Fic: ‘Tis the Season: It can be saved!
Title: ‘Tis the Season: It can be saved!
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: (G)
Time Period: After the Angels Take Manhattan; their first Christmas.
Summary: Even desperate homeless cats wouldn't have it.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
I think I'm with Rory on this one: it can't be saved!
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of BBC & Steven Moffat; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
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Hair tied back, she leans on the counter and looks down, studying. She dips a spoon into it, watching the drip-drip-drip plop into the bowl below.
“It can be saved,” she says, doubt edging into her voice quietly. She puts the spoon onto the counter.
It can't be budged.
“I don't think it can.” He peers over her shoulder. “It shouldn't look like that.”
She looks into the bowl again. The surface is still, unmarred. “Maybe it just needs some cinnamon. We don't know that it's not to have lumps under the top.”
Hair tickles her cheek; he flips it over her shoulder. “It needs more than that.”
“We could just sprinkle some cinnamon on top and no one will know the difference.”
“Until they tried to drink it,” he points out. “Amy, why don't we just try again?”
There's a wide smile; she turns toward him and wraps her arms around him. “I'll read the recipe. You mix.”
Rory stops his sigh of relief before it escapes. Instead, he nods. “We need to throw this out.”
“Why don't we leave it for the cats in the alley?”
“Amy,” he says as he tips the bowl's contents into the sink, “I don't think even the most desperate of those homeless cats would touch it.”
Amy sighs, nods and grabs the nearby cookbook.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: (G)
Time Period: After the Angels Take Manhattan; their first Christmas.
Summary: Even desperate homeless cats wouldn't have it.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
I think I'm with Rory on this one: it can't be saved!
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of BBC & Steven Moffat; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
Hair tied back, she leans on the counter and looks down, studying. She dips a spoon into it, watching the drip-drip-drip plop into the bowl below.
“It can be saved,” she says, doubt edging into her voice quietly. She puts the spoon onto the counter.
It can't be budged.
“I don't think it can.” He peers over her shoulder. “It shouldn't look like that.”
She looks into the bowl again. The surface is still, unmarred. “Maybe it just needs some cinnamon. We don't know that it's not to have lumps under the top.”
Hair tickles her cheek; he flips it over her shoulder. “It needs more than that.”
“We could just sprinkle some cinnamon on top and no one will know the difference.”
“Until they tried to drink it,” he points out. “Amy, why don't we just try again?”
There's a wide smile; she turns toward him and wraps her arms around him. “I'll read the recipe. You mix.”
Rory stops his sigh of relief before it escapes. Instead, he nods. “We need to throw this out.”
“Why don't we leave it for the cats in the alley?”
“Amy,” he says as he tips the bowl's contents into the sink, “I don't think even the most desperate of those homeless cats would touch it.”
Amy sighs, nods and grabs the nearby cookbook.