fic: maybe we forgot, are we awake or not?
title: Maybe we forgot, are we awake or not?
pairing: Amy/Eleven
words: 2819
rating: PG-13 for lots of sexual tension.
note: (Feel free to skip the following rambling.) Well. If I've written Matt/Karen, so Eleven/Amy should be easy peasy lemon squeezy, right? (Wroooong!)
I've been working on an essay of doom for a good few days now so I feel like writing some good ol' angst, and where better to start than with the Cold Blood episode... D: I realize it's probably too soon for fic and everyone's probably still crying over Rory (I know I am). Please bear in mind this is my first foray into Doctor Who fic (can't believe it's taken me this long to write for this fandom to be honest), so be gentle with me (Watson! Oops, wrong fandom.) This turned out a lot darker, kinkier and longer than I intended, ye be warned.
(Title is taken from a song called Every Time You Go by Ellie Goulding who I'm completely obsessed with thanks to fallenmagic ♥ Almost everyone one of her songs make me think of Amy and Eleven. Fic is also loosely based on a RP thread I started where I play Amy.)
Maybe We Forgot, Are We Awake or Not?
The Doctor took the TARDIS shrapnel and carefully wrapped it in the spotty red napkin, almost like it was a gift, a gift which by no means he'd asked for, and shoved it back into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket. There, it rested against one of his hearts. Out of all the things he could have pulled out of the crack, a piece of the TARDIS had not only been the most unexpected, but the worst.
He made soothing sounds under his breath as he ran his spindly fingers up and down the side of the TARDIS, like he was comforting the ship, as though it was unnerved by the presence of the shrapnel and annoyed that the Doctor was keeping it as some sort of disturbing memento. But he'd have to worry about the fate of the TARDIS later; right now he had to look after Amy. Amy, who believed everything was fine, until the first time she would break into the tears and not know why.
He gave his beloved ship one last comforting pat, took a deep breath and entered the TARDIS expecting Amy to be making tea, something of a tradition after every adventure they lived through. Instead, he found her asleep in the chair by the console. Quietly walking up the steps to the raised platform in the middle of the ship, he contemplated covering Amy with a blanket, but kneeling down in front of her he noticed the look of discomfort on her face. It was clear she was dreaming, but by the looks of it she wasn't having a "good... mare", as the Doctor would call it.
"Doctor," Amy said in a hushed whisper. "Don't let go..."
He put his hands over hers and gave them a gentle squeeze, and Amy looked comforted for a moment, until her face scrunched up in pain and she started to twist and thrash in her sleep.
"No..." She shook her head fiercely, tears rolling down her cheeks. The Doctor tried to keep hold of her hands but she was moving too much. "No..."
Going for a less than gentle but by all means necessary approach, the Doctor gripped Amy's shoulders and raised his voice, "Amy!"
Clutching the sides of the chair tightly, Amy bent forward and jerked awake, but not before shouting out a name...
"RORY!"
The name echoed throughout the ship. A bewildered Amy fell back against the seat. Why had she yelled out that name? Who was Rory?
"Amy," the Doctor stared at her in shock. Maybe she hadn't forgotten Rory after all. Maybe he wouldn't have to suffer this pain alone, although the last thing he wanted was to see Amy hurt, and she would suffer a thousand times more than he would. He put his hands either side of her head. "Tell me your dream."
It all felt too familiar for Amy as she touched her cheek and looked at her fingers wet from tears, just like she did after pressing the 'forget' button on Starship UK. The dream had been fuzzy and fragmented, but she could vaguely recall dreaming about what happened that day - sucking in a gasp of air before the ground swallowed her up, a lizard man coming towards her with a sharp pointy thing...
Crouching over a dead man's body.
Had she really seen someone die today?
She squeezed her eyes shut and desperately tried to keep the dream in her mind...
But then her mind went blank, and the dream was gone. When she opened her eyes again, she looked embarrassed for crying over some silly nightmare in front of the Doctor. She wiped at her eyes.
"I can't remember." The Doctor's hands fell away from her face as he stared at her, crushed. It was like Amy had forgotten Rory all over again. "I always forget my dreams..."
"No, Amy," the Doctor said in pleading tones. He rested his forehead against hers. "You must remember. Come on, Amy, please."
"I..." She looked down at the chair she was sitting in. There was something significant about it. Something had happened in that chair... "I can't." She looked apologetically at the Doctor as he rubbed his face in a frustrated manner. "I'm sorry, Doctor."
"It's okay," the Doctor answered softly. He could tell she'd tried her hardest to remember. It had been a long day and he didn't want to force her memory of Rory out of her, especially when he knew what would follow afterwards - grief.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep." She brought her feet up on the seat and hugged her knees to her chest. "I was waiting for you to come back in the TARDIS and must have nodded off..."
"It's fine. Though I suggest you sleep in your bed next time."
The Doctor's words repeated in Amy's mind. Her bed, her bed on the TARDIS, didn't she up until recently share it with someone?
No... no, she always slept alone. She grew up, alone, and she went to bed, alone. That's the way it had always been... It had always been that way, hadn't it?
"Amy?" the Doctor interrupted her thoughts with a questioning look, and all of a sudden she sprung from the chair.
The Doctor stood slowly and watched Amy pace the ship. She repeated the name in her head. Rory, Rory, Rory...
Eventually Amy ended up by the doors of the TARDIS, and when she still couldn't put a face to the name, she hit the doors with her palms in frustration - and that triggered a memory. She'd done that before. She remembered slamming her palms against the door, yelling at the Doctor to let her out. Out of nowhere there was all this pain inside her that she couldn't explain.
She ran over to the console next, up the steps and to the center of the ship - she'd definitely done that before, too - and gazed upon the array of controls. She touched a lever, but didn't move it, just felt it. She remembered almost wrestling the Doctor for control of the TARDIS. She eyed the Doctor, but he said nothing, only watched her, keeping his distance. He didn't want to interrupt what she was doing if it meant interrupting her remembering Rory.
"You did something," Amy said to the Doctor, stood the other side of the console, almost using it as a wall between them. "You did something to make me hate you."
"Yes," the Doctor confirmed, shutting his eyes in regret.
Amy looked at him, hurt and confused. "Why?"
"It was that or let you never exist at all." He would always choose Amy hating him over allowing her to be erased from history.
"What if... what if it's not that I can't remember, it's that I won't?" At that moment, Amy knew she was experiencing pain from losing something - someone, but somehow she knew she was merely feeling the tiniest fraction of what she could feel if she knew the whole truth. "Because it'll hurt too much if I do. I don't want to remember if it means I'll hate you," her voice trembled.
"Oh, Amy," the Doctor said in the saddest of voices. "My companions always do."
Rose hated him for leaving her with a cheap copy of himself, Martha hated him for always moping over Rose, and the only reason Donna didn't hate him was because she didn't remember him, but she'd hate him if she knew what he did to her. Or so he thought.
Amy didn't know what compelled her to it, but she strode over to the Doctor, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket - definite déjà vu - and pushed him up against the console. She stared into the Doctor's face as she tried to fill in the blank in the following sentence:
The ________ and the kissogram.
Who filled that space? Someone did. Was it the Doctor? The madman and the kissogram? It sounded right. It even sort of rhymed.
"Amy." The Doctor's hands were either side of her head again. "You can do this. You can remember. Don't let anything distract you, concentrate..."
But she couldn't. She could only focus on the Doctor; his face so young, yet his eyes so old; his lips (he was a good kisser... for an alien) just a breath away...
"Concentrate," the Doctor said again, low under his breath, his eyes skimming over Amy's face (such a beautiful face... he really did love a redhead) but it was more of a command to himself rather than Amy. He could feel himself getting lost in the heat of the moment (heat being the operative word, he could feel so much heat coming off her body, coming off his body...) like a human. She made him feel so human...
The Doctor could see where this was going. Amy had almost died, again, and maybe like the last time she'd been thinking about who she wanted, except the Doctor was her only option now. Her other choice - fantastic, funny, gorgeous Rory - didn't exist anymore. The only person standing between him and Amy now was himself.
With her hands still fisted in the Doctor's jacket, Amy pulled him forwards, and their foreheads bumped together gently, then their noses, then their lips. Their mouths did nothing more than rest against each other's for a moment, until Amy started to move her lips, and the Doctor hated himself, because he gladly moved his lips over hers in response, parting them for her tongue to slide its way into his mouth. This was nothing like the kiss in Amy's bedroom. This was slow, needy and almost sensual, but that didn't make it right. Their first kiss had been wrong because it had been the night before Amy's wedding. Now there was no wedding, but it was barely an hour after her fiancé had just been erased from existence, which she didn't even know about, and he was kissing her, and he was enjoying it!
Aren't you glad you got rid of the gooseberry? said a dark little voice in his head, belonging to a short, plump man in a bow tie. Now he's gone, she's all yours.
Don't call him that, the Doctor snapped at his own voice inside his head. He was a good man. A better man than you could ever be.
He allowed himself one more second of happiness, then he put his hands on Amy's shoulders and pushed her away, but still kept her close. He couldn't stand the rejected look on her face, and then she started to cry, but he knew it wasn't because of him.
"Do you know why you're crying, Amy?"
He'd known what her answer would be, but he'd asked her nonetheless. She shook her head wordlessly at him, then bent her head and rested her face against the Doctor's chest. He kissed her forehead and held her.
"Something's broken inside of me, Doctor." He had a feeling it was her heart. "Only you can fix it."
"I will." The Doctor hugged her tightly. "I will fix this. I promise."
He held her face in his hands and looked into her eyes; they were red and puffy from crying and lack of sleep.
"You need rest." Their next adventure could wait. He put his hand on the small of her back, guided her up a staircase, lead her left at the end of a hallway, and opened the third door on the right to Amy's room. They were both silent the entire walk.
The TARDIS had made her room on the ship look like her bedroom back in Leadworth, complete with fairy lights. The Doctor walked Amy over to her bed, and with his hands on her shoulders, gently pushed her downwards so she was sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"Don't you lift a finger, Pond."
Amy managed a smile as the Doctor took off her jacket for her, then knelt down, lifting her feet to pull off her boots.
"Time for bed." The Doctor put his hands on Amy's knees to hoist himself up.
"But what about my nightie?"
Amy was looking at the Doctor inquisitively, and he held her stare for a second, then did one of his twirls on the spot and headed towards the chest of drawers in the room. He opened the middle drawer and there was the nightie she'd worn the night she ran away with him, folded neatly, and obviously cleaned by the TARDIS so it no longer smelled of space whale vomit.
He walked back over to Amy with the nightie in his hand and stood in front of her looking nervous. How was he going to do this? She looked like she'd calmed down now and was more than capable of undressing and dressing herself, but it was like they were both pretending Amy couldn't so the Doctor could do it for her.
"Arms," the Doctor said. Amy obediently stretched her arms in the air, and the Doctor pulled off her burgundy jumper. One more layer and she'd be half naked in front of him, something he'd dreamt about on more than one occasion.
Amy raised her arms again, and hesitantly he tugged the t-shirt away from her head and arms. And there she was, sitting in her bra and Rio shorts (of course her underwear would be blue, just like her bedroom, just like the TARDIS...), looking up at him with those round eyes.
Next were the shorts, and Amy stood up before he had the chance to tell her to, which had been a bad idea because now they were standing close, and bad things happened when they stood close. Amy put her hands on the Doctor's shoulders, like she needed something to hold onto or she'd fall, and the Doctor refused to look at her in the eye, only stared at what his fingers were doing, accidentally brushing them against her navel, undoing the button of her shorts, then slowly pulling down the zipper. He had to pull the end of her shorts a little down her thighs, then they fell the rest of the way onto the floor. She stepped out of them.
It was only the tights left, and he knelt down in front of her again, his eyes level with the blue knickers he could just make out under the sheer black fabric. Starting at her waist, he flattened his palms against her skin, and careful not to make a hole in them, slid the tights down her body, down her thighs, down her knees, and finally down her calves. Then Amy lifted one foot, then the other, as the Doctor freed her from the tights altogether. Her legs were even longer than he imagined now he could see every inch of them.
"You're so beautiful," the Doctor sighed, because this regeneration had a habit of saying thoughts that should have been kept in his head.
"Someone once told me that," Amy whispered as she remembered. "Before they died."
The Doctor nodded sadly, waiting for her to tell him more, but the blank look on her face told him she couldn't. Maybe she'd remember more tomorrow.
"Oh, I almost forgot." The nightie! She wasn't going to bed dressed like that. "How silly of me."
He pulled the nightie over her head and slotted her arms through the holes. Now she looked like a ginger Wendy Darling.
"Perfect," the Doctor smiled.
Amy climbed into bed, and the Doctor headed for the door, about to bid her goodnight, when she said his name.
"Doctor." He stopped in his tracks. "I don't know why but I don't want to be alone right now. Will you stay?"
He'd lost Amy her future husband, the least he could do was spend the night with her.
"No funny business," he said, wagging his finger. Amy nodded, and the Doctor crossed the room back over to her, kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket, bid adieu to his bowtie, then bounced into bed, which earned a laugh from Amy. Such a pretty laugh.
"I must warn you," the Doctor plumped up his pillow and put his hands behind his head, "I'm a bit of a blanket hog."
So was he, Amy thought in her head, but she didn't know who he was.
The Doctor clapped his hands and all the lights went out, all except the fairy lights by the bed railings, glowing around their heads. Amy settled beside the Doctor, turning on her side to look at him. The Doctor caught her gaze.
"I meant what I said before." He found her hand under the covers and squeezed it. "I'll fix everything."
Silence fell over them, and the Doctor almost thought Amy had fallen asleep, before she spoke.
"I trust you."
The Doctor didn't know whether to smile or cry.
"Your trust is all I ask for." He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
"Goodnight, Doctor."
"Pleasant dreams, Pond."
And they fell asleep, holding hands.
pairing: Amy/Eleven
words: 2819
rating: PG-13 for lots of sexual tension.
note: (Feel free to skip the following rambling.) Well. If I've written Matt/Karen, so Eleven/Amy should be easy peasy lemon squeezy, right? (Wroooong!)
I've been working on an essay of doom for a good few days now so I feel like writing some good ol' angst, and where better to start than with the Cold Blood episode... D: I realize it's probably too soon for fic and everyone's probably still crying over Rory (I know I am). Please bear in mind this is my first foray into Doctor Who fic (can't believe it's taken me this long to write for this fandom to be honest), so be gentle with me (Watson! Oops, wrong fandom.) This turned out a lot darker, kinkier and longer than I intended, ye be warned.
(Title is taken from a song called Every Time You Go by Ellie Goulding who I'm completely obsessed with thanks to fallenmagic ♥ Almost everyone one of her songs make me think of Amy and Eleven. Fic is also loosely based on a RP thread I started where I play Amy.)
Maybe We Forgot, Are We Awake or Not?
The Doctor took the TARDIS shrapnel and carefully wrapped it in the spotty red napkin, almost like it was a gift, a gift which by no means he'd asked for, and shoved it back into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket. There, it rested against one of his hearts. Out of all the things he could have pulled out of the crack, a piece of the TARDIS had not only been the most unexpected, but the worst.
He made soothing sounds under his breath as he ran his spindly fingers up and down the side of the TARDIS, like he was comforting the ship, as though it was unnerved by the presence of the shrapnel and annoyed that the Doctor was keeping it as some sort of disturbing memento. But he'd have to worry about the fate of the TARDIS later; right now he had to look after Amy. Amy, who believed everything was fine, until the first time she would break into the tears and not know why.
He gave his beloved ship one last comforting pat, took a deep breath and entered the TARDIS expecting Amy to be making tea, something of a tradition after every adventure they lived through. Instead, he found her asleep in the chair by the console. Quietly walking up the steps to the raised platform in the middle of the ship, he contemplated covering Amy with a blanket, but kneeling down in front of her he noticed the look of discomfort on her face. It was clear she was dreaming, but by the looks of it she wasn't having a "good... mare", as the Doctor would call it.
"Doctor," Amy said in a hushed whisper. "Don't let go..."
He put his hands over hers and gave them a gentle squeeze, and Amy looked comforted for a moment, until her face scrunched up in pain and she started to twist and thrash in her sleep.
"No..." She shook her head fiercely, tears rolling down her cheeks. The Doctor tried to keep hold of her hands but she was moving too much. "No..."
Going for a less than gentle but by all means necessary approach, the Doctor gripped Amy's shoulders and raised his voice, "Amy!"
Clutching the sides of the chair tightly, Amy bent forward and jerked awake, but not before shouting out a name...
"RORY!"
The name echoed throughout the ship. A bewildered Amy fell back against the seat. Why had she yelled out that name? Who was Rory?
"Amy," the Doctor stared at her in shock. Maybe she hadn't forgotten Rory after all. Maybe he wouldn't have to suffer this pain alone, although the last thing he wanted was to see Amy hurt, and she would suffer a thousand times more than he would. He put his hands either side of her head. "Tell me your dream."
It all felt too familiar for Amy as she touched her cheek and looked at her fingers wet from tears, just like she did after pressing the 'forget' button on Starship UK. The dream had been fuzzy and fragmented, but she could vaguely recall dreaming about what happened that day - sucking in a gasp of air before the ground swallowed her up, a lizard man coming towards her with a sharp pointy thing...
Crouching over a dead man's body.
Had she really seen someone die today?
She squeezed her eyes shut and desperately tried to keep the dream in her mind...
But then her mind went blank, and the dream was gone. When she opened her eyes again, she looked embarrassed for crying over some silly nightmare in front of the Doctor. She wiped at her eyes.
"I can't remember." The Doctor's hands fell away from her face as he stared at her, crushed. It was like Amy had forgotten Rory all over again. "I always forget my dreams..."
"No, Amy," the Doctor said in pleading tones. He rested his forehead against hers. "You must remember. Come on, Amy, please."
"I..." She looked down at the chair she was sitting in. There was something significant about it. Something had happened in that chair... "I can't." She looked apologetically at the Doctor as he rubbed his face in a frustrated manner. "I'm sorry, Doctor."
"It's okay," the Doctor answered softly. He could tell she'd tried her hardest to remember. It had been a long day and he didn't want to force her memory of Rory out of her, especially when he knew what would follow afterwards - grief.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep." She brought her feet up on the seat and hugged her knees to her chest. "I was waiting for you to come back in the TARDIS and must have nodded off..."
"It's fine. Though I suggest you sleep in your bed next time."
The Doctor's words repeated in Amy's mind. Her bed, her bed on the TARDIS, didn't she up until recently share it with someone?
No... no, she always slept alone. She grew up, alone, and she went to bed, alone. That's the way it had always been... It had always been that way, hadn't it?
"Amy?" the Doctor interrupted her thoughts with a questioning look, and all of a sudden she sprung from the chair.
The Doctor stood slowly and watched Amy pace the ship. She repeated the name in her head. Rory, Rory, Rory...
Eventually Amy ended up by the doors of the TARDIS, and when she still couldn't put a face to the name, she hit the doors with her palms in frustration - and that triggered a memory. She'd done that before. She remembered slamming her palms against the door, yelling at the Doctor to let her out. Out of nowhere there was all this pain inside her that she couldn't explain.
She ran over to the console next, up the steps and to the center of the ship - she'd definitely done that before, too - and gazed upon the array of controls. She touched a lever, but didn't move it, just felt it. She remembered almost wrestling the Doctor for control of the TARDIS. She eyed the Doctor, but he said nothing, only watched her, keeping his distance. He didn't want to interrupt what she was doing if it meant interrupting her remembering Rory.
"You did something," Amy said to the Doctor, stood the other side of the console, almost using it as a wall between them. "You did something to make me hate you."
"Yes," the Doctor confirmed, shutting his eyes in regret.
Amy looked at him, hurt and confused. "Why?"
"It was that or let you never exist at all." He would always choose Amy hating him over allowing her to be erased from history.
"What if... what if it's not that I can't remember, it's that I won't?" At that moment, Amy knew she was experiencing pain from losing something - someone, but somehow she knew she was merely feeling the tiniest fraction of what she could feel if she knew the whole truth. "Because it'll hurt too much if I do. I don't want to remember if it means I'll hate you," her voice trembled.
"Oh, Amy," the Doctor said in the saddest of voices. "My companions always do."
Rose hated him for leaving her with a cheap copy of himself, Martha hated him for always moping over Rose, and the only reason Donna didn't hate him was because she didn't remember him, but she'd hate him if she knew what he did to her. Or so he thought.
Amy didn't know what compelled her to it, but she strode over to the Doctor, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket - definite déjà vu - and pushed him up against the console. She stared into the Doctor's face as she tried to fill in the blank in the following sentence:
The ________ and the kissogram.
Who filled that space? Someone did. Was it the Doctor? The madman and the kissogram? It sounded right. It even sort of rhymed.
"Amy." The Doctor's hands were either side of her head again. "You can do this. You can remember. Don't let anything distract you, concentrate..."
But she couldn't. She could only focus on the Doctor; his face so young, yet his eyes so old; his lips (he was a good kisser... for an alien) just a breath away...
"Concentrate," the Doctor said again, low under his breath, his eyes skimming over Amy's face (such a beautiful face... he really did love a redhead) but it was more of a command to himself rather than Amy. He could feel himself getting lost in the heat of the moment (heat being the operative word, he could feel so much heat coming off her body, coming off his body...) like a human. She made him feel so human...
The Doctor could see where this was going. Amy had almost died, again, and maybe like the last time she'd been thinking about who she wanted, except the Doctor was her only option now. Her other choice - fantastic, funny, gorgeous Rory - didn't exist anymore. The only person standing between him and Amy now was himself.
With her hands still fisted in the Doctor's jacket, Amy pulled him forwards, and their foreheads bumped together gently, then their noses, then their lips. Their mouths did nothing more than rest against each other's for a moment, until Amy started to move her lips, and the Doctor hated himself, because he gladly moved his lips over hers in response, parting them for her tongue to slide its way into his mouth. This was nothing like the kiss in Amy's bedroom. This was slow, needy and almost sensual, but that didn't make it right. Their first kiss had been wrong because it had been the night before Amy's wedding. Now there was no wedding, but it was barely an hour after her fiancé had just been erased from existence, which she didn't even know about, and he was kissing her, and he was enjoying it!
Aren't you glad you got rid of the gooseberry? said a dark little voice in his head, belonging to a short, plump man in a bow tie. Now he's gone, she's all yours.
Don't call him that, the Doctor snapped at his own voice inside his head. He was a good man. A better man than you could ever be.
He allowed himself one more second of happiness, then he put his hands on Amy's shoulders and pushed her away, but still kept her close. He couldn't stand the rejected look on her face, and then she started to cry, but he knew it wasn't because of him.
"Do you know why you're crying, Amy?"
He'd known what her answer would be, but he'd asked her nonetheless. She shook her head wordlessly at him, then bent her head and rested her face against the Doctor's chest. He kissed her forehead and held her.
"Something's broken inside of me, Doctor." He had a feeling it was her heart. "Only you can fix it."
"I will." The Doctor hugged her tightly. "I will fix this. I promise."
He held her face in his hands and looked into her eyes; they were red and puffy from crying and lack of sleep.
"You need rest." Their next adventure could wait. He put his hand on the small of her back, guided her up a staircase, lead her left at the end of a hallway, and opened the third door on the right to Amy's room. They were both silent the entire walk.
The TARDIS had made her room on the ship look like her bedroom back in Leadworth, complete with fairy lights. The Doctor walked Amy over to her bed, and with his hands on her shoulders, gently pushed her downwards so she was sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"Don't you lift a finger, Pond."
Amy managed a smile as the Doctor took off her jacket for her, then knelt down, lifting her feet to pull off her boots.
"Time for bed." The Doctor put his hands on Amy's knees to hoist himself up.
"But what about my nightie?"
Amy was looking at the Doctor inquisitively, and he held her stare for a second, then did one of his twirls on the spot and headed towards the chest of drawers in the room. He opened the middle drawer and there was the nightie she'd worn the night she ran away with him, folded neatly, and obviously cleaned by the TARDIS so it no longer smelled of space whale vomit.
He walked back over to Amy with the nightie in his hand and stood in front of her looking nervous. How was he going to do this? She looked like she'd calmed down now and was more than capable of undressing and dressing herself, but it was like they were both pretending Amy couldn't so the Doctor could do it for her.
"Arms," the Doctor said. Amy obediently stretched her arms in the air, and the Doctor pulled off her burgundy jumper. One more layer and she'd be half naked in front of him, something he'd dreamt about on more than one occasion.
Amy raised her arms again, and hesitantly he tugged the t-shirt away from her head and arms. And there she was, sitting in her bra and Rio shorts (of course her underwear would be blue, just like her bedroom, just like the TARDIS...), looking up at him with those round eyes.
Next were the shorts, and Amy stood up before he had the chance to tell her to, which had been a bad idea because now they were standing close, and bad things happened when they stood close. Amy put her hands on the Doctor's shoulders, like she needed something to hold onto or she'd fall, and the Doctor refused to look at her in the eye, only stared at what his fingers were doing, accidentally brushing them against her navel, undoing the button of her shorts, then slowly pulling down the zipper. He had to pull the end of her shorts a little down her thighs, then they fell the rest of the way onto the floor. She stepped out of them.
It was only the tights left, and he knelt down in front of her again, his eyes level with the blue knickers he could just make out under the sheer black fabric. Starting at her waist, he flattened his palms against her skin, and careful not to make a hole in them, slid the tights down her body, down her thighs, down her knees, and finally down her calves. Then Amy lifted one foot, then the other, as the Doctor freed her from the tights altogether. Her legs were even longer than he imagined now he could see every inch of them.
"You're so beautiful," the Doctor sighed, because this regeneration had a habit of saying thoughts that should have been kept in his head.
"Someone once told me that," Amy whispered as she remembered. "Before they died."
The Doctor nodded sadly, waiting for her to tell him more, but the blank look on her face told him she couldn't. Maybe she'd remember more tomorrow.
"Oh, I almost forgot." The nightie! She wasn't going to bed dressed like that. "How silly of me."
He pulled the nightie over her head and slotted her arms through the holes. Now she looked like a ginger Wendy Darling.
"Perfect," the Doctor smiled.
Amy climbed into bed, and the Doctor headed for the door, about to bid her goodnight, when she said his name.
"Doctor." He stopped in his tracks. "I don't know why but I don't want to be alone right now. Will you stay?"
He'd lost Amy her future husband, the least he could do was spend the night with her.
"No funny business," he said, wagging his finger. Amy nodded, and the Doctor crossed the room back over to her, kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket, bid adieu to his bowtie, then bounced into bed, which earned a laugh from Amy. Such a pretty laugh.
"I must warn you," the Doctor plumped up his pillow and put his hands behind his head, "I'm a bit of a blanket hog."
So was he, Amy thought in her head, but she didn't know who he was.
The Doctor clapped his hands and all the lights went out, all except the fairy lights by the bed railings, glowing around their heads. Amy settled beside the Doctor, turning on her side to look at him. The Doctor caught her gaze.
"I meant what I said before." He found her hand under the covers and squeezed it. "I'll fix everything."
Silence fell over them, and the Doctor almost thought Amy had fallen asleep, before she spoke.
"I trust you."
The Doctor didn't know whether to smile or cry.
"Your trust is all I ask for." He leaned over and kissed her forehead.
"Goodnight, Doctor."
"Pleasant dreams, Pond."
And they fell asleep, holding hands.