Amy had no idea what a time-head was, but she was so glad her little baby didn't have one. At first, she was terrified of what the effects of time-travel would have on a growing foetus, but that was dulled when she began to realise that the effects of being half-Gallifreyan were a bit more pressing. She reached into the cherry crib and brushed the dark curls off of her baby's forehead.
Sophia did end up with entirely human anatomy. She had only one heart, and didn't cough up gold dust when she was born. She did have the Doctor's hair and eyes, and, according to her father, she'd inherited the ability to pull off a bow tie. Amy had put a stop to that at once. There was no way her daughter was going to grow up wearing bow ties, no matter if they looked good or not.
"Rock-a-by baby, in the treetop" Amy sang.
"I never did understand why humans insist on lulling a child to sleep by telling them they're going to fall out of a tree." The Doctor said from the doorway.
"Neither do I," Amy said, "but if it puts her to sleep it doesn't really matter. Now hush, and go fix something."
"Does it really put her to sleep?" He asked sceptically.
"Well, no. But it's the best I know."
"You don't know any other songs? Come on, Amy. I doubt you grew up all these years hearing only rock-a-by baby."
"Leave." She repeated.
"Fine, fine." The Doctor said, backing up. He knew how to tell when Amy was grumpy, and this was one of those times. Sophia had kept her up all night.
Amy sighed. She really didn't know any other lullabies. She could try making one up, but the result of that attempt would probably leave Sophia with mental scars. She Knew half of the lyrics to Hey Jude, but unfortunately the 'half' part meant random lines from the middle of the song were missing in her memory. That wouldn't do. She tried making a vocal Muzak-ish version of some of her favourite songs, but the lyrics to those were even worse than Rock-a-bye baby. She'd get a few lines in, then realise that a Simple Plan or MGMT song wouldn't work out well.
"Doctor." She called, exasperated, knowing he was spying from the console.
He walked in soon after. "You want me to try?" he asked her, holding out his arms. Amy placed Sophia in them as she sat up from the cherry glider. The Doctor replaced her on the TARDIS blue upholstery. He rocked slowly back and forth as the sounds Amy had learned to recognise as Gallifreyan spilled melodiously from his lips. Before Sophia was born, Amy could have sworn that there was no sight more wonderful than the Doctor's smile when he looked at her, but soon that changed. The greatest sight in the universe was the sight of The Doctor holding his baby. His smile was different, his posture, his eyes. It was all tenfold the beauty of anything else Amy had ever seen.
This lullaby was tenfold the beauty of anything she'd ever heard.
Soon, Sophia was asleep in her crib, wrapped in her white blanket. The couple silently tiptoed past the shelves housing multiple stuffed animals (all plush replicas of the Doctor's favourite aliens) and the Van Gogh prints in cherry frames hanging on the wall. As soon as they passed through the soundproof wall (So Sophia couldn't hear anything that went on during naptime). The TARDIS had installed state-of-the-art baby monitors so Amy and the Doctor could keep an eye and ear on Sophia without disturbing her.
"What did you sing to her?" Amy asked
"That was a very old Gallifreyan lullaby. The women used to swear on it."
"Will you teach it to me?"
"I've told you, Amy. Your mind can't process Gallifreyan well enough to speak it. That's why it sounds so mystical to your ears."
"Yeah, I know. I just hoped—" Amy's shoulders sagged. She wanted so badly to be able to sing her baby to sleep, but she couldn't. She was a failure.
"I know. I'm sorry I can't help. Whenever you need me to sing to her, just let me know, O.K?"
"Sure." Amy agreed, but as much as she loved that song, she wasn't going to resort to that again. She wandered into the library. The shelves were impossibly high and covered the vast expanse of the room in its entirety. She'd find something here. If not, well... there was no point to considering the impossibility.
She started to browse, but soon stopped. She always forgot that the TARDIS library wasn't just different in appearance.
"I need some lullaby material." She said. "Badly. And in English, if you please"
A few disks and a set of ear buds slid out from the shelf to her right.
"Thanks." She said. She'd learned quickly that the TARDIS didn't appreciate being taken for granted. She plopped down on the leather sofa and started to listen to the CDs. They were songs from every time period she knew of—everything from medieval ballads to Josh Groban. She particularly liked one called Starry, Starry Night, but knew she wouldn't be able to sing it without crying for Vincent. She couldn't sing anyway.
"Thanks again." She said, standing and giving up. She went into her bedroom to change into pyjamas. They couldn't go anywhere until Sophia was finished with her nap, so she might as well get a nap of her own in.
She started humming as she pulled her miniskirt down and replaced it with some cotton shorts
"I thought you didn't know any songs." The Doctor said from the doorway. She jumped.
"I didn't see you there." She said.
"Well, that tends to happen when you don't bother looking." He reasoned.
"And I didn't say I didn't know any songs. I said I didn't know any songs that could be used as lullabies."
"That could do." He said. "It seemed like a nice song. What are the lyrics?"
She filed through her memory, trying to remember what she'd been humming seconds before.
She recited (monotonously, of course. She wasn't going to sing) the lyrics to the Kelly Clarkson song that related so well to her life.
"It's perfect." He said, shrugging. "You should try that one next time."
"No."
"I double-dog dare you." He said, knowing that she wouldn't be able to refuse such a juvenile persuasion technique from him.
"Fine."
As if she'd planned it, Sophia cried out at that very moment.
"There's your cue, my dear musician." He said, nudging her through the open door and toward the nursery.
She'd been dared. She'd been double-dog dared. It wasn't like she could back out. So she sang. She sang about growing up in Leadworth, about sitting at her window remembering her Raggedy Doctor and imagining what life could be like in his magical blue police box. She sang of the prayers she sent to Santa until she turned eight and stopped believing in the jolly old man. She sang of the psychiatrists, how they'd never listen to her accounts, so set in the idea she was imagining it. She remembered how she wanted to fit in, but couldn't. She wanted to go places. She always had. she She poured out every bit of suppressed emotion into that song.
Sophia didn't fall asleep. Amy was too strong in her song. She wasn't tender when she sang it, she was... well, she was Amy. She ran into it headfirst.
Amy looked at Sophia's face when she ended her song. The baby was awake, and there was no way she was going back to sleep. She carried the child through the door and into the console room, wanting to rub it in that that Doctor was wrong about something, but instead she was met with a smug smile.
"I knew it wouldn't work." He said. "I just wanted to hear you sing that song. It was so beautiful."
"Liar." She said, glaring
"Not a chance." He smiled.
Yello to all. If you couldn't tell, the song was Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson. I don't own it. Nor do I own Doctor Who, otherwise I wouldn't be writing fanfiction about it.
This song fit my view of Amy and what I imagined her to feel like after the Doctor left and when he came back. Sadly, you can't write a songfic that matches the actual series. That's called rewriting the series and sticking song lyrics in it—an entirely different concept. So instead of doing that, I wrote this. Plus, I REALLY wanted to make the time-head reference. I loved that line. "What's a time-head?" "I don't know, but what if it had one!" not directly quoting, F.Y.I.