fearless (doctor who, eleven and young amelia)
Title: Fearless
Word Count: 710
Characters/Pairings: Eleven and 7-year-old Amelia
Summary: He has no idea whatsoever of what to do about this.
Warnings: Not a thing. :)
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and Steven Moffat. I am just playing around.
Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (not required for context)
The Doctor thinks he can handle pretty much anything the universe throws his way. He's overcome great odds before, sometimes at even greater consequences, and while it may not have always been fair he has usually figured out how to handle it. He knows how to deal with things.
He has no idea whatsoever of what to do about this.
The scene: his bedroom, on one of those rare days when there was just a bit too much running and a short kip in a warm bed seems like a welcome idea instead of a chore. The time: some obscure hour in a temporally disconnected time machine, but also an hour in which certain seven-year-old gingers are usually asleep. The person: a certain Amelia Pond, hair tousled and expression tight as she stands in the open doorway to his room, though the Doctor's sure he locked the door when he came in (the TARDIS, he concludes, is a sentimental old thing).
The problem? Red-rimmed eyes failing to conceal the hint of barely-suppressed tears, a nervous wringing of the fabric of her nightie, and the lack of simply barging in headfirst.
(Also, he's in his footie pajamas. He had been trying to keep them a secret.)
The Doctor straightens up against the headboard, running his hands over his face and through his hair as he looks at her, setting his book aside and plucking his reading glasses off of his nose.
"Amelia," he starts, holding up a finger and opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession, not quite sure what to say, where to start. "... you're awake."
"Yeah," Amelia agrees, and the Doctor expects her to say something more, anything more, anything to clue him in to what could possibly be wrong, but she stands resolute-- and really he shouldn't be surprised. She's always been the self-sufficient type, this girl, and he imagines it must've taken a lot of forcing-down of pride for her to be standing where she is now.
"Why are you still awake?" he tries again, and she shuffles in her spot, gazing around at the numerous knick-knacks strewn over the shelves on his walls in a vain effort to evade answering the question.
"It's nothing," Amelia murmurs, just a little unconvincingly, before she finally looks at him. "They're not coming back, are they?"
Oh. Oh. The Doctor's gaze softens, and he gestures for her with a hand. "Come here, Pond."
That does it. The dam breaks, the gates give way and Amelia Pond races to his bed, clambering up onto it without a second thought and sidling up to his side, knees curling up to her chest, arms wrapping securely around them.
"You had a nightmare." The Doctor nudges his shoulder against hers. "About the angels?"
"No," Amelia says instantly, spitting it out as though she's offended by the very idea.
"No," he repeats with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Of course not, what a ridiculous notion. Amelia Pond, not scared of anything... I'd nearly forgotten..." The Doctor tapers off and watches her from the corner of his eye, taking in the quiet, small form of one of the bravest human beings he's ever met, and he can’t help but wonder what somebody like her could ever be truly terrified of. "Did you want to talk about it?"
"No thanks." Amelia tilts her head up towards him and offers him a ghost of a smile. "Can I just stay in here tonight?"
"Mmm..." He pretends to contemplate it, just for a second, before pulling the covers up over them both, letting them settle over them like a fort. "So long as you aren't a blanket hog, I suppose I don't see why not."
"Oh, come on." Amelia scoffs and slugs him in the arm. "I bet you're the blanket hog."
"Shut up." The Doctor flicks her nose as he closes his eyes and settles back down onto the bed. "I am not."
"When's the last time you had to share covers?" He must make a face at that because he hears Amelia giggle in response. "Yeah, I thought so. Good night, Doctor."
The TARDIS hums low in the background, comforting, soothing, and the Doctor smiles.
"Nighty-night, Pond."
Word Count: 710
Characters/Pairings: Eleven and 7-year-old Amelia
Summary: He has no idea whatsoever of what to do about this.
Warnings: Not a thing. :)
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and Steven Moffat. I am just playing around.
Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (not required for context)
The Doctor thinks he can handle pretty much anything the universe throws his way. He's overcome great odds before, sometimes at even greater consequences, and while it may not have always been fair he has usually figured out how to handle it. He knows how to deal with things.
He has no idea whatsoever of what to do about this.
The scene: his bedroom, on one of those rare days when there was just a bit too much running and a short kip in a warm bed seems like a welcome idea instead of a chore. The time: some obscure hour in a temporally disconnected time machine, but also an hour in which certain seven-year-old gingers are usually asleep. The person: a certain Amelia Pond, hair tousled and expression tight as she stands in the open doorway to his room, though the Doctor's sure he locked the door when he came in (the TARDIS, he concludes, is a sentimental old thing).
The problem? Red-rimmed eyes failing to conceal the hint of barely-suppressed tears, a nervous wringing of the fabric of her nightie, and the lack of simply barging in headfirst.
(Also, he's in his footie pajamas. He had been trying to keep them a secret.)
The Doctor straightens up against the headboard, running his hands over his face and through his hair as he looks at her, setting his book aside and plucking his reading glasses off of his nose.
"Amelia," he starts, holding up a finger and opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession, not quite sure what to say, where to start. "... you're awake."
"Yeah," Amelia agrees, and the Doctor expects her to say something more, anything more, anything to clue him in to what could possibly be wrong, but she stands resolute-- and really he shouldn't be surprised. She's always been the self-sufficient type, this girl, and he imagines it must've taken a lot of forcing-down of pride for her to be standing where she is now.
"Why are you still awake?" he tries again, and she shuffles in her spot, gazing around at the numerous knick-knacks strewn over the shelves on his walls in a vain effort to evade answering the question.
"It's nothing," Amelia murmurs, just a little unconvincingly, before she finally looks at him. "They're not coming back, are they?"
Oh. Oh. The Doctor's gaze softens, and he gestures for her with a hand. "Come here, Pond."
That does it. The dam breaks, the gates give way and Amelia Pond races to his bed, clambering up onto it without a second thought and sidling up to his side, knees curling up to her chest, arms wrapping securely around them.
"You had a nightmare." The Doctor nudges his shoulder against hers. "About the angels?"
"No," Amelia says instantly, spitting it out as though she's offended by the very idea.
"No," he repeats with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Of course not, what a ridiculous notion. Amelia Pond, not scared of anything... I'd nearly forgotten..." The Doctor tapers off and watches her from the corner of his eye, taking in the quiet, small form of one of the bravest human beings he's ever met, and he can’t help but wonder what somebody like her could ever be truly terrified of. "Did you want to talk about it?"
"No thanks." Amelia tilts her head up towards him and offers him a ghost of a smile. "Can I just stay in here tonight?"
"Mmm..." He pretends to contemplate it, just for a second, before pulling the covers up over them both, letting them settle over them like a fort. "So long as you aren't a blanket hog, I suppose I don't see why not."
"Oh, come on." Amelia scoffs and slugs him in the arm. "I bet you're the blanket hog."
"Shut up." The Doctor flicks her nose as he closes his eyes and settles back down onto the bed. "I am not."
"When's the last time you had to share covers?" He must make a face at that because he hears Amelia giggle in response. "Yeah, I thought so. Good night, Doctor."
The TARDIS hums low in the background, comforting, soothing, and the Doctor smiles.
"Nighty-night, Pond."