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Emily [userpic]
by Emily (malana)
at July 5th, 2010 (12:22 pm)

Title: Small Collisions
Ship: Eleven/Amy
Author: seren_ccd
Beta: The lovely fringedweller
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: They are not mine.

A/N: This is for Penelope whose prompts were: Falling out of the TARDIS, CRASH!, and Tag in the TARDIS. I did my best to include all of them. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Five times Amy and the Doctor crashed (both literally and figuratively). And the one time they almost didn't.


The first incident wasn't a crash so much as the TARDIS throwing them out. Luckily, the planet they'd landed one had a nice mossy ground that cushioned their graceless tumble out of the doors. Amy still ended up with her face planted smack in the Doctor's stomach and they both made identical 'oof' sounds. After a moment of awkward repositioning of limbs and an inadvertent grope (on his part, not hers, she'd like to point out), the Doctor jumped back up immediately and scanned the door with his screwdriver.

"Oh, for..." he said. "Honestly, I apologised about flying through that asteroid storm. I didn't mean to get the rotors nicked."

"Is she in a strop?" Amy asked.

"No, no, well, yes, in a manner of speaking," he said. "She's just repairing herself and would prefer to do it in private it seems." He made a face at the doors and yelled, "I'm more than capable of helping, you know!"

You wouldn't have thought that doors could actually exude irritability, but somehow, the TARDIS pulled it off.

"Let her be," Amy said grabbing the Doctor's hand. "She just needs some time to herself. A mental spa day, of sorts."

The Doctor gave Amy a look. "She doesn't need a spa day! Pond, are you mad?" But his hand tightened around hers and they started to walk down the hill towards the small village located below. "She needs to have the capacitors recalibrated, not a mani-pedi."

"There's a part of me that really wants to know how you know about mani-pedis," Amy said, "but an even bigger part of me is afraid to ask."
"Go with your gut instinct, Pond," he said. "You don't want to know."

"Fair enough," Amy said. Then with a swing of their clasped hands, she asked, "So where are we off to, then?


"I'm really not too sure about this, Doctor," Amy said entering the main area in the tent kindly allocated to them by their hosts.

"Honestly, Pond," the Doctor said not looking up from scanning a piece of sculpture in the corner. "It's just a ceremony and we're the guests of honor. The Camarians are very nice and it's only polite that we show them that we respect their culture and adhere to their customs."

"Oh, I'm all for adhering to customs," Amy said, "But, would it hurt for there to be a little more, um, fabric?"

The Doctor looked up and his jaw went slack when he took in Amy's outfit.

'Sheer'. That was the first word that popped into his mind. Followed swiftly by, 'white', because that was the colour of the dress. Which led him straight to 'skin', because there was a lot of it on display.

It was a simple tunic of see-through gauzy material, which left her arms bare and came to a stop several inches above her knees. A thin band of white wound around her breasts and her, ah, lower areas.


Amy really was quite pale and the dress only accentuated the fact.


Did she actually have freckles on her thighs?


And did her legs have to be that long and slim?


He whipped his head up to look at her face so fast, his vision blurred.

Luckily, Amy was simply smirking and looking far too smug for someone wearing practically nothing.

"Was that your version of a blue screen of death?" she asked.

"What?" The Doctor blinked. "Wait. What?"

"You looked like something in your brain short-circuited and crashed," she said. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yes. Yes! Absolutely. It's all splendid, perfectly splendid," he said turning away and tapping the screwdriver against the tent. "Splendid. Now, there's a word not used enough. Splendid."

"Right," Amy said still smirking. "Shouldn't we be going? Someone promised me the best desserts this side of Delta Sixteen and I'm still waiting."

"Yes, of course," he said. "Desserts. Yes. Come along, Pond." He brushed past her on his way to the tent entrance. "Did you know that by the 24th century they were no longer the blue screen of death? They had somehow morphed into more of a puce."

"Really?" Amy said joining him at the opening. "Fascinating."

He lifted the tent flap and gestured for her to go through. "Oh, yes. Puce became very popular amongst software engineers that century. I think it was a result of too much LED screen exposure. It messes with your head that stuff."

Amy shook her head as she ducked under his arm to exit the tent. A hand on her bare shoulder stopped her and she looked at him in surprise.

"Nice dress, by the way," he said tracing the line of shoulder blade. Amy shivered at the warmth of his hand. He gave her a quick grin and then pushed her towards the already celebrating locals.


"You're it!" the Doctor shouted tapping Amy on her shoulder, hard, before running off down a corridor.

"Ow! What are you doing, you mad alien?" she yelled as she raced off after him.

"TARDIS Tag! And you're it! Do keep up, Pond!"

For the next half hour, they chased each other and ran through the never-ending labyrinth of rooms and corridors and at least one garden complete with butterflies and nettles that, thankfully, didn't actually sting.

Finally, Amy thought she had him cornered. She was certain she heard him go through the kitchen, because the kettle always whistled when it saw him coming, so she decided to bide her time just outside the linen cupboard.

She had kicked her shoes off ages ago, so it was on silent, bare feet that Amy edged alongside the wall. She heard the quick clomping of his boots as they came in her direction.

As he approached her hiding spot, she jumped out and went to tap his shoulder. But, she misjudged just how fast he'd been walking and smacked right into him. His arms came up to grab her waist as he lost his balance and they both flailed in the air for a moment, before crashing to the floor.

As per usual, the Doctor landed flat on his back with Amy sprawled across him. Her hands were splayed directly over his hearts, while strands of her hair fell over her shoulders to tickle his face. They stared at each other for a beat, mouths agape and eyes wide.

Then, Amy began giggling immediately and buried her face in his chest. The Doctor huffed out a laugh and let his head fall back to the floor

"Blimey, Pond," he said. "You are a clumsy thing more often than not."

"Your fault," she said. "You're the one who started this game."
"Well, it's not my fault that you can't stay on your feet for longer than two seconds."

"Well, it is your fault that your hands are on my arse."

The Doctor's head shot up and he looked around her to see if she was telling the truth. And yes, his hands were, quite clearly, cupping her arse.

"Hunh," he said. "Ah, sorry?"

"No problem," Amy said.

"Didn't really mean to put them there, you know."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"I'm not that type of bloke. I'm not really a bloke. Well, I am. But, not like a human bloke. I'm an alien bloke. But, still, not that type."

"I believe you."




"Your hands are still on my arse."


Amy yawned and collapsed onto the jump-seat in the control room. "I'm so tired. I could crash right here. Who needs a bed?"

"Well, you have been up for, oh, eighty-six point three hours at least," the Doctor said checking his watch. He got the TARDIS going and said, "You humans do need your sleep."

"Suppose so," Amy said as her eyelids drooped. She shook herself awake and curled her legs up underneath her. She propped her head up on her arm and sleepily watched the Doctor as he moved around the controls. "We did good today, didn't we?"

"We certainly did," he said with a smile. "You are definitely entitled to a nice long kip after the day we had. I had no idea you were that skilled with a feather duster. It was quite impressive."

"All part of the French Maid Kiss-o-gram package," she mumbled. "Always a big hit with the over fifties."

The Doctor chuckled. "Well, just goes to show there is no such thing as a useless talent. Right, Pond? Pond? Amy?"

He looked over and smiled at the sight of Amy curled up fast asleep, her hair spilling over the seat, and her hands folded underneath her head. The Doctor took his coat off and draped it over her. She made a noise of contentment and snuggled under the tweed.

He brushed a finger lightly over her brow and murmured, "Sleep well, Pond."


"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're driving. Really badly!"

Amy let out the clutch and pressed the accelerator down. "Well, I suppose you would know."

"What precisely does that mean?" the Doctor asked cringing as they tore down the narrow streets of Casablanca. (The planet Casablanca, not the city in Morocco, although there were some startling similarities between the two places, including the tendency to house several different nationalities all looking for ways to get home before being caught by the authorities. Which, funnily enough, was what the Doctor and Amy were currently attempting to do.)

"It means that I don't think I should stand for any criticism of my driving when you can't even tell the difference between five minutes and twelve years!" Amy said narrowly dodging a fruit stand and kebab stall.

"Are you still sore about that?" he asked grabbing onto the dashboard. "I apologized."

"No, you didn't," she said through gritted teeth as she noticed that the 'police' they were running from were still behind them.

"Of course I did!"

"You really didn't!"

"Well, I'm terribly sorry about that."

"About which bit?" she asked switching gears quickly and sharply turning a corner. "The turning up twelve years late or the not apologizing for turning up twelve years late?"


"Good answer! Now, hold on and buckle up!"

"Pond, do not drive through that fence! Do not drive through that fence! Pond!"


"Wow. It actually worked."

"I can't believe you drove through that fence."


The Doctor stared at the glass rotors. Up and down they went silently. He squeezed his eyes shut.

It had not been a good day.

The good guys had won, but the cost had been far too high to consider it a victory.

Amy was in her room, washing off the soot and the grime and whatever else they'd trudged through.

He hoped she was okay. He hoped she wasn't regretting the things she'd helped him do. He hoped she wasn't regretting the things he'd helped her do. Most of all, he just hoped she still wanted to stay.

The Doctor blinked and was only halfway surprised to find himself standing in the corridor near her room. Her room. Amy's room. With Amy in it. She'd be fresh from the bath, her hair wet and tangled, her cheeks pink from scrubbing, the scent of her citrus soap curling around her body.


The scent of citrus was far too real to be all in his head.

The Doctor leaned against the wall and knew she was doing the same just around the corner.

It would only take four, maybe three, steps for him to round the corner and pull her into his arms. The water from her hair would soak his shirt and he wouldn't care because she'd be warm and whole in his arms and he'd bury his face in her throat and just breathe.

Her arms would wrap around his waist and her face would press into his shoulder and she'd breathe these tiny, shuddering gasps that would make him hold her even tighter.

Only four, maybe three, steps and he could simply crash into her.

He pressed his hand to the wall and with a sharp push, walked away from the corner back to the control room. He got four, maybe three, steps before whirling around and running back to the corner and then around it and she was there waiting for him, arms open wide. Simply waiting for him to crash into her.

So he did.