moments
Title: moments [words 976]
Pairing: 11/Amy (slight)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set after 'The beast below', so not really.
It was always an easy decision.
At age seven when a strange brilliant man crashed his box into her garden, indecisive about foods and clearly quite mad (a swimming pool in the library in the box?), it had been far too easy to sit and wait. Because he'd said he'd come back for her and Amelia Pond was a odd little girl who saw nothing wrong with huddling at the bottom of the garden waiting on a strange man's promise of adventure.
He didn't come back. But that didn't stop her staring out of her window, or listening for sounds as she lay awake in bed. It didn't stop her telling the people who told her she was mad exactly where to stick it. (if it were in her head, after all, it would have ended differently)
When she heard his voice shouting, she would later swear her heart stopped. Then the rush of emotion; shock, surprise, anger, apprehension, and a cricket bat. And then he was rushing and running and quipping (it was a duck pond) and it was far too easy to get swept up in his wake.
He left again and it was easier this time. It had passed like a mad dream; surreal and unbelievable, and she'd learnt that if little girls didn't get their fairytale then older girls had no chance at all. It wasn't that she was waiting again, she just liked the peace of lying in bed and listening carefully to the night, and maybe it was just efficient to open the curtains first thing in the morning instead of second or third.
When she said "Yes" she knew it was the right thing to do because Rory was probably the only person who knew and accepted that she could never quite stop waiting.
And it was embarrassingly easy to step into a magical blue box on the eve of her wedding, because Amy wanted the fairytale Amelia had waited for.
She was in the box now; except the box was big, with rooms and corridors, and there was a cosy room with her stuff and a bed which she was sitting on. Just sitting and contemplating that this was so very Peter Pan; but Wendy had left and grown up which was stupid because who'd want to do that?
"Lost in thoughts?"
This is the time, she knows, where she should tell him that she really should be at home. Although so far she's watched these moments float by (several times) but this is a very good time to try again. But he is standing in her doorway, glancing about the room with curiosity as he waits for her answer, and she just isn't ready yet.
"I'm sorry about before. On the ship. I didn't realise."
She's sorry about not being able to tell him as well. But there'll be another moment.
He walks the few paces to the bed and sits next to her, stretching his legs alongside hers, with never a thought for personal space or propriety. But then, propriety doesn't allow for inviting yourself into a house where a seven year old girl is home alone and demand to be fed, but he didn't care much for that then. She doesn't care now either.
He is silent for a time and she can almost hear him think. She takes the time to note how nice it is, this moment of peace, as he sorts out his thoughts. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I was angry and I wasn't thinking; well, I was thinking, but just not in the right direction, so," he pauses and maybe he should have taken another moment because it was just a jumble of words in the guise of apology that he didn't need to make. She treasures it. "But there's so much more; one trip wasn't worth waiting all that time for. If you're ready to go?" He nudges her shoulder with his own; her lips twitch upwards as she nudges back harder as he stumbles to his feet next to the bed.
Now wouldn't be the best time. But she's too comfortable and feels she's running out of moments. "Doctor, I -"
"Hmm?"
He's watching her with the smile she knows; where the lip curls up slightly more on one side. It makes him look young and boyish, of which he's neither, but it doesn't really matter. Because he's smiling at her, and she is still Amelia Pond who waited fourteen years and it is still far too easy to jump off the bed and take his hand.
"Doesn't matter. Shouldn't we get going?"
His hand closes around hers tightly and there is a moment where he looks at her thoughtfully and her heart skips in response. But it passes in a rush, and she is suddenly jogging to keep up he strides back along the corridor. Then he is at the controls, with levers and dials and buttons and she watches with admiration.
"Hold on tight, Amy Pond."
And she does; there is a moment of lucidity amongst the whirring and laughter and madness where she realises that from the moment of fish fingers and custard, there was no choice except this to make.
Pairing: 11/Amy (slight)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set after 'The beast below', so not really.
It was always an easy decision.
At age seven when a strange brilliant man crashed his box into her garden, indecisive about foods and clearly quite mad (a swimming pool in the library in the box?), it had been far too easy to sit and wait. Because he'd said he'd come back for her and Amelia Pond was a odd little girl who saw nothing wrong with huddling at the bottom of the garden waiting on a strange man's promise of adventure.
He didn't come back. But that didn't stop her staring out of her window, or listening for sounds as she lay awake in bed. It didn't stop her telling the people who told her she was mad exactly where to stick it. (if it were in her head, after all, it would have ended differently)
When she heard his voice shouting, she would later swear her heart stopped. Then the rush of emotion; shock, surprise, anger, apprehension, and a cricket bat. And then he was rushing and running and quipping (it was a duck pond) and it was far too easy to get swept up in his wake.
He left again and it was easier this time. It had passed like a mad dream; surreal and unbelievable, and she'd learnt that if little girls didn't get their fairytale then older girls had no chance at all. It wasn't that she was waiting again, she just liked the peace of lying in bed and listening carefully to the night, and maybe it was just efficient to open the curtains first thing in the morning instead of second or third.
When she said "Yes" she knew it was the right thing to do because Rory was probably the only person who knew and accepted that she could never quite stop waiting.
And it was embarrassingly easy to step into a magical blue box on the eve of her wedding, because Amy wanted the fairytale Amelia had waited for.
She was in the box now; except the box was big, with rooms and corridors, and there was a cosy room with her stuff and a bed which she was sitting on. Just sitting and contemplating that this was so very Peter Pan; but Wendy had left and grown up which was stupid because who'd want to do that?
"Lost in thoughts?"
This is the time, she knows, where she should tell him that she really should be at home. Although so far she's watched these moments float by (several times) but this is a very good time to try again. But he is standing in her doorway, glancing about the room with curiosity as he waits for her answer, and she just isn't ready yet.
"I'm sorry about before. On the ship. I didn't realise."
She's sorry about not being able to tell him as well. But there'll be another moment.
He walks the few paces to the bed and sits next to her, stretching his legs alongside hers, with never a thought for personal space or propriety. But then, propriety doesn't allow for inviting yourself into a house where a seven year old girl is home alone and demand to be fed, but he didn't care much for that then. She doesn't care now either.
He is silent for a time and she can almost hear him think. She takes the time to note how nice it is, this moment of peace, as he sorts out his thoughts. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I was angry and I wasn't thinking; well, I was thinking, but just not in the right direction, so," he pauses and maybe he should have taken another moment because it was just a jumble of words in the guise of apology that he didn't need to make. She treasures it. "But there's so much more; one trip wasn't worth waiting all that time for. If you're ready to go?" He nudges her shoulder with his own; her lips twitch upwards as she nudges back harder as he stumbles to his feet next to the bed.
Now wouldn't be the best time. But she's too comfortable and feels she's running out of moments. "Doctor, I -"
"Hmm?"
He's watching her with the smile she knows; where the lip curls up slightly more on one side. It makes him look young and boyish, of which he's neither, but it doesn't really matter. Because he's smiling at her, and she is still Amelia Pond who waited fourteen years and it is still far too easy to jump off the bed and take his hand.
"Doesn't matter. Shouldn't we get going?"
His hand closes around hers tightly and there is a moment where he looks at her thoughtfully and her heart skips in response. But it passes in a rush, and she is suddenly jogging to keep up he strides back along the corridor. Then he is at the controls, with levers and dials and buttons and she watches with admiration.
"Hold on tight, Amy Pond."
And she does; there is a moment of lucidity amongst the whirring and laughter and madness where she realises that from the moment of fish fingers and custard, there was no choice except this to make.