For Angie (bleuboxes)


"That," said Amy, "is a terrible idea."

Amelia Pond—or as she was now called, Amelia Williams—was standing over her friend with too much chin and not enough eyebrows, wearing a frown that was so familiar to him that it hardly had an affect anymore. She had, in one hand, a cup of cocoa that her husband—Rory Williams—had hastily made earlier in the afternoon. The man with the missing eyebrows suspected that the cocoa itself was ice cold now but, that Amy was drinking it out of pure love.

(If he had pointed that suspicion out to her, she would've dumped the cup of cold cocoa on his head and walked away. So, he didn't say anything.)

Amy Pond was—between her endless legs, and her fiery red hair—a brilliant young woman. The man who was, at that moment, cowering on the floor in a pile of Christmas decorations, knew that to be a fact. She was the type of person who believed in the impossible, the type of person who fought for what she wanted. To put it simply, the man on the floor knew he was very lucky to call the redheaded woman his best friend.

However…

That didn't mean he had to agree to everything she said. He was called a madman for a reason.

"It's not a terrible idea," said the man with no eyebrows, "it's the best idea I've had all week!"

Amy growled something ferocious and quickly chugged the rest of her hot cocoa in one go. (He had been right! She would've been literally crying if it was hot!) She stomped over to the kitchen counter and he heard her slam the mug down on the table before whirled back over to him in a tornado of pure frustration and bright red hair.

"John Smith, if you would—for once in your life—listen to your best friend she would really appreciate it!" She waved her hands about, exasperatedly. "Honestly, John. If you listened to her for one second you'd realize how horribly dangerous this all is and you'd stop!"

At that particular moment, Rory was out of the apartment. The chances were that Rory would also not have been able to calm his wife down. In fact, he would've probably sided with the ginger, to stay out of harm's reach. The squeamish man in question had whispered something to the man with the big chin about keeping Amy busy for the moment (it probably had something to do with buying a Christmas present) but all he seemed to be doing was making her more and more irritated. He wondered briefly, despite the situation, if Amy had even noticed Rory was gone.

"Speaking in third person is really not good for you, Pond." The man who had been sitting in a heap on the ground quickly jumped to his feet and straightened his rather obnoxious-looking bowtie. "And don't call me John. It's just so utterly dull and we both know that I don't like it."

Amy never called him John Smith.

Well, that wasn't really true. The redhead had called him John Smith when she had first met him, since he hadn't exactly come up with the nickname 'The Doctor' at that time. She had continued to call him John Smith until he had convinced her that he was cool enough to be called 'The Doctor'. (It had taken months, years even! He couldn't remember the exact amount of time. The thought of time always seemed irrelevant when he was with his best friend.) Now, Amy only called him John when she wanted to piss him off, or when she was seriously angry with him. The Doctor figured this time her reasoning was the latter.

"I can and I will call you John Smith until you stop this nonsense!" She poked his cheek with her index finger, looking cross. He only grinned at her, he couldn't help it. There was nothing she could say that would stop him. "Your plan is all horrible and dangerous! I will not allow it under my watch!"

"Horrible and dangerous are my middle names." The Doctor winked at Amy and before she could do anything else to stop him, he grabbed the heap of Christmas decorations from the floor, and opened his front door.

Now, the first thing to know about The Doctor was that he lived on the second floor of a rather homely apartment building. It was this perfectly rectangular mass of dark blue paint and nearly rotting wood, two floors in total and only two suites to match. There was a thin staircase that ran from The Doctor's front door to the ground, its steps slowly descending out of reach of his living room window. From the outside, it looked like the type of place that homeless people secretly hung out in. But on the inside, the inside was larger than life—or at least The Doctor's upstairs half of it was. (Both Amy and The Doctor had never set foot in the downstairs portion, and nor did they plan to. In fact, they had come up with an inside joke that a ghost lived in the downstairs portion, haunting incredibly quietly. Sure, somebody obviously lived down there but they clearly weren't active enough to the point where the redhead and her raggedy friend would see them outside on a regular basis.)

And so, with the feeling of Christmas pumping through his veins, The Doctor had come up with his plan to decorate. The Ponds' (or Williams', depending on who you spoke to) had broken into The Doctor's apartment earlier in the day, and decorated every nook and cranny of the place. In fact, the man with no eyebrows had woken up to find that everything in his apartment was either green, red, or somehow sparkly. (Even his cutlery was sparkly!) Rory had said that it was Amy's idea, and that he was only along for the ride. The Doctor couldn't even get angry when he found glitter on his glasses, he was just happy to be amongst friends.

Although the interior of his apartment was wholly decorated to the maximum, the exterior did not match in the slightest. Amy had said that her reasoning was something along the lines of "nobody stares from outside into a party: if they want to celebrate, they're already inside" which The Doctor thought was absolute nonsense. If one part of his apartment was to be decorated, it all had to be decorated. And that specifically included putting lights up on the outside of his little apartment.

Of course, this in itself had a lot of issues. For starters, it was pouring rain outside. The temperature hadn't dropped low enough that Christmas for it to snow, so instead it had rained. (Gotta love that London weather!) Any dirt had been turned into mud and Amy had told The Doctor that there had been warnings of flooding. Also—and considerably more terrifying—there was at least a twelve foot drop from The Doctor's living room window to the ground below. There was a large gap between the rickety stairs and the side of the building that was just the perfect size to have a thin gangly man slip through.

But it didn't matter to The Doctor because he was going to decorate his exterior living room window for the holidays if it killed him. He had made up his mind and nothing the beautiful redhead could say would change his mind.

So, LED lights in hand, he leaped out the front door in the incredibly ugly Christmas sweater that Rory had bought him as a joke (one that The Doctor had not entirely understood) and his worn lace up shoes, and begun to see his plan through.

The Doctor could see Amy as she watched him from the living room window, her hands looking like they were going to pull her fiery locks right out of her scalp. Outside in the pouring rain, he was barely holding his own ground. The raggedy Doctor had climbed up onto the slippery railing with significant difficulty, and his shoes kept sliding slightly down every time he attempted to steady himself between the window and the slick metal. (His best friend looked like she was at the edge of her seat!)

His hair was completely slicked down to his forehead (how he managed to see was a mystery to both of them) and his tongue was poking out of his mouth in pure concentration. The lights, which he had plugged in before he had begun his decorating endeavor, were running perfectly along the ledge above his window, and not falling—which was a big plus! (Amy, who was watching her Doctor with extreme intensity, supposed she would've thought he was cute if she wasn't already married and also wishing to punch the poor man in the face for being such an idiot.) However, to his own amusement, he was almost finished putting up the lights, and the multicolored bulbs were reflecting off of his upbeat smile.

And then Amy Pond blinked.

And The Doctor fell.

It was like one of those American Saturday morning cartoons. Except, he was the character falling instead of the omniscient viewer watching. First, there was Amy, looking at him through the window. And then there was a split second pause before all the air was pushed violently out of his lungs. He was only half aware of the thud that his body made onto the muddy ground. It took a moment for The Doctor to finally realize what had happened.

Oh, dear his… Everything hurt. He really should've listened to Amy.

The rain splattered on his face, his trousers, his shoes and that poor, poor sweater. His best friend was going to kill him for ruining her Christmas by falling and injuring himself. And then she was going to kill him again for muddying the sweater that her husband had bought him. And then she was going to kill him again for tracking mud into the house. And then she was going to kill him a fourth time for not listening to her even though she knew better most of the time and he was really being unreasonable and "honestly, Doctor, it's Christmas eve, I want to spend quality time with my favorite people and you're ruining it".

With his eyes shut tightly as he lay on the ground, he could practically feel her anger pulsing upstairs.

Here lies John Smith—formerly known as The Doctor, he thought to himself, dead not because he fell from his second floor apartment to the ground below but because his friend killed him for ruining Christmas. Rest in peace, you gangly limbed minx, you.

"You aren't dead," said a soft voice whispered into his ear, "are you?"

The Doctor would've jumped out of his skin if his whole body didn't ache from the fall. The voice was soft and pleasant sounding. Clearly a woman's, if he was going to really deduce anything, and she was somebody who he didn't know. Or at the very least, someone that he didn't spend enough time with to recognize the sound of her voice. The rain had stopped dripping directly onto his face, and he slowly raised a hand to wipe away some of the stray raindrops off his face before he opened his eyes and looked up at the woman crouched above him.

His vision was blurry but once it settled, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Standing above him was an beautiful young woman that he had never seen in his entire life.

The woman had dark brown hair that was slick with rain. That was one of the first things he noticed. Her hair was parted almost in the middle, and two clumps were tucked behind her ears, creating an exact line that fell, curving inwards at her collarbones. She had her dainty hand against her elegant forehead over her eyes to stop the water from disrupting her vision. And her eyes… Oh, he wasn't sure if it was because he had fallen and somehow damaged his head but she had the most lovely brown eyes he had ever seen.

He certainly was losing his touch.

"Not yet," The Doctor grinned up at her crazily, "although I will be soon."

Slowly, the man with the hair slicked to his forehead, pointed up to his apartment above her head and she turned to look. Above the both of them, the angry face of Amelia Pond, leered. She had grabbed an umbrella and what looked like a pair of The Doctor's old shoes, and had made her way half way down the rickety stairs when she made eye contact with both the pretty brown haired woman and himself.

The redhead gave the woman a polite smile while shooting The Doctor one of the scariest faces he had ever seen in his short life.

"Is he alright?" said Amy, nearly out of breath from her trip down the stairs.

"I believe so." Said the woman. "He's talking but, I'm not a doctor."

Despite her irritation with the situation, the redhead cracked a grin at her quiet joke. The girl had obviously never met her best friend before and she had no idea how accurate Amy was was.

"I'm sure he's fine." Amy smiled her wickedly fake smile at the woman. "He's been through a lot worse than falling from the second floor. If anything, he might've knocked his brain back into the correct place it's supposed to be." The two women chuckled quietly at the statement and The Doctor had an overwhelming, gut wrenching feeling that Amy would kill him as soon as he pulled himself back inside his apartment. Honestly, if he had just listened to Amy, none of this would've happened. A lot of what had happened in his life would've been vastly different if he had listened to his best friend. He could practically feel the anger boiling off of her as she spoke politely to the young woman.

And that left him with one option.

The Doctor jumped to his feet in one false swoop. He swayed on the spot for a moment, holding his balance the best he could before he swiped the umbrella from Amy's surprised hands and turned to look at the young woman. And ignoring Amy's squeaks of dislike as she was pelted with rain, The Doctor realized the young woman was absolutely tiny! She barely reached his shoulders. Oh, how she had seemed like a giant when he was lying on the ground. "Miss…"

"Oswald."

"Lovely." The Doctor grinned down at the young woman. "Miss Oswald, would you care to accompany my dear friends The Ponds' and I this evening? You may not know but we're having a Christmas celebration."

"I could tell." Miss Oswald smiled up at him and it felt like a flower had bloomed within The Doctor's heart.

"You could?" That was Amy, breaking the moment rather abruptly.

"You three aren't exactly the most quiet people up there, you know. I spent the afternoon listening to clomp about cooking and decorating and whatnot." She let out a light laugh at the looks of shock and guilt that covered both The Doctor and Amy's faces. "But it's alright, it was hilarious to listen to."

"Oh thank goodness." The Doctor pressed a hand to his chest in relief.

"And I'm not sure if I should intrude on your celebration." Miss Oswald seemed a bit uncomfortable at the thought of barging in. "You two seem like you're pretty good friends and—"

Amy's eyebrows raised slightly. "It won't just be the two of us. My husband is out right now but I think he might be bringing some other surprise guests." The Doctor gasped audibly. "Did he not tell you, Doctor? I might've just spoiled the surprise." She glared at her friend. "You'd better act surprised if he walks in the door with more people."

"Yes ma'am." The Doctor gave her a mock salute.

Miss Oswald stifled a laugh.

"Nonetheless, I wouldn't want to intrude." She smiled politely and The Doctor could feel his death by Pond grow nearer and nearer by the second. He was losing the young woman's interest.

"You wouldn't be intruding. Are you doing anything tonight? Any family plans? Friend plans?" He could tell Amy was giving him a weird look out of the corner of his eye but he didn't acknowledge it.

"No I—"

"Perfect." The Doctor grinned at the young woman's astounded face. "Feel free to make your way up to my lovely apartment whenever you see fit and join us in clomping about, Miss Oswald."

The Doctor turned on his heel and proceeded to push Amy Pond back up the stairs against her will. She was wearing a pretentious smirk on her face that for some ungodly reason The Doctor could think of no comeback to help himself wipe it off her face.

"Wait!" Miss Oswald sounded flustered. "At least let me know what your names are!"

Pushing Amy out of view on the staircase, the man in the ugly Christmas sweater turned to look down at Miss Oswald with her now soaked hair. "The redhead is Amy Pond and you can call me The Doctor."

"Well then, The Doctor," Miss Oswald crossed her arms across her chest and looked up at him, smirking like there was no tomorrow, "you can call me Clara."


Happy late birthday/christmas/birthday/christmas gift, Angie! This has been in the works for far, far too long and I am so sorry. To everybody else, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, more will be up as soon! Please feel free to let me know what you think!