Sex with your younger self. Something to think about. Eleven is not going to screw (ahaha) with his own history when he and Amy accidentally end up in the same place Ten is. But Amy sure will. Which is why we love her. Somewhere after Cold Blood. But no spoilers. A hectic situation arises! Much fun to be had! At least for everyone else beside poor Eleven! Reviews are like cherry vanilla soda to me. x3 Looooooove.
Doctor Who is... one of the best things ever. No argument there. And totally not mine. Also not an argument there.
There were rules. When weren't there? Most of the time, the Doctor found that rules were off better broken when it came down to the specific circumstances. But…
There were always important rules about accidentally meeting up with yourself. And in the case of being a Time Lord, the very possibility of a "cataclysmic-temporal-fold–and-a-section-of-the-universe-would-shut-down-thank-you-very-much" came very highly possible if things didn't go just right.
So— as the Eleventh regenerate— he was staying on his side of Vienna's restaurant square. Safest decision.
"So that's you in the past, yeah?" Amy sat close by in her black-steel wicker chair, observing the same figure he was intensely over the thick rims of her rhinestone sunglasses— bearing a striking resemblance to River Song's pair— and puckered her lower lip meditatively. "The hair is all… fluffy. Very cute. Why don't you ever wear your hair like that?"
The Doctor could have bested her, naturally, by running off a list of remarks that clued in to why HE thought his skinnier, younger version of himself lounging at the statue-marble fountain was cute (—erm, not like that—…?): The snug fit of the blue four-button suit on the shoulders and legs (…were those red pinstripes…? …oh… that -was- rather dashing); the hair of course, coiffed, and settling just a touch below the brow line; the ridiculously large and gorgeous smile, as if the entire cosmos was ripe for the taking—
—ah, dammit. He was definitely turned on by his previous regeneration. This was... not good.
"Oh, I know that look." Something in his companion's face settled there as she stared at him instead; astonished; gleeful. "…Doctor! NO! You are thinking about shagging your past self, aren't you?"
He scowled, the tabletop rattling as his hands slammed on it, and she was laughing at him, "Amelia Pond, watch your language!" It didn't help the matter that he could feel the backside of his neck heat with tattletale embarrassment. And the Doctor did not get a good feeling from her further manic smile that followed her laughter.
"Well, if you can't meet him… then I want to."
"Amy! Amy, stop!" He made a grab for her embroidered, green knit-shawl as she dodged his reaches, taking off towards his lounging self a good sixty feet away from their small, black-steel restaurant table. The shawl slipped away, devil-like from his scrambling fingers, along with the human girl.
He mustn't panic. Not yet. Not yet.
The Doctor could see clearly with his alien hypersenses as she not-so-uncertainly approached the fluffy-haired man, smiling cheerfully down at him and tapping one of his shoulders, "Hullo."
His past self glanced from his mild daydreaming from the gleaming surface of the fountain water up towards her. A similar smile to hers stole over his handsome features. "Hello to you. Can I help you?"
"Yes, actually, can you tell me what time it is?" He answered her promptly with help of his copper watch on his thin, bare wrist.
"And what year is it?" Amy asked, waiting to see if he would react further. His bushy eyebrows rose up inquisitively, wrinkling his once smooth forehead. The older Doctor saw it happen and restrained himself from throwing extreme caution to the wind to drag her overly-nosy arse back to their table to finish their tarte tatin. (Don't panic, Doctor. Not yet.)
He frowned slightly, expressive and dark brown eyes scanning her from overly large sunglasses to her flats. "...Have we met before?" His past self asked, concentrating on the spill of her red hair.
"Nah, I just have one of those faces." Amy said with exaggerated nonchalance, shrugging and digging her hands into her front jean pockets. "So, is this a good day for you then?"
The past Doctor seemed to have found her stubborn presence more amusing than anything and nowhere near threatening. His handsome, white smile returned as he propped up his plain-and-red trainers on the edge of the fountain. "Aye, I think relatively so—"
"Doctor, we need to get a move on—!"
"…That would be my cue." He leaned forward, winking noticeably at the pleased Amy, and then cupped his hands against his mouth to shout in the direction of the new voice, "Coming, Martha!"
"What, lovely Martha? Oh, no." His charming, past self let loose air between his teeth as a sign of friendly estrangement. "Why would you ask that, darling? Something on your mind?" He asked cheekily, looking up at Amy. The other Doctor found himself torn between being somewhat jealous of his human companion and banging his head repeatedly on the metal napkin dispenser.
Amy gestured, "Well, you see, my friend over there," she said, waving to the Eleventh regenerate who went bug-eyed and frantically hide himself behind his upright, varnished MENU, "yeah, that one, he fancies you a bit. He's not a bad kisser getting past the nerves, really. And if you can get around the eccentric fetish for bowties... well, he's a keeper."
His past self sounded genuinely intrigued, "You don't say?", and the Doctor swore he felt his hearts skip two beats. Or a several more. "Bowties -are- fairly snazzy. Tell him I am flattered—"
"Yes, Martha!" He sprung hurriedly to his feet to shake Amy's hand hanging at her side, "Mustn't make her wait any longer. Nice to meet you… whoever you are. It's been a pleasure." His past self pulled out from his trouser pocket what looked like the old blue sonic screwdriver, flicked it between his fingers, and hightailed it through the deserted end of the square to… whoever 'Martha' was.
"See?" Amy strolled back to where the Doctor still ducked his head from view, fuming as she said proudly, "Your past self can flirt with me. I guess you missed your chance at him."
Slowly, he lowered the MENU. Very. Very. Slowly.
"You can forget Rio."
Amy continued throwing her earlier fit about Rio being dismissed alone in the TARDIS's swimming pool as the Doctor traced his pale hand over the chromed banister of the control room's staircase.
"Bowties -are- fairly snazzy…"
The corners of his long mouth perked up at the memory as he patted his little maroon bow haughtily, endearingly.
...maybe tomorrow he'd surprise Amy.