Author's Note: Hi guys - this is my first foray into Dr Who fanfiction. I've been pondering over this idea for months now and just never had the time (isn't real life just damn right interfering sometimes?) to write it down...until now! It's set at Rory and Amy's wedding reception, right after the Doc's infamous dance routine. I've been thinking about River's diary, and whether or not the Doctor would ever be tempted to just take a quick peek - what would be the consequences of that? Curiosity killed the cat, as we say...
Enjoy (or not!) my first attempt at Dr Who!
P.S: Isn't Matt just absolutely staggeringly brilliant as the Doctor?
This is extremely very good.
The bridal couple were clutching to each other with an almost frantic desperation on the dance floor. Amy and Rory, or the Ponds as the Doctor liked to refer to them now
Rory will thank me for that one later…
were enjoying their first dance as husband and wife. They appeared to be blissfully unaware of the hundred-odd guests gathered around them, uttering the occasional ohhs and ahhs andclasping their hands to their chests.
Certainly earnt it. I've lived over 900 years and never witnessed anyone who had to wait as long as Rory to get the girl.
After unwittingly causing the entire universe to perish, singlehandedly recreating it again from scratch and ceasing to exist, all in one day, a wedding might seem like a real comedown for a Time Lord.
But not to the Doctor.
This was what he travelled for. Not the glory of saving an alien species under threat, meeting Shakespeare and raising questions about his sexuality or inventing the banana daiquiri several centuries early. Of course all these things were fun, but it wasn't the reason that kept him going. The real reason was something else entirely - something he daren't admit for fear of giving Amy enough ammunition to tease him for an eternity. Because although the Doctor would never admit it, he was a real softie at heart, a sucker for a happy ending. Travelling with human companions kept the Doctor young – or 'in my salad days' as he constantly informed Amy. He was an old man; impossibly old even, and had witnessed the downfall of countless civilisations, the death of friends and family and the destruction of his home planet, Gallifrey. Yet, Amy and Rory were a constant reminder that no matter what the universe had thrown at him over the years he had never lost the ability to believe in love.
A ringing sound resonating through the reception room brought the Doctor to his senses.
'Last orders at the bar please!', grunted the rather miserable-looking barkeeper.
Who looks suspiciously like a giant rat, will have to keep an eye on that one.
The Doctor, with his long, gangly legs almost in front of him, bounded energetically to the bar. Absentmindedly twirling his bow tie in circles, his eyes darted along the shelves containing all the spirits, observing each bottle with a strange combination of fascination and curiosity. The barman, in the meantime, chanced a glance at his watch and muttered something under his breath.
'Can I help you, Sir?'
'Oh yes, excellent, umm I'm a bit rusty you see- haven't ordered a drink for myself since the early twentieth century -bought a pint for Einstein actually! Lovely chap, liked his ale that one. An absolute genius! We spent many a night mulling over his theory of relativity – got through several packets of pork scratchings!'
The barman studied the Doctor, his forehead creased in confusion. Unperturbed, the Doctor carried on with his monologue.
'I'd like a typically human drink – something that says, "Hi, I'm a perfectly normal human being enjoying this lovely wedding reception" - what can you suggest?'
The barman, no longer able to disguise his exasperation with this bizarre man and his lop-sided top hat, rolled his eyes.
'Listen mate' said the barman, his cheeks turning crimson, 'you ain't pulling the wool over my eyes with your BBC news reader's accent and your top hat n' tails. You ain't old enough so run back to mummy and drink your orange juice like a good boy.'
The Doctor looked as though he didn't know whether to be really offended or burst out laughing. He would never get used to these humans…
'Now you listen here mate, I'm a 907 year old Time Lord who just saved all of creation by flying a ship into the heart of an explosion, thus causing the Second Big Bang and being wiped from existence. I think I'm entitled to a little liquid refreshment!', promptly taking his hat off and slamming it down on the counter as if to add extra emphasis.
A quick glance at the dance floor told him Amy was keeping her beady eyes on him.
The barman's face had turned so red now that the Doctor thought he might actually spontaneously combust. His mouth was opening and shutting like a fish gulping for air, and the few hairs he had were stuck up on end like a temper barometer. The Doctor, on the other-hand, reached calmly into his suit pocket and brought out his trusty psychic paper. The barman, mouth gaping, squinted at it with a look of mistrust. Almost instantly his facial expression changed to one of shock and embarrassment.
'Oh Sir! I am awfully sorry, Sir! How could I have mistaken one such as yourself for a teen? I am most sorry, I ain't been having a good day today – I know that ain't an excuse for me behaviour but- what would you like to 'ave Sir? It's on the house of course!'
Slipping the psychic paper casually back into his pocket, the Doctor saw Amy making her way towards him with a distinct look of concern on her face.
'Excellent! In which case I'll have a pint of Guinness…toot sweet!' The barman dashed off.
The Doctor allowed himself a satisfactory chuckle. Just then, he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. He wheeled around to be confronted by Amy, hands on hips, pouting.
'Pouty Pond…you really shouldn't pout so much Pond, one day the wind will change and your face will stay like it'. He patted her on the shoulder like a farmer would pat his prize cow. Amy rolled her eyes and blew a strand of hair rather forcefully out of her eyes.
'Are you behaving Doctor? Dad is already convinced you're a complete maniac, a pretty impressive feat after just 30 minutes at my wedding reception. And what's with that ridiculous dance!'
The Doctor feigned a hurt expression. 'What, you mean this?', proceeding to flap his arms manically and shimmy his whole body up and down. Amy coughed a little in order to conceal her laughter.
The man who just saved the entire universe is shimmying in a tuxedo at my wedding reception…
The Doctor stopped shimmying, with a rather serious expression on his face.
'That, my dear Pond I'll have you know, is not a ridiculous dance. It's called the 'Serpent' and is actually quite a popular mating ritual on the plant of Desdoku. In fact I once got myself in a rather awkward situation when I unknowingly performed this very dance and one of the females-'
'Stop right there!', shrieked Amy, visibly cringing.
The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, a tiny slip of a smile creeping onto his face. He certainly knew how to wind Amy up.
'You know, for a wee Scottish lassie you're kind of a prude Pond. I'm 907, do you even realise what that means?'
Amy's right eyebrow arched and an unmistakable gleam of triumph flashed across her face. She was going in for the kill…
Extremely. Not. Good.
'It's been-'
One thin finger gently pressing her lips together prevented her from finishing the sentence.
'Don't even go there, Pond.'
Reviews/constructive criticism and any other comments are most welcome!