Okay, so I've decided to respond to a couple reviews. You know, for kicks and the fact that I want to interact with you lot a little more. So…

DoctorWhotaliaandtheOlympian s- Thank you! I'm glad it was a fun chapter, it was certainly a blast to write.

HP2011- Aw, thank you. And I know, the image of him dancing has stuck with me for quite a while. It really does need to happen, like at Comic Con or something.

catlover210- *dances along with you*

RandomCitizen- It seems I may have mixed you up a bit there, darling. Sorry about that. Jenna isn't the Doctor's daughter, though I realize now that the names Jenna and Jenny are very similar (whoops). I just thought it would be good character development to have them build this kind of familial relationship, with the Doctor being protective because, hey, Jenna is an adolescent girl and he was a dad once. I just thought it would be a good development for both of their characters. But I love your review, thanks for catching the period mention!

Guest- Oh, I just love anons like you!

Alright, this has gone on long enough. Enjoy the chapter!

-JustStandingHere

#

"New York City?" I repeat, feeling a sense of anxiousness crawl over my skin.

There are pros and cons to New York, if you don't already know.

The "pros" being that, obviously, it's New York City. It has Tiffany's and Macy's and Times Square and Central Park and all the iconic places you can imagine. And it's huge, too. When I was small, I thought Portland was the biggest city I'd ever known. And damn was I wrong.

The "cons" being in the form of "The Angels Take Manhattan" and all the knowledge brought with it.

"A-Are you sure we should be here?" I ask. "I mean, can't we go someplace else like…Dublin? Yeah, let's go to Dublin."

"Oh, come off it, it's New York!" the Doctor says. He steps out of the TARDIS and I know I've lost my case. "The passageway into America, hustling and bustling and thriving, especially now. After the Great Depression, though of course there's still poverty. But what else is there to you humans?" He turns around to look at me after strolling a couple feet. "And it's Christmas Eve!"

I wrap my arms around myself. Jesus, he was right. I don't think I'll be taking off this coat for a long, long time if we're staying here.

"But there's thugs and guns and…stuff," I argue weakly.

The Doctor frowns. "And since when has that stopped us before?"

I huff. "Never," I mutter.

"Exactly! Now come along, Quigs, we have Rockefeller Center to see!"

I look around and scan my surroundings. Alleyway facing a busy street. There's a garbage can with scorch marks at the entrance, so homeless people must frequent here of did at one point. Trash littering the ground.

But above are bright lights and noise, so much noise. A good noise, too, not the type of noise to make you want to shove your head under a pillow. Background noise that keeps things mundane and normal.

I sigh and step out of the TARDIS, and the door shuts behind me.

"Oh, don't be so reluctant," the Doctor says.

I frown. "I have good reason to be reluctant, thank you very much."

"And why is that?" he asks.

"Spoilers," I bite out. "Big, big spoilers."

He looks concerned. "It isn't soon, is it?"

"I—," I pause, because he hasn't exactly asked questions like that before. He's usually just left the matter alone. I shake my head. "Um, no. It's not anytime soon. You've got a lot of time before it happens."

"Does that mean that I have time before…" he trails off at the end of the question, swallowing a lungful of air and letting it escape through his nose.

I blink and give a small smile. "Well, I can't exactly tell you, now can I?" I stitch my eyebrows together. "Why are you asking, anyways?"

"Curiosity killed the cat," he quotes.

"And sometimes satisfaction just buries it six feet under," I snap.

He looks at me for a moment, and I probably look like I'm going to snack his neck. Which I sort of want to do, anyways.

But then he grins and claps his hands together, rubbing them on each other like he always does. "Well! We have places to see, don't we?"

I start walking towards the alleyway exit. "You bet your ass we've got places to see." He waits for me to walk next to him and follows me out.

We walk down the street, in the middle of the clutter and bustle of the city, when I look up to see the sky is at the stage of almost-dark, where it's not pitch black but not light out and the clouds and sky are tinged a dark navy blue.

"Doctor," I say. "What time is it?"

"Around six o'clock," he answers. "Why?"

I shrug. "Just wondering. I want to make sure I can keep a count until Christmas."

"There'll be grandfather clocks creating a symphony to tell you its Christmas, counting isn't much of a matter."

"Somebody's anxious," I mutter.

"Well of course I am! This is New York, the Big Apple! I haven't been here since…ever," he tells me.

"You mean that time with the Daleks and Martha?" I remind him.

"Uh, yeah. That time, of course."

I smile and look ahead to the street. On the sidewalk people are slumped against the brownstone buildings, dirty and huddled into a ball. Some surround trash can fires, sticking their hands out and getting mesmerized with the light.

"It's such a shame," I whisper.

"What?" the Doctor asks.

"All the people," I clarify. "This is after the Great Depression, right? Busy 40's, right after the war, what with the return home kisses and Frank Sinatra."

"Yes, but wherever there's humanity there's poverty," he comments, sticking his hands in my pockets. "You lot are always going to try to place yourselves above the others, and because of that some people get kicked down. It might be because they were born into it or it happened on their own accord. It doesn't make it alright, but it just…happens."

"It would help to do something about it," I point out.

He shrugs. "What can you do?"

I stop walking. "A lot of things, actually!" I point out. He turns just in front of me, and I swat him on the chest. "You're the Doctor, you especially could do something!" He looks at me and I roll my eyes. "Oh, don't tell me you've gotten to that stage so soon. Usually you're alone and I thought it would start a lot later."

"Stage? What stage?"

"The 'the Universe is a cruel thing and I can't do anything about it' stage," I explain. "Which is useless, by the way. Because if I know you—and don't deny that I do—you usually don't let the laws of the Universe restrict you." I sigh. "Now, I don't know why you're thinking this way—maybe I'm being a bad companion or maybe it's just the stress of the fact that you were told you were going to…you know. I honestly don't know. But I'm running out of motivational speeches and if you keep it up like this I'm just going to have to resort to kicking you until you're in a positive mood."

I'm met with silence.

I frown and wave my hand in front of his face. "Doctor? Yoo-hoo?"

He blinks. "Oh, sorry."

I shake my head. "You weren't listening to a single word I said, weren't you?"

He goes red and smiles a little. "Um…no. But I'm sure it was fantastic! I've just got a hankering for some food."

I snort. "Hankering? Who the hell says hankering?"

"I do!" he defends. "Possibly. Maybe. Probably never again."

I laugh, letting the tension from before dissipate. "You're a dork," I tell him.

"I will take that as a compliment," he says. We start walking again.

"We could head to Times Square," I suggest. "Or anywhere, really. New York is famous for its street venders."

"Where do you want to go first?" the Doctor asks. "We have approximately six hours until midnight. We can go multiple places."

I think for a moment. "Macy's," I answer.

He looks surprised. "Macy's?"

I nod.

"You want to go to a department store?"

"Yep."

"…Why?"

I shrug. "It's huge. I mean, they've got a parade named after them, you can't beat that. And they've got cute clothes." I hold up my arms to emphasize the huge trench coat I have on, which is currently hanging over my hands and making me look like a six year old in their dad's work shirt. "I can't stay in this all night."

"What do you care? It's just a coat."

"Well, coming from you, Mister I Look Like Someone's 80 Year-Old History Professor, that doesn't really count. I want to look good."

"Why?" he asks, now on the verge of whining.

"Well I was hoping to go to a New Year's party after this," I say bluntly.

The Doctor's face scrunches up. "New Year's parties?"

"Yes."

"Why on Earth would you want to go to a New Year's party?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, I don't know, maybe to get kissed?"

He pauses. "Is the goal of most adolescent humans just to snog each other?"

"You ask too many questions," I grumble.

"Asking questions is a wonderful thing."

"And irritating."

"You never answered me, though," he points out.

I bump into somebody and move past them with a small "sorry" and roll my eyes at him. "I just…is it too much of a crime? Especially the way my last one went."

"What happened?" he asks, looking concerned.

I look up at him. He doesn't remember the Hesperidia, and even a little bit after that. Each day I've been asking him what our first adventure was and every other day his answer changes, slowly deteriorating and losing each memory. Besides, I don't think he knew much in the first place, when he was on the ship.

"The guy was just a huge dick in the end," I resort to saying. "Complete jerk." Who threw me into a ship hull full of mutants, as well. I shrug. "Got back at him though."

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Slapped him across the face." In the midst of escaping a slightly psychotic captain.

"Good on you!" he compliments.

I smile a little. I kind of wish he could remember, and stop whatever he's doing to forget, so that I could relive all those adventures he's seemingly lost.

"Can we go to Macy's now?" I ask. "Like I said, New Year's party. Coming up very soon, and the 40's had nice little necklaces and things."

He huffs. "Fine. But we have other places to go, of course."

I grin. "They've got a Santa Claus."

"He's not the real one, the real Father Christmas is seven feet tall and owns a motorbike."

I snort and break into a fit of laughter.

"What? It's true. If you don't want to believe me, I do have pictures from the last Christmas party of his I went to."

I laugh even harder.

He grabs my arm. "Alright, let's go to your clothing store," he grumbles, dragging me along.

My giggling fit dies down and I pull myself away from him, getting into my own pace as we walk through neon lights and people in mid-calf skirts and fedoras. Funny, whenever I imagine the 1940s I always imagine people being black and white, as if color didn't exist before 1958. But these people have got bright hues on them, with blues and green and blondes and redheads all being visible even in the mid-dark tone.

I realize I have no idea where the Macy's in New York is and look around.

"Uh…Doc?"

He frowns at the nickname, but answers with, "Yes?"

"Do you know how to get to Macy's?"

"Of course I know how to get to Macy's; I know every direction to every place ever known."

I nod. "Okay then."

We get lost fifteen minutes into our trek.

"Can't we just ask somebody for directions?" I ask.

He waves his hand. "No, no! I know this place, I've been here before. Just give me a mo, I'll figure it out."

I roll my eyes. "Just like any other guy. What's the deal with asking for directions, it's not like it's going to shoot an arrow into your dignity!"

We're standing on the corner of another vague street, with tall skyscrapers towering over us. People move around us, giving us irritated looks for stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Just give me a minute, Quigs, I can figure this out," he reassures me, and he stands there and starts waving his hand around, obviously using a mental map of the city but looking like a delusional idiot in the process. He shakes his head and has his eyes dart over the mental map, and I sigh.

"Fine," I say. "I'll go ask for direction, 'kay?"

He waves me away, not paying attention. "Yes, of course. Go do that, don't stray too far!"

I smirk and look through the crowds, trying to find someone who looks easy to talk to.

I spot a woman with dark brown hair verging on black and ruby red lip who's pushing a small baby carrier. She keeps glancing in multiple directions, but mostly looks down at whatever type of child is in the carriage and smiles.

I look behind to the Doctor and walk up to the woman.

"Um, hello?" I ask, waving.

She looks up from the baby carriage. "What do you want?" she asks skeptically.

I clear my throat. "Er, my uncle and I just came over from Ellis Island," I explain, donning a British accent I hope is believable enough but probably isn't. "And we're having a bit of trouble navigating the city." I glance back over to the Doctor. "Well, I am. My uncle…he has mental disabilities, but my mum is still waiting to get her visa and I have to take care of him until she can become a legal citizen."

She looks over my shoulder and raises her eyebrows at the Doctor. "Limeys, are you?" she asks.

I nod. "I guess that's the term, yeah," I say, agreeing but not really knowing what she's talking about. "Listen, we're just trying to get over to Macy's for some last minute Christmas shopping, do you think you could help me?"

"Oh, sure, sweetheart," she says. "Let me just get out my notepad, I'll write down a couple directions."

I nod. "Thank you, so much."

"Oh, no problem," she says, and starts fishing through her purse. I peer over and see a bundle of blankets with a pudgy face and big eyes stare up at me. It continue to stare at me with utter fascination.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" I ask, feeling utterly stupid for calling a baby 'it'.

"Girl," she answers. "Named her Imogene."

I smile. "That's a beautiful name," I comment.

"What's yours?" the lady asks, scribbling on her notepad.

"What's my what?" I ask, confused.

"You're name, darling," she clarifies.

"Oh," I realize, feeling more and more like a dunce. "Uh…Maggie."

"And your uncle?" She rips the page out of her notebook.

"John," I answer immediately. "John Smith. And I'm…Maggie Smith." I grimace, realizing my mistake. Oh well, she hasn't gotten famous yet, I think. She must only be around five at the moment.

"I'm Clarissa," the lady—Clarissa—tells me. She hands me the paper, which is a series of directions and an address at the bottom. She points to it. "Come round there if you need anything. A kid like you taking care of a full-grown adult can be tough, I know. Just go to the front desk and ask for Mrs. Sampson, got it?"

I nod and stuff the directions in the trench coat pockets. "Thank you, so much!"

"Oi, Quigs!" the Doctor calls from behind, running up to me.

Clarissa looks at me questioningly.

"It's his nickname for me," I explain. "I keep it out of…sentiment."

The Doctor ends up right beside me. "I figured out the directions!" He looks over to the woman. "Who're you?"

"John," I say, warningly. I raise my eyebrows and he catches on quickly. "This is Clarissa. She just helped me get directions to Macy's."

"But I just figured out the way to get to Macy's," he reiterates.

I nod enthusiastically. "Yes, and I'm sure it's a brilliant way, but we've got to move fast so we can get our gifts and get home so you can take your medicine, remember?"

"Medicine? I don't have any medicine."

Clarissa smiles patiently and looks over to me. "Like I said, if you need any help, I'll probably be back at the apartment by eight o'clock. Now, Imogene and I have to get over to my in-law's place."

The baby gurgles.

"It's alright, Imogene," the Doctor reassures. "I'm sure you'll be able to tolerate it."

I elbow him.

"What? I speak baby, you know."

I grin, trying to look calm and collected. "I know, John. But let's get over to the department store, alright? The sooner you go home and take your pills, the better." I look over to Clarissa. "Again, thank you so much. If I need you, I will definitely contact you."

She nods, and with that I pull the directions out and drag the Doctor along as I turn the corner.

"What was that about?" he asks.

"Nothing," I dismiss. I look up, searching for the correct street name. "You don't need to worry about."

I look around through the crowd of people and the light coming from both the street lamps and the trash can fires. My gaze skims over most of the view, until it rests on a little boy.

He's homeless, that's for certain. Dirty and ratty. He's standing alone next to a trash bin on fire, with a worn out tam on his head and a oversized coat that has holes on the sleeves, trousers (have I really stooped so low to say trousers?) short and ending around his ankles, showing high, soggy socks from the snow and soot-stained shoes.

And he has his eyes trained right on me.

I stare back at him, for a minute. He's across the street, only maybe thirty yards away from where I am. He stares at me, intently, with a blank look on his face. No wonder or anger or curiosity. He's just…blank.

The Doctor peers over my shoulder. "You alright, Jenna?"

I shove him off. "Yeah," I say. I look back over to where the boy was, and find the area deserted, the only thing left being the fire that is slowly dying. "Yeah, I'm fine." I look down at the paper. "We've only got a couple more blocks to go. Come on!"

Macy's is bigger than I thought.

Then again, the one I had was one story and crammed with one half being furniture and the other half being clothes, with the perfume section sandwiched in the middle.

But this store…this store has floors.

I walk in and smell new clothing and perfume samples, and the typical elevator music playing a holiday tune in the background.

We stroll around for a little bit before I see the Doctor physically jump ten feet in the air before running towards a particular aisle filled with small playthings and stuffed animals. I catch up with him.

"Quigs, why didn't you say there was a toy section?" he asks.

I frown. "It's a department store. I just sort of assumed that—"

"No matter. You go off and get your snog jewelry," he says, waving me off. "I have a model airplane to renovate."

"Don't do anything history-altering, got it?" I ask him.

"I won't, I won't," he says, which means he really will. He picks up a box kit and grins. "Go walk around, I'll be here making this beautiful."

I smirk. "Alright, then."

I leave him to his whims and stroll past him until I'm out of earshot from his gleeful giggling (yes, you, it's giggling). Macy's is wide open, all white and pristine. I like it. Since the night's wearing out there are less and less people in the store, making it less crowded than the streets outside.

There's an escalator that's set around a wide square showing the next floor down, guarded by railing. I look down, gripping tight so that I don't feel like I'm going to fall out.

That's when I hear it.

It's faint, at first, and I don't look up to acknowledge. But it gets gradually louder, so I look up. And there they are.

A patch of red hair, up in bun, and sandy blonde gelled down. They look slightly different, but then again age and the time period will do that. She's pushing a baby carriage down the way at what I guess is the top speed one can go when in the possession of a child, and he's trailing behind her.

"Doctor!" she yells. Her accent's changed, slightly, but the more she yells the more it reverts to what it once was. "Doctor!"

I freeze, and then bolt as fast as I can towards them.

Because Amy and Rory Pond are barreling straight for the man who doesn't even know they've got a gravestone marked for them.

#

AH. NEW STORYLINE. SMELL'S FANTASTIC.

Got this in just in the nick of time, too. Again, I apologize for spelling errors, grammar mistakes, etc.

Btw, I'm borrowing heavily from the deleted scene "P.S." for Amy and Rory, so you should probably watch that on YouTube to get some context.

As always, reviews and things are welcomed wholeheartedly.

Until then!

-JustStandingHere