A compilation of listening to The Sad Man With A Box, watching the very beginning of the very beginning of the very beginning, snippets of facts and speculation I have gathered about Susan, a liberal misuse of quotes from The Big Bang and The Girl Who Waited and probably something else, and Hamlet.

He remembered Susan. He didn't normally.

For, you see, the Doctor never lies about some things because he simply never mentions them.

And the Doctor is normally only good at not lying when he forgets what it is he's supposed to remember.

But sometimes Martha would say something especially smart, or Donna or Sarah Jane would express delight over some new aspect of traveling.

Or Rose would smile.

You can't help but remember, then, when your hearts crack open like an egg.

I'll be a story in your head... But that's okay. We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh? 'Cause it was, you know... It was the best.

Susan was the best of stories. And the worst of stories.

"Give me someone whose life I haven't screwed up yet!"

Amelia Pond is standing there and oh God—oh please God, someone else (but there is no one else)—for a moment she reminds him of Susan. Or she always reminded of Susan. The granddaughter he never had. Will have. Might have had. She was not a Time Lord, not technically (she'd ran away with him before she could hear any bit of the inspiration, or the madness, or the running) but she'd still come anyway. Come home, back to Gallifrey.

(But Gallifrey was never her home. Or his home ((eventually)). Always a small blue planet, in a box with a larger heart.)

He had been so furious with her. "You could have stayed—you should have stayed! Your baby—your husband—"

She'd stared at him, with those dark eyes of hers (so much like her mother's he pushes back the language of tears because the Doctor is always alright) and tells to him, "I knew you would come."

He can blame Romana; he can blame the Corsair. But she is here now, and there will be no leaving ever. All the doors are locked back; there is only forwards.

His granddaughter—his might-have-been granddaughter—makes him even guiltier than RoseDonnaMartha.

The daft old man and his granddaughter stole a magic box and ran away.

He and I, in the TARDIS. We were always going to take it back.

Someday.

Maybe.

Eventually.

But the box had other ideas.

Oh that box . . . You'll dream about that box. It'll never leave you. Big and little at the same time. Brand new and ancient and the bluest blue ever.

And the times we had . . .

Would have had.

Never had.

In your dreams they'll still be there . . .

And the days that never came.

Susan loved Earth. So he finds himself there, eventually (not quite sure how he ends up running with a pink and yellow's hand in his) and the anger—and the anger

dissipates

—when she smiles. Just for a moment. But that is something special, and so he takes her with him (next stop everywhere). She is different than Susan (so very, very human) a different person altogether, but—but—

Amy reminds of him of Susan sometimes too.

The Girl Who Waited.

The Girl Who is Forgotten.

But the waiting was over and the forgotten is remembered.

The forgotten is remembered . . .

And his hearts crack open like an egg.

I'm giving (him) the days. The days with you. Days to come. The days I can't have. Take them please. I'm giving (him) my days .In that box of blue he goes. Off to save the universe. Again.

Gallifrey: erased.

Me: erased.

The Never-Was Granddaughter.

The Never-Was Mother.

The Never-Was Wife.

But that's okay—but that's okay. Because the Doctor will be there (is there, was there) in the TARDIS.

Running.

Saving the universe.

All the stars in the universe would go out if he ever stopped running.

I'm giving him my days.

And the rest is silence.

Doctor Who and all characters aforementioned (c) BBC
And the rest is silence (c) Shakespeare
Words (c) madis hartte