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Entry tags:
DW Fic, A Christmas Special, PG, spoilers for 6x7
Disclaimer: not mine.
Rating: PG, mostly for fluffiness
Pairings: Amy/Rory, River/Eleven'
Length: 1100 words
Set: post-A Good Man Goes to War
SPOILERS, obvsly.
Notes: I blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lizbee (un-Brit-picked, for the wary)
Summary: Christmases come and Christmases go. (I'm trying to be unspoilery)
A Christmas Special
by ALC Punk!
"I didn't know if you celebrated," Amy says. She's not really awkward anymore, though she could be. This is one more thing about her daughter's life that she doesn't know (sometimes, she wonders if that truly makes her Melody--no, River's--mother).
River smiles, fingers pulling a bedraggled Santa hat from a pocket. "Of course I do."
-=-
First Christmases are something that should never be rushed, but River's on a deadline--there's this great dig that she's gotten wind of, and if she makes it there in time, she'll have one more notation about her in the history books (it's not really an obsession, she tries to tell herself; even if he has more mentions than her, that's not a reason to one-up him).
Savoring steamy-warm cider with cinnamon while Amy (her mother, she reminds herself) props her feet up on the sofa and tells Rory exactly how to distribute the presents is distracting, though.
A woman-grown, but she's still lost in the moment where tearing her nails through packaging makes her excited.
"My mother," Amy defends the present, "loves knitting."
River holds the lumpy and rather pea-green sweater up, turning it this way and that. Amy's mother. "It's lovely," she says, fighting back a suspicious catch in her throat.
"Then you'll love this even more," Rory says, beaming as he hands over another box-like thing which probably contains ugly stitchery.
Grandmothers are something new.
-=-
There are so many things Amy thinks of to ask River, her daughter. And so little that she manages to articulate. It's not that she's afraid to know, trapped in an abyss of uncertainty over whether she had a happy childhood or a good home. It's more that Amy has long understood that spoilers aren't just for him.
"I wasn't sure you'd come." She hadn't even told Rory she'd dropped the invitation into the mail. "Did you celebrate much--?"
River half-smiles and passes over the flour. "Did father always like biscuits?"
Calling Rory father sounds so wrong to Amy, but she covers it, thinking of once dreaming of late nights and early mornings and a baby that smelled wonderful.
"Yes." That is an answer Amy can make, and she laughs a little, setting down the mixing bowl. "We should take advantage of the light. While we can."
She's not avoiding anything.
-=-
"You shouldn't use tactics against your father," Amy warns.
River nevertheless finds herself crouched behind her makeshift fort, passing ammunition to Amy as she pelts the oncoming centurion with snow. Somewhere out there, he supposedly has back-up, but River hasn't seen anything.
There's a sudden and unholy shriek as a mountain of snow pours out of the tree above them, almost burying Amy before she flails free, tripping and falling backwards.
It's too much, and River's laughing as she grabs up two of her snowballs, throwing them upwards before dodging away.
The next cascade of snow misses her, and Rory calls foul from where he's still covered in half-made snowballs.
"Boys against girls," calls the man in the tree, "Seems very fair. Only two of us left standing."
"Who says you're standing?" River asks, before she tackles him backwards into the pile of snow Amy has now vacated.
Beneath her, the Doctor starts complaining about it not being within the bounds of the Geneva convention.
Amy drops a ball of snow on his face, "'Course it isn't. You weren't invited."
But he'll stay, all the same.
-=-
"I can't believe our daughter," Rory stops and gives that flickering smile that's part-terror, part-pride, "That she--what does she see in him?"
Amy laughs, grabbing the spoon from his lax hand, "You keep this up, we won't have anything to serve for afters."
"I can keep many things up." He grabs for her waist, pulling her in close while he buries his face in the side of her neck.
"Careful, there's still snow to dump you in." It's not that she wants to distract him from thinking of the Doctor and River--in fact, Amy's sometimes trying to distract herself, remembering kissing him. Like mother, like daughter, apparently.
"Oh, I think I'm safe," he shoots back, kissing the side of her neck, then her chin.
Amy shoves him back into the counter and lets one hand grab for his chin as she leans in for a proper kiss. Melody Pond might no longer be a child, but that doesn't say she enjoys being an only child.
Besides, cookery is boring without a little spice.
-=-
The sixth time the Doctor looks out the window, Amy calls him on it.
"I'm just checking--alien invasions--" he mumbles, already knowing he's in trouble.
River's fingers itch suddenly for her pistol (it's in the guest room, where she and Rory put her things, his eyes still filled with that awkward confusion Amy's moved past), but she reminds herself that this is Christmas with her family. What could possibly go wrong?
"Oi! We'll be having none of that," Amy threatens, spatula in hand. The smell of the biscuits she and Rory were making laces the air (River is certain she doesn't want to know everything that went on in that kitchen).
"If aliens invade," says Rory, arriving behind Amy rather suddenly, "I'm sure we'll be fine."
"Of course we will," the Doctor agrees. Though he still has that suspicious nervousness about him as he glances out the window.
"Doctor," River says, "Santa is not an alien. And he's already been."
"You don't know that."
"Oh," she smiles, winking at Amy, "I most certainly do."
-=-
The problem with a first Christmas where you and your daughter accidentally (on purpose) kill a children's icon because he's trying to take over the world is that it makes your husbands look cross when he finds the bloodstains in the side yard.
Amy promises River in a whisper that she'll turn him up sweet later, even as he's having a growly conversation with the Doctor about appropriate reflections on the holiday.
-=-
"Did you come just for that?" Amy asks River after the Doctor has pulled her father away to discuss something that possibly involves the time he spent as a plastic man.
River turns over her options, and ends up with the truth. "I didn't even know." She reaches out and grabs Amy's hand. "Amy--mother, I--" and she's lost for words, because it's hard to articulate all of the things she wants to say (and some she can't, not because it's impossible, but because there's still so much to come). She also doesn't think about the dig she's missed, that important foot-note in history that she's given up for this much less flashy one.
"I know." Amy pulls her in and hugs her, one hand on her shoulder. "Melody Pond," she chokes on her laughter, "You did grow up to be a superhero."
-=-
Amy tells River to make plans for the next year. Rory begs them not to start any alien shenanigans, but Amy refuses to make that promise.
-f-
Rating: PG, mostly for fluffiness
Pairings: Amy/Rory, River/Eleven'
Length: 1100 words
Set: post-A Good Man Goes to War
SPOILERS, obvsly.
Notes: I blame
lizbee (un-Brit-picked, for the wary)Summary: Christmases come and Christmases go. (I'm trying to be unspoilery)
A Christmas Special
by ALC Punk!
"I didn't know if you celebrated," Amy says. She's not really awkward anymore, though she could be. This is one more thing about her daughter's life that she doesn't know (sometimes, she wonders if that truly makes her Melody--no, River's--mother).
River smiles, fingers pulling a bedraggled Santa hat from a pocket. "Of course I do."
-=-
First Christmases are something that should never be rushed, but River's on a deadline--there's this great dig that she's gotten wind of, and if she makes it there in time, she'll have one more notation about her in the history books (it's not really an obsession, she tries to tell herself; even if he has more mentions than her, that's not a reason to one-up him).
Savoring steamy-warm cider with cinnamon while Amy (her mother, she reminds herself) props her feet up on the sofa and tells Rory exactly how to distribute the presents is distracting, though.
A woman-grown, but she's still lost in the moment where tearing her nails through packaging makes her excited.
"My mother," Amy defends the present, "loves knitting."
River holds the lumpy and rather pea-green sweater up, turning it this way and that. Amy's mother. "It's lovely," she says, fighting back a suspicious catch in her throat.
"Then you'll love this even more," Rory says, beaming as he hands over another box-like thing which probably contains ugly stitchery.
Grandmothers are something new.
-=-
There are so many things Amy thinks of to ask River, her daughter. And so little that she manages to articulate. It's not that she's afraid to know, trapped in an abyss of uncertainty over whether she had a happy childhood or a good home. It's more that Amy has long understood that spoilers aren't just for him.
"I wasn't sure you'd come." She hadn't even told Rory she'd dropped the invitation into the mail. "Did you celebrate much--?"
River half-smiles and passes over the flour. "Did father always like biscuits?"
Calling Rory father sounds so wrong to Amy, but she covers it, thinking of once dreaming of late nights and early mornings and a baby that smelled wonderful.
"Yes." That is an answer Amy can make, and she laughs a little, setting down the mixing bowl. "We should take advantage of the light. While we can."
She's not avoiding anything.
-=-
"You shouldn't use tactics against your father," Amy warns.
River nevertheless finds herself crouched behind her makeshift fort, passing ammunition to Amy as she pelts the oncoming centurion with snow. Somewhere out there, he supposedly has back-up, but River hasn't seen anything.
There's a sudden and unholy shriek as a mountain of snow pours out of the tree above them, almost burying Amy before she flails free, tripping and falling backwards.
It's too much, and River's laughing as she grabs up two of her snowballs, throwing them upwards before dodging away.
The next cascade of snow misses her, and Rory calls foul from where he's still covered in half-made snowballs.
"Boys against girls," calls the man in the tree, "Seems very fair. Only two of us left standing."
"Who says you're standing?" River asks, before she tackles him backwards into the pile of snow Amy has now vacated.
Beneath her, the Doctor starts complaining about it not being within the bounds of the Geneva convention.
Amy drops a ball of snow on his face, "'Course it isn't. You weren't invited."
But he'll stay, all the same.
-=-
"I can't believe our daughter," Rory stops and gives that flickering smile that's part-terror, part-pride, "That she--what does she see in him?"
Amy laughs, grabbing the spoon from his lax hand, "You keep this up, we won't have anything to serve for afters."
"I can keep many things up." He grabs for her waist, pulling her in close while he buries his face in the side of her neck.
"Careful, there's still snow to dump you in." It's not that she wants to distract him from thinking of the Doctor and River--in fact, Amy's sometimes trying to distract herself, remembering kissing him. Like mother, like daughter, apparently.
"Oh, I think I'm safe," he shoots back, kissing the side of her neck, then her chin.
Amy shoves him back into the counter and lets one hand grab for his chin as she leans in for a proper kiss. Melody Pond might no longer be a child, but that doesn't say she enjoys being an only child.
Besides, cookery is boring without a little spice.
-=-
The sixth time the Doctor looks out the window, Amy calls him on it.
"I'm just checking--alien invasions--" he mumbles, already knowing he's in trouble.
River's fingers itch suddenly for her pistol (it's in the guest room, where she and Rory put her things, his eyes still filled with that awkward confusion Amy's moved past), but she reminds herself that this is Christmas with her family. What could possibly go wrong?
"Oi! We'll be having none of that," Amy threatens, spatula in hand. The smell of the biscuits she and Rory were making laces the air (River is certain she doesn't want to know everything that went on in that kitchen).
"If aliens invade," says Rory, arriving behind Amy rather suddenly, "I'm sure we'll be fine."
"Of course we will," the Doctor agrees. Though he still has that suspicious nervousness about him as he glances out the window.
"Doctor," River says, "Santa is not an alien. And he's already been."
"You don't know that."
"Oh," she smiles, winking at Amy, "I most certainly do."
-=-
The problem with a first Christmas where you and your daughter accidentally (on purpose) kill a children's icon because he's trying to take over the world is that it makes your husbands look cross when he finds the bloodstains in the side yard.
Amy promises River in a whisper that she'll turn him up sweet later, even as he's having a growly conversation with the Doctor about appropriate reflections on the holiday.
-=-
"Did you come just for that?" Amy asks River after the Doctor has pulled her father away to discuss something that possibly involves the time he spent as a plastic man.
River turns over her options, and ends up with the truth. "I didn't even know." She reaches out and grabs Amy's hand. "Amy--mother, I--" and she's lost for words, because it's hard to articulate all of the things she wants to say (and some she can't, not because it's impossible, but because there's still so much to come). She also doesn't think about the dig she's missed, that important foot-note in history that she's given up for this much less flashy one.
"I know." Amy pulls her in and hugs her, one hand on her shoulder. "Melody Pond," she chokes on her laughter, "You did grow up to be a superhero."
-=-
Amy tells River to make plans for the next year. Rory begs them not to start any alien shenanigans, but Amy refuses to make that promise.
-f-
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ALSO I HAVE SOMETHING IN MY EYE
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Thank you =D
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Amy tells River to make plans for the next year. Rory begs them not to start any alien shenanigans, but Amy refuses to make that promise.
Have I ever told you how amazing you are at last lines? That one ^^ was perfect!
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But I do like it, the more I play with it. =D
Thank you!
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Indeed! And snowball battles of epic proportions! Hee!
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Thank you!
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