A/N Blah. I felt like writing something seasonal, so I did. This is my first Doctor/Amy, and actually a request from the lovely Sahoin- yes, I do take requests! ^^ Well, enjoy, please review, and that's all!

Rated K plus for kissyfuling.

Disclaimer I don't own Doctor Who or any associated characters, events, etc.


SNOWFLAKES

"Christmas morning, Amy Pond, and you're in bed!"

She grumbled something and groped at her pillow, halfheartedly tugging a corner of it over her ear in an attempt to block out the Doctor's overly bright, intrusive voice. She was comfortable, sprawled in her bunk with sheets half-twisted around her warm body, and really didn't need him bothering her at the moment. "We're in a time machine," she grumped, squeezing her eyes shut tighter against the sudden barrage of light that assaulted them. "Who says it's Christmas?"

"I say it's Christmas. Why shouldn't it be? My TARDIS, my time control. You can't always go where you want to; it's time I got a turn."

With a huff, Amy sat up, nearly banging her head on the ceiling, and glared down off the side of the loft bed. The Doctor was standing in the doorway, leaning delicately against the wall and watching her with a half-smirk. He was fully dressed, bowtie and all, not to mention the—

"Oh, no." Amy kicked free of her sheets and slid down the ladder in a single moment, still blinking sleep out of her eyes as she approached him, feet dragging along the floor. "No, no, no."

"What?" he asked, looking as though she'd personally offended him—which she probably had, but that wasn't her problem. "Something wrong?" He fingered the bowtie, like it was the most obnoxious thing he was wearing.

"That. What is that?" She gestured towards the white fur-rimmed, velveteen red hat—complete with snowy-colored puffball—that was positioned over his dark hair.

"This?" Both of his hands lifted up to frame the bizarre addition to his outfit, and he tossed the puffball back and forth between them for a moment. "It's a hat. A Santa hat. You know… Santa Claus? Father Christmas? …No?" He looked rather crestfallen as she rapidly shook her head back and forth, bed-matted hair swinging across her face.

"No," she agreed. "You are most definitely not going to wear that. Be happy I allow you the bowtie."

"Allow me? You allow me the bowtie? Excuse me, but I believe I—"

"Believe what you want. I'm going back to bed. Can it be Christmas in a few hours instead?" She whirled around and was half a step into stalking back to bed when he gripped her shoulder, spun her back into place, a full smile spreading across his face.

"Oh, no. Can't have you becoming lazy, now, can we? Ten minutes, console room. London is outside, and it's a bit chilly in winter, so—"

"Wait," Amy cut in, rubbing the back of one hand over her eyes and lifting the other one in a signal for him to be silent. "London? Of all places, you're taking us to London? No, no, I've got this. It's five billion years into the future or something?"

"Present time," he corrected, "from your viewpoint, at least."

"Then what's so exciting about that?"

"Everything." His eyes danced with that childish eagerness that he seemed to be able to find in the most insignificant and grungy of places. "The people. Just to watch the people. They're so…" His hands flailed in the air before him for a moment, before he finally exclaimed, "Brilliant!"

"Brilliant, eh?" Amy couldn't keep a slight smile from tickling her lips.

"Absolutely. And it's people like you most of all, Miss Amy Pond, so don't make me experience it without you. Ten minutes." With a wink, he ducked out of the doorway, still clutching the Santa hat tightly to his head. Amy groaned into the emptiness and reluctantly slid the door shut, eyes scanning the room for clothes. She settled on tight black leggings and a dark purple leather skirt halfway to her knees—it would be a bit chilly, but hopefully they wouldn't be spending that much idle time outside—and a long-sleeved black T-shirt for the top with a dark green cardigan and a long, shimmery scarf that she threw thoughtlessly over her shoulders. A few fierce brush-yanks and mascara-swipes later, she felt at least somewhat readier, and pranced into the console room with a bit more of her usual energy.

The Doctor had his back to her (hat still in place), but quickly turned when he heard her coming in. "Amy, excellent! Don't complain to me if you get cold, though," he added sternly—it was an expression of voice, however, that he wasn't prepared to maintain, and the smile she was used to returned soon. "Well, then, shall we?" He hurried over to the door and flung it open. Amy flinched at the cold draft of snowflake-infused air, but pressed her lips together and sauntered over the glass floor, hopping out the door.

The sight that greeted her was actually a surprisingly welcome one. They seemed to have landed in the middle of some sort of shopping center, and the night sky was surprisingly light with flurries of crystalline snow, gleaming in a mixture of moonlight and the glow of streetlamps. Despite the occasional late holiday shopper scurrying along, bundled up in multiple coats and scarves, the streets were deserted, icy and silent, snow muffling all sounds so that everything had a surreal, almost magical air to it.

It only took about three seconds, however, before she was chilled to the bone.

Still, that hardly meant she was admitting it to the Doctor.

"You told me it was Christmas morning," she teased good-naturedly, peering back into the open door of the TARDIS and trying to stop her teeth from chattering. "This looks like night to me. So much for watching the peop—" Her words were cut off in a squeak as a fluffy parka hit her in the face, and her hands snatched up to grab at it immediately. "What's this?"

"It's called clothing, and is something that you might like to try wearing sometime."

"Oh, shut up," she muttered, but nevertheless pulled on the thick coat, welcoming the heat that it brought with it and deciding against pointing out how her legs were still blocks of ice, instead choosing to turn and face the street again. Breath leaked out from between her red-painted lips, spilling a swirled pattern of pale mist into the dark night air.

"And it'll be morning in…" There was a slight pause as he presumably checked the time. "…Eleven minutes."

"Eleven minutes, huh?"

"Actually, ten, now." A moment later, the light of the TARDIS melted away as he shut the door and stood behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes flickering up to observe the Santa Claus hat.

"Are you really wearing that?"

"Of course." He trailed forwards a few steps, into the street, and turned around to grin at her. "Well, then, Amy Pond, it's all up to you, of course. What do you do on Christmas Eve?"

"Whatever I feel like," she replied brightly, and couldn't resist laughing as he beamed back at her and held his arms out. She grasped them and let him spin her around, her feet sliding along the icy street and snowflakes settling in her eyelashes, melting into beautiful crystal teardrops clinging to the ends. A giggle bubbled up from her throat, warming the brisk air around them, and for just a moment, her feet lifted off the ground with the support of his arms, and she was suspended in the air, they were both laughing into the unyielding night, before her feet coasted lightly back onto the snow again.

"Whatever you feel like," the Doctor chuckled, supporting her as she sagged sideways with dizziness, grasping at his shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm a pretty free person." She flicked at the puffball at the end of his hat, and it bounced through the air, which was thick with snow. His eyes found hers, and her hand stilled for a moment. She paused like that, his hands still on her waist, her fingers brushing lightly against his hair, watching him watching her. The silence of the night fell down again, layered over the magical scene.

"…Thanks for bringing me out of bed," she murmured. "There's… really nowhere I'd rather be right now, to tell you the truth."

"Not even back in your comfy bunk?" he replied. "All warm, with that nice blanket and a plumped-up pillow…"

"Not even there," she replied softly. "This is perfect. Right here, right now… this is perfect." Her fingertips teased the tip of the hat again. "Here, with my Raggedy Doctor…"

He pulled his arms around her just a bit more tightly, so that they rested at her sides, and settling his hands quite lightly on her hips, like twin birds suspended in the moment before taking flight. Amy let out a small sound of pleasure and pressed her forehead gently into his shoulder, letting her eyes drift shut. Light flakes of coldness tickled the back of her neck between her scarf and her long ginger locks of hair, which was also peppered with the bits of white fluff. The absolute peace of the moment pressed down on her, so that she was absolutely consumed in the heat radiating from both of their slim bodies, twined together under the golden glow of the streetlamps and the pale silvery cast of the moon, the two luminescent light sources bringing a fairy-like glow to everything that they touched. The Doctor smelled like, well, the Doctor, an exotic scent that she couldn't really call anything but exquisite and pleasurable, and it filled her senses, a truly dazzling experience.

The most ancient, mad, alien person I've ever met, she reflected, a man from another world, the owner of a time machine, and he's mine.

It was true. Just for that moment, that short, short, eternally long little moment, he was the only thing in her small universe, and she the only thing in his infinitely vast one. She was grinning into his tweed jacket, filled with a seemingly source-less euphoria just to be alive—alive, and next to the most amazing creature in all the galaxies.

"You asked me what I did on Christmas Eve," she reminded him after a while, "and I didn't answer because I would've thought that the answer was obvious."

"Oh, yeah," he said as though he has just remembered. "Well… answer… not coming to me, actually."

"Obviously," she agreed. "The thing is, Doctor, before you came along, I was a kissogram."

She looked up just in time to get a glimpse of his half-confused, half-nervous expression—those familiar features twisted in an almost concerned way, that silly Santa hat still sitting crookedly on his dark waves of hair.

"So you're saying—"

"That on this particular day of the year, what I did most was kiss people. Usually a lot of people. I'd go to them on behalf of one of their loved ones—it was a message, you know. Holiday greetings and a kiss."

The toll of a clock floated along the wind then, wrapping them up in its great, heavy bongs as it counted out the time—twelve steady clangs, each one low and strong.

One…

Two…

Three…

"So…"

Four…

Five…

"I just…"

Six…

Seven…

Eight…

"Wanted to say…"

Nine…

Ten…

"Merry Christmas…"

Eleven…

"…Doctor."

She wrapped her arms tightly around him and pulled him in close, kissing him softly, sweetly on the lips, as the final toll of the clock surrounded them, counting out a new day, one that would bring with it a hundred thousand laughing, excited children, families gathering together and rejoicing in the season, in the pleasure of giving and receiving, of being together.

Amy Pond wouldn't be with any family for these holidays, but that didn't matter, because she had a Doctor, a wonderful, magical Raggedy Doctor who could take her to a thousand Christmases, past and future and present all over the world, all over any world.

And the best thing of all was that, even as she was kissing him, he wasn't fighting, wasn't protesting at all. It was as if neither of them wanted to disrupt the enchanted little fragment of time that felt as though it had been cut out just for the two of them. The places they could go might have been infinite, but just then, nothing existed for them but each other and the perfect, snowy night.