Goodnight....

The type writer was mocking her.

She could swear it was grinning at her; "Go on , Amelia. Just one paragraph!" it seemed to say . "What can it hurt? Just one."

She sat on the edge of her bed, and looked at the things that used to be her hands, distorted, mis-shapen by arthritis. Hands with just enough movement to grip a walking stick. She felt tears roll down her face, and got angry with herself. "Oh, stop it, you stupid old woman!" . Pushing her self to her feet, she walked slowly to her chair, her knees popping with every step. Slowly she sat in her chair, and cringed as her elbows cracked when she reached for a photo album on a small table next to her.

She opened it, and her gaze went straight to a photograph of a young man, dressed as a Roman centurion, the real kit, not some tacky tat from Argos. She ran a finger over his face and said softly "Hello, StupidFace" . She smiled, blinking back tears again. On the same page, was a paper cutting of an ad, from her modelling days

"PETRICHOR- for the girl who grew tired of waiting..."

Realistically, she wouldn't be making the photoshoot for a few years yet. It would be when she was still young. Her daughter, gave her the cutting on one of her visits. She was a clever girl, her Melody . An extremely clever girl. Almost as clever as her husband.

Granted, much as she loved her son in law, she did wonder what her girl was thinking. Still, what a wedding that was . She smiled again , turned the page and found a picture of herself, Rory, Anthony the child they adopted, And Brian, Rory's dad, Who defied all the odds (and the laws of physics) to find his way back to them, in old Manhattan. She knew exactly who had a part in that.

The three adults were now a "trinity" as her husband tagged them-

The Girl who waited

The boy who lived

The man that punched the Doctor. On the nose *

She laughed , loudly, and for a very long time, until she could barely catch her breath. Suddenly, her face dropped, as a familiar pain, crawled slowly up her left arm. Again, tears filled her eyes. "No!" she hissed. "Not now! I'm not ready!!! NO". She fumbled in her pocket for her pain spray, Holding the nozzle into her mouth, she lifted her tongue and pumped the foul tasting spray

She pulled a face and sat back. "I'll close my eyes for minute...I'll be fine" She told herself reassuringly "i'll be fine, really . i will"

"Amelia...."

"Ameeelia.."

A girl's voice ; "Is she okay?"

"Hang on. She's waking up."

Opening her eyes slowly, she could make out a blur. No, two. Blurs that were slowly becoming faces. When they finally did, she knew exactly which one she wanted to slap. So she did; Hard. The pain would be worth it.

"Owwwww!" Wailed the Doctor. "How can you hit that hard? You're old!!!" Amy looked at him, her eyes blazing " Yet you still look the same. Bit rude , if you ask me"

Clara went to speak, Amy shot her a look, which stopped her in her tracks .The older woman looked around the TARDIS , and then with a smirk, winked at Clara . "So he changed the desk top then?" Another wink "I don't like it."

The Doctor stopped flicking switches, and turned to Amelia, a wounded look in his eyes . " Oi!! you got rude, as well as old!!". She'd missed this banter so, so much. " Sorry, i just don't like it " . The Timelord stood there, wracking his brain for a suitable comeback and failed. The best he could muster was " Yeah, well.... i.... shut up!"