Gift for themuslimbarbie
To: themuslimbarbie
From: alt_universe_me
Title: Post Script
Characters and/or Pairings: Eleven/Amy
Rating: G
Summary: In which Amy writes a letter and Wednesdays are cool.
Author’s Notes: A post Season Six AU where Amy is single and not traveling with the Doctor…and it goes from there.
Word Count: 1400
She wasn’t sure what made her think of it. Maybe it was the Christmas season. Maybe it was nostalgia for a time when she was just plain old Amelia Pond with a box full of crayons writing out a misspelled letter to Santa. That was before she ever traveled with the Doctor. Before she’d moved away from Leadworth, started up her own company, and designed her own perfume and everything.
She didn’t want to write a letter to Santa now, despite the Doctor’s previous hints that there just might be a Santa-it was a big universe, there could be tons of Santas, somewhere.
What she did was take out a holiday card and a pen. She wrote:
Dear Doctor,
Hope you’re having a Happy Christmas whenever and wherever you are. Maybe it isn’t Christmas where you are, or maybe every day is Christmas where you are. Do they have that, some wild alien Christmas town? I wouldn’t be surprised. Do you know, not much surprises me lately? I’m sure you do.
Yours,
Amy Pond
P.S. In case you do run into Santa, tell him I want new boots.
She put it in an envelope, sealed it, and wrote on the outside:
The Doctor
The TARDIS
Anywhere, Anyplace
She was convinced she was just wasting postage and losing her mind when she slapped half a dozen stamps on it and dropped it in the post.
She spent Christmas with her not-dead family in Leadworth and, as family Christmases go, it was entirely ordinary. Christmas morning was not nearly as exciting as she half-remembered it being as a child, but she dutifully made her way downstairs to join her mum and dad around the Christmas tree. She opened up practical gifts from her parents and one horrific sweater from grandma which reminds her of the dreadful knitted thing the Doctor had once donned in a dream world.
“Oh, look, this one’s addressed to you from Santa,” her mum exclaimed, passing her the last gift. It’s wrapped in some odd-looking paper with too much tape at the edges.
“Mum, I’m a bit old for that,” Amy replied, tearing open the paper.
“No, really dear…I don’t remember buying that one. Did you buy it?” her mum asked her dad.
Her dad shook his head, but by that time Amy was already holding up the most perfect pair of boots she had ever seen.
“Oh, you old sly one,” her mum said to her dad, clearly believing him to be putting them on.
It was then that Amy discovered the card tucked inside one of the boots, addressed to Amelia and written in bright red crayon. Her heart leapt. Desperate to be alone to read it, she hopped up to kiss her mum and dad on the cheek, saying thank you and gathering up the sweater. She left the room under the pretense of going to try it on.
In her room, she tore open the envelope like a-well, like an excited little girl on Christmas morning. It was like one of those family portrait cards, only on the front instead of a stock family photo, was the Doctor posing with-who else-Saint Nick himself.
Amelia! Said the inside of the card, the letters wobbly as if the Doctor was too excited to sit down properly to write. Or perhaps he’d written it while being chased by monsters-it was plausible.
We thought you’d like these boots. They’re made from Truffula tree tufts, ha! There is such a place as Christmas Town, though it’s very dull, doubt you’d like it much. Do you know what’s much better? Wednesday Town! Every day is Wednesday there, you know. Bet you’d think that would be much more boring, but you’d be wrong. It’s full of amazing stuff. It’s sort of like the mix up with Greenland and Iceland, how everyone thinks Christmas Town will be loads of fun and instead it’s all advertisements. No one realizes how much happens on Wednesdays. Never underestimate a Wednesday again, Amelia.
The Doctor
P.S. Wednesdays are cool.
She read the card five times before her parents call her down to breakfast.
After the holidays, Amy didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She’d written to the Doctor; he’d written back. They’d both agreed that her staying on Earth was for the best. She’d thought she was saying goodbye for good at the time. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Was it better like this, to keep in contact, letting her heart keep hope alive? Or was it better to just let it go-let him go? She’d written to him on a whim, not even expecting a response.
Her mind was full of jumbled memories where anything and everything was possible. But, like her perfume line said-she was done with waiting.
Placing her focus firmly on her career seemed like the sensible thing to do. According to everyone else in her life, Amy had never been one for doing the sensible thing. It was time to set the record straight. She could be perfectly sensible. There was no real need to go skipping recklessly through time and space. Really.
Working so hard meant she got invited to travel, modeling and showing her products all over Europe.
Traveling on her own was difficult, especially when she took the time to go sight-seeing in whatever new country she happened to be in. She began to understand why the Doctor liked to travel with a companion. Everything seemed brighter, more vivid with someone to share it with. Watching the sunset in Madrid, touring the streets of Paris-everything was beautiful, but it was like she was watching it all from a distance, unable to fully appreciate it all.
And in art museums, she found she had to skip Van Gogh’s works altogether.
The year breezed by, and she discovered that, with all her business arrangements, she was going to be abroad for the holidays. Despite how she often spoke about how glad she was to be away from Leadworth, she knew she would miss her family, and the familiarity.
Spending Christmas in Athens should have felt like a dream come true. She hated to admit it, but she was lonely.
She picked up a postcard at the Parthenon. She often sent postcards to her family and friends. Her mum had quite a collection at home. She kept them in a shoebox and took it out whenever she had visitors for tea.
Only, this postcard wasn’t for her mum, or any of her mates back in England.
Doctor, she wrote. I’m sure you’ve seen the Parthenon before. Maybe you even helped design it. It’s quite grand though, isn’t it?
She sent it away with as many stamps as she could fit on it, to the same ‘address’ as before.
She had fully planned on sleeping in on Christmas morning, so when a knock sounded at the door of her hotel room at six a.m., she answered groggily with every intention of giving whoever it was a good scowl.
But, once her eyes focused enough to realize it was the Doctor, wearing a Santa hat-of course he’s wearing a Santa hat, her fuzzy brain interjected-all she could do was to blink repeatedly.
“Doctor?”
“For the record, Amy,” the Doctor said, grinning at her from under that ridiculous hat, “I had nothing to do with the Parthenon. I tried to help, but they wouldn’t let me. Very cliquey of them, don’t you think?”
“What are you…?” Amy gestured wildly.
“Well, I thought…it’s Christmas. On a Wednesday this year. I told you Wednesdays were cool. And maybe we could, you know, for old times’ sake. Take a trip? Somewhere safe, that is. Although not that rubbish Christmas Town.” The Doctor made a face.
“But I thought-“
“Yes, and you’re absolutely right. One hundred percent. So, do you want to go? We can get you a hat too. Or maybe some reindeer antlers. I think they would suit you.”
Amy Pond frowned and poked the Doctor in the shoulder. “I am not wearing reindeer antlers. World-renowned models and businesswomen do not wear reindeer antlers.”
“Oh.” The Doctor’s face fell somewhat. “And does that mean…?”
“One trip, Doctor,” Amy said, finally throwing her arms around him like she’d wanted to do every day since they’d parted ways. It felt like coming home.
“Just one?”
“Just one,” she breathed as he held her tight. “For now.”
From: alt_universe_me
Title: Post Script
Characters and/or Pairings: Eleven/Amy
Rating: G
Summary: In which Amy writes a letter and Wednesdays are cool.
Author’s Notes: A post Season Six AU where Amy is single and not traveling with the Doctor…and it goes from there.
Word Count: 1400
She wasn’t sure what made her think of it. Maybe it was the Christmas season. Maybe it was nostalgia for a time when she was just plain old Amelia Pond with a box full of crayons writing out a misspelled letter to Santa. That was before she ever traveled with the Doctor. Before she’d moved away from Leadworth, started up her own company, and designed her own perfume and everything.
She didn’t want to write a letter to Santa now, despite the Doctor’s previous hints that there just might be a Santa-it was a big universe, there could be tons of Santas, somewhere.
What she did was take out a holiday card and a pen. She wrote:
Dear Doctor,
Hope you’re having a Happy Christmas whenever and wherever you are. Maybe it isn’t Christmas where you are, or maybe every day is Christmas where you are. Do they have that, some wild alien Christmas town? I wouldn’t be surprised. Do you know, not much surprises me lately? I’m sure you do.
Yours,
Amy Pond
P.S. In case you do run into Santa, tell him I want new boots.
She put it in an envelope, sealed it, and wrote on the outside:
The Doctor
The TARDIS
Anywhere, Anyplace
She was convinced she was just wasting postage and losing her mind when she slapped half a dozen stamps on it and dropped it in the post.
She spent Christmas with her not-dead family in Leadworth and, as family Christmases go, it was entirely ordinary. Christmas morning was not nearly as exciting as she half-remembered it being as a child, but she dutifully made her way downstairs to join her mum and dad around the Christmas tree. She opened up practical gifts from her parents and one horrific sweater from grandma which reminds her of the dreadful knitted thing the Doctor had once donned in a dream world.
“Oh, look, this one’s addressed to you from Santa,” her mum exclaimed, passing her the last gift. It’s wrapped in some odd-looking paper with too much tape at the edges.
“Mum, I’m a bit old for that,” Amy replied, tearing open the paper.
“No, really dear…I don’t remember buying that one. Did you buy it?” her mum asked her dad.
Her dad shook his head, but by that time Amy was already holding up the most perfect pair of boots she had ever seen.
“Oh, you old sly one,” her mum said to her dad, clearly believing him to be putting them on.
It was then that Amy discovered the card tucked inside one of the boots, addressed to Amelia and written in bright red crayon. Her heart leapt. Desperate to be alone to read it, she hopped up to kiss her mum and dad on the cheek, saying thank you and gathering up the sweater. She left the room under the pretense of going to try it on.
In her room, she tore open the envelope like a-well, like an excited little girl on Christmas morning. It was like one of those family portrait cards, only on the front instead of a stock family photo, was the Doctor posing with-who else-Saint Nick himself.
Amelia! Said the inside of the card, the letters wobbly as if the Doctor was too excited to sit down properly to write. Or perhaps he’d written it while being chased by monsters-it was plausible.
We thought you’d like these boots. They’re made from Truffula tree tufts, ha! There is such a place as Christmas Town, though it’s very dull, doubt you’d like it much. Do you know what’s much better? Wednesday Town! Every day is Wednesday there, you know. Bet you’d think that would be much more boring, but you’d be wrong. It’s full of amazing stuff. It’s sort of like the mix up with Greenland and Iceland, how everyone thinks Christmas Town will be loads of fun and instead it’s all advertisements. No one realizes how much happens on Wednesdays. Never underestimate a Wednesday again, Amelia.
The Doctor
P.S. Wednesdays are cool.
She read the card five times before her parents call her down to breakfast.
After the holidays, Amy didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She’d written to the Doctor; he’d written back. They’d both agreed that her staying on Earth was for the best. She’d thought she was saying goodbye for good at the time. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Was it better like this, to keep in contact, letting her heart keep hope alive? Or was it better to just let it go-let him go? She’d written to him on a whim, not even expecting a response.
Her mind was full of jumbled memories where anything and everything was possible. But, like her perfume line said-she was done with waiting.
Placing her focus firmly on her career seemed like the sensible thing to do. According to everyone else in her life, Amy had never been one for doing the sensible thing. It was time to set the record straight. She could be perfectly sensible. There was no real need to go skipping recklessly through time and space. Really.
Working so hard meant she got invited to travel, modeling and showing her products all over Europe.
Traveling on her own was difficult, especially when she took the time to go sight-seeing in whatever new country she happened to be in. She began to understand why the Doctor liked to travel with a companion. Everything seemed brighter, more vivid with someone to share it with. Watching the sunset in Madrid, touring the streets of Paris-everything was beautiful, but it was like she was watching it all from a distance, unable to fully appreciate it all.
And in art museums, she found she had to skip Van Gogh’s works altogether.
The year breezed by, and she discovered that, with all her business arrangements, she was going to be abroad for the holidays. Despite how she often spoke about how glad she was to be away from Leadworth, she knew she would miss her family, and the familiarity.
Spending Christmas in Athens should have felt like a dream come true. She hated to admit it, but she was lonely.
She picked up a postcard at the Parthenon. She often sent postcards to her family and friends. Her mum had quite a collection at home. She kept them in a shoebox and took it out whenever she had visitors for tea.
Only, this postcard wasn’t for her mum, or any of her mates back in England.
Doctor, she wrote. I’m sure you’ve seen the Parthenon before. Maybe you even helped design it. It’s quite grand though, isn’t it?
She sent it away with as many stamps as she could fit on it, to the same ‘address’ as before.
She had fully planned on sleeping in on Christmas morning, so when a knock sounded at the door of her hotel room at six a.m., she answered groggily with every intention of giving whoever it was a good scowl.
But, once her eyes focused enough to realize it was the Doctor, wearing a Santa hat-of course he’s wearing a Santa hat, her fuzzy brain interjected-all she could do was to blink repeatedly.
“Doctor?”
“For the record, Amy,” the Doctor said, grinning at her from under that ridiculous hat, “I had nothing to do with the Parthenon. I tried to help, but they wouldn’t let me. Very cliquey of them, don’t you think?”
“What are you…?” Amy gestured wildly.
“Well, I thought…it’s Christmas. On a Wednesday this year. I told you Wednesdays were cool. And maybe we could, you know, for old times’ sake. Take a trip? Somewhere safe, that is. Although not that rubbish Christmas Town.” The Doctor made a face.
“But I thought-“
“Yes, and you’re absolutely right. One hundred percent. So, do you want to go? We can get you a hat too. Or maybe some reindeer antlers. I think they would suit you.”
Amy Pond frowned and poked the Doctor in the shoulder. “I am not wearing reindeer antlers. World-renowned models and businesswomen do not wear reindeer antlers.”
“Oh.” The Doctor’s face fell somewhat. “And does that mean…?”
“One trip, Doctor,” Amy said, finally throwing her arms around him like she’d wanted to do every day since they’d parted ways. It felt like coming home.
“Just one?”
“Just one,” she breathed as he held her tight. “For now.”