Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: K by FFN standards
Summary: And you can’t help but feel a bit sorry for the impossible Amelia Pond, lost in memories or an imagination gone wild.
Word Count: circa 800
A/N: No spoilers, unless you haven't watched this season at all.
The Impossible Amelia Pond
i. an exchange of vows
“He’s real, you know,” Amelia Pond says confidently, leaning forward on her hands as her legs swing back and forth over the edge of her bed. She thrusts her chin at the strange collection of hand-drawn pictures that Rory is staring at, pictures of her first and only imaginary friend.
“Yeah?” Rory responds, a little unsure. Partly because he’s never been inside a girl’s bedroom but mostly because he never expected one to look quite like this. Especially not Amy Pond’s bedroom, the girl he’s had a crush on for ages now. He’s got his hands in his pockets, slightly fearful that she’ll take his head off if he touches any of the drawings and dolls and stuff that fills her dresser (and he’s willing to bet they fill quite a few of the drawers, too). He’s rather fond of Amy . . . and his head, you see.
But his “Yeah” isn’t convincing enough for the ten year old who crosses her arms, tosses her strawberry red hair and looks at him with challenge in her eyes. Frankly, it’s enough to make Rory want to cower, just a bit.
“Yeah?” she repeats in disgust. “Of course he’s real. I’ll show you!”
He’s noticed that her brogue thickens when she mad and now Rory’s worried about what she’ll do when she’s upset, but he’s sort of distracted by the way the sunlight makes her hair glow like a fiery halo. He can’t believe he’s got a crush on Mad Amy Pond, or that he’s in her bedroom. Well, not in her bedroom anymore, since she’s dragging him down the stair and -
“Was that door here before?” he asks suddenly on the first landing and surprise stops his feet from tripping to keep up with Amy. She whips around and pins him with her eyes and this time Rory does cower slightly.
“What door?” she asks in confusion and when Rory lifts a hand to point, he finds he’s staring at smooth plaster. Blinking in perplexity, he mumbles “Never mind” and stays quiet until they’re in the back garden. Amy’s life is kind of like a fairy tale, so houses with doors that disappear and overgrown back-gardens that hide imaginary friends are probably par for the course with her. At least that’s what Rory tries to tell himself as she drags him outside where the sunlight makes his eyes water. It’s a nice, sunny day but the back garden, with its weeds and creeping vines, looks quite sinister.
“See,” Amy says triumphantly, releasing his hand and crossing her own arms regally.
Rory just stops himself from blurting “See what?” because all he’s noticed is a broken down shed and some weeds. There are some rather pretty flowers and he spares a moment to wonder if Amy would like some of those. Actually, it’s all very normal and un-imaginary, except for the door that disappeared a while ago. He glances back at the house uneasily.
“He came from over there,” Amy says almost reverently, pointing at the shed that’s now in shambles. Not the flowers, then, Rory thinks and then panics in the next second. What if some dangerous, creepy bloke is living in Amy’s old shed? He’s pants at protecting anything; just ask the several pets he’s gotten and subsequently lost to accidents. But then he realizes that the shed really is in shambles, like something crashed into it, which is odd because Amy’s aunt doesn’t have a car.
“He climbed out of a great, blue police box and started asking for the strangest things. And I told him about the crack in my wall and he promised to fix it,” she goes on, excited about having someone new to share the story with.
And you can’t help but feel a bit sorry for the impossible Amelia Pond, Rory thinks, staring at her as she stares enraptured at the crumbling shed, lost in memories or an imagination gone wild. Her freckles stand out against pale skin and her eyes are shining with some indescribable brightness, like someone’s turned a light on inside of her. Rory is transfixed; there’s no hope for him, really. In his mind, she looks so small and so grand at the same time. Too grand for this sleepy English town, he thinks wistfully.
She’s standing a little way from him and he’s about to put an arm over her shoulder or something equally cool and manly when she turns to face him with fervent determination.
“He’s coming back,” she tells him with absolute conviction. “The Doctor in the box said he’s coming back, and I’ll wait. I’ll wait for the Doctor forever.”
She makes her vow to a startled young boy in the run down back garden of a curious old house in a tiny English village where nothing nearly this exciting ever happens.
And Rory vows to himself that he’ll wait with her, until the Doctor comes or until he can become the doctor she wants. Whichever comes first.