hey guys! it's been a while since i posted anything, so here is some fic i wrote because i totally don't have any homework at all. i hope you like it!
She knows, straight away, that this won't work. He'll eventually regenerate and she'll eventually change. They'll have to move on and she knows it will hurt and it will hurt a lot. But, she thinks, when has she ever been able to deny a chance to be with him? When has she ever been able to listen to that voice that's screaming at her to just move on and forget it?
It happened on the TARDIS on one quiet day when they decided they'd take the day off. She had just painted her toenails bright, neon pink and he was wearing a new bowtie.
"Hey, Doctor?"
"Mmmm."
By now, she had gotten up and was walking towards him. He jumped as he felt two arms snake their way around his waist, then relaxed at once as he realized oh, just a hug, and, without hesitation, leaned into her and returned the hug.
"And to what to I owe the pleasure, Miss Pond?"
"Nothin'. Just for being you."
"Huh."
They stayed that way for a long time until she lets go slightly. He's ready to turn back to his work when she stops him with a kiss. He doesn't protest, to her surprise.
"Pond- what was that?" he says, straightening his bowtie.
"A kiss?" she shrugs.
"Why?"
"I love you, stupid. What's with all the questions?"
"And you just expect me to know that?"
"Well, it's not as if we haven't kissed before, yeah?"
He shakes his head in exasperation.
"Tomorrow's our first date. Better take me someplace nice."
"What? I haven't even said yes yet!"
"Doctor, it's not a bloody proposal. I like you and you like me. So why not?" She walks away, smirking.
"Pond!"
She pokes her head out from a corner.
"I love you too."
He does take her somewhere amazing, where the sun melts into the horizon and the sea washes out little treasures.
He's staring at her intently.
"What?"
"Oh, my magnificent, amazing, impossible, beautiful Amelia."
She buries herself into his side in contentment. She memorizes the feel of the scratchy tweed on her cheek, and his scent, like old books and new ones, and sighs.
"My unpunctual, mad, wonderful Doctor."
"I don't want to talk about this."
"We have to talk about this, Amelia! You can't just sit there and be married while I'm waiting-"
"Don't pull that on me, Doctor. Don't you dare. I waited for fourteen years, for goodness' sake-"
"Oh, is that what you're bitter about-"
"Shut up, shut up, just shut up!"
"Amy."
"I just told you to shut up, didn't I, Doctor?"
"Amy, you just spoke Galifreyan."
"What?" she snaps.
"You just spoke my native language, Galifreyan."
"But I'm not bloody Galifreyan!"
"That's just it, Amelia, you're not Galifreyan. Unless…"
"Unless what?"
He walks over to her and feels her heartbeat.
"Impossible. Impossible."
"What's impossible?"
"Feel your heartbeat."
"Why?" he can hear the newfound fear in her voice.
"Feel it."
"Why?"
"Because," he simply says. "Because it will change your life."
He sees shock quickly cross her face. Her hand is shaking as she puts it up to her chest.
"No. Doctor, how? How?"
"Amelia, I don't-"
"Answer me!"
"I don't know."
"Don't lie to me!"
"I wouldn't lie to you at a time like this, Amelia. Why wouldI lie to you?"
"You told me to trust you, Doctor, and I did," she sobs. "Even- even when you don't always tell me the truth."
He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Goodnight, Amelia."
If there's one thing Rory Williams is sure of is something happened between Amy and the Doctor while he was…gone. He sees it in his wife's lingering looks and the Doctor's increasing number of sighs as he and Amy do things married people do.
And at night, as he lays next to her, her back is turned. But he can still feel the double thump of her hearts through the sheets.
It's nothing, he tells himself. Nothing.
Melody is his and he knows it. However hard he will try to disprove it, facts are facts and this is a fact: he is Melody's father.
He tells Amy one quiet day in the TARDIS. Rory is upstairs sleeping, he's wearing a new bowtie, and she's painting her nails bright, neon pink.
He sits next to her.
"She's mine."
"What? Who?"
"Melody."
She stops abruptly, her hand in mid-air.
"She can't be."
"Checked. Thrice."
"Doctor, she can't be-"
"She is."
He's spoken in Galifreyan and she can feel it from the weight his words bring.
"We can't-"
"Tell Rory. I know," he sighs.
She laughs. "My nails are pink."
"And?"
"When you first kissed me back, my nails were pink."
"Hm."
She gets up.
"Amelia, I'm sorry."
"You know what, Doctor? I'm not."
Harsh reality; stupid reality. He's leaving her -again- but this time, it's not just five minutes, she's not just seven, she's not just little Amelia Pond. She's Amy Pond, all grown up now. How fast time flies. She allows herself to tangle her fingers in his brown hair, and she manages a smile. She tells him to look after himself.
She can feel him letting go, she can feel the pain wash over them both because they know it's so much more than what the naked eye can see. She feels the connection snap and she knows all too well this was the moment she had been anticipating.
She had pushed her feelings back for too long and she felt the full brunt of the loss of her first love in that moment.
The worst part was she knew it was coming and was stupid enough to do it anyway.
No.
She promised herself one thing when she had kissed him that day on the TARDIS- she would not let herself regret this. She would not pity herself for loving and losing the Doctor. She would not.
"If you ever see my- our- daughter one day, tell her to come by sometime."
"I will."
She sits outside of the unfamiliar house, with the unfamiliar air and unfamiliar grass and unfamiliar chair, and she wishes he was there with her. She wishes he could just sit there in his stupid tweed jacket and bowtie and she wishes it wasn't this hard to let him go.
He will come back and she knows it. She doesn't care how long it will take- whether it's five minutes or fourteen years, she knows he'll come back.
But in her dreams, through the fractured stars and the purple night, through the haystacks and the light watercolor strokes across aging canvas, through the hands held out to her and the lips pressed to her forehead, through the battered suitcase and the fragments of broken china, through the shimmering, clear blue lake and the sand through her feet, she will always love him. She will always be waiting.
bah, i hope that wasn't too horrible! wasn't beta'd so if there's anything i've missed or any mistakes in grammar, don't hesitate to inform me. please leave a review, tell me what you thought! i'd really appreciate your feedback.
xx bianca
PS: i've written some RPF. yes, i finally caved. it's matt/kaz, so if you want to read it here's the link: timel0rds. tumblr . c o m /post/12463077645 :) tell me what you thought about that one too!