Amy didn't want to open her eyes. She was dead tired, as if she hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, and her legs felt heavy. It was also a mystery to her why she was so warm, as if she had fallen asleep cuddling a space heater. It wasn't until she realized that her bed seemed to be breathing that she decided it was high time to crack an eyelid.
In an instant, all memory came flooding back, and she smiled. She was lying on the Doctor's chest, her curves molding perfectly with every plane of his body. The reason for the heaviness in her legs was due to his currently pinning them to the bed. He had one arm around her shoulders and the other on her back, clutching her tightly as if he had dreamed Leonard Saxon was trying to steal her away again. Amy looked around her, absentmindedly playing with a button on his open shirt.
The Doctor's room wasn't so much a room as it was a study. Books spilled from built-in shelves covering the walls, all of them dust-free and clearly used to being read several times over. There was a desk, finished in dark mahogany and so cluttered with books, maps, charting tools, paperweights, and the odd plastic spork that one might never know there was a desk there in the first place. The wood floor was in similar condition, its decorative blue rug hidden by books that either didn't fit or had escaped from the shelves, and an old pair of Converse could be seen just poking out from under the desk next to a bowl of water that held an inexplicably glowing blue fish.
Amy reached up to push the Doctor's mop of scruffy hair out of his face, still unable to believe that this insane man, this Raggedy Doctor she'd dreamed of ever since they first met all those years ago, was hers forever. She decided right then and there to thank the Dulcians for having wedding ceremonies disguised as dances and then conveniently neglecting to inform their guests of the true meaning. An unexplainable laugh bubbled up inside her and made its way out before she could stop it.
The Doctor stirred, stretching his lanky limbs, and looked down at his wife.
"Morning, Pond. Or whatever time of day it is," he said with an affectionate smile.
"Doctor, do you ever straighten up your room?" Amy asked suddenly.
"Of course, regularly. Once every century," the Doctor responded, kissing her on the forehead. "You didn't seem all that concerned about it last night."
"Yes, but you have to admit, that glowing fish is slightly disturbing."
"What, Barnaby? Oh, he's alright. Ate a bit of radioactive fish flake a while back, poor chap, but he doesn't seem to mind. Although I suppose I should be more careful when purchasing fish food from now on."
"Doctor, you are incorrigible."
"Guilty as charged." The Doctor's lips were wandering, leaving burning trails on Amy's skin and making her forget about the unfortunate Barnaby. They were interrupted, however, by the rumbling of the ginger's stomach.
The Doctor slapped a hand to his forehead. "Blimey, I nearly forgot! When was the last time you ate, back in Tibet? Although I'm not sure yak tongue could quite be considered a full meal."
Amy went white. "What do you mean, 'yak tongue'? You told me that was a stir-fry!"
The Doctor cleared his throat nervously. "Yes, well, technically it was. So, how about I take you somewhere a little more—tame—for breakfast? There's a quaint little café in nineteenth century France that would do nicely. Only French restaurant I haven't been banned from in that particular century. Honestly, make one little comment on how you've tasted better caviar in good old Britain and suddenly you're a public menace. Well, there was that small misunderstanding involving one of the chef's mustaches...but I swear it looked fake, I just wanted to try it on for a second or two—"
Amy placed one slim finger on the Doctor's mouth, momentarily silencing him. "Just so you know, I shall be getting my revenge for that yak tongue business in the near future. But yes, a French café does sound lovely."
An hour later, the Doctor and Amy were fully dressed and sitting on a café terrace overlooking the Seine. It was a gorgeous day, the blue sky filled with lazy, cotton-fluff white clouds and the river adrift with Saturday morning boaters. Men and women promenaded over the bridges straddling the river, the women in voluminous dresses with parasols in their dainty, lace-gloved hands and the men in dapper suits and hats that they tipped politely when passing.
The waiter didn't speak one ounce of English, and after Amy's failed attempts to communicate with her limited knowledge of French—'une hot dog' apparently didn't fly in this century—the Doctor ended up ordering for the both of them.
"Doctor, are you going to do that throughout the entire meal?" Amy asked, pausing for a moment before assaulting her third croissant.
"Do what?"
"Stare at me like a lovesick puppy."
"Hey, we're in Paris. I should be allowed to stare at you like a lovesick puppy," the Doctor countered, momentarily shaken out of his reverie. His own plate, which held a strange combination of eggs, toast, and broiled salmon, sat mostly untouched in front of him.
"Not when I'm eating. I've been stuffing my face like a chipmunk for the past few minutes."
"A very cute chipmunk."
"You're just saying that."
"No, really." The Doctor grinned in the way that made his eyes crinkle, his fingers dancing over her hand under the table.
Amy smiled. "So, what's up with the salmon? Not exactly something that could be considered breakfast food, eh?"
"Well, apparently fish fingers haven't been invented yet, so I had to make do."
"Fish fingers? Honestly?"
"I know! How anyone could survive through a meal without them is beyond me."
"You forgot about the custard."
"Blast, knew there was something missing." The Doctor frowned at his food. "I think we should be able to find a pastry shop with a good custard selection, don't you? Once we're finished eating, of course. And after I figure out how to pay the bill because, truthfully, I never can remember what currency they use whenever I visit a place. Too hard to keep up with."
Apparently, however, perfect diamonds were acceptable currency no matter the time or place, for the wide-eyed waiter who took the gems from the Doctor told them to have a very wonderful day.
"Nice bloke," the Doctor commented, snaking his arm around Amy's middle as they strolled along the banks of the Seine.
"I suppose anyone would be if you just paid them twenty times what you owed," Amy remarked.
"Yeah, you might have a point there. But it was worth it." The Doctor bent down to steal a kiss, but Amy had other plans. She quickly darted out of his reach, a roguish smirk on her face.
"Oh, oh I see. This is the payback for the yak tongue, isn't it?"
"Partly. There's also this." In a flash, Amy had nicked his bowtie and was halfway down the street with it, laughing like a maniac.
"Amelia! You get back here right now with that!" The Doctor shouted, taking off after her.
Amy wasn't about to give up so easily. She led him through the streets of Paris, ignoring the perplexed stares of the locals she passed. But once again her human lack of endurance won out, and the Doctor caught her on a quiet cobbled street lined with little shops. He trapped her against the side of a brick building that was creeping with ivy and kissed her, the bowtie lying forgotten at their feet. It wasn't until some nineteenth century street urchin whistled at them that they broke apart.
"You are stark raving mad, you know that?" The Doctor said warmly, resting his forehead against Amy's.
"But that's why you love me, right? And besides, look around you."
The Doctor did. This particular street seemed to be devoted to bread and pastry making, and the smell of delicious baked goods wafted out of the shop doors. "Ah yes. Brilliant, Amy," he told her, planting a quick peck on the tip of her nose. "Let's go have a look. Remember, we shall not be swayed by anything less than custard. We are on a mission here."
"You and your quirks," Amy said with a shake of her head, although she followed him anyway, bowtie in hand.
They started down the street, peering into shop windows in search of the prized custard. As they passed one supposedly unassuming storefront, the Doctor threw out his arm to stop Amy from walking past.
"What?" Amy asked, confused as to what had distracted him from his so-named 'mission'.
"What do you see, Pond?" The Doctor asked, indicating the shop window before them.
"Nothing. Just an empty shop. Looks like it's been closed for years," Amy replied.
"Fascinating."
"You act like you see something different."
"That's because I do," the Doctor said mysteriously. "There's something not at all right here, something very wrong indeed, and I intend to find out what it is."
Goodness, when I started this story I never realized how fun it would be to write. Not sure how long this is going to be, I'm guessing whenever random ideas stop popping into my head, which isn't anytime soon lol :)
Reviews most definitely welcome, by the way.