Chapter Text
“It’s a long story… they all think I’m dead.”
It’s the first time the Doctor’s said that out loud to anyone, and it strikes him how odd it sounds. How alien, how uncivilized… how selfish.
It’s one thing to abandon his friends, his family, to call them what they really are, but he’s lied to them, to her, made her wait and let her down.
It hits him then how many times he’s done that. He’s made her believe that he’s never coming back, made her watch his death, or so she thinks. If it were the other way around, he knows he’d never be able to stand it.
Today of all days, he thinks, it’s Christmas, and he loves Christmas. He has to do this one thing right. He has to go and tell her. He has to make tonight the one night he comes back for her.
Madge stands in front of him in an accusing manner and tells him that no one should be alone at Christmas.
He knows she’s talking at him, about him, but he’s still thinking about his mad impossible Amelia Pond. He wonders if she’s thinking about him too. He imagines then all the times she must have done, the times when looking up into the stars they once ventured though might have made her cry.
He’s such a selfish old man, he really is, and it is, of course, the very least he can do. Guiltily, he looks back at his little blue box. He doesn’t know how many years it’s been, but he knows it’s been enough.
He puts the engines on silent. He thinks it’ll make it easier. He isn’t entirely sure who for.
He’s supposed to be her hero, her imaginary raggedy man who saved her life by dropping out of the sky, but all he’s done is run away and lie to her. Some hero he is. He hopes he can make it up to her. He hopes she can forgive him.
Stepping out of his time machine, he stands and stares for a moment at the blue house across the street.
They’ve decorated for Christmas.
There’re lights hanging over the railings and trailing from the plants in the front garden. His breath catches as he sees Rory through the front window, appearing briefly as he walks into the room past their grand Christmas tree, decked to the heights with a gold shining star. Snow begins to fall gently around upon the scene and quickly, unable to wait any longer, the Doctor steps lightly across the road, up the steps to stand outside their front door.
He knocks without a second thought.
Amy’s groan makes him smile. She was never one to hide her irritability, and it appears that even during the festive period she’s not about to hide any of her feisty Scottishness for anyone’s sake.
“If that is more carol singers, I have a water pistol!” Completely mad she is, his Amelia. He knocks again, excitement building. God, he’s missed her. “You don’t want to be all wet on a night like-” The door is pulled open with such force, such speed that she doesn’t even have the time to stop what she’s saying as he locks eyes with her. “…this.”
He can’t tell whether it’s disbelief, anger, or something in-between that keeps her standing there, water pistol held aloft. He doesn’t care. In that second, millennias pass, and all he can think about is how wonderful she looks. That red hair, God, it gleams, curls of it falling around her shoulders, striking against the navy of her jumper. Her eyes haven’t changed, that’s something else he’s missed, they’re still as hazel, still as warm and inviting as they always were. The surprise that floods them is enough to make him bite his lip though. He doesn’t want to make any unwelcome advances; he’s already turned up unexpectedly after the most final of goodbyes.
“I’m not quite sure… how long?”
He doesn’t want to come back into her life as badly as he did the first time around. He was so stupid back then for not even asking, for the first twelve years he thinks he can be somewhat forgiven but those in which he just swanned off in his brand-new TARDIS… he hates himself even more every day for that.
“Two years.”
Amy’s gathered herself together at this point, and is, the Doctor realizes, indeed somewhere between disbelief and anger as she shakes her head and sprays him with water. It hits him like ice, and he prays as he wipes it away with a flinch that she won’t be herself quite as cold.
“…Fair point.”
He isn’t sure what’s going to happen now. It’s in her hands, all of this. She could tell him to go and he would. He’d never come back for her again if that’s what she wanted. This could be one too many times he’s left her to wait, and right now, he doesn’t blame her. He doesn’t dare smile even when she lowers the water pistol. He can tell she doesn’t know quite what to say. He doesn’t blame her for that either.
“…So, you’re not dead?”
Despite the question, he notices a slightly less irritated tone in Amy’s voice, a happier, conversational one, and he takes a chance, praying that he gets it right.
“And a happy new year!” The biggest grin he can manage.
Almost immediately, he thinks he’s blown it. Again, she looks upset, discontent written all over her face. She doesn’t even respond to him with any kind of happiness.
“River told us.” She nods slowly as if it were obvious, and in that second, it is.
It all comes crashing down upon him. Suddenly, it’s all got worse. He may have lied to her, but now it just looks like he’s been deliberately abandoned her… which he has. He was only trying to keep her safe, and he hopes he can prove it. He doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it if she didn’t listen to an explanation.
“…Of course she did.”
“She’s a good girl!” It’s another one of Amy’s flippant remarks, but then, suddenly, everything changes. Out of the blue, she flashes her eyes at him, expectation rising. “Well? I’m not going to hug first.”
He snaps his gaze back up to her, and yes, she’s looking at him with the same contempt she has throughout their conversation, but there’s a sparkle, a certain twinkle in her eyes that he knows all too well. She may be disappointed, and God knows she’s entitled to it, but somehow, in the face of it all, she’s happy to see him. And he could never ever begin to ask for anything more. He doesn’t deserve her, he really doesn’t.
Her expectant gaze is still telling him that he shouldn’t leap at the chance though, and he restrains himself by lightly shrugging his shoulders, playing along.
“Nor am I.”
Amy draws out their meeting on the steps infinitely, looking off into the distance, deliberately avoiding his eyes, and the Doctor does the same, until the tension is too much to bear. Drawn to each other, their gaze meets again and can’t wait any longer.
He smiles at her, a happy, nervous smile, and he’s so relieved to see her grin, to laugh with so much happiness.
And then she’s in his arms.
He holds her like he could never let go, because he can’t begin to think of doing so. She throws her arms around his shoulders and he’s running hands up and down her back, pressing her warmth into him. Amy lets out a squeal of delight and the Doctor holds her tighter, burrowing his face into her shoulder just to be as close as he possibly can to her. He curses himself for ever leaving her. The first face his face saw. She means more to him than she could ever begin to know.
Still holding onto his shoulders, she calls excitedly back through the hallway -
“Hey, Mr. Pond, guess who’s coming for dinner!”
And Rory appears so instantaneously that the Doctor barely has time to register that Amy’s just called her own husband Mr. Pond, a nickname he himself once chose, and instead beams at the man as he comes to stand next to his wife.
“So, you’re not dead then?”
Ah, God love Rory. It’s the same question that caused so much anxiety and shame, but this time it tells him that the boy who waited forgave him for his sins a very long time ago. It also tells him Amy’s frostiness wasn’t as hard hitting as it first appeared, and sometimes, even he can misinterpret her anger. She’s bloody minded, and he loves her for it.
“We’ve done that.”
His hopes are brought alive when she shushes Rory with a smile. Above anything, those three words confirm it all. Everything he’s ever done to let her down has been forgiven, by both of them, long before this night on Christmas day.
“We’re about to have Christmas dinner.” Amy grins at him. “Joining us?”
At this point it’s not even a question, he’s not allowed to decline, even if the entire universe were against it. The high expectations don’t stop him from being taken aback though, and he hears his voice grow high with surprise and excitement.
“If it’s no trouble?”
“There’s a place set for you.”
Rory’s immediate reply earns a surprised stare. There was no way they could have known. He hadn’t even considered this himself until about 10 minutes ago. And yet, somehow, as if the stars had aligned, there’s a place set for him at Amy and Rory’s kitchen table.
“You didn’t know I was coming, why would you set me a place?”
He has to know. He has to be sure. He looks in wonder at the pair of them as Amy smiles. He can tell by the look in her eyes that a question challenging his place at their table is a stupid one at best.
“Oh, because we always do.”
He can’t take her eyes off her, and she knows it.
He doesn’t even know how to feel, he’s just so overwhelmed by it all. He’s been gone for years; he’s lied and left them to wait alone and in pain. And they’ve set him a place.
“It’s Christmas, you moron.” With one exasperated flourish of her water pistol, Amy disappears back down the hallway leaving Rory to invite him inside with a silent, encouraging nod.
The Doctor just stands there.
He can barely focus as he watches Rory step away, and as he stands on the snowy doorstep of what is essentially his family home, he feels a tear fall onto his cheek.
In spite of it all, against all the odds, Amy and Rory have indeed taught him what Madge said they would.
Nobody should be alone at Christmas.
His Ponds have him back, and he, in turn, has his Ponds.
He shuts the door with a sense of finality which tells him that this Christmas, this one little insignificant Christmas on planet Earth, will be one that he’ll remember forever.
Happy crying, he thinks.