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Andy walked into her safe house. It had been a long day of traveling, and she didn’t really have the energy to deal with cleaning up to make it hospitable.
However, she needn’t have worried. Everything was tidy, smelling of cleaning products. She pulled her gun and crept further in. The house was quiet.
Then she saw the decor in the sitting room, and she let her gun drop to her side. She walked up to the object that was new. Well, new to the space, but older than anything on this planet. She ran her hand over the blue wood of the TARDIS. “Where is he,?”
She felt her hum, pointing her toward the kitchen. So, Andy gave the machine an affectionate pat and turned toward the Doctor.
He had a lot of explaining to do. He hadn’t been around to help when the fucking aliens had tried to take a tenth of Earth’s children. He hadn’t been there to keep Jack from sacrifice his grandson. He hadn’t been around to keep them from getting a new immortal. Sure, they didn’t know how it all happened, that maybe one day, Ianto would have died and joined them anyways, but still.
She found him, and any anger she was harboring melted. He looked terrible. He sat at the table with a half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting in front of him. He had a glass in his hand, a small amount of liquid in it, another beside the bottle. His jacket lay on the chair beside him, and his tie is pulled loose. He was slouched back, and… he almost seemed to be a ghost of himself.
She sat down across from him, pouring a drink in the spare glass on the table. “Do you want to talk, or just drink? I can do either.”
He was quiet for a long time, until… “I counted.”
She remained silent. He didn’t strike her as someone who wanted a response.
“I was on Mars, and I tried to rewrite history. I… I saved someone, and she figured it out. And she… history said she died on Mars. I brought her back to Earth, and she committed suicide.” He drained the contents of his glass. “She was a hero before, and now she’s remembered for losing a battle with survivor’s guilt.”
She poured him another drink.
“It’s been a dark few… days, weeks, I don’t know.” He sniffed, wiping his cheeks and nose. “I counted how many children died on Gallifrey the day I burned it.”
Andy winced. She knew one day he would, but hoped he never would.
“Two billion, four-hundred seventy million, fifty-six thousand, six hundred eighty-three.”
She stood and dragged him to his feet. She led him to the sitting room, and they sat down together. They drank until he passed out, slumping against her.
She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his head. She’d always be there for him, no matter how much time passed.