Here is the second part. Everyone asked nicely and who am I to turn down you FREAKING AWESOME people? And you are all getting a sappy ending. Cause. It happened. Again, comments and questions are always encouraged. ;DD Teehee. And mega love and thanks to the Master to my Doctor for her encouragement for this final installment. This has been fun. Off to... write, I guess.
When the baby first opens his eyes, the Doctor is holding him outside the hospital building— jacketless and a red suspender is slipping from the edge of his shoulder; he argues playfully in a whisper to his reasonably tired companion about where to stop at next— and Amy watches then helplessly as some of the luminosity clears from his smile.
"They're green," is the only answer he can provide when she presses the matter.
One exhausting night, as they roam undisturbed through the Torajii System, she discovers the TARDIS humming melodically to her son in the nursery. Come morning, she mutters thanks; still in her wrinkled, white nightie; forcing back a yawn; her sleep-warmed cheek flat to the cool wall, and she thought she heard it… hum back a response.
"Is he half Time-Lord, then?" Amy asks this, folding the backs of her hands under her chin, and peering interestedly from her sitting position from the other side of where the Doctor is on his hands and suit-knees on the lifted and platformed floor of the TARDIS, his bottom tilted up in the air.
"What's this 'half' rubbish?" His whimsied voice drifts muffled from the dark underbelly of the control room's console. He pops back into view with a grin, smug, "He's all Time Lord," and pops back down where a noise like a rather stuck and heavy switch is finally shoved into place. And he laughs and exclaims with clamorous thrill, "—THAT'S new!"
Her eyebrows quirk together as she murmurs, rising from her chair, "How is that possible?"
"Well, theoretically speaking… she's organic," the Doctor stands to pat the chromed metal with a couple loving, hearty smacks, "and the compounds to her structure grow as opposed to…" At the dumbfounded look she gave him, his sentence lingered off.
"…that wasn't what you were asking, was it?"
He sighs, green sonic screwdriver tapping against his palm, agitatedly.
"Right. Pond, you aren't human anymore. I've told you that. You haven't been human sinccccce…" The end of the screwdriver is motioned wildly at her now baby-less stomach and the Doctor's eyes are drawn down to her lower torso… down… and still down…
…And it is taking every ounce of her normally lax restraint to not comment, to not do anything, to not know how or even if he would react to a comment.
By then it is too late to explore her chance further because he returns to waving his lit and whirring instrument over some of the more damaged controls (from a previous nasty crash), addressing her over his tensing shoulder, "…You are a humanoid being now. There's a difference. But not the point. The Time-Lord genes override everything else in your case. There have been instances before, where one of the hearts of newborns were weaker than the other and rotted itself away inside the chest cavity. Mostly the heart on the right side of the body, where a human wouldn't have it to begin with…"
He turns around when a strangled cry is made, gauging her horrified expression, and decides to rush over to seize her arm—which is opportune because it feels like Amy is sinking through the platform, numb to the worried touch to the side of her face as he speaks softly, "…It's rare...and he's got two very strong heartbeats, Pond. I've checked…"
His fingers brush a lock of her reddish hair behind her ear as the Doctor examines her.
"And you are very pale right now," he says. "I thought you'd want to know that…"
"Let go, Doctor…" Near a fainting fit or not, Amy jerks stubbornly like a panicked animal in his grasp, her hazel eyes glittering. "I have to go see him…"
"Come off it, you are barely standing straight…"
The arm he holds swings in an arc, releasing her. "I said LET GO OF ME!" And she stumbles into the open corridor on the second level, gasping as she goes; a whir of red hair.
Amy's aunt Sharon moves to the next town out of Leadworth. It's not really hard to find her.
She is always glad to see the so-called 'Raggedy Doctor' when said Doctor groans aloud, speaking between his thin fingers covering his face that he is not 'Raggedy' anymore and if she would just kindly refer to him as the 'the Doctor' it would be well and good—as if this is the first time.
The baby is left in her "excellent care"—Amy assures, as his parents travel four and a half galaxies away.
He swings open the blue POLICE BOX door to the planet they land on, allowing his companion to carefully poke her head out and made the first few tentative steps on solid ground. The planet is overwhelming grey and misty and reminds her of Earth after a thunderstorm. She shivers a little at the colder wind whipping, gripping her arms together.
"Have I been here before?" she asks, curiously.
"The Eye of Orion. And, yes, you have. Thought you could use a small vacation." He leaps nimbly from the giant boulders the TARDIS perches from, eyeing the gravelly ground near her with a mounting smirk. "Watch out for those rocks."
They do not remember how they got on the subject of Amy's parents.
They are currently in Augsburg, Germany in 1580 and surrounded by dancers with standing, frilled collars and forepart petticoats; dancers with their partner's faces hovering shamelessly close. He had promised her on the ride in to teach her to waltz there. She is a little surprised that the clumsy space man from the box in the sky carries himself so gracefully as he circles her in the space they receive from the crowd.
The Doctor points out the bald gentleman staring rapt at them nearby ("Frenchman, bit of a skeptic, always asking other people what he thinks…"). It feels as if his open hand burns into her waist.
But the subject turns to her parents somehow. And for a moment, Amy wishes that the Time Lord chemicals in her body could at least permit her a free opportunity to reverse time on her own and prevent this discussion. It's not that talking about it makes her sad. But it is bothering someone else.
"I know what you are thinking about saying, Doctor. You are thinking about apologizing for deaths that weren't even your doing."
Amy shakes her lowered head, slowly. She wouldn't have it. Not from him. He does not come forward. They are already face-to-face as it is. His breath ghosts her face, thoughtfully. And he is focused on her. So very focused with those stormy eyes.
She shuts him up the most effective (...ah, no… blissful… ideal...) way she can envision.
When her lovely, chapped lips leave his mouth, the Doctor appears flabbergasted— but only at first glance.
She is human; she is unaware of him repeating this sternly over and over in his own head; and these are all circumstances that could have been avoided with a single thought of self-control. But her very essence brims and screams with infectious candor, with determination.
She is Amelia Pond. The girl who waited for him. A human sucked into a treacherous and picturesque fairytale world fitting to her name. She is bewitching; vivid; magnificent; too damn witty for her own good; a part of something he knows he aches for after many years.
And… he shuts her up the most effective way he can envision.
"…you—Mmm-mmph!" Amy is subdued behind his cupping hand, glaring as it registers.
The Doctor starts shouting in what sounds like a garbled, foreign tongue.
"What is this ruckus?" She arrives in his wardrobe room, narrowly ducking a coral-colored button-up and an elongated shiny black tie that sails over her head. "What, did you lose your favorite bowtie?" He ignores her jab at his personally-admirable fashion choices.
"WHERE is my screwdriver?" The Doctor is soon deep in her personal space, growling lowly.
Amy holds her hands up in mock surrender, scowling back at him, "Oi, why would I know where it is? I can't even use the blasted thing!"
To interrupt them, the screech of what sounds like twisting metal comes from the corridor.
What they find upon sprinting into the room where the teeth-gnashing noise came from is the baby. And the working sonic screwdriver. It takes seconds but the Doctor beams.
"Brilliant!" He snatches up his son, spinning in place and kissing the top of his peach-fuzzed head as he shrieks happily in his father's arms. "This is…BRILLIANT! I was sure he wasn't going to understand the properties of the crystal by this age! Amy!" The excited man calls to her by the staircase, placing him down, checking over the screens of the console, and laughing hysterically at the screens fuzz over, "Amy… oh there you are! We are locked out of the control systems of the TARDIS; isn't this wonderful?"
"…Wait, are you telling me that… HE is manually piloting this spaceship?" At his gleeful nod, Amy's face drains color. "Oh… my… … Doctor, what if he sends us in a black hole?"
He dismisses her statement with a disagreeable noise in his throat, hunching down near his drooling son brandishing the sonic screwdriver in his chubby right hand. "We never escape from it, of course. What else?" The Doctor says informatively, "All I have to do is take it back from him to avoid that from happening and regain control of the TARDIS."
A miniature feeling of dread overtakes her.
"…you aren't going to do that, are you?" she whispers.
The smile creeps wickedly over his sharp, Time Lord features.
"Let's just see where he takes us first."
In another sleepless night, she spies on him, fascinated, as he converses fondly and gently rocks the gurgling toddler by the circular view screen window; heels to toes; heels to toes.
"See that molecular cloud? That's the Scorpion Nebula, home of the planet San Helios. Everyone says that the Tritovores were created in that nebula... which is partly right. Misunderstood creatures, the Tritovores. I can tell you that story later..."
"In fact… I am going to teach you all of the names of the galaxies and moons and stars and planets. About the organic beings living in them. Because as a Time Lord you need to understand them…"
"I will teach you everything about our race and our history with our home Gallifrey, and the Citadel; the Master; the Daleks; the Cybermen; and the Time Wars... about everyone I have ever known… Susan, Ian, Sarah Jane, Mickey, Rose, Jack, Martha, Donna, Jenny, Wilfred, and your Mother…. Oh, the stories I have about your Mother…"
"And I will teach you everything I've ever regretted in 917 years, because you must learn from my mistakes… but you must know everything I came to cherish as well…"
"You must never use violence to settle an argument, no matter what is at stake…"
"You must never change significant points of history or critical events in someone's life..."
"You must never abandon your friends. Believe me, they will become your entire world one day..."
"You must never treat anyone poorly no matter how different they are from you. There are millions of civilizations in existence and they are never all the same. Drink in their cultures. Love the beauty in them. Learn from them. Protect them…"
"Above all, you must allow yourself to reach out to others. Even broken hearts must mend…"
"We are the last of our kind. It will weigh you down for as long as you live…"
"…but remember that most importantly… no matter what happens to us... I will always love you."