Fic:: Scenes From [...] [Doctor Who]
Jun. 27th, 2010 05:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenOkay, you guys, SPOILERS. This whole story is one enormous spoiler for what happens at the end of "The Big Bang". Even the title is spoilerific. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I do love Doctor Who.
Fic:: Scenes From the Wedding Album of Ms. and Mr. Pond
by Raven
G, Doctor Who, Amy/Rory and the Doctor. Just what it says.
"Mum," Amy says, a little nervously, sitting down next to her mother. The food has been served, the drink's flowing, the dancing is beginning. Amy's seen the Doctor looking contemplatively at the dancefloor and she thinks this may be the best day of her life. "Mum, will you tell me about..."
"About what, love?" asks her mum, and puts an arm round her. "You look beautiful, Amelia, you really do. I know I've said it twelve times a minute since this morning, but." She waves her hands. "Beautiful."
Amy smiles. "About when I was little. Would you, please?"
Her mum looks at her with an odd expression: loving, and a little knowing. Amy finds herself seeing her own face in her mother's – her face as it will be when she's been happily married to Rory for fifty years, with lines around her mouth from where she's laughed and cried, and with grey hairs from the Doctor.
"When I was pregnant with you," her mum says, slowly, "you kicked. You kicked and you kicked and you kicked, and then when you stopped, I knew it was time." She smiles to herself. "Your dad said I should get all my things, he'd get the car out. He was so excited, he reversed into the garage door. It gave him such a shock, I had to drive him to the hospital."
She smiles at the memory. "When you were seven, you were just starting to love art. I sent you to the National Museum with your Aunt Sharon, and you disappeared! She hunted for you for hours, she told the museum guards, the police were called. And just when we thought you'd gone forever, you turn up by yourself, bold as brass, walking down those grand stairs in those adorable little boots you used to wear. When we asked you where you'd been, you said you'd had a lovely time, made friends, seen a lot of interesting things and could we go again, please." She laughs, gives Amy a squeeze. "You gave me such a fright, you beautiful girl."
"Thank you," Amy says. "Thank you." She's crying again, but this time she knows exactly why.
*
"Amy!" says her dad, a little distractedly, looking out across the dancefloor at the Doctor doing the lindy hop. "Your... friend is very interesting. What, ah, line of work is he... er, in?"
"He's the Doctor, Dad," Amy tells him, and grabs his hand. "Now stop talking and come and dance with me."
The music changes as she drags him away; there's a trumpet, and a riot of syncopation, and she and her Dad are swing-dancing, or at least, he's standing still while she twirls and pivots around him.
It's funny – she can remember a dozen birthday parties, weddings, christenings, new years, memories laid on top of each other like crepe paper, but all the same, this is the very first time she and her Dad have cut up the dancefloor. It's exhilarating. The Doctor looks on, smiling, and spins neatly out of the way as she comes hurtling towards him.
"Oh," her dad says, breathlessly, "how, ah, appropriate... you always could… er, wrap me around" – Amy twirls – "and around and around and around" – more twirling - "your little finger."
He looks very happy about it.
*
Rory throws himself down into the chair besides the Doctor and says, "I'm the luckiest man in the world."
"That you are," the Doctor agrees, clapping him on the back. Reaching behind him, he grabs a flute of champagne and drinks half of it. "I'll drink to that."
Rory grins, blissfully.
"And she's the luckiest woman in the world," the Doctor goes on, and drinks the other half. "Wow! Bubbles. Inside my head. I like it. Bubble bubble."
"You don't mean that, Doctor?" Rory says, suddenly serious, looking at him sidelong. "Boring old Rory, the nurse from Leadworth?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Rory Williams," the Doctor says, and hiccups. "Rory Williams, the boy who waited! Rory, who stood on guard for two thousand years against ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties! Rory, who was the thing that went bump in the night! Rory" – a pause, while he looks over his shoulder, looks to his left and to his right, beckons Rory forward – "I'll tell you a secret. No, closer."
Rory edges closer. "Doctor…"
One more peek over his shoulder. "Yeah, you know what? You're older than me now."
Rory blinks. "Well... I'm not. I just... remember doing those things. I mean. I didn't really. I mean, I'm not plastic."
"Memory is more important than you might think," the Doctor says, and lifts up the flute to the light so he can be absolutely sure there's nothing in the bottom of it. "I should know."
"You're wrong about one thing, though," Rory says. "I'm not Rory Williams, any more," and he pours the Doctor more champagne.
*
Amy lets go on the arc of the swing and flies happily to the edge of the floor, watching her dad standing there and wondering mildly why he was holding her hands and now suddenly he isn't, and then it's all gone strangely dark.
"Amy," someone says frantically, and lights a match.
"Why am I in a cupboard, why did you drag me into a cupboard?" Amy says, and then: "River? Is that you?"
"I don't have much time," River says, quickly, "I just wanted to say congratulations to you both, and you look beautiful."
"Thank you," Amy says. River grins, gives her a kiss on the lips and pushes her back onto the dancefloor.
"Amy!" says her dad, now looking very confused; Amy's starting to understand the anatomy of his bemusement, and this one's only a number five on the scale. "Where did you go?"
"It's my wedding, Dad!" Amy says, happily. "Old friends to catch up with, you know."
When the song ends she goes back to inspect the cupboard, but there's nothing inside but a burnt matchstick. Amy shuts the door carefully behind her just in case.
*
"Now, I understand it's conventional at this moment in weddings for the bride to say a few words. But she's very kindly let me step in just for a moment. I'll shut up in a minute, Amy, I promise. No, I really will. No, stop pulling at my coat-tails.
"Hello, everyone. I'm the Raggedy Doctor, and Amy is my real friend. Amy, stop it! This is important. I have something I'd like to say.
"I've known Amy for half her lifetime, and in all of that time, she has never been less than magnificent. I've known Rory for half the lifetime of human civilisation, and in all that time he's never been less than the most solid thing in it. Together, I wish them joy. I wish them the wonders of the universe. I wish them flowers, I wish them colliding galaxies, I wish them raindrops making fractals on their windows.
"I hope they will always be happy; I hope they will always have time.
"All right, I'm finished. Thank you very much, everyone. Have a lovely – all right, I'm sitting down! There. See."
"To having time," Rory says, lifting his glass, and the room is full of light.
finis.
I do love Doctor Who.
Fic:: Scenes From the Wedding Album of Ms. and Mr. Pond
by Raven
G, Doctor Who, Amy/Rory and the Doctor. Just what it says.
"Mum," Amy says, a little nervously, sitting down next to her mother. The food has been served, the drink's flowing, the dancing is beginning. Amy's seen the Doctor looking contemplatively at the dancefloor and she thinks this may be the best day of her life. "Mum, will you tell me about..."
"About what, love?" asks her mum, and puts an arm round her. "You look beautiful, Amelia, you really do. I know I've said it twelve times a minute since this morning, but." She waves her hands. "Beautiful."
Amy smiles. "About when I was little. Would you, please?"
Her mum looks at her with an odd expression: loving, and a little knowing. Amy finds herself seeing her own face in her mother's – her face as it will be when she's been happily married to Rory for fifty years, with lines around her mouth from where she's laughed and cried, and with grey hairs from the Doctor.
"When I was pregnant with you," her mum says, slowly, "you kicked. You kicked and you kicked and you kicked, and then when you stopped, I knew it was time." She smiles to herself. "Your dad said I should get all my things, he'd get the car out. He was so excited, he reversed into the garage door. It gave him such a shock, I had to drive him to the hospital."
She smiles at the memory. "When you were seven, you were just starting to love art. I sent you to the National Museum with your Aunt Sharon, and you disappeared! She hunted for you for hours, she told the museum guards, the police were called. And just when we thought you'd gone forever, you turn up by yourself, bold as brass, walking down those grand stairs in those adorable little boots you used to wear. When we asked you where you'd been, you said you'd had a lovely time, made friends, seen a lot of interesting things and could we go again, please." She laughs, gives Amy a squeeze. "You gave me such a fright, you beautiful girl."
"Thank you," Amy says. "Thank you." She's crying again, but this time she knows exactly why.
"Amy!" says her dad, a little distractedly, looking out across the dancefloor at the Doctor doing the lindy hop. "Your... friend is very interesting. What, ah, line of work is he... er, in?"
"He's the Doctor, Dad," Amy tells him, and grabs his hand. "Now stop talking and come and dance with me."
The music changes as she drags him away; there's a trumpet, and a riot of syncopation, and she and her Dad are swing-dancing, or at least, he's standing still while she twirls and pivots around him.
It's funny – she can remember a dozen birthday parties, weddings, christenings, new years, memories laid on top of each other like crepe paper, but all the same, this is the very first time she and her Dad have cut up the dancefloor. It's exhilarating. The Doctor looks on, smiling, and spins neatly out of the way as she comes hurtling towards him.
"Oh," her dad says, breathlessly, "how, ah, appropriate... you always could… er, wrap me around" – Amy twirls – "and around and around and around" – more twirling - "your little finger."
He looks very happy about it.
Rory throws himself down into the chair besides the Doctor and says, "I'm the luckiest man in the world."
"That you are," the Doctor agrees, clapping him on the back. Reaching behind him, he grabs a flute of champagne and drinks half of it. "I'll drink to that."
Rory grins, blissfully.
"And she's the luckiest woman in the world," the Doctor goes on, and drinks the other half. "Wow! Bubbles. Inside my head. I like it. Bubble bubble."
"You don't mean that, Doctor?" Rory says, suddenly serious, looking at him sidelong. "Boring old Rory, the nurse from Leadworth?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Rory Williams," the Doctor says, and hiccups. "Rory Williams, the boy who waited! Rory, who stood on guard for two thousand years against ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties! Rory, who was the thing that went bump in the night! Rory" – a pause, while he looks over his shoulder, looks to his left and to his right, beckons Rory forward – "I'll tell you a secret. No, closer."
Rory edges closer. "Doctor…"
One more peek over his shoulder. "Yeah, you know what? You're older than me now."
Rory blinks. "Well... I'm not. I just... remember doing those things. I mean. I didn't really. I mean, I'm not plastic."
"Memory is more important than you might think," the Doctor says, and lifts up the flute to the light so he can be absolutely sure there's nothing in the bottom of it. "I should know."
"You're wrong about one thing, though," Rory says. "I'm not Rory Williams, any more," and he pours the Doctor more champagne.
Amy lets go on the arc of the swing and flies happily to the edge of the floor, watching her dad standing there and wondering mildly why he was holding her hands and now suddenly he isn't, and then it's all gone strangely dark.
"Amy," someone says frantically, and lights a match.
"Why am I in a cupboard, why did you drag me into a cupboard?" Amy says, and then: "River? Is that you?"
"I don't have much time," River says, quickly, "I just wanted to say congratulations to you both, and you look beautiful."
"Thank you," Amy says. River grins, gives her a kiss on the lips and pushes her back onto the dancefloor.
"Amy!" says her dad, now looking very confused; Amy's starting to understand the anatomy of his bemusement, and this one's only a number five on the scale. "Where did you go?"
"It's my wedding, Dad!" Amy says, happily. "Old friends to catch up with, you know."
When the song ends she goes back to inspect the cupboard, but there's nothing inside but a burnt matchstick. Amy shuts the door carefully behind her just in case.
"Now, I understand it's conventional at this moment in weddings for the bride to say a few words. But she's very kindly let me step in just for a moment. I'll shut up in a minute, Amy, I promise. No, I really will. No, stop pulling at my coat-tails.
"Hello, everyone. I'm the Raggedy Doctor, and Amy is my real friend. Amy, stop it! This is important. I have something I'd like to say.
"I've known Amy for half her lifetime, and in all of that time, she has never been less than magnificent. I've known Rory for half the lifetime of human civilisation, and in all that time he's never been less than the most solid thing in it. Together, I wish them joy. I wish them the wonders of the universe. I wish them flowers, I wish them colliding galaxies, I wish them raindrops making fractals on their windows.
"I hope they will always be happy; I hope they will always have time.
"All right, I'm finished. Thank you very much, everyone. Have a lovely – all right, I'm sitting down! There. See."
"To having time," Rory says, lifting his glass, and the room is full of light.
finis.
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no subject
on 2010-06-28 09:44 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-06-28 04:50 pm (UTC)inspirebully you into writing the MOST.