A/N: Driving home from Las Vegas yesterday, I had this idea of Amy finding old, discarded things from previous companions and asking the Doctor about them. Enjoy!
Amy finds a coat one day. It's long and heavy and a deep, deep blue, and it's draped carelessly on a hook down one of the many corridors in the TARDIS, as if its owner had flung it at the wall to hang for a moment. When she pulls it from the hook it collapses in her arms, and she can smell a faint whiff of cologne wafting from the thick wool.
She carries it out to the Doctor and asks him who the coat belongs to because she knows it's not his. He barely glances at her the first time she holds it up to his eyes but then he does a quick double-take and then won't look back. She repeats her question. He hems and haws, tries to avoid the question by dancing around the console and telling her he's taking her to Aspen 30, a planet that's basically one large ski resort, but Amy persists. She refuses to exit the TARDIS even when they land, clutching the coat as she clings to the railing, and finally the Doctor throws up his hands in annoyance and declares it belonged to a friend of his.
Which friend?
An old friend.
Do tell.
So the Doctor flops into the captain's chair and breathes a name. Jack Harkness.
Jack was a captain. He was from the 51st century. He was human, like she is, and he was handsome. He was violent, and loud, and clever, and fun. He'd flirt with anything that moved. He worked for an institution called Torchwood; well, he headed it. He was immortal, a fixed point in the universe that could never be altered, and that rendered him wrong.
Amy hugs the coat. What happened to him?
The Doctor stares at his shoes. I left him behind.
Then, springing to his feet, he plucks the coat from her grasp and shoves her out the door, and before she can demand a better answer her teeth are chattering and she's too distracted cursing him to remember. And then they're skiing, then running—inevitably—from something the Doctor is having an extremely difficult time convincing her isn't the Abominable Snowman, and then they're in the TARDIS again and she is safe and warm and she won't let him forget it.
That night she dreams of yetis that aren't yetis and a handsome, dark-haired man in a long blue coat. The Doctor never speaks of Jack Harkness to her again.
Amy finds a red leather coat one day. Not real leather, obviously, but it's soft and worn and smells like leather mixed with the faint scent of oranges. It's hiding in a corner behind a stack of boxes, folded up neatly and creased with care.
She carries it out to the Doctor and asks him who it belongs to because she's never seen it before. The Doctor claims he's busy at the moment and also doesn't appreciate her rifling through his things, but she stomps up behind him and blows out the Bunsen burner. Huffing angrily, he turns around and opens his mouth to yell at her for ruining his experiment when his eyes fall to the coat and he stops mid-breath. He stares at it for a moment, even lifts his arm and stretches it toward her, as if to touch it, but it falls back to his side and he turns away.
She repeats her question. He sighs, rakes his fingers through his hair and shifts his weight from boot to boot, eyes looking everywhere but her face and the coat. She repeats the question again:
Whose coat is this?
And finally he sighs, Martha Jones.
Martha was a lovely human girl with mocha skin and inky, soulful eyes. She was brilliant and brave and a fantastic runner. She was a medical student, but she's a full-fledged doctor now. She was in love, too, and that made her radiant. And married. She's married.
Amy tilts her head and hugs the coat. What happened to her?
The Doctor gazes blankly at the wall. She left me.
Why? she asks.
His eyes drift to hers, impossibly sad. Because she couldn't stand being second-best anymore.
They stand there in awkward silence until Amy finally turns away, taking the leather coat with her, and she keeps walking even after she hears the Doctor return to rattling about on his experiment table. She carefully places the coat in a trunk in her room and leaves, determined to be chipper for the rest of the day. The Doctor never speaks of Martha Jones to her again.
Amy finds an indigo jacket one day, hanging on the back of a chair as if it belonged there and always would. It slides between her fingers like water, smooth and shining as plastic. Petite and dainty and just a little bit ragged, a flowery scent of perfume wafts from the plush interior to Amy's nose. It is constructed for a girl her size.
She carries it out to the Doctor and asks him who it belongs to because it's not hers. The Doctor doesn't spare her a glance over the top of his copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and mumbles something along the lines of, Later, Pond, this is the best part, until in exasperation she shoves the book down and waves the jacket in his face.
The Doctor, whose face has gone red with irritation, opens his mouth to snap at her and immediately closes it when his eyes land upon the indigo jacket. His face whitens and the book falls from his limp fingers, and his eyes drop to the floor.
Amy instantly feels guilty. I didn't mean...
Her name, he says slowly, her name was Rose.
He won't say anything more about her, and Amy feels awful for ever having brought it up because she didn't want to depress him like this. But he talks all on his own after a few minutes of tense silence and his voice is low and rough, and deep with hurt.
Rose Tyler was a nineteen-year-old shop assistant who got in way over her head. With hair the color of sunlight, lips as pink and plush as candyfloss, and eyes dark like melted chocolate, her very presence could light up the entire TARDIS. Or warm a dark, ancient, and wholly unworthy pair of hearts. But she was young and naive and the most beautiful thing the Doctor had ever seen.
Amy can't bring herself to ask the next question, the one closing her throat and burning her eyes. But the Doctor anticipates it and, glaring at his own curled hands, he murmurs, I lost her. I was arrogant and stupid and I lost her.
The jacket slips from her fingers as Amy reaches for the Doctor, intent on embracing him instead. But he flinches and backs away from her, not meeting her eyes, and mutters something about checking the chameleon circuit before turning and practically running from the library. So Amy stands among the bookshelves, her arms empty and tears streaking her face, and the indigo jacket lying in a crumpled heap at her feet. She briefly considers throwing it in the fireplace because it obviously causes the Doctor so much pain, but she doesn't. Instead she gathers it in her arms and carries it back to her room, depositing it in the trunk beside the red leather coat, and when she finally closes the door and negotiates her way to the console room, the Doctor is gleefully grappling with numerous wires from his swing under the console. He promises to take her somewhere purple as soon as he's done and she forces a smile and they both pretend like nothing happened.
The Doctor never speaks of Rose Tyler to her again.
Amy finds a dress one day. Lovingly hanging in a wardrobe standing out in the hallway for a reason Amy can only guess at, it's long and silky and the deepest, richest purple she's ever seen, even prettier than the amethyst caves on Tricity. She fingers the fabric and presses it to her nose, and is surprised when it smells like ash and sulfur and flames. Not only that, the hem is singed and fraying and the simple rope knotted around the waist is falling apart. That's how she knows the beautiful gown in the wardrobe is not a gift, but just a random occurrence. So she gently tugs it from the wardrobe and, cradling it in her arms, trots into the console room and asks the Doctor who it belongs to.
The Doctor has his legs propped on the console, his tongue wedged between his teeth and his brow creased in intense concentration as he fiddles with a Rubik's cube. He tries to wave her away but she won't budge, and she asks him again. Hurling the cube across the room, he gives Amy his full attention and his eyes drop to the dress in her arms. She asks him again, but she doesn't demand this time. The Doctor sits in the chair and stares at the gown, and then he says very quietly, A friend.
She hovers beside him. What was her name?
He reaches for the dress, gently runs his fingers down its violet length. Donna, he says. Donna Noble.
Donna was a fiery woman with copper hair and crystalline blue eyes. When they first met, she was abrasive and rude, constantly shouting at the world because deep down she thought little of herself. But Donna was wistful and kind and sometimes so utterly brilliant even he was left astounded. She was his best mate. She was going to be with him forever.
What happened? she whispers.
He strokes the dress. She forgot me. I… I had no choice.
Amy carefully drapes the gown on the console and reaches for the Doctor and this time he doesn't run away. He lets her wrap her arms around him, and after a moment he embraces her back, burying his nose in her soft shoulder and clinging tightly to her. When he finally pulls back he grins crookedly and kisses her forehead before hopping up and dashing around the console, announcing that he's—finally—taking her to Rio. The TARDIS shudders and groans and he sprints for the door. He never speaks of Donna Noble to her again.
Amy finds a ring one day. It perches in a red velvet box deep in one of the Doctor's bottomless pockets, and it glitters like a star when she plucks it from the velvet and holds it up to the light. For some reason, tears sting her eyes as she turns it over in her curious hands, and she has to stow it away before she bursts into outright sobs.
She feels that she knows who it belongs to, but she can't remember who. She stuffs it in her pocket and forgets as the Doctor bounces back into the console room and declares they're going to Space Florida, the equivalent of Earth Florida except in space, and she needs to pick out the perfect Hawaiian shirt.
She never asks the Doctor whose ring it is.