Authors Note: This story was originally written in 2012, and published on the whofic website, under my alias there, anthem.

The TARDIS was quiet, except for the sounds of pealing laughter in her sitting room. The Doctor and Amy were sat on opposing ends of a couch, each leaning against the arm rest with a warm mug of tea in their hands, laughing about past adventures and stories.

The Doctor would tell Amy how he saved the universe from killer rabbits, and Amy would tell him about this boy - whose name she couldn't remember - in high school, succeeding only in filling the Doctor with even more guilt than he already had - and he already had a lot.

"Let's play a game," Amy said suddenly, and the Doctor raised an eyebrow at her from over the rim of his mug, his face bathed in the light from the fire.

"A game?" he asked, slowly, unsure he'd heard her right.

"Yeah, a game," she repeated, lazily running a manicured finger around the rim of her mug. Her nails were TARDIS blue this week, the Doctor noticed with a smile.

"What sort of game?" he asked, slowly, carefully.

"I tell you a secret or something you don't know about me - a small one, like what I'm afraid of or where my first kiss was- and then you do the same."

The Doctor frowned.

"That seems like a silly game, Amelia," he mentioned. "Seeing as I already know everything about you."

His eyes got that mischievous gleam in them, and she shot him a look.

"Oh really?"

"Yea."

"Well, that's bullshit."

He laughed.

"Fine, we'll play. You first."

Amy thought, taking another sip of her tea. The fire crackled soothingly.

"I was a model as a teenager."

The Doctor's eyes went wide, and he got awkward, looking anywhere but her face as he imagined her modeling, long legs on show.

"Really?" he asked, as he came back to earth, face flushed.

Amy nodded.

"Woah. I... That's... unexpected."

Amy shot him a look.

"Not that I don't think you're pretty, or that you weren't," he added, quickly, flustered. "Because you TRULY are, I just didn't expect you to be a model."

Amy shrugged.

"It was kinda fun. It made me feel pretty. Alright, your turn."

The Doctor smiled at her, said, "You don't need to be modeling to be pretty, Amelia," and then scrunched up his nose in thought while she blushed.

"My last regeneration had hair like a porcupine, that totally defied gravity. And wore pinstriped suits with trainers."

Amy laughed.

"Really?!" she asked, amidst her giggles.

"Hey! Suits are cool!" he protested, and Amy laughed harder.

"Really?" she asked again, and he nodded vigorously.

"Yeah! I was... foxy."

Amy snorted. The Doctor laughed.

"Okay," she said, settling back into her seat more. "I've never slow danced before."

The Doctor's eyes went wide, and he set his mug down on the table, standing. Amy frowned at him. With a flourish of his sonic, the TARDIS played a slow song, and he stuck it back into his pocket, extending a hand to Amy. She eyed it as if it were going to bite her.

"I don't bite, Amelia," he told her, voice low and soft, and she smiled, setting her own tea down and taking his hand. Quickly, he pulled her into him, putting one hand on her waist, and the other holding her hand.

She smiled, settling her face into the crook of his neck, and breathing him in. He smelled like fire and rain, and adventure, and love and galaxies and something that was just so purely the Doctor.

As they swayed softly, they settled into a pattern, their breathing regulating and their hearts fluttering, all three between the two of them. In a bold move, Amy pressed a soft kiss to the Doctor's shoulder, right on the scratchy tweed of his jacket, and he blushed.

Then it was over, just like that, the song fading into the background as it ended, and they pulled apart, the Doctor smiling.

"Now you have," he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Now I have," she agreed, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Thus was the Doctor and Amy, so comfortable in their ways and yet so oblivious.