Fic: ‘Tis the Season: coda: Time for a parcel.
Title: ‘Tis the Season: coda: Time for a parcel.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: (G)
Time Period: After Amy & Rory have left; early 1950s New York.
Summary: Rory reads a letter.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
Due to some comments (hope!) on the matter, I decided to write this: a postscript to the story.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of the BBC and Steven Moffat; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
Grey feathers his hair just above the ears; Amy tells him it makes him look distinguished but him eating toast makes him look distinguished to her. By the mail piled just inside the door, Amy's spent the day writing. The thought makes him smile; before this, he'd have wondered if she'd been home or off gallivanting with the Doctor. It'd been a few years before he could accept that the Doctor wouldn't burst into their lives for some reason of his own.
His smile freezes, switches to a frown when he notices the brown paper package with just 'the Ponds' scrawled across the front.
“Amy?” He calls. “Did you accept this?” He pauses, waiting. No answer. “Amy!”
A tousled red head pops around the edge of a door; her study, he notes. “What?” She grumpily asks and then she sees the package in his hand. “Oh, that came today.”
“Did you sign anything for it?”
“No. It,” she adjusts her glasses, “was shoved through our mail slot.”
“It says the Ponds on it. You didn't think to open it?”
“You can,” she smiles winsomely. “If you've got nothing else …”
He waves at nothing since she's already popped back inside her study. He walks into the kitchen, perusing their mail before he puts everything on the dining table so he won't get distracted. By the parcel.
In its plain brown paper.
With 'the Ponds' scrawled across the front.
He makes tea, pours himself a cup and tears open the brown paper when he's seated. Out of the paper slides a book. When he picks it up, an envelope falls out, lands near his cup of tea.
Rory Williams
“There's only one person who calls us the Ponds,” Amy yells as she runs into the dining room. “What is it?”
He hands her the book. “He sent this.”
She sits, feet on the table and flips through the book, quietly. “This,” she says, “isn't for me.”
About to open the envelope, Rory blinks. “It's not?”
She hands it back to him. “Look,” she instructs as she stands, “and don't assume.” She hands him the book as she stands and walks into the kitchen.
He accepts the book, tossing the envelope to the table, looks at the book, and blinks. A copy of his favourite type … A first edition of his favourite kind of fiction. He puts the book down carefully and picks up the envelope, opening it and then the letter he finds inside.
Dear Rory, he reads. If you're wondering how you got this (“I wasn't,” mutters Rory) you can thank my friend Geoff; he owed me one since I saved his marriage.
Rory blinks.
If you're wondering why this means a book and letter for you (“Now I am.”) it's because of what I observed of your marriage to Amy when you travelled with me. I gave Geoff an account of what I'd seen you say and do. Which saved his marriage.
Just think: you saved (“Isn't Geoff ...” Rory muses and then the realisation strikes. “ … Santa?”) Christmas. Not many humans can say that!
As a favour, Geoff has said he'd try to deliver this but he isn't sure when you'll get it. This is also the only time I'll be able to say this as this will be my only letter.
It was a pleasure knowing you, Rory Williams.
He folds the letter, places it back inside its envelope. He puts it next to his cooling tea and looks from it to the book.
“What did he want?” Amy walks back into the dining room, her mind on the sandwich she'll make as snack.
“Hm?” Rory looks up. “Oh. Just to send the book. I have an idea.”
“To send a book?” Amy blows through her fringe; she needs a haircut but she's been busy writing. “What idea?”
“Why,” Rory stands and pulls her close, “don't we go out for dinner Mrs Williams?”
“I'll,” she kisses his cheek, “be right back!”
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: (G)
Time Period: After Amy & Rory have left; early 1950s New York.
Summary: Rory reads a letter.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
Due to some comments (hope!) on the matter, I decided to write this: a postscript to the story.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of the BBC and Steven Moffat; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
Grey feathers his hair just above the ears; Amy tells him it makes him look distinguished but him eating toast makes him look distinguished to her. By the mail piled just inside the door, Amy's spent the day writing. The thought makes him smile; before this, he'd have wondered if she'd been home or off gallivanting with the Doctor. It'd been a few years before he could accept that the Doctor wouldn't burst into their lives for some reason of his own.
His smile freezes, switches to a frown when he notices the brown paper package with just 'the Ponds' scrawled across the front.
“Amy?” He calls. “Did you accept this?” He pauses, waiting. No answer. “Amy!”
A tousled red head pops around the edge of a door; her study, he notes. “What?” She grumpily asks and then she sees the package in his hand. “Oh, that came today.”
“Did you sign anything for it?”
“No. It,” she adjusts her glasses, “was shoved through our mail slot.”
“It says the Ponds on it. You didn't think to open it?”
“You can,” she smiles winsomely. “If you've got nothing else …”
He waves at nothing since she's already popped back inside her study. He walks into the kitchen, perusing their mail before he puts everything on the dining table so he won't get distracted. By the parcel.
In its plain brown paper.
With 'the Ponds' scrawled across the front.
He makes tea, pours himself a cup and tears open the brown paper when he's seated. Out of the paper slides a book. When he picks it up, an envelope falls out, lands near his cup of tea.
Rory Williams
“There's only one person who calls us the Ponds,” Amy yells as she runs into the dining room. “What is it?”
He hands her the book. “He sent this.”
She sits, feet on the table and flips through the book, quietly. “This,” she says, “isn't for me.”
About to open the envelope, Rory blinks. “It's not?”
She hands it back to him. “Look,” she instructs as she stands, “and don't assume.” She hands him the book as she stands and walks into the kitchen.
He accepts the book, tossing the envelope to the table, looks at the book, and blinks. A copy of his favourite type … A first edition of his favourite kind of fiction. He puts the book down carefully and picks up the envelope, opening it and then the letter he finds inside.
Dear Rory, he reads. If you're wondering how you got this (“I wasn't,” mutters Rory) you can thank my friend Geoff; he owed me one since I saved his marriage.
Rory blinks.
If you're wondering why this means a book and letter for you (“Now I am.”) it's because of what I observed of your marriage to Amy when you travelled with me. I gave Geoff an account of what I'd seen you say and do. Which saved his marriage.
Just think: you saved (“Isn't Geoff ...” Rory muses and then the realisation strikes. “ … Santa?”) Christmas. Not many humans can say that!
As a favour, Geoff has said he'd try to deliver this but he isn't sure when you'll get it. This is also the only time I'll be able to say this as this will be my only letter.
It was a pleasure knowing you, Rory Williams.
He folds the letter, places it back inside its envelope. He puts it next to his cooling tea and looks from it to the book.
“What did he want?” Amy walks back into the dining room, her mind on the sandwich she'll make as snack.
“Hm?” Rory looks up. “Oh. Just to send the book. I have an idea.”
“To send a book?” Amy blows through her fringe; she needs a haircut but she's been busy writing. “What idea?”
“Why,” Rory stands and pulls her close, “don't we go out for dinner Mrs Williams?”
“I'll,” she kisses his cheek, “be right back!”