Author: Riddelly PM
"Amy blinks once, slowly, as she completely reevaluates the person she's facing. Not a cold gaze, but a penetrating one, a careful one. An expression that speaks of travel, daring adventure, journeys… journeys across the stars." RT/AP one-shot.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Friendship - Amelia P./Amy & Rose T. - Words: 3,068 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 20 - Follows: 2 - Published: 12-04-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7608145
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N First off, let me clear this up- homophobes, or people who consider this pairing disgusting beyond belief, CLEAR OFF. Thanks. Okay, to business. Ohmygod. I was such a horizontal line whore here, it's stupid. So many POV switches. It confuses poor tired authoress. I still haven't figured out what the HELL inspired me to write this pairing, in the first place. I never thought I shipped them. I mean, come on. But dude. If you think about it, they work so well together... anyways... um, please review, TELL ME IF THIS SUCKS, and check out my other DW fics if you're so inclined :3 I've written Doctor/Rory, Jack/Doctor, and semi-sort-of-not-really-that-slashy-sadly Master/Doctor.
Rated T For kissing and, like... stuff.
Disclaimer I don't own Doctor Who or any associated characters, events, etc.
She's a pretty girl.
That's the first thing Amy notices. Full-lipped, with slim, dark eyebrows that contrast sexily with her long sheet of almost white-blonde hair. Eyes watch her warily from below those slender brows, mascara thickening their fringe though it's probably not necessary. One strand of that pale hair is caught between her lips, clenched lightly in teeth that are slightly more protrusive than average, but still all too lovely when coupled with the rest of the mouth.
Amy realizes that she's staring, and swallows quickly, glancing away and pulling her fingerless glove-clad hand up to her mouth, into which she emits a small cough. She's not used to being embarrassed, but the flush tickling her cheeks is unmistakable. She'll just stride by, that's all. After all, this girl's at the other end of the alleyway, and probably hasn't even noticed her… oh, no, those eyes are most definitely fixated on her. Well, then. Great. Best to just turn around, perhaps, and leave. She's already whirling around again when a voice comes from the direction of the blonde, surprisingly soft considering the intensity of her stare, and flavored Cockney.
"Hey—have you seen a man in a long coat around here? Tall, skinny, spiky brown hair. Might be wearing glasses?"
Amy gives her head a small, quick shake. "Uh, no. No." It seems a bit odd to leave now. Maybe she should try and help with getting the girl back to this man. "Does he have a name?"
"Well… he's… the Doctor."
Everything seems to be cast into slow-motion. Amy blinks once, slowly, as she completely reevaluates the person she's facing. Windblown hair, probably from running. Not a cold gaze, but a penetrating one, a careful one. An expression that speaks of travel, daring adventure, journeys… journeys across the stars.
"The Doctor," Amy repeats, combing her long, purple-painted fingernails through her hair. "You sure about the coat? You're not looking for… for a dark-haired bloke with a bowtie and suspenders, are you?"
"Definitely not," the other laughs. It's nice when she laughs, a lighthearted, friendly sound, one that can't help but spark a small grin from Amy herself. She shoves a ginger lock behind her ear, then clasps her hands together, silently resolving to leave her hair alone. For some reason, her stomach gives a light twist, and she finds herself biting her bottom lip lightly.
"Well—it's kind of funny, I actually know someone who goes by that same name," she confesses, wondering if there's any connection between her Doctor and this girl's.
The blonde stiffens, her eyes wide, and stands up a bit straighter, sticking her hands into her pockets. "Well—actually… it's possible we're… thinking of the same man. In… different bodies."
There are hardly a number of people who went around wearing different faces, so Amy can only assume that, sure enough, the two of them had the exact same Doctor in mind. Amy knows about the regenerations, though she's never seen one. And this girl… she must be the companion of one of his past forms. Or… a future one? She doesn't like that prospect, the one of her Doctor being replaced by someone… different. Still, it's undeniable that it will happen someday.
She doesn't need to think about that, though. Not now.
"You… you're an, er, resident of the TARDIS, then?"
The girl's whole face seems to light up. "Yes! That box… that amazing blue box. Oh, don't you just love it?"
"I don't think he realizes just how much I do," she laughs, then adds "So… do you have a name?" with a bit of a nervous giggle. Nervous. Why nervous? She doesn't have any reason to be nervous. She's Amy Pond, confident and sexy, and a blonde Cockney woman shouldn't be having this sort of effect on her.
"Yeah, of course—Rose Tyler. Nice to meet you." She pulls one hand out of that purple jacket and holds it out invitingly.
Rose Tyler. It sounds familiar for a reason that Amy can't place, and she assumes that the Doctor must have mentioned this girl at one point. It's a relief of sorts, to know that Rose is from the past, and not the future. To know that the bowtie-wearing Doctor she knows still has some time left. She takes a step and a half forward so that she can grasp Rose's hand, and when she does, something along her spine tingles. She swallows and grins casually to hide her inner twists, though the result is Rose smiling back, and that really doesn't help.
"So, you know my name. Yours?"
"Amy Pond," she finds herself responding quickly, almost eagerly. And then the smile is back.
Rose has always loved Scottish accents. They just sound so… bold somehow, and the daring lilt of this girl, Amy—of her voice—is matched only by her mane of flaming red hair. It really is brilliant, and the way that it catches the sunlight can only be described as… well… pretty. The little dancing strands of sunset orange interwoven with golden glints… she finds herself entranced by it, and has to remind herself to concentrate, to ask Amy what she knows about the Doctor, to find out the differences between them.
"So… a bowtie, you said?"
"Yeah." Amy's gorgeous smile widens, showing her white teeth. "They're cool, apparently."
"Cool?" Rose ducks her head, unable to stop giggling. She can't help but envision the Doctor she knows with a bowtie. It doesn't quite work, somehow. He wears long ties, and the coat… oh, the coat.
She shakes her head in an attempt to clear it. An unsuccessful one, too—such a feat seems impossible in Amy's radiant presence. "Well—say, do you want to… I don't know… get a drink or something? I mean—" It occurs to her that what she mentioned may not sound exactly like a platonic invitation for them to spend time together, and she hurriedly plows on, struggling to amend her words. "It's not often that I meet someone who knows the Doctor… thought we could, I dunno, exchange stories?"
"Exchange stories," is the echo, pleasantly colored Scottish, that comes back to her. "Sure! I mean… I'd love that. To know… where you've been. Past? Future?"
"Of course!" Rose exclaims. "All over the place. Other planets, too. New Earth—has he took you there?"
"No… d'you know the Weeping Angels?"
"Never heard of them."
"Oh, god, they're awful… hope that things stay that way…"
They go on like this for a while, an easy back-and-forth banter, and Rose learns that Amy doesn't travel alone with the Doctor. She has someone, a man who seems to be in some sort of relationship with her, though the Scot never actually mentions it explicitly. Rory, she calls him, and the way she speaks is like he's not just a part of her life, but everyone's. As though he's the sun. He's never fully explained, and Rose half-expects that if she were to ask just who he is, Amy would be confused by her ignorance. Everyone, the redhead seems to assume, must have a Rory.
Rose has Mickey, and she tells Amy about him, trying, for some reason, to make it clear that things aren't really serious between him and her. She's available, and wants Amy to know this, though she can't quite figure out why. It seems obvious, and yet impossible to understand, so she just keeps talking.
"Do you know anyone named River Song?" the ginger asks almost tentatively after a few minutes.
The name, sounding vaguely Native American, is an unfamiliar one, and Rose gives her head a quick shake. "Never heard of her. Or him?"
"Her." Amy sighs ever so slightly, the sweet breath seemingly unwilling to depart from her perfectly made-up lips. "I think… well, I've only met her once, but I have reason to think that she's… well… his wife."
He isn't Rory, Rose knows that right away. Amy's talking about the Doctor. The Doctor, apparently, has a wife, and it's someone named River Song.
This knowledge is painful, a sharp spike in Rose's stomach. River Song. Her mind begins to weakly rearrange the letters, trying futilely to work out if they're an anagram for Rose Tyler or even Bad Wolf, but there's nothing. The Doctor, her Doctor with his spiky hair and his absurd appreciation for bananas, has some wife in the future—or perhaps the past—and that wife, whoever she is, isn't Rose herself. It feels wrong. Like she's the only one who should be allowed to have a close relationship with him, even if it isn't a romantic one…
She realizes that Amy isn't talking anymore, but rather watching her, looking a bit concerned. "You okay?" she clarifies, golden hazel eyes shining with concern. Rose nods quickly a couple of times, trying to cover up this newfound turmoil with a small, tight smile.
"It's just hard to imagine, you know, him… with a wife."
It's obvious to Amy that Rose has feelings for the Doctor. It's just something about the way she speaks of him, how it gives a new depth to her voice and light to her eyes. Her reaction to River only confirms this suspicion, but she pretends not to notice, just replying with a quick "Yeah." Thinking that this sounds a bit dismissive, even haughty, she goes on. "For someone who looks so human, he's awfully… ignorant about that sort of thing."
"Yes!" Rose agrees emphatically. "And he doesn't even realize how completely naïve he is!"
They're back to the easy chatting, skating over the rough patch. For some reason, Amy's frustrated by this. Lightheartedness can be tedious, and right now, she's eager to get to the heart of the matter, to have Rose tell her how she really feels about the Doctor, to see if it's comparable to Amy's own feelings, the ones that motivated to kiss him that one time after the incident at the Byzantium. She's not over him now, so to speak, but things have been a bit more bearable, admittedly, since Rory joined them. She's back in the real world now. And she wants Rose to be cemented in the same place. This Mickey that she speaks of is certainly more accessible than the Doctor. He must be. And Rose seems to like him well enough. She… doesn't want Rose to be hurt by unrequited love. This is too good of a girl, too kind and… well, not necessarily innocent, but pure and light of a person to be poisoned by such pain.
She's about to say something, to bring it up again, when she hears the voice from outside of the alley.
Almost at the same time, there's a different one, less familiar, a bit higher and younger, somehow, whose speaker is clearly on the other side.
"It's him," they say together, and, for some reason, it hurts. Because Amy doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to leave Rose. She likes Rose, quite a bit, and isn't quite ready to come to terms with the fact that they'll probably never see each other again after today. But they can't just wait for their Doctors to come around the corner. If they saw each other… well, there would probably be some sort of paradox, a potentially harmful one. She has to go. She has to go now. And yet… Rose… her smile, her laugh, her large, dark eyes…
"I guess this is goodbye, the—" she begins, but then Rose reaches up, takes Amy's face in her hands, and kisses her.
Something contracts in Amy's stomach, but by the time she's processed what's actually happening, the other girl is already starting to draw away. No, she thinks, and lifts her own hands, threading the long fingers through Rose's silky hair just as she pulls back enough for their eyes to meet. Rose looks slightly desperate somehow, a worried expression on the lovely face that Amy's hands are framing, and those lips—those lush, full lips are so tantalizing, and Amy has to lean again, press her own to them and kiss them gently, slowly increasing the intensity of the motion, sliding a hand down Rose's back. The spine arches as her fingers inch along it, splaying against the back of the ribs. Rose's own hand slips in along the back of Amy's neck, sending chills running through her. It fits there so perfectly, it all feels so good… soft, and sweet… she keeps kissing Rose, over and over, harder and faster, drawing her tongue along the other girl's lips, curling it around the bottom of her upper teeth. This is a good kiss, and that's coming from someone who absolutely has the experience to say such a thing.
Rose isn't sure why she decided to do it in the first place, but she's absolutely positive that she wasn't expecting Amy to respond this spectacularly. She's really not the type to kiss someone within minutes of meeting them, but this seems different somehow. The Scottish girl is just so… so blazingly attractive. Sexy. Hot. She could hardly be expected to resist. And now… their bodies curved together, pressing against one another, is a, well, glorious sensation that was absolutely worth the risk she took to achieve it.
The Doctor's voice comes again, then—"Rose!" and he's close, so very close, if it's that loud. She pulls closer to Amy one final time, inhaling her spicy scent, feeling her curves, then tears herself away, running with well-practiced speed in the other direction, turning the corner just in time to quite literally run into him.
"Whoa there." He catches her by the forearms, holding her back a distance from him. "What're you running from?"
"From? Nothing," she insists hastily, combing her hair out of her face. "Just to you. You were calling for me, right?"
"Pond." The Doctor leans towards Amy's slouched figure, looking over her. He can't figure out why she's so… moody all of a sudden. Of course this is the one point in all of time that she's chosen to keep her mouth shut, too. She doesn't meet his eyes, but keeps her own dismally downcast, ignoring the strands of hair in her face that would normally drive her mad. Rory sits next to her, concern showing in everything about him. "There's something you're not telling me."
"Maybe there is," she grumbles back. "So? I have the right to keep secrets, don't I? It's not like you tell me everything."
He finds himself rather taken aback by this, all the more so because it's so true. Unable to think up a reply, he settles for returning to the TARDIS console, trying to think of a random time to take them to. Neither of his passengers seem up for offering an idea, so…
"Amy, haven't you said something about Rio? We could go there, if you wanted…"
Rose isn't the type to be gloomy, so of course it's a bad sign to the Doctor, especially since she appeared to have been running from something when he'd finally caught up with her. He doesn't say anything, because she seems to be trying to hide whatever her problem is, cover it up with weak smiles and hollow laughs. So he grins back, throws out the most absurd suggestions of locations to visit, watches her halfhearted, tired reactions.
It's a while before she throws a thought of her own into the one-sided conversation, and it's clear that she's been dwelling on it for some time. "Do you… have you ever known… a girl named Amy Pond?"
"Amy Pond?" he repeats, the name unfamiliar. "Definitely not. Wouldn't forget that sort of name. I like it, though. Sort of fairy-tale. Why?"
"Oh… no reason. What about…" Rose hesitates for several seconds this time, before spitting out the next few syllables. "River Song?"
He shakes his head, beginning to grow genuinely worried. "Are you sure you weren't running from anything back there?"
"Positive," she confirms quietly, but her eyes seem to linger on him for some reason, and he can't pretend that it isn't disconcerting.
"What is it?" he asks nervously, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. "Something in my teeth?" He runs his tongue experimentally over the front of them, fingers still twisted in spiky brown softness.
She shakes her head, resting her chin on a fist. Her eyes are distant now, and her voice nonexistent.
"Well… how about… say we try for…" He scans his memories, the whole lot of them, trying to think of something that Rose would enjoy, something that might cheer her up. "The 2012 Olympics?"