:) My first fanfiction.
First of all I would like to say that someone else's intellectual property is in here, and it is called The Rising Sun by John Donne (1572 - 1631). I do not own, nor profit, nor do I own or profit from the characters from Doctor Who. I am including some lines from The Rising Sun because they inspired this short story.
Not even the most spectacular of nebulae, the most dangerous of cannibal planets or the complexity of his TARDIS could compare to this moment, this small, boring, amazing moment.
The Doctor smiled to himself, one finger on his cheek, chin on palm, and elbow on a delightfully uncomfortable wooden chair. He was still dressed despite it being early morning, because he had been up most of the night, getting into shenanigans with the cooks and servants. How he wished for a comfy chair, like the comfy chair of the Byzantium. That really was a comfy chair. It was too bad the ship was taken over by the Stone Angels... and then nearly swallowed by the Space-Time crack. No, he had enough memorable souvenirs thank you, a whole ship full in fact.
But he could ignore the feeling of his butt slowly going numb because of the scene in front of him. Amy Pond, who looked more like Amelia Pond at this moment, was sleeping soundly in the bed beside his un-comfy chair.
Poor Pond. He really wore the young human out this time. How can something so young be tuckered out so fast? Perhaps she was too young. Or not a Timelord. Probably the second now that he thought about it. She was almost in a ball, her half curled ginger hair fanned out on the pillow, socked feet sticking out of the side of the covers. She too was still dressed, but merely because she fell asleep the moment she flopped on the bed. No mad adventures with celery and a colander for Pond. She would pout later for sure. But it wasn't like she hadn't done anything. Saving 17th Century France from space Frogs – real frogs, big ones – was no piece of cake. The Doctor always wondered why he couldn't just have a peaceful holiday, just once, but when he really thought about it he knew he would be so bored without at least something interesting going on. And "interesting" kept turning out to be "trouble".
No one died today. With Amy's help he launched those frogs back into space towards their own planet, and not one person had died. That was a first, nobody dying. He kind of liked it; he'd like to continue it, if possible. And now his day was even brighter than saving 17th Century France from Frogs.
The Aristocratic French family that Amy and he met when they arrived offered to let them stay the night. Of course he would normally politely refuse and run back to the whirlwind adventure the TARDIS always offered. However, Amy was new to the French culture and adored it, so he accepted it. And there was that colander. And maybe the TARDIS stuck in a 20 foot deep mud hole had something to do with it as well. But he was looking forward to having a traditional French breakfast with Amy when she woke up. It could be an adventure.
But for the moment, most unusually, he wanted to stay put. Watching Amy sleep, even though it should be so boring, turned out to be a kind of meditation, a healing, replenishing respite from the exciting, but dangerous life he lived. Her makeup was smeared from the pillow, and her hair was tousled, and best of all she had a smile. Just a little one, not enough for someone who didn't know Amy Pond to notice, but he did. That's because he knew, he really knew Amy Pond. And he really knew that this moment was something he could never see while she was awake. Awake Amy was a spitfire, as true to her Scottish heritage as her hair. Asleep Amy was all the little bits that the Doctor normally could only glimpse beneath the bravado. Asleep Amy was nice. And pretty, yes she was pretty while she slept. Not so pretty when she was awake and locking his tie in car doors. Bowties were safer around her, certainly.
This moment would not be possible in the TARDIS because there is no way that the Doctor could appropriately explain why he would be in Amy's room while she was sleeping without permission. Here he could because they only got one room, even though the family offered two, but it was silly to get two anyways because he wouldn't need to sleep for another few days. Hence the celery.
Just as he began to fully appreciate the rare moment, the sun peeked over a hill and shone a patch of light through the curtains and onto the wall above the headboard of the bed.
He grumbled. He always skipped forward to the interesting parts but whenever he found a moment he would be perfectly happy to stay in forever, Time dragged him kicking and screaming onwards. A few appropriate lines came to mind written by a poet who fought with him against some rogue Stellarbots. He looked around the room, glanced at Amy then began in a low voice to address the sun.
"Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us?" He gazed at Amy again. "Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?"
Pretending to glare at the light outside, he growled, "Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide late schoolboys and sour prentices, go tell court huntsmen that the King will ride, call country ants to harvest offices;" he turned back fondly to Amy who seemed to be stirring. In a whisper he quoted the best bit of all.
"Love, all alike, no season knows nor chime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rages of Time."
"That is really very lovely," said Amy abruptly, annoyed."But what the hell are you talking about?"
"Oh good! Amy! You're up! I was getting bored. I have so much to tell you, but maybe later, after you've had some caffeine."
"Are you saying I'm grumpy?"
"Yes. You are addicted to a drug after all and now you're in denial."
"I think you mean withdrawal."
"Yes, that."
She made a 'mhf'ing noise and peered at him through sleepy eyes.
"So you decided to watch me sleep until I woke up? You are a very strange man." She left it at that, turning her question into a rhetorical one. "Who were you talking to?"
"I wasn't talking, I was reciting." He answered schooled her.
"Reciting what?"
"A poem."
She grinned at him and sat up quickly, her long red hair falling all over her shoulders.
"Oh Doctor," she said in a high voice, "Reciting poetry to me in bed? How romantic!" she threw herself on her knees and looked at him with love eyes, her eyelashes fluttering.
The Doctor made a face.
"It's not like that Amy, I don't know why you always have to do...that." he motioned to her dramatic, lovesick pose.
"Because it's fun and it makes you uncomfortable." She answered matter of factly, and threw the covers off, almost jumping out of bed.
"Well keep those sorts of thoughts to yourself; we're having breakfast with the Duchess." He chided. "Now get yourself ready, hurry up, chop chop!"
He left her to her own devices, leaving the room a bit faster than he normally would. She might not have partaken in that special moment, but he would preserve it in his memory for as long as he could.
If only you knew, Amy Pond.