Summer Falls

The Doctor browsed the shelves of the second hand book shop with childish delight and determination, and all the glee of a kid in a sweet shop. All the books he hadn't read, if there were any that the Timelord hadn't read, they were surely lost in the maze of his own library situated in the labyrinth of TARDIS corridors. He was eager to get his hands on a new novel. Quantum physics just didn't have enough jokes in it.

The shop itself was dark and dingy in a way that lent itself to the selling of old books. The smell of dust and damp and old pages told the Doctor he was likely to find a few good backwater paperbacks hidden in the shelving that was made of a dark wood, nestled like diamonds in the rough. The old man with the spectacles had been kind enough to point him in the direction of fiction novels, and he was now quite content in browsing, as the bookseller ate yet another biscuit, crumbs gently dropping into a wispy grey beard as he did so.

The Doctor was bent; hunched as he skimmed the bottom shelf of the corner bookcase. He was near the end of his initial sweep of the books, eyes reading titles and author names, and fingertips brushing each spine of varying conditions. Verne, Williams, Wilson, Winston…The Doctor's hand stopped on a 50th anniversary publishing of Tracy Beaker, before it trailed back through the 'W's to find the book that his eyes had caught. It had been small, almost inconspicuous beside two great volumes, but there was no mistaking the book's author.

Summer Falls by Amelia Williams

The Doctor pulled it out of the self as quick as he could, and let it rest in his hands gently, marvelling at the find. He knew that Melody Malone had been published, and that Amelia had loved to to write but he never thought of this. Another book. His hearts were suddenly very loud in his ears as its pace increased. The book in his hands was dog-eared, smelling slightly of old chocolate and had a questionable stain on the spine, which his fingertips stayed clear of. But there was no denying. Amelia Williams. Pond, he thought with relish, as he gave a smile at the cover- an inquisitive girl with a flash-light, with two boys trailing behind her. Her boys. That was what they had been, always, Rory and the Doctor. Amelia's boys. The Best Friend and The Hubbie, she'd often say when speaking about the two.
Despite himself, the Doctor instantly flicked through the yellowed pages, wondering, hope beyond hope that there might be something, anything just for him at the end.

But there was nothing, and the Doctor's hearts broke. Maybe it was someone else, maybe it was a different Amelia Williams. After all, though the first edition was publish 1956- that didn't mean it was his Amelia. It didn't mean it was his Pond, right? His smile faded a little, but his curiosity reigned supreme as he opened the front of the book anyway, flipping the thin pages between quick fingertips in lightning fast movements. There was the contents page. 'Chapter titles', the Scottish lilt in his head reminded him. Then…then he got to the introduction, and started reading.

Oh, there was the boring stuff- the thank yous, and the explanations and the descriptions of two pugs. But it was no mistaking it- it was his Amelia. His Amelia Pond had sat at a type writer and penned all of this out. She and Rory were still together, which made the Doctor extremely and bitter-sweetly happy. He turned the page eagerly, his eyes scanning the words and his vision improved by her glasses. But then he stopped, then he faltered.

Good. That was dull enough, I think. They've all stopped reading. Apart fromyou. It's just you, isn't it? I knew it would be.

The Doctor sat down. His eyes were glued to the page as he scanned the words and it was her voice reading them to him in his head, just like it had been with the letter because she never for one second left him. She knew just what to say, and just what do expect. But she always did. Ever since their first adventure, she saw right threw him. Amelia Williams. Such a grown up name. Not Amelia Pond. Not Amy Pond even. Amelia Williams. Not a name from a fairytale at all. But all fairy-tales come to an end. But you never quite know what happens after, do you? Amelia Williams was the name of a hero, in the Doctor's eyes. And she knew, that he would find this book in a run down second hand book store. She knew he would smile the smile he was smiling at that very second, as he took in the words of his old friend to her lovely, silly, raggedy man.

But first, here's something important. Whatever you do, keep your eyes on the page. On these words you're reading right now. Don't stop reading. Because, your world may be about to change. Someone may be standing in front of you.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed on the words and he was about to look up but the words on the page told him not to, they told him to keep reading so he did, mesmerised. Amelia Pond, what are you getting at? He didn't know what. She'd surprised him yet again.
She told him a story. Kept seeing a figure, she wrote- an woman, sometimes in a shop, sometimes in the middle of the road, and weaving through yellow cabs in the street. Looking at Amy. The Doctor was worried- a danger, a threat, or just a curious old woman admiring her red hair? But if it was, then why elect to tell him?

He gave a muffled chuckle at the mention of Rory- trying to picture his second best friend going 'a teensy bit grey', according to her. He expected it would probably suit the Roman. Real life could always be just the right amount of adventure for him, a skill that the Doctor could not master. He had spent a year living with them, during the Slow Invasion and it was so mundane that Rory seemed to bloom under the normalcy of it all. A job, the girl of his dreams, favourite car. That was always just enough for him.

His smile never faded, even despite the mystery of Amelia's tale of the old woman who just kept on appearing because the Doctor was just concentrating on the words and off the sheer Pond-ness of it all. He laughed despite himself, a bitter-sweet edged full of pure delight at his best friend who told him to 'Get me. I are a writer.' It was so deliciously Pond.
The smile seemed unable to leave his face as he sat down, cross legged on the dusty old floor of the second hand bookshop that smelled of damp ad old pages. He pushed the circular glasses up his broad nose and refocused his attention on the story of the old lady who Amy had finally gone to meet. And then it was time for him to be confused.
This old woman. The way Amy described her was haunting to him, as if he should know her. The more she went on, the more he realised that this old woman knew him. But the way he was described was like a fairytale.

"I had an imaginary friend. Only it turned out he was real, and he never grew up."

The Doctor's cheeks were aching from his smile as memories flashed in his minds eye- off a little girl in a blue duffel coat and nighty. A girl so fierce and brave with a crack in a wall. Of fish fingers and custard and bad, bad beans.

She spoke to me once more. "Can you, I wonder, pass a message on for me?"

The Doctor turned the page as his Amelia told him that she was the one ahead of him now; that she had finally surprised him, and that something was going to change.. She told him to look up, and to find this woman and the trouble that would follow her. The Doctor scanned the last words of the prologue and stood up sharply in shock, gripping the book tightly in his hands as he stared.

But, just before you look up, I'll pass on her message: "Run you clever boy, and remember…"

And then, just as he had been instructed, the Doctor looked up. He closed the book slowly without looking at it, as a face met his, and he realised he had no idea what he was in store for.

"Ready?" Clara Oswald asked in front of him, smiling with her shopping bags, knowing he would be in the bookshop, and she now eagerly wanted to get back to the TARDIS then back to Angie and Artie for tea. The Doctor just stared at her, the smile frozen in place as he stuttered, looking down at the book in his hands, and waving it around then in explanation.

"Yeah, sorry…just, ah, got a book to buy." He told her with a widening grin. Clara raised her eyebrows, not sure what was up with him but, who could ever tell with a man like the Doctor? Her gaze went to the book in his hand.

"Oh, I love that book! Chapter 11 is the best- but odd intro, right?" She queried and he nodded feebly, thinking it was very odd indeed. His throat went dry and Clara could see the usually rambling man was being quiet. "Right, I'll go pop these in the snogbox, but hurry back. And I mean run!" She said, teasing, as she went out of the book shop.

The Doctor stood there, gazing out of the door she had left for a moment, before back down at the name 'Amelia Williams' on the book which he stroked fondly with a thumb, before going to pay. He left the shop, turned down a street and to the TARDIS, putting a hand on the door but not opening it.

"Run you clever boy and remember…" He muttered, a whisper. But then he shook his head, and softly pushed the glasses up his nose again before entering the TARDIS.

I would love some reviews?

- H x