fic: only the beginning (doctor who, amelia + eleven)
Title: Only The Beginning
Word Count: 543
Characters/Pairings: Eleven, young Amelia.
Summary: It's been seven months and fifteen days.
Warnings: WARNING: Eleventh Doctor with a CHILD! Adorability may ensue. But, no, in all seriousness, absolutely none, considering it goes AU from about 10-15 minutes into The Eleventh Hour.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and Steven Moffat. I am just playing around.
A/N: The first of a series I'm writing for Doctor Who Land's Big Bang challenge. Expect more ficlets like these. :)
She’s just a child.
That’s what his conscience chides at him as Amelia Pond laughs in her back yard, dashing around his wonderfully old, brilliantly new blue box-slash-time machine, her expression one he’s seen before, so many times before, but never quite like this-- never quite on somebody so young. The hope she had shown five minutes ago only seems amplified tenfold, twentyfold, a hundred, thousand times over as she sticks her head into the doors and then whirls around to look at him, her hands clasped behind her back, face oddly contorted as though she’s trying to keep from smiling.
“I’ve decided to forgive you,” she proclaims, completely serious, and the Doctor tries not to smile too, he really does, but it seems his mouth isn’t quite connected to his brain yet. He grins.
“Forgive me for what?”
“You’re late,” Amelia taps her wrist as though there’s a watch. “You said five minutes, but it’s been seven months!” She holds up seven fingers to help enunciate her point, raising her eyebrows at him. “Seven months and fifteen days!”
“Oh. Well, that explains why the air is much cooler than I remember it being,” the Doctor muses, looking around. “Also why there aren’t any leaves on the trees...” He smiles sheepishly. “Oops.”
“Oops,” Amelia repeats with an agreeing nod and darts up to his side, grabbing his hand and looking up at him with an earnestness that only a child can produce. “But it’s okay because your box is bigger on the inside so I forgive you. Though!” She tugs at his hand, and he takes a single stumbling step towards his TARDIS with her. “I still have to see it travel through time! Come on, can we go and see the pharaohs in Egypt? We’re learning about them now in school and Aunt Sharon says Egypt is too far away to visit but I bet you can do it!”
It’s like getting swept up in a whirlwind, sucked down into a whirlpool, being led into his own TARDIS by the young, the irrepressible Amelia Pond, who already has her pre-packed suitcase under the stairs, and who’s already reaching for the buttons on the console.
(She can only reach the bottom half, but that doesn’t seem to stop her.)
“Does this one do Egypt?” she asks, pulling down on the zigzag plotter as he shuts the doors behind him and he holds up a finger as he hops up the stairs and gently pries her hand off it.
“Ahhh... no. That does... it adjusts the equilibrium of the temporal-dimensional energy inside the TARDIS with the vortex turbulence outside of it. Basically it...” he trails off at her look. “... de-wibbilizes the... well... don’t worry about what that does. How about I do the driving, hm? How does that sound?”
Amelia fixes him with an assessing gaze, one that he’ll later come to realise as a staple of her character, folds her arms over her chest, and asks, as bluntly as she can, “You can get us to Egypt?”
“Oh, Amelia.” The Doctor grins, and he pulls down a lever, flips a switch. “Egypt is only the beginning.”
The TARDIS jolts hard to the left, and Amelia Pond laughs.
Word Count: 543
Characters/Pairings: Eleven, young Amelia.
Summary: It's been seven months and fifteen days.
Warnings: WARNING: Eleventh Doctor with a CHILD! Adorability may ensue. But, no, in all seriousness, absolutely none, considering it goes AU from about 10-15 minutes into The Eleventh Hour.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and Steven Moffat. I am just playing around.
A/N: The first of a series I'm writing for Doctor Who Land's Big Bang challenge. Expect more ficlets like these. :)
She’s just a child.
That’s what his conscience chides at him as Amelia Pond laughs in her back yard, dashing around his wonderfully old, brilliantly new blue box-slash-time machine, her expression one he’s seen before, so many times before, but never quite like this-- never quite on somebody so young. The hope she had shown five minutes ago only seems amplified tenfold, twentyfold, a hundred, thousand times over as she sticks her head into the doors and then whirls around to look at him, her hands clasped behind her back, face oddly contorted as though she’s trying to keep from smiling.
“I’ve decided to forgive you,” she proclaims, completely serious, and the Doctor tries not to smile too, he really does, but it seems his mouth isn’t quite connected to his brain yet. He grins.
“Forgive me for what?”
“You’re late,” Amelia taps her wrist as though there’s a watch. “You said five minutes, but it’s been seven months!” She holds up seven fingers to help enunciate her point, raising her eyebrows at him. “Seven months and fifteen days!”
“Oh. Well, that explains why the air is much cooler than I remember it being,” the Doctor muses, looking around. “Also why there aren’t any leaves on the trees...” He smiles sheepishly. “Oops.”
“Oops,” Amelia repeats with an agreeing nod and darts up to his side, grabbing his hand and looking up at him with an earnestness that only a child can produce. “But it’s okay because your box is bigger on the inside so I forgive you. Though!” She tugs at his hand, and he takes a single stumbling step towards his TARDIS with her. “I still have to see it travel through time! Come on, can we go and see the pharaohs in Egypt? We’re learning about them now in school and Aunt Sharon says Egypt is too far away to visit but I bet you can do it!”
It’s like getting swept up in a whirlwind, sucked down into a whirlpool, being led into his own TARDIS by the young, the irrepressible Amelia Pond, who already has her pre-packed suitcase under the stairs, and who’s already reaching for the buttons on the console.
(She can only reach the bottom half, but that doesn’t seem to stop her.)
“Does this one do Egypt?” she asks, pulling down on the zigzag plotter as he shuts the doors behind him and he holds up a finger as he hops up the stairs and gently pries her hand off it.
“Ahhh... no. That does... it adjusts the equilibrium of the temporal-dimensional energy inside the TARDIS with the vortex turbulence outside of it. Basically it...” he trails off at her look. “... de-wibbilizes the... well... don’t worry about what that does. How about I do the driving, hm? How does that sound?”
Amelia fixes him with an assessing gaze, one that he’ll later come to realise as a staple of her character, folds her arms over her chest, and asks, as bluntly as she can, “You can get us to Egypt?”
“Oh, Amelia.” The Doctor grins, and he pulls down a lever, flips a switch. “Egypt is only the beginning.”
The TARDIS jolts hard to the left, and Amelia Pond laughs.