Names

All of her credit cards are for an Amy Pond. The A is loopy, taking up most of the signature strip. The letter's her signature more than her actual name is anymore. She could probably sign with that A alone, but she doesn't; she always signs with her full name, liking to cross all her t's and dot all her i's. At least, she would cross and dot, but with a name like "Amy Pond," there's nothing to do but push pen points across paper slips on a dashed line.

Typically, that's the case. Sometimes she messes up and forgets—or remembers, rather.

Sometimes, it's because she's in a hurry, or daydreaming, or simply not paying attention. Usually, though, it's when she sees a little girl tugging at a man's hand, exclaiming and pointing at something in the magazine rack—it's then that she'll slip, and her pen will pause to make a single dot in the general vicinity of an i.

Whenever that happens, she usually realizes the mistake just as the cashier puts the receipt into the little locked drawer. And it's at this point that she'll insist that she made a mistake and, overriding whatever protest the poor cashier can muster (I know it's you, Amy, there's no need, I don't have the key, really, it's alright), she demands the manager come to retrieve the receipt, void the transaction, and give her a new receipt so that she can sign again, this time with enough force to engrave the paper with her proper name.

But Amy Pond isn't her proper name. Not really. She'd never gotten around to filing for an official name change, but considering that she'd started using her 'nickname' when she was thirteen and ignoring those who called her by her old, silly, naïve, fairytale name, it may as well be her actual name.

There is one person—a memory, really—she can't ignore. Sometimes, when Aunt Sharon or some well-meaning old woman down the way slips and calls her by the old name, she remembers him sitting across from in a night-lit, dim-lit kitchen, eating custard and fishsticks like a pregnant woman as baked beans congeal in the sink and an apple slowly oxidizes on the floor, remembers him muttering through the half-masticated mess rolling in his mouth,

"Oh, that's a brilliant name! Amelia Pond."

So when Aunt Sharon confronts her in those moments, with the memory of the Raggedy Doctor echoing in her ears, dotting the i and rolling the d, she really can't say anything to refute her.


A/N: Just a silly one shot I thought of while watching the last season of Doctor Who. I miss David Tennant, but Matt Smith's pretty alright. As always, tell me what you think! :D

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO OR ANYTHING RELATED, just this little "what if?" snippet. ^^