[ For timeforamy ; Air-Paris ]

[mmkaternater]

[ OOC: Follows this ]

There are approximately 400 billion stars in the Milky Way. A respectable number, for any galaxy. But that's small potatoes when compared to the number of stars found in the entire universe -- something like ten to the power of twenty-four -- which is a very pragmatic, comfortingly mathematical way of saying that space is big.

Really big.

Bigger than your whole town, much bigger than the little flat you have in the city, with the leaky shower head and the upstairs neighbors who like to stomp around wearing wellies filled with bricks. Space is bigger than your township, your borough, bigger than all the places you have ever been, combined and multiplied by themselves until the math makes you dizzy and you have to lie down for a while. Big. Ten to the power of twenty-four. Countless suns, all burning out in the black. Of those, maybe a little more than half have planets. Of those, approximately half have some form of life. Of those, approximately sixteen-million-five-hundred-and-forty-seven-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighty-six have intelligent life, or some variation of it. Comparatively speaking, that is a depressingly small percentage. But, then again, "intelligence" is relative, especially across star systems.

The Doctor is in the TARDIS's control room, hunched over the console, his nose inches away from a chronofribrilator feed that, apparently, requires up close and personal inspection in order for it to function properly. He's muttering to himself, soft space-themed mutter. Once in a while his eyebrows will jump, as if he's just thought of something, but then he will return to his work, subdued. He left Amy in his bed down the corridor, asleep. He does not quite know what to think about that.

He does know that he needs to take her somewhere -- somewhere spectacular -- and he needs to do it right away. What are you doing, old man? You can't honestly expect to carry this off. Not when you're not even being entirely honest with her. Not when she's only just lost her --

He hears bare feet on the catwalk above his head. "Pond!" he announces, "glad you're finally awake. Listen, we're just about to make landfall. Oh, er', well, spacefall, I suppose you could say. Air-Paris: the entire City of Lights, replicated perfectly, floating in the Sunset Constellation of Ursa Minor Minor. Sort of like Starship U.K., but with much more wine and cheese."

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[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

There had been a few fleeting moments throughout her sleep where Amy had found herself drifting awake. They had been few and far between but there all the same, patches of semi consciousness she didn't entirely understand, like fragments of dreams with a place to belong in a vast cavern of things never to be. And yet to Amy they seemed, in those brief instants, to be something more than dreams. More and less, and something else entirely of which she can't decipher.

When she had drifted out of those moments, she had found means to draw closer to him - to her raggedy Doctor, at that - and his warmth, the semi-regularity of his breath in a pattern that was just ever so slightly in variance from a human man's. Amy would turn her head against his shoulder, murmuring quietly, and his arm would pass up and around her bare shoulders, the curve of her back. It wouldn't be long before she fell asleep again.

But hours later Amy awakens for true this time, and there is no visible sign of the Doctor anywhere. He is clattering about somewhere in the control room, and after a few moments of searching the immediate area around her, she retrieves one of his shirts to wear for the time being. Well, it isn't as if it's a poor choice now, is it? Wouldn't do any good walking across the TARDIS completely naked, and your clothes are a good bit away by the shower. So why wouldn't you wear one of his shirts, hmm, Amy? Whyever not?

Still, there is a warm, little thrill that chases itself up her spine as she tugs the shirt over her shoulders, poking the buttons through the little holes. This is his shirt, the scent of him clinging to it in impossible little places - a tuck of fabric here, lift of a collar there - to where the scent of him is all around her. Amy has a sudden, wild impulse to sprawl back out in the bed and stay there for a day's time, wrapping herself in his blankets and his scent. But she would much rather have that along with his nearness, and so moments later Amy leaves the bedroom for the twisting halls of the TARDIS.

She finds herself on the catwalk, and the floor is cold beneath her bare feet. Her fingers band around the railing and she takes a moment to look down on his tousled head of hair before taking the steps down to join him.

"Air-Paris? Really?" For a second's time all Amy can do is stare at him in wonder, her eyes bright and astonished. "What's the occasion?" There is a smile at her lips that reaches her eyes, her hair tousled from sleep and their..other things from the night before.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

He looks up to see her there -- bare from the waist down, her little pink toes gripping the negative spaces in the catwalk -- and performs a rapid-fire blinking session before swallowing hard, tugging a toggle on the TARDIS console. "Do I need a reason?" he asks, always teasing, flashing that bright, impossible grin back up to her.

"Here --" he reaches under a tangle of wires "-- I got you a beret."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

His reaction doesn't go unnoticed and Amy feels a pleasant reaction creeps up her spine. She joins him by the console and tugs the beret onto her head. The angle is jaunty, though maybe not exactly what is fashionable.

"What do you think, how do I look?" Amy strikes a vogue-style pose, the edge of the shirt hitching around her thigh. It may or may not be intentional, but she won't admit to either.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor reaches over and tugs the brim of the beret over her eyes. "Berets are cool."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"And bowties?" She reaches up, looping her arms around his neck.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Naturally," he says, giving his own a tweak. His thumb grazes the outside of her arm and, for a moment, the Doctor his hit with two competing hungers: to get them to Air-Paris as quickly as possible to avoid the awkward morning-after conversation (which is far easier on planets where the night is six months long), or to give in to the warm, happy feeling of having her arms around his neck.

"I can't wait for you to see the Digital Champs-Élysées," he says brightly. "And the shops. I love a little shop. There's one in particular, run by a Trafalgrian family from Gynos-5; they make the best biscuits in the universe. We'll have to get some of those. I think the tea cupboard is looking a bit sparse."

The TARDIS gives a familiar rumble as the time circuits come online -- a perfect segue for the Doctor, and he slips his hands from their orbit around Amy's waist, laying them on the hot console. "Ah ha! And we're off! Allons-y!"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

For now, Amy hasn't given too much thought to how they will sort through all of what's happened between them. It's in her mind, sure, but she can ignore it for the moment. For the sake of just being here and close with him, where he's smiling at her as if the world might depend on it.

But this place he's taking her to sounds lovely, and elation is bubbling up in her chest.

"It sounds so-"

And then the TARDIS is moving and Amy catches hold of the console to steady herself. She laughs, her eyes bright and dazzled.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The long, whining column at the heart of the TARDIS glows bright vermillion as the cogs of time begin to turn over, the great ship thrusting itself up through the ceiling of the universe. This is the Doctor's favourite part. The moment after takeoff when the entire galaxy, all of time and space, is open and waiting. He grips the side of the console as the TARDIS gives a shake to one side, righting the course, tumbling end over end through the wormhole that will put them right alongside Air-Paris.

He drops his long fingers over hers and holds on.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy has since admitted to herself that she will never, ever get used to this. To this mad, dzzying, wonderful feeling of flying through time and space with nothing to hold them back. It's frightening in ways, but never enough to deter her from wanting to do it again.

Amy turns her palm up to meet the Doctor's and tightens her fingers around his. She gives him her dazzling grin, and it's punctuated by her laughter. Nothing but happiness right now, in the whole, wide universe.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The TARDIS rocks and shakes, doing a couple of barrel rolls that would play havoc on its occupants if the Doctor hadn't thought to engage the gravity stabilizers before breakfast. Even with the chrono shock absorbers, its' a bit of a rough ride; the Doctor grips Amy's hand as they catapult across the Milky Way, past the great band of stars at the western horizon, and go zipping along Orion's beltline.

"Air-Paris!" the Doctor announces, raising a shaky finger to indicate a monitor nearest Amy's head, "there it is! The last time I was here, I wound up on top of the Double Arc de Triomphe! A very messy business involving an alien and the matter of some purloined nectarines." He lays a finger to the side of his nose. "Won't make that mistake again."

They begin to shake down toward a landing site. Air-Paris stretches out beneath them like a blanket of twinkling stars.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"I'm starting to think there isn't a place in all the universe you haven't seen." Amy's eyes are bright and amused, and part of that could be the rush of pleasant emotions that come from traveling this way - or maybe it's all about her imaginary friend being there and true and steady at her side.

Either way she is elated, without hesitation or care.

The TARDIS is bringing them to where they want to be and Amy follows the path of the Doctor's finger. "Is it really the city of lights here, too?" There is unrestrained wonder in her eyes, something she hasn't failed to feel since he has come back into her life.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor gives her a daft look. "Not everywhere," he admits, throwing a couple of stabilizers so they don't end up crashing into the Space Louvre, "but I have been knocking around for a bit. Plenty of time and opportunity to get into all sorts of trouble in all kinds of places." He winks.

Air-Paris looks very much like Earth Paris, except for the fact that it appears to be hovering in the middle of space. Two great stars spin overhead -- one red, one yellow -- which, when the satellite orbits during the daytime, give the city a warm, ambient golden appearance. This is night, however, and both suns are blocked for the most part by complementary moons. The city shines. "See for yourself," the Doctor says, nodding toward the TARDIS doors.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy is, for a moment's time, torn between protesting she isn't dressed nearly for Paris - in any form it might be - and not caring for the sheer want of seeing what's beyond the TARDIS doors. It's a brief, seconds long debate which results in curiosity winning over fashion concerns, and sends her bare feet running across the flooring to open the doors wide.

It does look like Earth Paris, or at least it would to someone who has been there before and known the city well. But to Amy who has never known the City of Lights for anything other than a dreamed above place in an atlas, on a television show, or featured on a post card, Air-Paris looks like a magical, impossible fairyland.

"Oh -"

Her wonder is a single syllable of a gasp which catches itself on her lips, entwining itself with unrestricted delight. Her eyes are shining, and accompanied by the slightly parted state of her lips, Amy is the picture of the starry-eyed girl in the fairytale which has become her life. For a moment she forgets all else, and sees only the lights.

"- but it's beautiful."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor can never resist this part. The part when he takes them to the wild, beautiful places at the edges of the galaxy; the places and times that stretch their imagination like taffy during a summer church raffle. He comes off the platform to join her, hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking out at the great and glorious city.

"Of course it's beautiful," he says, "it's Paris. Not quite the one that you're used to but this is the Forty-Second Century, after all. There are bound to be some discrepancies." Cue the blue-skinned, two-headed alien that sashays by the doors to the TARDIS, done up in an impossible web of silver and red netting that makes some Earth pop stars' costumes pale by comparison. The alien is walking a small, green-coloured dog-like creature with six legs.

"Some are more obvious than others."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Her aunt had always told her Amelia Jessica Pond, it's impolite to stare! but surely by now Amy has learned all of the lessons she's going to from a well meaning aunt - and if she's going to stare, then that's exactly what she'll do. Her eyes widen considerably at the colourful sight of an alien, then her incredulous gaze turns to the Doctor.

"Right," she says, "and what are the less obvious ones?" But she is smiling, she can't help herself. There is a light in Amy's eyes that never goes out as long as she is in his company, something that he brings out more of in her than anyone else has ever been able to. She is a girl encompassed in wonder.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"That --" the Doctor points past her to where the spire of the Eiffel Tower juts against the inky black sky. Oh, well, what's so different about that? you might be asking. After a second or two, the entire tower flickers, goes fuzzy, then returns to normal. "Holographic projection," the Doctor explains, "much cheaper than rebuilding. Less labor-intensive, too, I suppose. 'Leaves plenty of time for Space Parisians to lie about drinking wine. So --"

he clasps his hands together

"-- What do you say we go for a stroll? I'll just park the TARDIS --" he turns from her and leaps up onto the platform, throwing switches "-- while you check the wardrobe for something a little less..." he looks at her, turns his head like an owl and squints "...hang on, is that my shirt?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

So he had noticed! Amy feels a quick, sudden thrill of delight at that, but does her best to suppress it at least a bit. No point in coming off as a silly girl with her head in the clouds over one night's happenings. But she did enjoy fastening the buttons of his shirt, with the smell of him all around her. It was something she knew she could get used to.

"Oh, yes it is." It fits her rather like a mini dress, not too different from what she slept in before, but this one is very different and she knows it. "But wouldn't do me much good parading around Air-Paris in nothing but your shirt, would it? People might talk."

Amy gives him a grin that is far from innocent, then disappears into the depths of the TARDIS. The wardrobe will certainly have something Air-Paris would appreciate.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Actually, the Doctor thinks, the people of Air-Paris -- with their little green space pooches and holographic landmarks -- have probably seen far more unusual sights than a redhead in an oversized smock. He considers this while he simultaneously considers her legs. 'Blushes. Looks away.

He busies himself with the parking sequence, jamming his foot against one of the ballast pedals when it gives off an annoying squeak. The TARDIS settles with a puff of air. "That's my girl," the Doctor croons, petting her console. "Won't be but jot."

'Tingly presence on the back of his neck and he turns to see Amy coming back into the control room. A rush of warmth suddenly gallops up his spine at the sight of her. The TARDIS produces a high whistle, as if privy to the Doctor's thoughts.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

He's noticing a good bit more about her, and this pleases Amy a great deal. She has incorporated the beret into her choice of attire, the hat now sitting at a jaunty angle atop her firey hair. But the outfit she has chosen is black, a dress that flares about the mid thigh and boots climbing up her shin. It is more fancy than some of her ensembles before, but things are different - a bit - today.

Without missing a beat Amy maneuvers down the TARDIS walkway, her arms lifting to settle lightly around his neck. Her smile is radiant.

"What, you like it?"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"It's very..." the TARDIS gives off a puff of steam "...yes, well, let's not dawdle. Plenty of places to go, things to see, diplomatic relations to..." he fumbles "...diplomatize." He gently removes her arms from around his neck, running a finger between his collar and his throat. He's going to have to check the TARDIS's heating system when they get back.

He swings his arms to gather momentum, leaping off the top of the console with a wild pinwheel of limbs. "Air-Paris!" he announces brightly, throwing open the doors. "All the best bits of the real Paris without all the tourism. Well, some --" as a family of three-headed aliens walk past them, snapping photos.

He offers Amy his arm.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy smiles, giving him space to flounder about and notes the flush in his face. She's having a definite impact on his feelings and that isn't something she minds. But there is time for those things later, and now Air-Paris is waiting. What better way to explore it than with her raggedy Doctor, her beloved imaginary friend from childhood who was always more real than anything else? It was perfect, really. Some kind of perfect vacation from the life that wanted her back, that was waiting behind her.

Amy has a sudden, wild urge to never go back/

Air-Paris! Amy feels a bubble of euphoria in her chest.

She slides her arm through the Doctor's offered one. "Here we go!" Her voice is triumphant and pleased. The universe has more to offer than she could have dared to dream up, and this is something truly out of a fairytale.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

They step out of the TARDIS and the Doctor threads his arm out of hers to lock the double doors. He puts the key into a pocket. That's another thing, he thinks, resuming Amy's arm as they thread their way into the busy thoroughfare, a TARDIS key. He's given them to companions in the past -- you never know when you're going to be separated from your time machine and your companion is lousy at picking interstellar locks -- and it has just made good, logical sense to hand them over.

But this time, well, this time is slightly different. The Doctor sort of equates it to a human asking another human to move in with them. Which is actually no different than what's already happening, but still, a key...

He doesn't have time to finish the thought: the whole of Air-Paris is spread out before them, glittering like a bright jewel. Cafes, bistros, little shoppes; it's all there, all gorgeous, and, strangely, it all smells like the interior of an expensive handbag. Truthfully, the Doctor finds it a bit overdone. But the look on Amy's face is enough to keep him smiling.

"So then, what do you want to do first? Tour the Louvre 2.0? They have art from two hundred different galaxies. 'Even a Trilirian Impressionist who sneezes paint out of his giant nostrils --" the Doctor pushes two fingers to the underside of his nose to demonstrate "-- and fwack! against the canvas. Very messy. Slightly...disgusting, when you think about it."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy has never once been asked by someone to move in with them in any respect, whether it one which involves a key to an impossible blue box of a time machine or something else in a more human respect. There have been boyfriends in her past, sure, but none of which have come into that category of serious. There are a million reasons as to why, of course, most involving the knowledge that no one - no man, certainly - would ever be able to live up to one imaginary man's standard in her mind. Whether Amy made this known to the possible suitors or not was irrelevant.

And right now she is surely not aware in the slightest that the Doctor has this on his mind.

"I'd love to! Art from so many different galaxies!" Amy lifts her head to give him a dazzling smile, her eyes shining as bright as the stars which they have just sailed through. "And at the risk of sounding oh so completely human," and here her lips twist into a little smirk, "I'll go as far as to ask, are there crepes in Air-Paris?"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Ah, the human's a bit peckish, is that it? Come on. This is Paris, there's sure to be something about." They pass through narrow alleyways and broad, cobbled streets. Everything about Air-Paris seems slightly anachronistic, as if the entire city has been frozen in time. Apt, seeing as this is the 42nd Century and the real Paris has long since been relegated to an intergalactic rubbish dump. No, this is a little bit of human ingenuity and a lot of interstellar marketing savvy.

The road opens up into a posh little cafe district. All along the boulevard, bistro windows are open to the balmy evening air, shining their yellow light out onto the stones. "Ah ha --" the Doctor has apparently spied what he was looking for. He drops Amy's arm and jogs toward a cart parked on the side of the boulevard, a piquant red-and-white striped umbrella sticking out of the top.

The Doctor waves Amy over. "Best Crepes in Three Systems," he says, pointing to the sign, "good enough for me. What do you think?" He smiles cheerily to the vendor -- a comfortingly French-looking fellow with a little pencil mustache.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy has an urge to show the Doctor just what her definition of 'peckish' entails, what with abruptly throwing her arms about his shoulders and peck repeatedly at his neck 'til he begs for her mercy. But that can wait for later and Amy isn't even certain as to whether Time Lords are ticklish.

She bounds up to the pleasant looking crepe vendor and claps her hands once, excitedly regarding him and the Doctor. "So many choices!" Her eyes are as wide as those of a girl who still believes in fairy tales and happy endings. "I don't know how I'll choose!"

Amy turns to the Doctor. "What do you think?"