Soft snores filled the room. It was a pleasant room, lots of sunlight filtering in on the plush white bed and simple, wood-carved dresser. Pictures littered the smooth top of it, portraits of a ginger and her best friend 'clubbing it up' at the bar - a dorky, lanky man wincing behind them at the sudden, unexpected flash. The gentle rays hit two particular pictures close to the heart.
One, of the same ginger at the pub, with an odd sort of man, kissing his cheek sloppily as he grinned lopsidedly, a very blurred image of a hand waved frantically at the camera. He wasn't wearing his scratchy tweed coat, but did have on a fez as crooked as his smile. And that daft bow-tie he was never without.
The other one did not hold the pretty red-head but the same lean man from the first picture. He was captured, mouth wide in a silent scream, as he apparently woke and turned to find in the bed where his wife should have been was none other than the strange man from the previous picture, who in turn was yelling in shock at finding the roman beside him. A practical joke said wife had played on her two boys one tired, drunken night.
Now the two slept beside each other, gorgeous wave of crimson hair over-lapping the bony, uncovered shoulder of her husband who snoozed, breathing very heavily out his mouth. It was a comforting sound to her, even as she slept in blissful, accustomed ignorance to it; it let her know he was right there just as he was in there her dreams.
Her mind played tricks on her, creaking imaginary wooden floors and sending shivering whispers around in her mind. She hadn't pieced, in her exhausted reality, her mind was simply relaying the information around her, changing the man by her bedside to the daughter she could never raise.
"Pond," the voice breathed, an eerie sound that brushed against her cheek. "Pond," it elongated the name, drawing it out like a string, "Ponnnnnnnnnddddddd."
Relentless the hallucinated voice sighed, continuing in a louder pitch until finally:
"AMELIA!"
Soft eyes snapped open. The sight she saw would have been comical had it not been alarmingly right beside her bedside.
The Doctor, her best friend extraordinaire, squatted beside the white comforter, head resting against the fluffy blanket, his dark hair soft, tossed to one side like a cresting, chocolate wave. He peered up at her with wide, innocent eyes, creasing as he smiled, hidden by the giant mound of white. His fingers curled around the blanket with childlike appendages.
"Hello," he sang in a whisper.
Jolting at the unexpectedness, Amy's mouth unhinged and was about to let out an unholy scream when the Doctor quickly sprang and clapped a hand to the offending body part.
"Hush, hush, hush!" he implored, waving an urgent index finger before his lips with a free hand. Slowly, her chest heaving less and less and picking up to a normal heart-rate, her eyes receded back to their original size and she stilled. Her breath puffed against the hand that still held her. Satisfied with her compliance, the Doctor removed it and said slowly, voice low so as not to wake the sleeping centurion, "Come along, Pond."
Nodding, she slowly slipped out of bed, careful not to kick Rory in the shins where her legs had been curled, following after her friend. He gave the roman a once-over, checking to see his vital signs remained at their steady level of sleep – the man digging his head to nestle into the pillow more securely, patting the area his wife would be, then tucking the blankets she had used around himself. The Doctor jerked his head and Amy followed him out the door.
It always surprised her how often she found herself going on outings and adventures with the Doctor when she was in nothing but her nightie.
"So where are we—"
The Doctor shushed her. She rolled her eyes, catching up to his side.
"So where are we going?"
Turning a smile towards her, he spoke, "On our very first adventure."
Amy's brow furrowed.
"Wha' are you talking about – we've gone on hundreds of adventures? Remember, Gangers, Dream Lords, Pirates? Even—"Amy gasped, the Doctor leaping out of the way and spinning on his heel inside the room of their destination. "Fish fingers and custard!"
And true to her words, there they were, fish fingers and custard, sitting right on a polished plate and clear bowl in the middle of the kitchen table. The item next to it nearly broke her heart with warm, flooding sentiment. An apple saluted her with a resolute grin on its surface, carved out from no doubt his very nails. Unless he went back in time and found the very apple she had given him all those years ago. Not so doubtful with him, but she was sure this was of his own workings.
"Custard indeed, that very human substance," the Doctor spoke in a normal tone – or as normal as he could come by - voice raised at the safe distance away from the bedroom. "And I say that because you'd be amazed at how many non-human types of custard there are, I mean honestly!" he continued to babble, not paying attention to his companion as he delved further in the topics of alien snacks. "Did you know that there is an entire planet dedicated to it? A river – a full river! – of custard. Much like Wonka's got of chocolate, which in any road was probably derived from that. Or maybe it was the other way around; I'm not entirely certain, maybe we should go check it out - up for a dip in a pool of custard, Pond?"
She bit into her lip with a soft chuckle, smiling with fond eyes.
"I think this'll do, Doctor," she mused, turning to him and placing a serious mask upon her gentle features. "Thank you."
"Oh, don't thank me yet," he warned with a tilted curve of his mouth, flouncing over to the table. He sure did love those flourishing spins. Ten points for flair. "You haven't even tried them yet, they could be awful!"
"They're never awful," she shook her head, making her merry way over. She plopped down into the booth, watching as he slid into the opposite one, studying him. "Why did you do this?"
"Does there have to be a reason?" he mumbled, attention far more occupied with the custard he eyed wolfishly, hoping to have the savory, sweet flavor on his tongue in no less than two seconds. "Fish fingers and custard, our favorite! Well more mine, well yours, well ours - it's delicious, there doesn't have to be a reason!"
"You wanted to make me breakfast in bed but were too worried Rory'd wake up and punch you in the face for it, didn't you?" she smiled knowingly. His faltered face was the only answer she needed.
"I wouldn't say afraid, no, and why would I want to make you breakfast in bed, anyway?" he replied, affronted.
"Because you're a good friend."
"Yes, well – all these questions – see if I ever do this again," he criticized, screwing his face up like the custard he viewed was a plate of lemons instead. He sniffed haughtily.
"Go ahead, dig in, I know you want to."
Nodding with a great grin, he yanked a finger toward him, dipping it greedily in the bowl of custard, smearing the delicious goo all around the fishy stick. She laughed as he moaned in sheer delight, sucking the thick custard right off the stick as he had on the day she met him; her raggedy man. Still a child, a grown-up little boy, hopping and bouncing about in his place. "What's the point of growing up if you can't be a child sometimes [all the time]?" he would defend each time she told him so.
"D'you need me to go grab the kiddie seat, Doctor, I think it's still around here somewhere," she teased.
Decisively ignoring that, he deflected jubilantly, "These are delicious, Amy, have some!"
She chuckled, reaching for a spoon instead of a crunchy fish finger.
"Not really in the mood," she ladled some custard onto the spoon, swirling it in the mixture then popping it into her mouth.
"Not in the, not in the-!" the Doctor fumed in silent outrage. "How can you not be in the mood for fish fingers and custard!"
She rolled her eyes, dipping into the dish for another spoonful of the rather delectable mix.
"Unlike you, I have normal, rational, tastes. Cereal or toast would have been better,"
The Doctor pulled a face at the mention of something so plain – disgusting – as toast. His idea had been so much better!
"Besides," she continued, giving the Doctor a matter-of-fact appraisal. "We both know you just needed a reason to make this, and I happened to be it."
"I never need a reason to make anythin', especially fish fingers and custard."
She hmmmed in agreement, succumbing and taking a fish finger for herself, not dipping it in the custard, much to his disappointment; righting that wrong by doing so himself.
The two sat in companionable silence for awhile, enjoying the hush of friendly company amidst the chews of the warm snack.
"I never thanked you for what you did,"
"You'll have to be more specific," he started cockily, brow tweaking upwards. "Where to start, thank me for what? Saving the universe, earth, your parents, that time on Jupiter's moon colony—"
"I meant the lights in my room," she cut him off before his pompous head exploded with his gloating. "The sunlight, Doctor, it's a really nice touch – it's really nice. Very homey. Makes it easier on us, to not get so homesick much," she swallowed. "For Rory, especially for Rory."
The Doctor's face became that indecipherable mask he always wore when he felt things he didn't want to share – knew he shouldn't even when he could - thought things behind those eyes that suddenly looked too old for that contrastingly young face.
"Yes, well," he spoke with a forcefully indifferent air about him. "Artificial sunlight, it was the least I could do for you."
"Least," she scoffed quietly. "Least," she repeated with a sigh. "Doctor, do you have any idea just how much you've done for us?"
Though he never liked putting his mistakes on the table – on any table – he felt he owed it to her, especially her. Out of any of his companions, he felt his latest ones suffered the most for him.
"Well let's see, by that do you mean," he ticked off so many things he began to lose fingers for it, recycling the ones already in use. "The emotional trauma I caused that had you biting four therapists, when I almost had you killed by stone angels, when you were bitten by vampires, when you were stuck in a TARDIS that was about to self-destruct, when you witnessed and forgot the death of your husband – fiancé at the point, I guess – when you got shot by him when the universe I sought – I seek – to protect but couldn't as it was slowly dying – again! The universe so often does that around me, I don't like it."
Amy looked befuddled, eyelids fluttering as she blinked rapidly in her attempt to try and collect all the data and facts being thrown at her. But the Doctor wasn't done, oh no, such was the bane – the curse – of himself, he was never finished. Never finished blundering things up, only to fix them later, which wouldn't need fixing if he hadn't meddled – if he hadn't been there to begin with. All this, all his admonitions, were so bottled, so seated, that once opened, they tumbled out like Mentos'd cola products, frothy all the despicable things that were all his fault.
"Ah, let's see, when I," he continued, brow furrowed in consternation. "Almost had you killed on your honeymoon – what were you and Rory doing dressed up like that, never mind, it's not important and I don't want to know. Where was I? Ah, yes! Had you stolen by the Silence, had you witness the death and take part in the revival of your husband – truly a husband at that point – from a postponed, time-locked drowning state. What else? There's more, of course there's more, there's always more. Right! When I did nothing to stop your daughter being taken from you, kidnapped, and turned into my bespoken psychopath. Had you almost vaporized inside a robot, death-machine replica of yourself – that was odd, kind of befitting though, I suppose. Had you turned into a creepy – let's be honest, that was a horrendous look for you – doll thing. Oh, maybe it was the time when you weren't even with us, you strange ganger, you. Wait, that should have been item number twelve, or maybe ten, I can't remember. Or do you mean that time on Silezhia-83 when those poisonous snake-rats chased us down the arctic—"
"Doctor!" Amy beseeched, hands thrust toward him. He jolted to a stunted halt, mouth open in mid-rant. Amy couldn't handle his piteous self-hatred and needed to do anything to stop it, to console him, because she had not intended for this long babble to have ensued from her simple thank you. "What did I tell you?"
"Wha—"
"What did I tell you?"
"Uh?"
"No," she elongated the word. "You asked me, 'Is it worth it?' and what did I say?"
The Doctor was silent a moment, knowing the answer, but took the break to consider where she was going with this.
"'Shut up, of course it is'," he answered softly.
She nodded.
"Right. So shu' up abou' it, okay? We can't do anything about it anyway; time travel aside and I guess it really is. Don't want to cause a paradox or something, going back in our own timestream. So just shu' up," she looked him directly in the eye, her own boring, searing, the truth of her words into his. "I wouldn't change it for the world. Not for this world, and not for the next either. Not over this."
They stared at each other for a length of over five minutes, neither taking their eyes off the other, seeing which one would break first and knowing neither would. It was so very like them, and such a comfort to the Doctor, he found the strength – the motivation – to move past his self-blame.
"Artificial sunlight was the least I could do for you," he sniffed. "I mean, I burned up a sun for another companion, what are a few bulbs?"
Amy's interest piqued, her head cocking to the side, brow arched. He caught the look and immediately wished he hadn't let that slip.
Despite the years, it still hurt him a bit to think of it. Luckily, he rarely thought of her, what with the trio of Ponds to distract him. Plus, it seemed, upon his transformation, he had all but lost his hurt, lost the pain, over her. New mouth, new rules. He was so happy the ache was no more – or rather, very dull instead of the excruciating pang he felt stabbing him every time he passed a flower shop. River helped him with that though, an easy distraction and constant challenge he felt he could win over. I mean, he had to win her over at some point, and each time as the next could be that time he did. He always looked forward to their witty, flirtatious banter; it was a pleasant, exciting change.
When the Doctor made no move to elaborate on the sun-thing, she let it drop. She knew he'd given so much of himself to her already, why push it? It still sort of hung there, though, like a noxious vapor the TARDIS emitted when hurt. A giant alien in the room that wasn't the Doctor.
"So…"
Amy fished around the bowl for more of the plentiful custard. And that's when it happened.
Wrangling more of the liquid-y gold substance, the spoon jumped against the rim of the bowl and bits of the goo splashed the Doctor in the face. Amy gaped as creamy gold speckled his pale face. He blinked repeatedly, a glop of custard slipping down his eyelash as he held a single, suspended finger aloft.
"Oh, Amy," he sighed softly, placing his hand in the custard dish, letting the cooling mixture to envelop the tips of four fingers. "You really shouldn't have done that."
Before she could stutter a protest, Amy flew off the seat with a yip as the Doctor flung custard at her. She threw herself to the right to dodge the attack, sprawling out of the warm seat she occupied, and scuttled under the table for better protection. It wasn't a very wise move.
"Oh, bad call, Amelia, bad call!" the Doctor chuckled giddily, hands splashing in the bowl for more of his delicious arsenal.
As the man was about to launch another attack, cleverly hoping to hit his mark while she was trapped beneath the tabletop, Amy popped up between his legs and declared, "Think so?"
Seeing his sopping fingers leak droplets of their snack everywhere, Amy jabbed at the sticky appendages, biting them with a feral, ferocious accuracy. The Doctor yelped while Amy deftly grabbed the bowl and ducked back under the table, laughing merrily and victoriously.
"You bit me!" he cried out in incredulous outrage. "You bloody bit me!"
"Yeah and you'll get worse!" she exclaimed, sliding out from the table as if their lives were an action movie, shaking her hand out so the custard it was dipped in could more effectively hit him. Again his face was peppered with globs of the scrumptious gunk, he pouted childishly.
Head jerking to and fro, the Doctor searched for any more non-lethal weapons he could use to his advantage. Finding such, he grinned deviously.
"You may have the upper hand, Amy, but at least I've got fingers," the Doctor said, brandishing said fishy appendages. "Fish fingers!"
She quirked a brow.
"Wha' are you gonna do, whack me with it?"
The Doctor gave her a look like she was stupid.
"Yes."
"But that won't – ow, hey!"
He leapt from his perch on his seat, landing on his haunches beside her, and began beating her with the fish stick. Bits of the crunchy snack fell on her face and all around her hair as she giggled and tried rolling away. The Doctor laughed with her, openly and loudly, not caring for all the noise the two made that he had earlier been trying to conceal. Tears streamed down Amy's face and she found it difficult to breathe.
In retaliation, she smeared custard all over the Doctor's wheezing, chuckling face with the flat of her palm as he continued to whap her upside the head, the two forever locked at the arms. They laughed until their breath gave out and even then they laughed more, their tired limbs sagging and falling to the floor as they did, chuckling as the mirth at the turn of events still rang in the room, dripping like the custard from the walls and ceiling.
Her chest still heaving, Amy panted, "Do-Doctor," when he looked at her, cringing as the use of his abdominals still hurt, she questioned breathlessly, "D'ya hear that?"
"Hear wha—"
Then there it was, the scraping, grating sound of something clawing its way, tearing a path down the hallway in slow, measured strides. The high, keening sound reached the Doctor's superior senses far too late.
He gasped as he heard, "Husband coming through."
Stammering, scrambling around on the dirty, sticky floor, the Doctor rose to his knees and shouted, "RIVER! MANUEVER TWELVE, MANUEVER TWELVE!"
Rory, gladius in tow – the cause of the horrendous scraping noise – appeared in view of the door. His frown deepened and his brow furrowed in large lines that spanned across the entirety of his forehead as he saw his wife covered in custard and the Doctor in far worse shape. She giggled and waved at him from her spot lying on the floor, a waggle of fingers that didn't ease his confusion.
"RIVER!" the Doctor shouted, never keeping his eyes off the roman that filled the doorway with just his emotions, his lean body and bony shoulders nowhere near touching the frame. "The maneuver!"
"Right," they heard from farther down the hall. "Sorry about this, Dad."
Rory, his confusion even more spiked, turned his head to right then before he could even collect a breath for his gasp his blade was knocked away by a green flash and he was thrown to the ground by a flying blur. Amy's eyes widened as her husband crashed out of sight, her adult daughter on top of him, his head clanging against the metal grating somewhere in a way that can't have been painless. He groaned and started to struggle, Amy able to see only his feet – a hilarious sight, toes wiggling violently out of his jim-jams.
"Wha' – River! Get off me!" he growled, squirming and wiggling, trying his damndest to get out of the hold she held him in.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Dad," River looked up at him mischievously, her wild hair framing her face as her golden-mocha ringlets poured around it. She used the title teasingly with him. "I was promised something sweet later if I went along with this."
"Come on, Pond," the Doctor said breathlessly, jumping up from the ground with a hand in front of his companion's face. He smiled. "We've still got part two of my adventure to go!"
She grinned and used him to help her up, stumbling into him slightly. The two ran out the door, careful not to trip over Rory's feet as the Doctor had done. They took off down the hall, only coming back when Amy pulled him. She tiptoed over and bent to kiss her husband on the head, placing her lips chastely at the spot of deepest furrowing. Luckily he had given up on his struggling against her, making it easier for the Doctor to similarly kiss River.
"You bad girl, thank you," he said, his lips making an obnoxious smacking noise as he kissed the crown of her head.
"I'll wait to be thanked properly tonight; don't think I've forgotten what payment you've promised."
"Oh, I haven't either," he growled, popping back before he could allow her to do something inappropriate before her parents. Rory was being lenient so far, considering the situation, wouldn't do to push that.
Bidding their farewells, the two best friends giggled their way to the other rooms, leaving River and her father alone to dwell in a thick silence.
"So the Doctor then," he began, drumming his fingers against the grating he was pinned against. "Better be some reward."
"Oh it is!" River gushed, eyes sparkling with darker aspects. "Lots of chocolate - and whipped cream," Rory nodded appreciatively, the thought sounding rather marvelous for breakfast, until she continued, "tastes especially good in bed."
His mouth opened, trying to articulate something intelligent, something different than the topic at hand, but finding that words failed him, closed it. Then a thought came to him.
"You know," he said, gears turning. "You've already pulled the maneuver that gets you that prize."
River waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she prompted him with a hesitant, "Yes?"
"So no matter what happens, he's bound to give it to you, right?"
"If I should be so lucky," she purred.
He tried his best to ignore that.
"Well then, you let me up now, we can scavenge for them,"
"Uh-huh."
"And you can claim your prize earlier, and I'll get Amy back."
River thought for a moment. Able to lick whipped cream and chocolate off the Doctor now, or wait later in the night when he was bound to let the drop from sugar rush get to him, making him lack in his marital duties. The decision was made therein. She beamed deviously.
"It's a deal then," she said and to anyone else it would have sounded dangerous, but Rory knew that with her it was positively lethal.
He gave a small smirk, laughter on his breath.
"Good."
The plan turned out far better than the two had hoped. Not only had they had the chance to bond over cunning plots, using River's inherent knowledge of the TARDIS and its locations with Rory's spot-on ability to know exactly where Amy was at all times – given two thousand years to hone in that ability, even if she was locked in a prism behind him during the duration of that time – they caught the two in their trap. The trap of course being to spring out in a surprise attack, Rory grabbing Amy as she squealed in delight, thrown over his shoulder and River falling from the rafters of the room they were in (the cinema, using the comfy cushioned seats to her advantage as leaping stones) and tying the Doctor up to drag him shouting from the room. River found that using ropes was far more to her skills than the chocolate and Rory learned that a sugar-highed Amy was a great way to start the morning.
And so became an average day in the TARDIS with the Pond and subsequent Song family.
A/N: I love the dynamic of River and the Doctor being flirty fuck-buddies. But as i always must, I had to add that little Rose-hint in there, because the Doctor (9 and 10 the most, that's just irrefutable cannon, but I've been converted by my best friend [Aimlessly Unknown] to even lean towards 11/Rose, sigh) and Rose are the perfectest OTP ever.
But as i said, I do love that playfulness the Doctor and River have - totally ship it. And Rory and Amy? Yeah, that's not even a question.
So yeah, this was just a cute little fic I wanted to make because I was watching The Impossible Astronaut and wanted to write about that Something That Matters. And then it turned into this.
Btw, the pictures on the dresser - that first pic - is with Mels, in case you couldn't ('cause I was being purposeful non-descriptive) tell. So yeah, leave a review because those - THOSE! - i love those. Your, reader, input means everything to me.