I should've made her stay in her nightie thought the Doctor, letting out an impatient sigh as he sulked, stretched out on the small, uncomfortable bench by the TARDIS console, his feet propped up on the dash. Coming back from their latest adventure on starship UK, the Doctor had led the pyjama-clad Amy to the TARDIS' massive wardrobe so she could quickly change into something more appropriate before setting off again for the unknown. Without really knowing how it had happened, the Doctor had suddenly found himself a witness to an unexpected fashion show, as Amy re-emerged from the wardrobe every few minutes to show-off her new attire.
"Quickly," the Doctor repeated under his breath, letting out a humourless laugh as he checked the watch at his wrist. It had, in fact, been two hours (and counting) since they had returned to the TARDIS. The Doctor, whether he was aware of the fact or not, gave a slight pout, feeling much like a small child strung along clothes shopping with their mother, forced to sit and wait while they tried on outfit after outfit. He turned his head to look behind him when he heard Amy's approaching footsteps.
"How do I look?" asked Amy, bounding over to the TARDIS console, returning to model her latest outfit, the latest of what had seemed like hundreds to the impatient Time-Lord. Her ensembles had grown more and more unsuitable for travelling in the last couple hours, and this one was the worst yet. Amy wore a long, bottle green dress that billowed out behind her gracefully as she raced over to the Doctor. The Doctor didn't bother voicing his prediction of fabric tearing like tissue paper within five minutes of stepping out the TARDIS doors. She even wore matching high-heels, and the Doctor briefly contemplated how she could possibly walk, let alone run, with such deathtraps on her feet. The Doctor gave her a brief once over.
"Lovely," he said, though his voice was lacked any sort of conviction from the sheer amount of times he had repeated it in the last few hours. It was true, he supposed, for she did look rather nice. The green of the dress made Amy's ginger hair appear redder, like flames were cascading down from the crown of her head and down past her shoulders.
Amy grinned, pleased with herself, oblivious to the annoyance of the Doctor, who squirmed restlessly in his seat. Before he could ask her where and when she wanted to head next, the young Scottish girl had disappeared off down the hall once more, her fiery hair and green dress flying out of sight, rounding the corner with a subtle whoosh!, the tapping of her hurried footsteps fading as she retreated back to the TARDIS' collection of centuries' worth of clothing.
The Doctor's face fell into his open palms, rubbing his temples, as he wondered how much longer she would be. He should've seen this coming, for how else was a young woman going to react when shown a wardrobe filled with an endless amount of garments? Though, now that he thought of it, none of his other female companions had taken this long. He gave another loud sigh as he sank farther into his seat, hoping Amy could hear him from all the way down the hall, her head buried in clothes, and take the hint. He had all of time and space to offer her, and she seemed all too content on playing dress up for the entire duration of her stay.
It was a few minutes later when the Doctor heard the sound of yet another pair of clicky shoes that clicked and clacked loudly against the TARDIS floor. He heard the TARDIS give a small whine, as if objecting to her floors being poked and prodded by the impractical footwear.
"Voilà!" announced Amy upon re-entering the room, the French word sounding rather odd in her natural Scottish accent. The Doctor shifted reluctantly around to face her. His expression immediately fell before he could stop himself, a crease forming on his forehead, a slight frown dragging down the corners of his mouth.
"What, don't you like it?" inquired Amy self-consciously, hurt colouring her voice as she examined the Doctor's expression, refocusing her gaze to herself as she searched her new dress for anything that could've caused the reaction the Doctor had given her. "Is it really that bad?"
No, in truth, the dress Amy wore was absolutely beautiful. It was a gorgeous, full length gown, its red and black fabric flowing around her beautifully. The black sleeves hung loosely on her arms, her shoulders bare. If he was being honest, the Doctor would've admitted that it didn't look half-bad on his newest companion, but the sight of it brought other things to mind. The dress reminded the Doctor far too much of the last person to have pulled it from his large collection of clothes, the last person to have slipped it on before joining him in an adventure.
The sight of it brought a flurry of images, thoughts, and long-dormant feelings to the forefront of his mind, the like of which he hadn't yet dwelt upon in this incarnation, felt with this new personality of his. Blurred images seen through a different pair of eyes flashed on the edge of his vision. Fluffy snowflakes drifting slowly downwards, swirling round in the cold air, collecting on the road where carriages pulled by trotting horses passed over every so often. Cheery folk walking merrily down the snow covered street, humming Christmas carols softly to themselves as they eagerly await the coming holiday. His ninth incarnation strutting down the streets of 1869 Cardiff, linking arms with a young blond woman he had only known a short while at the time. Rose, smiling as she glanced around at the Earth's past in wonder, snowflakes landing softly atop her golden hair that seemed to glow under even the dim shine of the lamp lit street.
She wore the dress Amy had wandered into the console room wearing only seconds ago now, though the Doctor noted it seemed to fit Rose better. The dress hung relatively loose on Amy's smaller frame, while it had clung to Rose's shape perfectly, the black of the dress' torso region making her blonde hair, pulled back from her face, appear even brighter. Rose, in that wonderful dress, danced at the surface of the Doctor's mind, with that tongue-poking-through-teeth smile of hers he knew so well. His brain called up the images of that misadventure, dwelling on the sight of the two of them (he, himself, looking older, balder, and sporting a rather large pair of ears along with a leather jacket) strolling arm in arm on their way to the theater. It was a picture of happiness just before the inevitable chaos that always seemed to follow him and his companions so closely.
The Doctor straightened out his expression as he shook himself out of his own thoughts, finding himself looking once again at Amy, standing in the doorway to the console room. She shot the Doctor a questioning look for his odd reaction, but the Doctor didn't offer one word of explanation. Amy glanced back down at her dress (though the Doctor secretly referred to it as Rose's dress, despite her not being the owner, nor the first person to have worn it), examining it, as if making absolutely sure it was there and she had not just strutted into the console room in her underclothes. Convinced she was, in fact, not naked, Amy shot the Doctor another glare.
"I like that dress, it suits you," the Doctor said softly, a note of apology in his voice for his initial reaction. It did look nice, the Doctor acknowledging the fact somewhat belatedly, despite the fact that the deep red of the puffier, lower half of the gown clashed slightly with her ginger hair. The Doctor gave Amy a small smile to reassure of the sincerity of his compliment, but Amy returned it with a confused (and, it pained the Doctor to realize, offended) expression.
"Fine, I'll go change then," replied Amy, her voice almost biting. Narrowing her eyes at the Doctor, Amy slowly turned herself around to return to the wardrobe, the red fabric of the dress swirling around her ankles. The Doctor sighed, alone once more, leaning back into the chair by the console.
He stayed there quietly for the next few minutes, uncharacteristically still and deep in thought, lost in the memories of another man, another version of himself. When Amy returned a few minutes later (thankfully, with her self-esteem left mostly undamaged after his rude response earlier), sporting a drastically different denim mini-skirt and cowgirl boots combo, he was forced out of his thoughts, a slightly forlorn look in his ancient eyes. Amy snuck another puzzled look his way before choosing to ignore it, deciding she'd rather not know how a simple dress could evoke such a complicated emotion in the carefree alien with the face and maturity level of a twelve-year-old. His expression was sad, but the ghost of a smile lingering on his face, as if remembering a fond memory while mourning the fact that it had ended, grieving the fact that time had continued on against his wishes.
"Where are we off to now, Doctor?" came Amy's voice, strangely soft and unsure, from behind him. To her surprise, he turned to face her with a massive grin on his young face, any shadow from earlier erased in an instant. Jumping up, he straightened his bow tie and braces, and raced towards the console, his leather shoes sliding slightly on the TARDIS floor as he did, his skinny limbs flailing wildly. He activated an array of different controls – pushing buttons, flicking switches, and twirling dials – as he worked his way excitedly around the console with a newfound burst of energy.
"Wherever and whenever you like, Pond." He smiled as he completed his circuit in a near instant, all evidence of his earlier mood erased for the time being.
Edited - 5/1/2013
Thank you to everyone for your kind words - your love keep me going!