Fic: One for Best
Title: One for Best
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Eleven, Amy
Rating: PG
Word count: 750~
Summary: A little story that takes place either instead of or during the last scene of Flesh and Stone (spoilers if you haven't seen it). Inspired half by this icon and half by a throw-away line in Destiny of the Daleks, but the rest of it is all me being goofy.
Thanks to amare_est_esse for betaing and putting up with my incessant insecurity.
"They taught me at school how to stop my hearts."
"Hearts? How many have you got?"
"One for casual, one for best."
-- Romana and Tyson, Destiny of the Daleks
Amy’s hands seem to be everywhere at once - which is clearly impossible, since humans only have two hands (last he checked, which was fairly recently) and there are an awful lot of everywheres. He scrambles away until he runs out of places to scramble, backed into the doors of the TARDIS with Amy pressed against him. Her industrious hands are tugging at his braces while equally industrious lips slide against his own. He squirms to get away, but there’s just nowhere to go.
And then, as suddenly as the assault began, it’s over. She pulls away to stare at him, her eyes wide, one hand pressed to the center of his chest, fingers splayed out.
“That… that’s not right,” she says, a bit breathlessly.
The Doctor, more than a bit off-balance from this inexplicable turn of events (it had been inexplicable before but now it was doubly inexplicable, if anything), couldn’t quite guess where the conversation had jumped to this time. So - perhaps for the best - he says nothing at all, remaining motionless lest something he do encourage her further.
“Your heart,” Amy continues. “It’s…”
“Oh, that,” he says, almost relieved it’s something so simple, so obvious. He lets out a nervous laugh. “It’s because I don’t just have one heart like you lot.”
Amy’s expression turns incredulous. Of course she’d seem some unbelievable things at the Doctor’s side, she’d traveled time and space with him, but through all that… well, no matter what he said, he looked human. “And just how many hearts do you have?”
“One for casual, one for best,” he says quietly, none of the cheer in his voice that one might expect from such a frankly ridiculous response. She stares at him hard, brows furrowed in concentration. The Doctor finds her gaze more than a little disconcerting and again attempts to squirm away but there’s still nowhere for him to go.
After some measure of silence, Amy lets her hand fall to her side. “Alright then. Who was she?”
“She?!” For a single-syllable word, the Doctor manages a lot of sputtering in getting it out.
“Well, it’s either a she or a he… or some bizarre alien gender I don’t have a word for. Now out with it.”
“And just why does there have to be anyone at all? Maybe I don’t take well to being kissed.”
“Everyone takes well to being kissed,” Amy counters, seeming quite certain on this point. When the Doctor only frowns in response, she presses on, “So does that mean you’re not going to tell me who she was?”
“There wasn’t a… wasn’t any she! Not like that, certainly.”
“Oh, not like that, then, is it? So what was it like?”
His frown takes on a sullen cast as he tries to think up a way to extricate himself from this increasingly awkward situation. “Listen, Amy, what do you say to the beach? There’s this place with green sand - green! -”
“Come on,” she coos, ignoring his attempts to lure her off-topic. “You can tell me.”
There’s silence for a long moment, the both of them staring at one another, waiting to see who blinks first. As it turns out, it’s the Doctor. He sighs, letting his eyes slide closed. “Romanadvoratrelundar,” he admits, grudgingly.
“Excuse me?” Amy isn’t quite sure what he’s said, but it doesn’t sound like an answer.
“Her name. Romanadvoratrelundar.” He smiles wistfully. “I called her Romana - she hated it.”
“Yeah?” she said, a broad, self-satisfied smile on her face. “And where is she now?”
The Doctor’s smile vanishes. “Probably never even existed.”
Amy’s face scrunches up, confused. “But how could she never-”
“No matter now.” He whispers, eyes staring off into the distance, unfocused. “That’s all in the past.”
“The past? But how can there even be a past if she never-”
His eyes sharpen into focus, darting around the room for a moment before locking on Amy. He smiles again, and it’s clear that behind that smile he’s pushing the last few moments of conversation somewhere far, far away. Amy scowls at him, but he doesn’t give her an opportunity to interject.
“Come on, Pond. What are we doing dallying around here?” He grabs her arm as he maneuvers the TARDIS doors open, pulling her inside. “Let’s find your fiancee.”
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Eleven, Amy
Rating: PG
Word count: 750~
Summary: A little story that takes place either instead of or during the last scene of Flesh and Stone (spoilers if you haven't seen it). Inspired half by this icon and half by a throw-away line in Destiny of the Daleks, but the rest of it is all me being goofy.
Thanks to amare_est_esse for betaing and putting up with my incessant insecurity.
"They taught me at school how to stop my hearts."
"Hearts? How many have you got?"
"One for casual, one for best."
-- Romana and Tyson, Destiny of the Daleks
Amy’s hands seem to be everywhere at once - which is clearly impossible, since humans only have two hands (last he checked, which was fairly recently) and there are an awful lot of everywheres. He scrambles away until he runs out of places to scramble, backed into the doors of the TARDIS with Amy pressed against him. Her industrious hands are tugging at his braces while equally industrious lips slide against his own. He squirms to get away, but there’s just nowhere to go.
And then, as suddenly as the assault began, it’s over. She pulls away to stare at him, her eyes wide, one hand pressed to the center of his chest, fingers splayed out.
“That… that’s not right,” she says, a bit breathlessly.
The Doctor, more than a bit off-balance from this inexplicable turn of events (it had been inexplicable before but now it was doubly inexplicable, if anything), couldn’t quite guess where the conversation had jumped to this time. So - perhaps for the best - he says nothing at all, remaining motionless lest something he do encourage her further.
“Your heart,” Amy continues. “It’s…”
“Oh, that,” he says, almost relieved it’s something so simple, so obvious. He lets out a nervous laugh. “It’s because I don’t just have one heart like you lot.”
Amy’s expression turns incredulous. Of course she’d seem some unbelievable things at the Doctor’s side, she’d traveled time and space with him, but through all that… well, no matter what he said, he looked human. “And just how many hearts do you have?”
“One for casual, one for best,” he says quietly, none of the cheer in his voice that one might expect from such a frankly ridiculous response. She stares at him hard, brows furrowed in concentration. The Doctor finds her gaze more than a little disconcerting and again attempts to squirm away but there’s still nowhere for him to go.
After some measure of silence, Amy lets her hand fall to her side. “Alright then. Who was she?”
“She?!” For a single-syllable word, the Doctor manages a lot of sputtering in getting it out.
“Well, it’s either a she or a he… or some bizarre alien gender I don’t have a word for. Now out with it.”
“And just why does there have to be anyone at all? Maybe I don’t take well to being kissed.”
“Everyone takes well to being kissed,” Amy counters, seeming quite certain on this point. When the Doctor only frowns in response, she presses on, “So does that mean you’re not going to tell me who she was?”
“There wasn’t a… wasn’t any she! Not like that, certainly.”
“Oh, not like that, then, is it? So what was it like?”
His frown takes on a sullen cast as he tries to think up a way to extricate himself from this increasingly awkward situation. “Listen, Amy, what do you say to the beach? There’s this place with green sand - green! -”
“Come on,” she coos, ignoring his attempts to lure her off-topic. “You can tell me.”
There’s silence for a long moment, the both of them staring at one another, waiting to see who blinks first. As it turns out, it’s the Doctor. He sighs, letting his eyes slide closed. “Romanadvoratrelundar,” he admits, grudgingly.
“Excuse me?” Amy isn’t quite sure what he’s said, but it doesn’t sound like an answer.
“Her name. Romanadvoratrelundar.” He smiles wistfully. “I called her Romana - she hated it.”
“Yeah?” she said, a broad, self-satisfied smile on her face. “And where is she now?”
The Doctor’s smile vanishes. “Probably never even existed.”
Amy’s face scrunches up, confused. “But how could she never-”
“No matter now.” He whispers, eyes staring off into the distance, unfocused. “That’s all in the past.”
“The past? But how can there even be a past if she never-”
His eyes sharpen into focus, darting around the room for a moment before locking on Amy. He smiles again, and it’s clear that behind that smile he’s pushing the last few moments of conversation somewhere far, far away. Amy scowls at him, but he doesn’t give her an opportunity to interject.
“Come on, Pond. What are we doing dallying around here?” He grabs her arm as he maneuvers the TARDIS doors open, pulling her inside. “Let’s find your fiancee.”