[ 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."

Comments

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Are you?" Amy folds her fingers around his, the tips tucked into the little spaces between his knuckles. "You're the one who got tossed about."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Oh yes --" he puts his free hand to his ribcage, feeling about "-- 'love a bit of draconian calisthenics in the morning. Really gets the hearts going."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"You sure?" Amy gives him a slightly skeptical look. In truth, she's trying to mask a bit of her own wounded feelings. "Pretty rough fall there."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Why? Are you worried about me?" He takes on the same tone she'd used with him before. 'Perks a brow.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"You know I am." Amy doesn't play games now, instead she looks at him with all the human nature she has in her eyes.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Which is quite a lot, considering that Amelia Pond is one of the most humany humans the Doctor has lately met. Sometimes it's all he can do to stand back and let her go on with it: the goodness, the righteous indignation, the wonder at seeing new stars for the first time. As a species, they're young. As creatures with souls, they are already among the oldest in the universe.

But Time Lords are ancient, and the Doctor is feeling his age today. 'Has been feeling it ever since he woke up this morning with his head on her shoulder.

"KBO," the Doctor reminds her gently. "Come on. Let's get back to the TARDIS. 'Think I've had enough of Paris."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy nods, and her fingers don't leave his. She isn't willing, yet, to let go of his hand. There's something very old and very tired in his eyes, and for a horrible, still moment she wonders if it was something she's brought to him. A darkness rather than a light. Could she have done that, in all her humanity, to the man that she's come to -

- well. You know.

The TARDIS is familiar, even if there's a coldness in her chest and Amy waits until the doors close behind them before speaking again. When she does, her voice is soft, maybe a little softer than it's been before.

"I don't know what to make of what you said, back there."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Spinning bits and pieces about on the console for takeoff, the Doctor feeds her a blank look.

"KBO," he explains, thinking this is what she means, "Keep Buggering -- come on, you remember. Winston Churchill? The Daleks?" A grin. "Dorabella? 'Perhaps I was too quick in pulling you off holiday. Oooh, sunning on the shore of the celestial sea would be nice, eh?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy shakes her head, then moves to take the initiative. Her hand lifts to cover his, stopping his progress on the console. This is something she has to know the answer to, before things go any further. It doesn't mean she'll stop traveling with him, but she does have to know.

"About me." Hopefully this is clear enough for him.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Beneath them, the TARDIS shudders but does not take off. The switch that controls that function is now under his hand. Which is, itself, under Amy's. The Doctor feels the time machine tremble, and his stomach flutters a little bit, too, but out of nervousness.

And then it clicks. Ah.

"You mean the thing," he starts carefully, "before the dragon. After the song but before, you know, all of the running and the..." he swallows, vocal inertia slowing "...right."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Yes," and here her voice is quiet, something that mixes with the TARDIS' sounds and movements, "that."

All that Amy can do now is wait. It is the most worrisome waiting she has ever done, with a sick and twisting, cold fear in her stomach.

But she waits all the same.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Um, see, you know, when I said that...what I said...you remember. Right. Yes, well, when I said that, I don't think I meant it in the way that you think I did. Which is to say that the meaning of what I said...then...is not what you thought."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Oh, will he ever stop making so little sense?

"What did you mean then?"

Amy is giving him a chance to explain, though part of her wants to be angry.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"What did I mean?" he half-mouths to himself, consulting the ceiling of the control room. Bloody good question -- what had he meant? That it was a ridiculous idea that any sentient being would want to flirt with Amy Pond? Blimey, just look at her. Even a nine-hundred-and-something-year-old alien can see that she is a very attractive member of the human species.

So what, then? What was it about the interaction between Amy and the Air-Parisian that had bothered him so much?

"Amy," he begins carefully, "do you know how someone can be very, very clever -- but have moments of blinding stupidity, too?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"It's been known to happen." Amy gives forth the notion of a relaxed tone, but her heart is pounding out a tarantella of a rhythm in her chest. Everything that hangs in the balance between them is weighted against his words, and her immediate thought is that the mentioned moment of blinding stupidity refers to the previous night between them.

And if that's the case, then what? Could she manage to still look him in the face with that degree of shame attached to her heart, as if some sort of lead weight?

"Go on," she says quietly.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"So that was mine," he says simply.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"You don't regret last night?"

She has to ask, to know.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Last night? --" he blinks "-- I...no" -- adamant now "-- no. I mean, what ... do you?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"No!" It's an exclamation, somewhere in the middle of which her fingers tangle around his. "No, not at all, not for a second. I meant what I said, about always wanting -"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"-- Of course," he interjects quickly, "and what I said about you being perfect and lovely and --"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

" - So you don't want to...stop, whatever this is we're doing? Because I don't -" Her words trip end over end with his.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"-- Don't what?"

This is quickly becoming farcical.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

" - I don't want to stop. Whatever it is we're doing."

Well, that's about the best she can say it.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Ah, I see." A long pause, during which the Doctor considers the side of the console and thinks that it has been a long time since he's dusted under there. It occurs to him that Amy is probably waiting for him to say something to the same effect. He clears his throat.

"...Do you mean the, ah, traveling together bit? Or the..." his fingers press a little tighter around hers, impulse reflex.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Both." It sounds greedy and she immediately follows up the single word. "I mean, no reason we can't have both, right? Not a bad thing?" Her fingers twist themselves more tightly around his in response, and she turns her chin up to get a better look at his face.