a/n—Ages and ages ago, I wrote a one-shot entitled Final Farewell, with many of the reviews asking for Rory and Amy's reaction to the farewell letter the Doctor wrote them, so the idea for this story came about and I am finally posting it. There will be four parts to the story altogether, and I should be posting a new one every few days or so. Enjoy!

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Letter Received #1—A Final Farewell

To: The Ponds

From: The Doctor

Hello Ponds!

How are things?

Although I'm sure you won't believe me, I'm holding up on my end.

I just visited the Singing Towers at Darillium. They're quite lovely, I wish you could have seen them. I took River, though, and we talked about you a bit. She doesn't like to admit it much, but she misses both of you so much.

Anyway, spending time with her got me to thinking about the two of you. I know you're both doing brilliantly. Although it's entirely possible that I may have popped into the future and checked up on how your lives turned out, it would be nice if you could reply to this letter; tell me how you're adjusting to living in New York instead of sleepy old Leadworth. You can't though, so I suppose there's no use in me moping about it.

But actually getting to my point: spending time with River made me realize that there were some things I never told you; things you deserve to know. Naturally, the most important thing is about River Song. Melody Pond. Your daughter.

Even without you in it anymore, she has a good life. You know she became a professor of archaeology, of course. But she's also very fond of going on expeditions. That's how the two of us first met, in fact.

The truth is, I met River for the first time several years before I met you, Amy. Of course, the way our lives work, I was only very barely acquainted with her when you first met her, but that's beside the point right now. Moving on back to the point, I've got to admit I wasn't a huge fan of Professor River Song when I first met her at The Library. The woman knew absolutely everything about me and I hadn't the faintest idea who she was. It was positively maddening.

And then she saved my life. My life and several thousand others. And then she died. Your daughter died saving so many people's lives, and I barely even knew who she was.

I'm sorry I've always known how your daughter would die. I'm sorry I never told you. I'm sorry you never got to say a real goodbye to her.

And I really do hope that you're both upset with me right now for never telling you about this. But I know you. You would tell me, if you could, that this wasn't my fault.

And I guess…I'm not entirely to blame. None of us had any way of knowing what would happen that day we went to New York. None of us knew how limited our time together truly was.

Although…I do wonder…because, you see, I never got the chance to ask…and since we've established that you're never going to reply to this letter, I suppose I'll never really know…

Did you ever see River again? She had a manuscript to drop off, after all. Did you get to say your goodbyes to your daughter? Or did she pop in from time to time over the years? I never thought to ask her…I hope she did. I hope you got your goodbyes. And if you haven't seen her, or gotten the manuscript yet…well then, I hope you see her soon.

I hope she stops by soon and you get your proper goodbye, now that I've told you about how River and I first met.

I'll try to time this letter so you'll get it quite soon after leaving me. That will give you time…time for River to show up…and time to see me one last time, because I'm incredibly selfish like that.

And I know you're probably confused right now, because of course I can't go back there, to where the two of you are. So I suppose I should clarify that you won't exactly be seeing me again. You see, I've been to New York several times…before. It was like in another life…or several other lives, I suppose. And it always seems to be about the Empire State Building when I'm there, too. Just remember this: the twenty-second of May, 1966. I'll be the one landing on the roof. Don't mind the Dalek, I sorted things out eventually.

It's not much, but it's the best I can give you: one last glimpse of me. It's really a treat, I suppose. Not many have ever seen me so young.

I feel as if I'm rambling now.

And I should probably go.

Know that I miss you.

And just promise me one thing? Have a fantastic life.

The letter came about a week after they had arrived in New York. The envelope was Tardis blue. It was postmarked from sleepy, little Leadworth. And it was addressed to 'The Ponds.' There was only one person it could have been from.

Amy never read the letter. Actually, she couldn't read it, and she had two very good reasons why.

The first was rather obvious, really: she'd left her reading glasses behind in Central Park…in 2012. No chance of ever getting those back, then. Of course she could always go get a new pair, and she would…eventually. But she was still trying to adjust to this new life, a time traveler stuck permanently in the past. She wasn't quite ready to do something as mundane as going out to see an optometrist in order to purchase a new pair of glasses. Doing that would mean that she really was stuck here. Even if she was stuck here with Rory, there was still a tiny bit of her that hoped maybe there was some seemingly impossible way that they'd be able to go home once more.

Rory was the one to actually read the letter. He read it aloud for Amy, unconsciously—but unsurprisingly after having travelled with him for so long—speaking just as if the Doctor was there with them once more, apparently rambling on with no end in sight as thoughts came into his head.

But when he finally did reach the end…all remaining shreds of hope that they wouldn't be remaining in this city for the rest of their lives had been dashed. They could only sit there together in their small kitchen, silence permeating their equally small apartment.

It was Rory who finally broke the silence.

"He always was the most awkward man I've ever known," he commented, attempting to offer his wife a wry smile and failing miserably, "Never very good at expressing emotions correctly at all."

Amy remained silent, her gaze transfixed on the words that were just a bit too blurry for her to make out without her glasses.

"And the constant rambling…" Rory added after a prolonged pause in which he thought Amy might have spoken up. "It just never ends."

"River…" Amy suddenly whispered, "Our little Melody…"

Rory reached across the table to grasp one of Amy's hands in his own.

"That's still a long way off," He stated, attempting to thwart the rush of despair threatening to envelope him at the thought of his daughter's death. "Well, he didn't say that, but I'm sure it is. Didn't he mention once that her home era was the fifty second century…or something like that?"

"But he's always known," Amy replied. "He's known since before he ever met us exactly how our daughter would one day die. And he never said."

Against her will, a tear that Amy had been trying to hold in slid down her cheek. As she hurriedly wiped it away, she couldn't help but let out a wry laugh as she continued, "But the thing is, he must not have mentioned because he felt guilty, the idiot."

"That sounds like the Doctor," Rory agreed, giving his wife's hand a comforting squeeze.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence once more, each dwelling on their own thoughts as they mulled over the Doctor's letter. This time it was Amy who spoke up.

"What was that bit about a manuscript?" She asked suddenly, a small frown creasing her forehead.

Rory picked up the letter with the hand that wasn't still gripping Amy's and scanned it, before alighting on the line she'd asked about. "I don't know," He admitted. "It just asks if we've seen River since last time, because she has a manuscript to drop off. He doesn't say what it's a manuscript of."

Amy's frown morphed into a thoughtful expression. "It could be…do you think…the Melody Malone mystery I was reading…that was obviously about River. Could that be what he was talking about?"

"Wasn't one of those job openings you found at a publishing company?" Rory replied with a pondering expression of his own. "Maybe…maybe she's going to drop off the manuscript so that you can get it published."

"Publish a story that will lead ourselves here…" Amy murmured with a shake of her head.

"But this is good news, isn't it?" Rory asked. When Amy frowned slightly at him, he continued, "And no, I'm not referring to the fact that one of us is apparently going to actually get a job sometime in the near future in an attempt to make light of this whole situation."

At this, Amy couldn't help the small smile that crossed her face. Her centurion knew her so well.

"I actually meant that it means we'll get to see River at least once more," Rory continued. "We'll get to say our goodbyes to her. And maybe, if we're lucky, we'll even manage to convince her to drop in on her old mum and dad every so often."

The smile on Amy's face turned hopeful now, and she straightened in her seat with new purpose.

"Where's that newspaper?" She demanded.

"Er…what?" Rory asked, slightly thrown off by this sudden shift in conversation.

"The newspaper," Amy repeated. "If the Doctor says River's bringing something for us to get published, then I'm going to need to know where to go to apply for that job. Best to get that done as soon as possible, don't you think?"

Amy's first reason for never reading the letter was just an excuse; she eventually got a new pair of glasses, after all. But it was an excuse that she continued to stick to because of her second, more important, reason that Rory could never know about: every time she ever picked up the Doctor's farewell, for the rest of her life, it hurt too much.

Yes, she was content with the life she had chosen. In fact, most days she was overjoyed with it. And how could she not be, with Rory and Anthony in her life? But even with everything she had gained, that letter was a reminder of everything she had lost. And it hurt so much.

She would always refuse to dwell on the hurt, though. Because she did have Rory and Anthony, the two boys she would always love more than life itself. And because she did take the Doctor's words to heart. She was able to say some farewells of her own and she did have a fantastic life.

So yes, Amy never read the farewell letter the Doctor sent. But she cherished every word it contained. And she always would.