A Willow Bending With The Storm (Doctor Who, Eleven & Amy)
Title: A Willow Bending With The Storm
Characters: Eleven and Amy
Word Count: 1048
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes she feels as though she’s still a seven-year-old girl, waiting for her white knight in shining armour to come back and sweep her into the stars.
Warnings: References to some of the episodes but nothing spoilery, I'd say.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. :( I wish I did, I'd keep Matt and Karen alll for myself. And friends.
Author's Note: Just a few short, not-really-connected drabbleish things. Written because I have been so incredibly bored and procrastination is a fine art that I am trying to refine. xD Enjoy, I hope!
Still, when your heart is sore
And the heavens pour
Like a willow bending with the storm,
You'll make it
-- Hope For the Hopeless, A Fine Frenzy
Sometimes she feels as though she’s still a seven-year-old girl, waiting for her white knight in shining armour to come back and sweep her into the stars.
Of course, her white knight hadn’t been a man in shining armour brandishing a sword while he rode on the back of his noble steed. No, he’d been a man in torn clothing clutching a sonic screwdriver in his fist as he climbed out of a little blue box. But, well, she had been seven, and he had seemed awfully like knight-in-shining-armour material back then, jumping into her life right when she had needed him the most and fixing her problem in the blink of a giant alien eye.
But then he’d left her right when she had needed him the most, too, and Amelia Pond... well, Amelia Pond became Amy Pond.
She wasn’t the girl in the fairytale anymore.
-----
On Shéleg she impulsively chucks a snowball at him, and he blinks at her in shock as the snow slides down his face and drips from his bangs. He reaches a hand up slowly to flick a bit that’s sticking to the tip of his nose.
“You threw a snowball at me,” he says, sounding highly incredulous and just a little bit offended, and Amy smirks at the childish pout that’s crossing over his face.
“Yup.”
“You--” The Doctor points at her with an accusing finger, forehead crinkling in a way that he probably means to be intimidating but really only makes her want to throw another one. “You threw a snowball at me.” He gestures wildly, waving his hand in front of his face. “You hit me in the face.”
Amy’s smirk widens into a grin; he really does make it too easy. “Well, Doctor, your forehead is quite the easy mark.”
He simply smiles at her as they head out into the planet of ice-and-snow, and when he stands aside to let her into the TARDIS several hours later, after they’ve both barely survived an encounter with ice hyenas, Amy realises she really shouldn’t have turned her back to him.
The Doctor’s laughs rise like smoke into the chilled Shéleg air as the snow drips down the back of her shirt.
-----
It takes her ten years to come to grasps with the idea that the Doctor isn’t coming back for her. His five minutes stretch into five hours, and those five hours stretch into five days. Days become months and months become years and she’s seen four psychiatrists before she finally -- finally -- admits to a short man with bushy brown hair that the Doctor had never been real.
She tells her aunt later that night that she’s getting rid of all the figures she’s made over the years, and the smile on the woman’s face is the brightest Amy’s seen in all of her life.
She hides the figures under a loose floorboard in her room instead; she doesn’t think of them again until the night before her wedding.
-----
Amy had thought she’d seen the Doctor angry back on the Starship UK, but the anger he had emanated there pales in comparison to the anger she sees radiating from him now.
The group of renegade time agents shrink back from the fires blazing in his eyes, and the Doctor speaks in such a quiet voice that it chills Amy straight to the bone.
“It’s a funny thing, time,” he says, tapping the sonic screwdriver against he side of his leg. “It never does quite what you expect it to do. You say move forward, it could go back.” Amy sees his eyes flicker towards her for a split second. “Five minutes for one person can be twelve years for another.” His grip tightens on the screwdriver, and he gestures sharply towards the group of human beings and aliens alike huddled fearfully together against the wall of the spaceship. “You take people out of time without knowing the consequences and you could destroy half a dozen planets in the blink of an eye!”
He presses a button and the shackles binding the prisoners fall loose. He presses it again and the agents’ Vortex Manipulators fizzle and crack. He gives them one lingering look before focusing his attention solely on the people who need his help.
The TARDIS is quiet after they’ve returned the would-be slaves to their respective times and planets, thrumming sadly as the Doctor leans against the central console. Amy watches him, unsure of what to say but feeling like she should say something -- anything.
“Hey.” She approaches him cautiously, bumping his shoulder with hers as she falls into place beside him. “Chin up, yeah? We got ‘em. You did that... snap-crackle-pop thing with their time-watches or... whatever that was. Everything’s alright.”
“Oh, Amy,” the Doctor’s tone is sad, so sad, and so, so lonely. “There was a time when my people could have stopped something like that from ever happening in the first place.”
Amy shifts next to him, taking the limp hand dangling at his side in hers. “And now there’s just you.”
The Doctor doesn’t look at her, but he squeezes her hand, and when he speaks his voice is so soft that she almost doesn’t hear him at all.
“Now there’s just me.”
-----
When he thrusts her outside of the TARDIS and into the infinite abyss of space she wants to close her eyes and beg him to drag her back in; they can’t be in space, it’s just not possible. Aliens? Okay, that’s fair. Little blue boxes that are actually time machines? She’s said as much to her psychiatrists.
But actually floating in space with nothing but the Doctor’s fingers curled around her ankle keeping her from floating out into it? That she just couldn’t believe, which is probably why he had insisted on her taking 'just a step outside.’
She wants to close her eyes and beg him to drag her back in, but she doesn’t. Instead she stares out at the stars and lets the wonder slowly wash over her.
It may have taken fourteen years and four psychiatrists, but the white knight of her childhood had finally come to sweep her out into the stars.
Characters: Eleven and Amy
Word Count: 1048
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes she feels as though she’s still a seven-year-old girl, waiting for her white knight in shining armour to come back and sweep her into the stars.
Warnings: References to some of the episodes but nothing spoilery, I'd say.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. :( I wish I did, I'd keep Matt and Karen alll for myself. And friends.
Author's Note: Just a few short, not-really-connected drabbleish things. Written because I have been so incredibly bored and procrastination is a fine art that I am trying to refine. xD Enjoy, I hope!
Still, when your heart is sore
And the heavens pour
Like a willow bending with the storm,
You'll make it
-- Hope For the Hopeless, A Fine Frenzy
Sometimes she feels as though she’s still a seven-year-old girl, waiting for her white knight in shining armour to come back and sweep her into the stars.
Of course, her white knight hadn’t been a man in shining armour brandishing a sword while he rode on the back of his noble steed. No, he’d been a man in torn clothing clutching a sonic screwdriver in his fist as he climbed out of a little blue box. But, well, she had been seven, and he had seemed awfully like knight-in-shining-armour material back then, jumping into her life right when she had needed him the most and fixing her problem in the blink of a giant alien eye.
But then he’d left her right when she had needed him the most, too, and Amelia Pond... well, Amelia Pond became Amy Pond.
She wasn’t the girl in the fairytale anymore.
-----
On Shéleg she impulsively chucks a snowball at him, and he blinks at her in shock as the snow slides down his face and drips from his bangs. He reaches a hand up slowly to flick a bit that’s sticking to the tip of his nose.
“You threw a snowball at me,” he says, sounding highly incredulous and just a little bit offended, and Amy smirks at the childish pout that’s crossing over his face.
“Yup.”
“You--” The Doctor points at her with an accusing finger, forehead crinkling in a way that he probably means to be intimidating but really only makes her want to throw another one. “You threw a snowball at me.” He gestures wildly, waving his hand in front of his face. “You hit me in the face.”
Amy’s smirk widens into a grin; he really does make it too easy. “Well, Doctor, your forehead is quite the easy mark.”
He simply smiles at her as they head out into the planet of ice-and-snow, and when he stands aside to let her into the TARDIS several hours later, after they’ve both barely survived an encounter with ice hyenas, Amy realises she really shouldn’t have turned her back to him.
The Doctor’s laughs rise like smoke into the chilled Shéleg air as the snow drips down the back of her shirt.
-----
It takes her ten years to come to grasps with the idea that the Doctor isn’t coming back for her. His five minutes stretch into five hours, and those five hours stretch into five days. Days become months and months become years and she’s seen four psychiatrists before she finally -- finally -- admits to a short man with bushy brown hair that the Doctor had never been real.
She tells her aunt later that night that she’s getting rid of all the figures she’s made over the years, and the smile on the woman’s face is the brightest Amy’s seen in all of her life.
She hides the figures under a loose floorboard in her room instead; she doesn’t think of them again until the night before her wedding.
-----
Amy had thought she’d seen the Doctor angry back on the Starship UK, but the anger he had emanated there pales in comparison to the anger she sees radiating from him now.
The group of renegade time agents shrink back from the fires blazing in his eyes, and the Doctor speaks in such a quiet voice that it chills Amy straight to the bone.
“It’s a funny thing, time,” he says, tapping the sonic screwdriver against he side of his leg. “It never does quite what you expect it to do. You say move forward, it could go back.” Amy sees his eyes flicker towards her for a split second. “Five minutes for one person can be twelve years for another.” His grip tightens on the screwdriver, and he gestures sharply towards the group of human beings and aliens alike huddled fearfully together against the wall of the spaceship. “You take people out of time without knowing the consequences and you could destroy half a dozen planets in the blink of an eye!”
He presses a button and the shackles binding the prisoners fall loose. He presses it again and the agents’ Vortex Manipulators fizzle and crack. He gives them one lingering look before focusing his attention solely on the people who need his help.
The TARDIS is quiet after they’ve returned the would-be slaves to their respective times and planets, thrumming sadly as the Doctor leans against the central console. Amy watches him, unsure of what to say but feeling like she should say something -- anything.
“Hey.” She approaches him cautiously, bumping his shoulder with hers as she falls into place beside him. “Chin up, yeah? We got ‘em. You did that... snap-crackle-pop thing with their time-watches or... whatever that was. Everything’s alright.”
“Oh, Amy,” the Doctor’s tone is sad, so sad, and so, so lonely. “There was a time when my people could have stopped something like that from ever happening in the first place.”
Amy shifts next to him, taking the limp hand dangling at his side in hers. “And now there’s just you.”
The Doctor doesn’t look at her, but he squeezes her hand, and when he speaks his voice is so soft that she almost doesn’t hear him at all.
“Now there’s just me.”
-----
When he thrusts her outside of the TARDIS and into the infinite abyss of space she wants to close her eyes and beg him to drag her back in; they can’t be in space, it’s just not possible. Aliens? Okay, that’s fair. Little blue boxes that are actually time machines? She’s said as much to her psychiatrists.
But actually floating in space with nothing but the Doctor’s fingers curled around her ankle keeping her from floating out into it? That she just couldn’t believe, which is probably why he had insisted on her taking 'just a step outside.’
She wants to close her eyes and beg him to drag her back in, but she doesn’t. Instead she stares out at the stars and lets the wonder slowly wash over her.
It may have taken fourteen years and four psychiatrists, but the white knight of her childhood had finally come to sweep her out into the stars.