Dear Santa
Christmas Eve, 1996.
"Dear Santa," she says, eyes squeezed tightly shut because everyone knows Santa doesn't come if you're peeking. "He said he'd only be five minutes, but I've been waiting for months. For Christmas this year I'd like the Raggedy Doctor to come back." She opens her eyes, reconsiders, and closes them again. "Please."
When she opens them the backyard is empty and the only noise is the carols on the telly Aunt Sharon's watching downstairs.
Amelia puts on her Santa hat and sits by the window all night, thinking she'd give up a visit from Santa if only the raggedy man would come back.
Christmas Eve, 1999.
This year there's a huge party in town, because it's the millennium and that makes this Christmas an extra special one.
She uses the expensive paints she got last Christmas to paint a picture of herself and the Raggedy Doctor sitting in his time machine eating fish fingers and custard. She's never actually seen the inside, so she has to use her imagination.
She puts the drawing in with her letter to Santa, which reads something like this,
Dear Santa,
It's an extra special Christmas this year, so maybe you can send me an extra special present. Please can you send my Raggedy Doctor back to visit? I haven't seen him in a long time and I really miss him. That's all I want for Christmas this year.
Amelia Pond, 10 years old.
P.S. Maybe a new fish would be good, too. Thanks.
She puts the letter into the mailbox herself, and Aunt Sharon helps her check the slot to make sure that it's really gone in.
She checks the mail every day for Santa's reply, but it never comes.
Amelia wakes up on Christmas morning to a colouring book and a doll, but no fish and no Raggedy Doctor.
Christmas Eve, 2000.
Rory's writing on a pad of yellow paper on the kitchen table when she lets herself in through the front door. Brian gives her a gingerbread biscuit which she eats two bites of before remembering she doesn't like gingerbread.
She gives the rest of the biscuit to Rory and asks him what he's doing.
"Writing my letter to Santa," he tells her, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"What are you doing that for?" she scoffs. "Santa's not real, stupid."
Amelia hadn't planned to hurt Rory, but she figured that it was better he discover the truth now than be left waiting in false hope like she had been.
Brian makes this strange sort of gasping sound and ushers her back out the door, muttering about how Aunt Sharon should be getting home from work soon.
Just before he can shut the door she hears Rory say, "You're just saying that because everyone tells you your Raggedy Doctor's not real."
She shouldn't have given him the rest of her biscuit.
"Dear Santa," Amelia snarls as she kicks up snow on the footpath, "I wish you were real."
Christmas Eve, 2004.
Rory's wearing the dorkiest Christmas jumper she's ever seen. It was knitted by his grandma, and the putrid green on the tree on the front makes her laugh every time she sees it. It's about the only thing that's cheered her up all holiday season.
He and Mels ask her what she wants for Christmas, and she tells them about the new series of books she wants.
"Thank goodness you've stopped asking for that Raggedy Doctor to come back," Aunt Sharon comments as she passes through the lounge, "Remember those days, Amelia? You were obsessed with that fairytale you'd made up."
Amelia excuses herself with a tense smile that only Mels notices. She stomps up to her room, slams the door shut and says, "Dear Santa, for Christmas this year I want everyone to call me Amy. Amelia's a bit too fairytale."
Christmas Eve, 2008.
The eggnog's gone to her head, she thinks, because why else would she ever think of asking Santa for anything? Well, she reasons to herself, it worked once, didn't it?
So she kneels beside her bed and clasps her hands together and whispers under her breath, "Dear Santa… Please… Please could you send him back again? I know I said I'd never forgive him for leaving like that earlier this year, but I…" here she has to stop, take a deep breath and another swig of eggnog to calm her nerves, "I'd really love to see him again."
She's just standing up when Rory enters her childhood bedroom, and before she knows what's happening he's down on one knee. There's a red ring box in the palm of his hand and Christmas lights reflected in his eyes, and Amy wonders if this is his idea of a Christmas miracle.
Christmas Eve, 4000.
The ship is crashing, but it's Christmas Eve and the Doctor wouldn't let them crash to their deaths on Christmas Eve. Not on Christmas Eve on their honeymoon, especially.
She's just started to get her spirit back, he wouldn't take it away from her now.
"Please," she whispers, and no other words are forthcoming. "Please."
Rory squeezes her hand, and she wishes for her own Christmas miracle.
For once, Amy's wish comes true.
Christmas Eve, 2011.
She sets an extra place at the table without even thinking about it. Rory definitely notices, but he doesn't dare say anything. She sees him frown, and she sees the slight shake in his hand as he lays down the extra cutlery, but she doesn't say anything either.
When he's in the kitchen finishing the cooking she sits at the table and closes her eyes. "Dear Santa," she whispers, peeking once just to make sure Rory's not eavesdropping, "Please make sure he's okay. This is our first Christmas without him in such a long time and… Just make sure he's alright."
Dinner is delicious, but the ghost of the empty seat hangs over their heads the entire time they eat.
When River turns up things get more lively, but as she watches her husband and daughter unwrap their presents Amy can't help but feel like their family is incomplete.
Christmas Eve, 2013.
"Dear Santa," she whispers, setting the extra place at the dining table, "If he's not going to come here, please just make sure he's not alone. No one should be alone on Christmas."
The doorbell rings and she's so startled that she nearly drops a plate. It's more bloody carollers, they just won't stop, and if one more person knocks on their door she's going to throttle them. She sets the plate down forcefully and stomps off through the lounge, grabbing the loaded water pistol from the bench as she goes.
"Just don't answer it," Rory says from his position on the couch, watching carols on the telly. When she doesn't answer he cranes his neck round to yell after her, "Amy, they're just trying to spread the Christmas spirit."
"I'm in a reindeer jumper, I don't need any more Christmas spirit, thanks."
She brandishes her gun as she approaches the door. "If that is more carol singers, I have a water pistol! You don't want to be all wet on a night like this -"
But it's not carollers. It's him.
Her Raggedy Doctor.
Come home for Christmas.
She's so happy she could kill him.
Thank you, Santa.
a.n. thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little Christmas fic. if you did, please leave a review letting me know!