell anything like it. He smiled to himself, wondering who was in charge of the title. The happiness sprouted because of what it actually smelled like. "Sweet pea and lavender," the Doctor murmured to himself, smiling, "My favorite."

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