Author's Note: I'm really sorry for the delay, guys. And for the overall shortness/crappiness of the chapter…but I won't make excuses for myself. ANYWAYS, please tell me if you think The Doctor's just so extravagantly out of character that you can't enjoy this or whatever…I'll try to take in to account any criticism I receive. Hope you all enjoy, and the next chapter will actually start to speed up the story! …I hope!
xxxxx
The Doctor was waiting. Which, honestly, he was used to waiting. That never bothered him. At least, it never used to bother him. Now…he was technically on a time limit. Waiting was definitely bothering him, and he didn't like it. Not one bit.
Taking in his surroundings once more, making sure nothing had changed, he began to fiddle with the daft pair of sunglasses he'd donned for the day. A sorry replacement for a bowtie, he'd say if you asked him. Once satisfied that nothing threatening was going on around him, he took a sip of his glass of water, and slightly leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands on the table in front of him.
Waiting he was good at. The Doctor would tell you that in an instant. He'd had plenty of time to practice. It was when you added 'blending in' to the waiting that things got a bit tricky. Blending in — much like an apple — is rubbish. No bowtie, no tweed jacket, and no braces. "Rubbish," he scoffed.
Leaning forward in his chair, he picked up the menu on the table in front of him and began to look over it in earnest, pausing every minute or so to slightly shift his eyes to-and-fro, grudgingly thankful for his shades.
He'd had a bit of luck today, she'd decided to eat somewhere that had a small outdoor restaurant just across the street from it. Being honest, he couldn't have made the situation much better for himself even with a bit of wibbly-wobbly manipulation. But now he'd hit his biggest roadblock yet, and as he came to this conclusion, he let the menu fall softly to the table in front of him, sighing at it exasperatedly. More of this 'blending in' nonsense.
As he was staring his menu down, daring it to make his decision for him, the waitress decided that was her cue to saunter over. He sat back in his chair, shot her the smoothest smile he could muster, and removed his shades.
"Are you ready to order yet?" she asked, the same fake-perky sound plastered to her voice as with most waitresses.
"Yes," he sat up rigid in his chair once more. "But I will be needing a bit of your help."
He opened his menu once more and began poring over it again, a small frown on his face, as flustered as he could remember being over something so simple.
"What, exactly," he suddenly looked back up at her, a goofy smile plastered on his face. "Would a normal person order?"
The waitress was a bit taken aback by that, and a small look of worry quickly worked its way onto her face.
"Wait, no, that's wrong, no…" he looked down at his lap, his own mix of worry and confusion. Another goofy smile in her direction. "What would you recommend?"
"Well," she began. "Our special today is—"
"Yes, that'll do nicely," he cut her off. "One of the special. Thank you." He raised his eyebrows a bit as he passed the menu back to her, and she gave him a strange look as she marched off.
The Doctor shrugged as she walked off. A small bit of awkwardness here and there couldn't be helped. The Ponds had only taught him so much about blending in. It wasn't like they'd had the opportunity to visit many normal restaurants, either.
Now — back to waiting. Or watching, more specifically. He still wasn't sure if he was watching for one specific thing or just…watching. And appreciating. He'd already told himself that he wouldn't interact. That wouldn't be fair to himself, or her.
It had been a while since he'd seen her. Well, a version of her that knew him. Right before his regeneration, actually. He let his eyes drift downward as he remembered that night. All the snow. He'd appeared to her as a crazy old man who'd had a bit too much to drink and couldn't remember what year it was. The faintest upward curve found itself to his lips. He wasn't even sure that she'd want to see him at this point, after he'd left her in the alternate dimension again. The slight curve stayed on his lips. He knew he wanted to see her again, however.
He sat back once more, beginning to formulate a plan for how to approach this. Should he use an alias? He couldn't exactly use 'John Smith', as he had a feeling she'd see right through it. Pond…something with Pond. He began to tap his fingers on the table in front of him, his body getting impatient while his mind did its work.
He risked a quick glance over towards them, and couldn't help but laugh to himself a bit when he saw them carrying on and, presumably, having a good time. He was glad, of course. He wouldn't have it any other way. It would have ruined this whole trip to see any of them upset or down. Happy. He was glad to see them happy. And, from this far away, carefree. Something they never would've been back then.
He saw his waitress approaching with what must be his order, and so sat up in his chair. Uttering a quick thanks when she set his plate down, he watched for a few seconds as she retreated and then looked down at the plate. Some sort of pasta dish…in some sort of orange-ish sauce.
He picked up his fork and began to dig around in it, looking for oddities, before stabbing one of the stuffed little pieces and taking a bite.
The filling was some sort of butternut squash mixture, that much he could tell. But the sauce was…a completely different story. A curious look sprouted on his face, before slowly beginning to turn into one of shock and awe.
"Are those…apples?" he asked out loud, to no one in particular, as he used his fork to capture one of the small white bits floating about in the sauce and brought it to eye level.
He returned the apple to the sauce and took another, this time larger, bite of his pasta. A large smile began to take shape on his face, and The Doctor suddenly knew one thing. Amy Pond had no idea how to properly prepare an apple.
As he took another bite, he let his eyes wander over to them once more, and when he did he couldn't help the rather sudden change in his mood as his happy-go-lucky newly apple-loving self quickly began to think of an exit strategy.
He'd caught his stare from across the way, he was sure of it. Yes, now she was admonishing him about giving away the fact that they knew he was watching them.
Letting his eyes quickly shift to the waitress a few tables down, to them, and back, he decided he only had one available route.
He quickly stood and began speed walking away, quickening to a sprint when he heard the shouts of the waitress behind him.
The Doctor loved to learn new things. Learning he was no good at blending in was not one of them.
As he finally made it back to the TARDIS and began circling the control panel, he was already focusing on his next course of action.
"I'll just have to watch them from earlier in the week."