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The chime of the bell above the door sent Ben’s head snapping up, searching out the flurry of motion and the rush of cold air as someone bustled into the cafe. His heart lurched with nerves and anticipation, even as the chill wind swirled around his ankles, and he pursed his lips to hide the smile that threatened to overtake his mouth just at the thought of seeing her face -
But it wasn’t her. It was a stranger.
Sighing, he settled back into the creaky embrace of his chair, wrapping his hands more tightly around his cup of coffee. The heat had mostly leached out, by now, but it was still halfway full. He’d bought it for the warmth, more than anything, a poor substitute for the feeling of someone else’s hands on his own. The girl who had pushed in through the door was hurrying over to the counter, rubbing her hands together as she trotted out her order, and he watched her rifle through her purse with disinterest. She was cute, he supposed, short with mousy brown hair and an upturned nose. But she wasn’t the girl he’d come here to see.
Restless, he glanced up at the clock hanging behind the counter. Nearly quarter past, already. Maybe Polly wasn’t going to show up at all.
But that was nonsense, he told himself firmly. She’d said she’d be here, and she would be. That was how Polly worked. She was too brusque to tell white lies, too honest not to keep her word. And if anyone in the world was going to lie to save his feelings, it wouldn’t be her. If she hadn’t wanted to come, she would have told him so directly. She’d probably just – gotten distracted, or lost track of time, or gotten herself into something silly on her way here, because she had a too-big heart and a knack for finding trouble. That was more like her.
God, he missed her. He really, really did.
She’d be here, he told himself, as the minutes on the clock ticked steadily from fifteen towards twenty. On the phone, she’d been so – surprised, just at the sound of his voice. She’d been so cheerful when she first picked up, but from the moment he’d spoken she’d gone quiet, until he almost thought she’d set down the receiver and walked away. But she’d replied, eventually, every word hesitant, like she thought his end of the call might go dead if she spoke too loud.
I’ll be there, she’d said, so softly, when he’d asked. Whatever she’d been thinking, then – she’d keep her word.
Still, though – it had been five years since they’d walked away from each other. For the second time, as if once hadn’t been enough, as if they hadn’t learnt their lesson the first time it had all fallen apart. The last time he’d seen her face had ended in a screaming match that left him hoarse for days and wondering if her throat hurt just as badly. Even now, he’d had to get her number from a mutual friend he hadn’t seen in months. If she’d changed her mind, if she’d decided she didn’t want to see him at all -
His hands were tight enough around his cup to turn his knuckles white. If she didn’t want to see him – well, he couldn’t blame her, really.
Not for the first time, he wished they could have met at the Inferno, just for old times’ sake. As if it could have softened the weight of all the years between them. But it had closed down years ago, gone out of business as people grew up and grew out of it. Before he’d called Polly, he’d gone looking for the old place, and he’d wound up staring at the boarded-up door like he might be able to see through all those years and into the crowd beyond. Life had moved on, he supposed. Maybe he’d just gotten old. So he’d found the nearest coffee shop instead, and gone straight to pick up the phone.
It was probably for the best, anyway. A club wasn’t really an ideal place for a conversation. Even if that’s how they’d started, all those years ago.
The bell chimed again, and for a moment he didn’t bother to glance over – but a flash of blonde caught the corner of his eye, drawing his head up, and all of a sudden there she was, striding into the shop with her head held high and her heels clacking against the battered wooden floor. She hadn’t been like this the last time he’d seen her, in bell-bottom jeans and a flowing, patterned blouse. Back then, she’d been all miniskirts and angled shapes, the swinging sixties girl he’d always known. But he’d seen her like this before, back when they’d been travelling with the Doctor, and they’d landed about a decade after their own time. It was funny to think that there would come a moment, one day, when they were out there, young and bright and innocent. Maybe he should try and remember the date they’d landed, so he could be out of the city for a day. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere near their old selves.
Briefly, he wondered if Polly remembered that, too. Maybe she was using all of her knowledge of the future to predict the next trends, stay ahead of the curve. She’d always been like that, sharp as a tack and determinedly fashionable.
The thought was so fond that it nearly frightened him. Or – he felt something about it, that was for sure, something that sat uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.
He didn’t have much time to figure out exactly what that feeling was, though, because she was turning towards him, catching his eye. They might as well have been drawn together like magnets. Her face didn’t so much as flicker, stony as ever, but he was sure he looked like a deer in the headlights, a rickety wooden shack in the face of her tidal wave. Run-down and tired, with no chance of withstanding the force of nature in front of him. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought this was a good idea.
But she approached him slowly, and that gave her away. No matter how long it had been, he knew her, all her little tells and habits, and instinct told him she hadn’t changed. She might have wanted to hide it, but he knew she was just as uncertain as he was. Her hand grasped the back of the seat opposite his, once she was close enough, but she didn’t pull it out to sit, lingering but not quite committing.
That had always been their problem, hadn’t it? She hung around, but didn’t stay.
“Hello,” she said, cold and flat and wary, and Christ, that made his heart ache like nothing else had, since he’d first gone to stand outside the remnants of the Inferno. Even the shock of hearing her voice after so many years couldn’t compare to this. Once upon a time, she would have come bounding up to him, beaming and squeezing him in a hug before he could even get a word out, and now -
No. It wasn’t the time for that. He had her in front of him now, and that would have to be enough.
“Hi,” he managed in return, his tongue feeling like it was stuck to the bottom of his mouth. He was sure he’d wanted to say something, when he first thought of meeting her – when he’d been waiting for her – but now he couldn’t think of a single thing. How are you or how have you been didn’t feel right. What kept you would just get him in trouble before he’d even started. “Can I -” he gestured vaguely to the cup of coffee in front of him, still half-drunk. “Can I get you a drink?”
That wasn’t the right thing to say either, evidently, because she stiffened, hand pulling back from the chair and flexing like she’d strained it. “I’ll buy my own drink, thank you,” she bit out, turning with a squeak of her heels to march off towards the counter.
She’d always said that. He should have remembered. It was just – she used to say it fondly, teasingly, without all that ice-cold venom in her voice. Sometimes, she’d even let him buy her something anyway, just to see him smile. Stupid of him. She had no reason to want him to smile, now.
“Cold today, isn’t it?” he heard her ask the girl behind the counter, considerably warmer. Judging by the red in the girl’s cheeks, she felt the heat of it, too. “One black coffee, please.”
Same as always, then. He couldn’t believe he still remembered her order.
Leaning back, he watched her make idle chat with the girl as she waited for her drink. God, why had he ever thought this was a good idea? He’d probably end up – accidentally setting Polly up with this girl, or something, and walk out of here feeling worse than ever.
Stop that, he told himself sternly. She’d agreed to come and meet him. That must mean something.
He watched her take her drink and hand over her money, every movement crisp and clear and defined. This was why he’d always called her duchess, the way she did everything so regally, like she owned the world and knew it. It had irked him, when they first met. A part of him was still annoyed by it now. How could she act like she owned the world, when she’d smashed his world to pieces so thoroughly?
How could she be alright, after everything that had happened?
Before he knew it, she had swept back towards him, setting her drink down with a harsh clink and dropping into her seat. “Why did you want to see me?” she asked, already tearing into two of the little sugar packets with a bit more force than she really needed. Her eyes never left his face as she stirred the crystals through. “Something must have made you pick up the phone.”
When she was satisfied, she set the spoon down neatly, propping her elbows up on the table and setting her chin on her folded hands. This might as well have been a business meeting. Vaguely, he wondered if that was all she’d been doing, since he’d last seen her. Business and work, and nothing else.
But he knew Polly. She could never have lived her life like that. Surely she’d moved on, and everything around her was loud, and bright, and successful.
“I just – wanted to catch up.” The words fumbled their way out of his mouth. He’d never been as graceful as her, and once upon a time he’d been alright with that. “See how you are, that sort of thing.”
Her brows furrowed, and she leaned forward, as if she was interrogating him. She’d have made a good lawyer, he thought, smart and tenacious. “It’s been five years,” she said, sharp enough to cut him. “Five years without a single word from you.”
Well.
He couldn’t really argue with that one, could he?
And it had been five years without a word from her, too. Maybe he should have taken that as the sign it so clearly was, and left her alone.
But he’d always been foolhardy, where Polly was concerned, too full of bravado for his own good, so he pressed on. “I know,” he said. “But all those things we saw – with the Doctor – we can’t undo that. We’re still – connected, whether you like it or not.”
Her eyes flashed, and he tried to bite down on the instinctive urge to flinch away. Somehow, he thought she’d caught it anyway. This was how it had gone, at the end. He’d never been able to stop saying the wrong thing, and she’d never been able to let it go.
“That was eight years ago,” she said, shrugging – and she’d never been so dismissive of it before. Usually it had been her insisting that their adventures were still important, still meant something to their lives. She’d never really been able to put her feet back down on the ground. “I’ve moved on.”
Wouldn’t that be something? Polly forgetting all about their travels with the Doctor, everything they’d seen and done, going off to live her own life – and him still thinking about it? Her being the one who didn’t care anymore?
He couldn’t believe that would ever be the case, no matter how long it had been.
“Have you really?” he asked, harsher than he had been since she walked in that door. There was nothing to lose, really. She’d be angry at him no matter what he said.
And it was worth it, too, when she went very, very still, her lips pressed tight enough to pale around the edges. He must have hit a nerve. Still, he hadn’t really – meant to make her upset. He’d never wanted that, no matter how much they fought or how much he hated her.
“Look,” he said, the word catching awkwardly in his dry throat. Her eyes narrowed, like she was zeroing in on any sign of weakness. “I just meant – we can’t really forget about it, can we?” It wasn’t at all what he’d meant, but it would have to do. “I just thought it might be good to – to catch up. See how you’re getting on.”
She was still so horribly motionless, and he couldn’t stop moving, like he had to fill the gap. Grasping his cup in one unsteady hand, he drained it in a single gulp, wincing at the bitterness.
“I’m -” Her gaze edged towards him, nervous. “I’ve still got a secretary job – but I’ve been working at the Lesbian and Gay Switchboard, mostly. And with some other people, too. They’re letting me do some organising, now.”
If he knew Polly – and he did – they’re letting me meant I’ve barged my way into it, and I didn’t take no for an answer. Just the thought made him smile.
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you smirking at?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He raised his hands as if in surrender. “It’s just – you’re saving the world again, aren’t you?”
That made her soften, at least, ever so slightly. “Hardly,” she snorted, shaking her head. “But I’m doing what I can. It helps when you know how it’s all going to turn out.”
She’d never been one to let history tell her what to do, he wanted to say, even if it hadn’t happened yet. Especially then. But there was a lump in the back of his throat, and he couldn’t quite manage to speak around it. The words would probably come out all wrong, anyway. And none of them were what he really wanted to tell her.
Because she was out here saving the world, but – she hadn’t wanted to save their world. The one they’d thought they’d build together. And he couldn’t help but think she hadn’t cared enough to try.
“What about you?” she asked. She was leaning forward, hands folded in front of her like she was interested – but there was a note of derision in her voice. “I suppose you’re on shore leave right now, are you? Is that why you called me up, because you were bored?”
Of course. He’d forgotten that – she wouldn’t have known.
“No,” he said, slowly, drawing upright until he had a little bit of height on her. “No, I – I left the navy, actually. Years ago.”
Five years ago, in fact. After she’d walked out of their cramped little flat for the last time.
She’d never liked it, after all, how he was away so often. How she was left alone in a run-down place, waiting for a man who wasn’t even her husband. Not that she’d ever wanted him to be – but it had hardly endeared him to her family, even without the Cockney accent and the empty pockets. And he’d seen it wearing away at her, too, how he’d come home and find her more tired each time, sharper around the edges.
So he’d left, but it hadn’t mattered anymore. She wasn’t around to notice the difference. And he’d had nobody to come home to.
“Oh,” she said, pulling back – and for the first time, she seemed really, truly wrong-footed. Like she’d had some barb all planned out, and now she didn’t know where to put it. A rush of guilty satisfaction flooded through him at the thought. “Oh, Ben, I -”
The sound of his name in her voice went straight to his head, a rush of blood and euphoria. How long had they been sitting there, without her saying it once?
Not that he’d said hers, either.
“Polly,” he started – and it felt so foreign on his tongue, like he was speaking with someone else’s voice. A man five years younger. “I wasn’t – I’d had enough of it.” That was true enough, he supposed. It had worn on his nerves, too, over the years. By the time he’d given his notice, it was a relief.
“Right,” she said, nodding. There was something going on behind her eyes, but he couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. “Right, so – what are you doing now?”
“I’m -” He hesitated, huffing out a breath of humourless laughter. “I’m doing a bit of social work, right now.”
Stupid, really. Of course he’d end up doing something that was just a pale imitation of her.
“It’s not – it’s not as important as your job,” he added, eyes scanning over her face nervously. “We’re not out – canvassing on the streets, or saving people’s lives, or anything like that. But I think I’m helping someone, anyway.” The words just kept on spilling out of him, like he had to win her over, convince her that it meant something. “I don’t know how I got the job. I just – I’d left the navy, and I thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to do, and – well, I didn’t expect to get the job, did I? But then they said someone put in a good word for me. Told them I was the bloke for the job.”
He’d wondered, since then, if it might have been the Doctor somehow. Still looking out for him, even after all this time. Or it might only have been a few weeks, for him. He’d never really given the bloke enough credit, all the time they’d been travelling together. Sure, they’d gotten on well enough – but he’d been there for Polly, first of all, not the Doctor. And then he’d spent more time with Jamie, too, but never really with the Doctor himself. These days, he sort of wished he had.
But it was still Polly he wanted to see, most of all – and he looked up at her again now, taking in her wide eyes, the way she was chewing on the corner of her lip. She was looking at him like she’d suddenly found herself sat across from a stranger, not an old friend. An ex-boyfriend. Whatever he was, to her.
“I’m hardly saving people’s lives,” she joked, a little stiffly. “I’m mostly just – reminding drunk men in bars about the handkerchief code.” But she nodded after a moment, as if in approval. He almost hated the relief that flooded through him at the sight. “Good for you,” she said, slowly, like the words were being pulled from her. “That’s – I’m glad you found something.”
He couldn’t really tell if she meant it or not, or if she thought he was some kind of fraud.
But she was a little more relaxed, now, shifting in her chair and taking a sip of her coffee. He mirrored her, if only to have something to do with his hands. “Are you still living in that terrible little flat?” she asked, and he nearly spat his mouthful out.
There had been a slight challenge in her voice, and he knew exactly what she expected him to say. Back then – back when it had been their terrible little flat – he’d always snapped at her for calling it that. It’s the best we’ve got, he’d always said. If you think you can do better, then do it. Somehow, he’d never said what he’d always wanted to say. Isn’t it enough that we’re together? Doesn’t that matter more than the flat being terrible?
Now, though, he just laughed. Because it had been terrible, hadn’t it? That rickety old place, with the windows that never fully shut, and the taps that never stopped leaking, and the smell that rose up from the drains. They’d squished so many bugs that Polly had joked their experience fighting monsters was coming in handy. There had been mold in the fridge and on the walls and under the carpet, and she’d always sworn the place was taking years off their lives.
God, he’d hated that place. He’d just – never really admitted it, because Polly had hated it, and somehow that meant he had to defend it.
“No,” he said, letting a faint smile creep onto his face. “I’ve been in a few places since then. Even managed to get one that’s not too terrible, in the end.” She smiled, too, looking down at her hands to fiddle with her bare fingers, like she thought she had to hide it. “What about you? I bet you went off and found something much nicer.”
her head was still bent, but he could see her smile faltering, and he winced. Maybe referencing their breakup hadn’t been such a good idea, even if it was only vague.
“No,” she said. Her mouth was curving into the beginnings of a grimace, now, and he frowned. “I, um – I moved back in with my parents, actually. Afterwards. I only moved out again about a year ago.”
Her parents, who had gritted their teeth every time he came over for dinner, and whispered to each other where they thought he wouldn’t see. They must have had some fun with it, when he and Polly had parted ways for the second time. God only knew what they’d all been saying to each other.
“Right,” he said, at a loss for anything else to tell her. “Right.”
What was he supposed to say to that?
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, when he’d asked Polly to meet him here. Not her casting herself on the floor at his feet and begging him to take her back, that was for sure. She would never have stooped so low, even if she did want him back. But he’d sort of – imagined she’d sweep in here, all high and mighty and proud and successful, and tell him all about how she had her life together, unlike him. That was Polly, after all. Even if she was just as lost as anyone else, she had to look like she knew what she was doing.
But here she was, looking at him with wide eyes, uncertain as a child. He didn’t feel like she was lording it over him at all. This was a Polly who was – lost, maybe. A mess, certainly. Real, in a way she hadn’t been since they came back to Earth.
He almost liked her better than he ever had, since they’d stepped off the TARDIS for the last time.
“So is it nice, then?” he asked. “Your new place?”
She broke into a startled laugh. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose it is. I’m living with Kitty – do you remember her? She was there at the Inferno, the night we met.”
Surely he was imagining the fondness in her voice, when she said that. The night we met.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do. I thought she was getting married to that bloke – what’s his name, Sam?”
Polly just snorted, and it felt so awfully normal, like all the years had melted away. Like they were still Ben-and-Polly, spending her lunch break together, gossiping about all their friends. “No,” She said, shaking her head ruefully. “He ran off to – America, I think. Chasing after this other girl. That was around the same time we -”
She faltered there, one finger circling the rim of her cup, and reality came crashing back down. They were Ben and Polly, two separate entities. There was no lunch break, no shared friends. Just this awful, yawning gap between them.
“Around the same time I – moved in with my parents,” she pressed on instead, tentative, like she was feeling her way around the edges of a bruise. “And we always talked about moving in together. Just took us a while to get around to it, that was all.”
She was still fiddling with her hands – and Ben’s eyes were drawn back to her bare fingers, the absence of a ring. It stung, just a little, to see that strip of skin empty, when he’d always imagined he’d be the one putting a wedding band there – but it filled his chest with hope, too, useless and traitorous. Polly had always liked being given jewellery, when they were together, but there wasn’t a single piece on her now. Not even a ring on a different finger, or a bracelet or necklace that might have been given to her by a girlfriend or a boy she wasn’t engaged to yet.
Christ, he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t even be thinking about this. Every logical bone in his body was screaming about what a terrible idea this was.
But she just looked so beautiful, sitting there with her hands curled neatly around her cup, eyes twinkling and a smile on her lips. And he’d never wanted anyone more. Not even when he’d first laid eyes on her.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
And just like that, all the looseness he’d managed to coax out of her vanished. She pulled her hands back into her lap, like she’d seen what he was looking at, and wanted him to stop – but he was having a hard time looking at her at all, now.
“Why did you really want to see me, Ben?” she asked, and his name in her mouth didn’t sound so sweet, anymore. It just sounded like it used to, tired and worn thin.
“I told you,” he tried, even though he knew it was a losing battle. “I wanted to see how you were.”
She just shook her head, letting out a dull, humourless laugh. Her hands had crept out of her lap again, toying with the handle of her mug. “Ben, we don’t – we didn’t work.” She swallowed, visibly, eyes roaming everywhere but his face. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
And God, did she think he didn’t know that
But there was something in him that was making him press on, keep talking even when every rational bone in his body was telling him to shut his mouth. He’d never been too good at being rational around her, anyway.
“We used to work,” he said, “didn’t we? We used to be -” Everything, he wanted to say. Best friends, us against the world, a fact of life. “We used to be so good.”
“We used to work,” Polly parroted back to him. “That’s the thing – we worked when we were on board the TARDIS, but we stopped working when we came back home.”
The worst thing was that he couldn’t fault her point, not really. They’d been all those things to each other when they were travelling, when it really was the two of them against a universe that was so much bigger and stranger than either of them could have imagined. When they were each other’s only piece of home. Anyone they met had never known them as anything but each other’s, and the Doctor and Jamie had always acted like they were an inevitability, a settled marriage waiting to happen. But Polly was right. The moment they’d set foot back in London, in their own time, it had all started falling apart, like none of it had ever happened. Not immediately – but piece by piece, crumbling like old brickwork on an abandoned building. The cracks had exposed themselves, and then one day everything had fallen to pieces. And it had happened twice over. Surely that was a sign.
Old habits died hard, though, and there was a familiar swell of bitterness growing in his chest.
“Whose fault was that?” he asked, with all the frustration he’d felt back then, watching her tear his life in two.
Because Polly had never settled, not really. She’d be pining away after the TARDIS one day, so sure she’d never fit back into life on Earth – and then the next day she’d be clinging to the family she’d left behind, claiming it had killed her to be apart from them. The very same family who whispered about her shacking up with a Cockney boy who hadn’t even married her. Of course she’d cared what they thought. Of course she’d insisted she didn’t want to settle back into everyday life, like a regular girl.
But there had been no room left for a life that was hers, and whole, and in the present. There had been no room for him.
Of course it had all fallen apart.
“This is the problem!” Polly exclaimed. She’d gone from cold to fiery in an instant, her eyes flashing dangerously. Briefly, an old image of her flicked through his mind – on some planet far away, a knife pulled from someone’s belt and pressed to their throat, just because they’d dared to threaten him. Now he was the one on the receiving end of all that ferocity. He was lucky there was only a teaspoon on the edge of her plate, even if her fingers were toying with its handle. “This is – you always do this, pushing it all onto me. It’s not my fault you came back home, and you – you wanted to jump right into some perfect married life that I didn’t want!”
Her voice grew shriller and shriller as she went on, and the whole cafe was surely staring at them, but Ben couldn’t bring himself to care. All the air had been sucked out of his lungs in one swoop, and he couldn’t muster up the drive to draw another breath.
Sure, he’d wanted to marry her one day. There had been that ring, bought on an impulse and tucked away in his chest of drawers on board the TARDIS. He’d found it in his trouser pocket, an hour after they’d left the Doctor and Jamie behind, like the ship had squirrelled it away inside. A parting gift.
But he hadn’t thought -
“I didn’t want that,” he managed at last. “Maybe someday, yeah, but – not immediately.”
“And what if I’d never wanted to get married at all?” Polly challenged him. “What if – I wasn’t your perfect wife, Ben! I was never going to be that!”
Was that what she truly thought? Of him, of the life he’d thought they’d have?
“I wouldn’t have cared,” he said, and his whole body stung with the honesty of it, like someone had flayed his skin raw. His own voice was rising, now, nearly cracking on every word. “Yeah, I wanted to marry you someday – but if you didn’t want to get married, we could have worked it out!”
“You never wanted to work things out!” Polly fired back. “You just wanted to sweep it under the rug, pretend we had a perfect life – you wanted me to be someone I wasn’t!”
“I didn’t!” Ben exclaimed, loud enough that it stunned her into silence. “I never wanted you to be anyone but yourself.” Sighing, he sat back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face to pinch away the tears threatening to grow behind his eyes. “I don’t want to fight with you, Polly,” he murmured against his palm. “I’ve never wanted that.”
She was deflating too, now, though she was still wary, lips pursed in thought. “Why did you want to meet me, then?”
It would have been so easy just to trot out the same old excuse – but he was sick of lying to her. And he was starting to think she deserved better, too.
“I miss you,” he said, soft and heavy. “Is that what you want me to say?”
there was no sympathy in her eyes as she blinked back at him. “I want the truth, Ben.”
“It’s -” He let out a long, deep sigh, like he was expelling all the frustration left in him, everything that had ever made him fight. “I do miss you. I’ve been with other people since – since then – but it never worked out, because they weren’t you.”
Anyone who thought that great big confessions were the way to a girl’s heart had clearly never met Polly. Or maybe he just wasn’t good enough at them. Either way, she snorted, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t really want me,” she retorted, quick and cynical. “You just want – someone who understood the things we saw, with the Doctor. It doesn’t matter if it’s me or not.”
God, what did he have to do to make her believe him?
Maybe it was naivety, or foolishness, or some deep-buried romantic sense that had never reared its head before – but he couldn’t believe she was really so cynical about it all. He couldn’t believe she didn’t feel the same.
“Tell me you’re seeing someone, then,” he said. “Or that you’ve been able to stay with someone, since you left me.”
She opened her mouth, clearly ready to snap back some fresh argument – but no words came out. Instead, she raised her cup to her lips, hiding her face behind porcelain and steam.
Gotcha.
“I tried,” he went on. “I really did, Pol, but -” And he’d never told this to anyone, he couldn’t have, but who could he tell other than her? If he couldn’t tell her, then what was the point of it all? “I’d always get to a point where – they weren’t you. It didn’t matter if they’d seen those things or not, because they weren’t you.”
Not kind enough. Not fierce enough. Not funny enough. Didn’t tease him in a way that made his teeth grit and his heart pound and a grin stretch across his mouth. The list went on and on, and right at the bottom was the most important point. Not Polly. Whatever he did, none of them were ever going to be Polly.
She was staring at her lap, chewing on her bottom lip, and just the sight of it made his heart ache with so much fondness he almost thought it was going to burst.
“No,” she said, and for an instant his heart dropped – “No, it’s never worked out for me with anyone else, either.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, wide and open and so terrifyingly honest, and he couldn’t think of a word to say.
“I did want to marry you,” he blurted out. It was the worst thing that could have come out of his mouth, surely – but she was still looking at him with something frighteningly close to hope. “When we were travelling in the TARDIS – I bought a ring for you.” He thought of it, still shoved deep into his drawers in a flat she’d never even seen. Gold like her heart, with a gem set in the middle of it, blue like her eyes. “And – yeah, I did always imagine we’d come home and get married and have a kid called Jamie –”
He’d imagined it so clearly that he could hardly believe he’d never said it to her aloud, before. But he never, ever had. And maybe that had been the problem.
She snorted, less mockingly this time. “You’re assuming we’d have a son.”
It ought to have had a bite to it – but it didn’t, and that just spurred him on. “We could’ve called a girl Jamie,” he said. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”
Polly let out a watery laugh, at that, weak and bright and beautiful. How many years had it been since he’d heard her laugh like that, like she truly was happy?
“I wonder what they’d think of us,” she said. “The Doctor and Jamie. If they saw us like this.”
He thought again of – how the Doctor and Jamie had treated them like an inevitability, like they’d always end up together, no matter what happened. It had been just the four of them, in that box, two inseparable pairs. Two matched sets. He’d wondered, over the years, whether that had been part of the problem, hiding the cracks that leapt out as soon as they’d left.
He wondered, now, whether the Doctor and Jamie had been right all along.
More than anything, he wondered if they were still together, out there in the universe somewhere. He hoped so.
“I know what they’d say,” he said. “They’d be telling us to – get our acts together, wouldn’t they?”
A funny noise burst out of Polly, choke and sob and laugh all at once. “Yes,” she said. “They would.”
He was never going to get a better chance than this.
“Look, Polly -” He reached out, resting his hand lightly over her wrist. Not a hold, nothing she couldn’t pull away from with the slightest shrug – but she didn’t brush him off. That had to be a good sign. “I did want to marry you. But – if you didn’t want that – I wouldn’t have minded.” And maybe he should have told her this years ago – but he was telling her now, and that would have to be good enough. “I just wanted to be with you.”
There was a smile on her mouth, and a deep-rooted sadness in her eyes. “I didn’t mean it,” she said. “What I said before. I did -” She swallowed, straightening her shoulders like she was bracing herself. “I did want to marry you.”
The floor might as well have been swept out from under him. He was lucky he was sitting down, really, else his knees might have given out, dropping him down to kneel at her feet. It wouldn’t have been too bad, really. Not too far from what he wanted.
He’d always thought the biggest question he’d ever ask would be will you marry me. With that ring in his hand, and Polly’s eyes shining with tears.
Here, now – he was fairly sure it was this.
“Do you -” He had to gather himself, make sure it came out right. “Do you want to give it another go?”
There was a long, awful moment when she said nothing at all, just sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Her free hand. His own palm was still flat against her wrist, undisturbed.
“Is this – is this a really bad idea/” she asked, but there was laughter growing around her eyes, now, joining the twitching corners of her mouth, and that was the Polly he knew. The one that was always dragging him into trouble.
“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “But barging into the TARDIS all those years ago was a bad idea, too.”
Again, she laughed, a little less wetly this time, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever had a greater gift. “Best decision of my life.”
“Mine too.” The words fell easily from his lips, like it was the only truth he knew – but her eyes widened in surprise.
“You know -” She sat back to survey him properly. ‘I don’t think I ever heard you say that. After we came back. I didn’t know if you were – glad we went, or…”
Her words trailed off, like the alternative was too unspeakable.
How was it possible that he’d never said it? How had he not been falling over himself to celebrate the very thing that led him to Polly – let alone everything else that went with it? Two of his best friends, all the wonders of the universe, and the woman he loved above anyone else, all handed to him by one funny old box, and he hadn’t been praising it on bended knee like he should have been.
“I never regretted it,” he said, as firmly as he could. “Never.”
Maybe he hadn’t – known that, before. Maybe it had taken him eight years to realise. But he knew it now, and he was never going to let himself forget.
“What about it, then?” he asked. “Third time lucky?”
She laughed, again, again, again. The third was the lightest and most joyous of the lot.
“Yes,” she said, eyes sparkling, looking more like the Polly he’d first met than he’d seen her in eight years. Her free hand drifted down to rest over his own, fingers dipping delicately between his. “Third time lucky.”