My Daughter
The apartment smelt of pine and presents billowed out from under the tree like red and green bubbles in a bath. Nixon had made good on his word—perhaps for the only time—and Anthony was home for the holidays, making homemade eggnog with his father. Amy couldn't help but think how River liked eggnog too, though she would always bring a little alien rum to spice it with behind Rory's and The Doctor's backs.
But that was then. So many Christmas dinners ago. They'd never have a complete family dinner: her and Rory and River and Anthony and The Doctor. Amy pulled a small silver flask that she'd hid in her stalking and took a swig. Then another. And another. All the while she focused on the tree, with its bright Lisa Frank colored lights growing and starbursting until she'd blink and the process would begin all over again, like a time loop.
"Eggnog's ready!" Anthony announced cheerfully. He strode into the living room balancing a tray with three mugs.
Amy discreetly dropped the flask back into her stalking and smiled as she took one of the mugs from her son. "Smells good."
"Wait 'til you taste it. I think this year's is the best yet!"
Amy sipped the nog, but it seemed dull. She wasn't sure if she'd simply drunken too much or if it was her mood. Or both.
"Anthony wants to go caroling," Rory said as he took a stance beside his wife.
"Hm." Amy fixed her eyes on the angel at the top of the tree. Every few minutes her wings would flare a brilliant gold, which spread to her hands and face. Amy's mind was too far away to think about caroling; instead she thought of Mels in Berlin, and soon, she was thinking of Melody, trying to imagine what her daughter would look like glowing so beautifully somewhere in the dead of a New York night.
