I literally just felt like writing, and this is what came out of it. While I was writing, I was listening to Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine. If you wish to listen while reading, be my guest. I might write a series of one shots that are stories of stuff that happens in between adventures. Thoughts? Or an actual story? Thoughts?
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Doctor who… BBC owns all rights.
Oh, and also, I think this is one of the best things I've written, so do review on it, so I know if it's completely rubbish or not.
Sometimes, she just watched him. She sat quietly in the chair near the TARDIS, watching him with awe. He busied himself in flipping switches and turning knobs. Sometimes, he would stop to think for a moment before putting even more effort into his work. Usually, she would watch him for maybe ten minutes before getting up to make herself some tea. He never noticed her get up.
Or so she thought.
No, every time Amy Pond moved, his brain went on alert. He didn't dare glance at her, not every time. Once in a while, temptation gave in and he snuck a glance at her tangled roots walking away from him. He mentally scolded himself. He couldn't let this happen. Not again. Not now. Not ever. Not without her.
That's what he always thought every time an idea or thought of Amy would pop into his head. He would think of her, and all ideas of Amy vanished from his mind.
But this night was different. He finally realized something that he had missed, forgotten, simply skipped over.
Where she was, she was happy. He had given her everything that she wanted.
Why couldn't he be happy?
He sighed as he stared at the fireplace that flickered in his room. He let his eyes lose focus for a moment before slowly shaking his head.
Amy was pacing absentmindedly in the control room, creating patterns on the cold surface of the railings.
For the first time since arriving, she wondered why she was here. Here in the big blue box she always wanted to live in, to travel. Her childhood dream.
Everything was different now, everything had changed.
When Amy was younger, she used to dream of him, always the same dream. He would offer his rough hand, and she would take it. He would bring her into a world of dawns and daybreaks. Of twilight and moons. This young girl staring up at his eyes, admiration pooling out. He would show her the world.
Her dreams were different now. More…adult. She would wake in a sweat, her hands clutching at the sheets, breath hitched.
Some nights she would cry after.
Now, her dreams consisted of tongue, sweat, force, passion, understanding and hope. Nothing of what reality was.
After the events of the dream lord, the dream seemed so real she swears she heard birds.
And that gives her hope.
She wishes her old childhood dreams would come back. Those were closer to reality, to what she faces everyday.
And now she stands staring at the buzzing control panel, on the top of the stairs. She walks down them one by one, before sinking to her knees on the last stair.
She needs him.
Not like she did back in her room. No, her room was different, her room was lust. Pure, lust.
What she felt now was…
Her realization made her cry harder.
Sometimes, he would watch her. Watch her cry, sob, rock back and forth with her knees to her chest. More frequent now, but he didn't dare say anything.
Tonight wasn't any different.
He just stood at the top of the stairs, jacket off, hands in trouser pockets.
He stands for maybe ten minutes, her cries filling his ears before he has enough. He walks back to his room, and closes the door.
Sometimes, he watches.
Sometimes, he listens.
Sometimes he doesn't do anything at all.
How can he?
After all, if he isn't brave enough to walk down those stairs…
What's the point of him?