A/N: This chapter is set during and after the final scene of The Doctor, The Widow and The Wardrobe. The initial dialogue is taken from that episode. I don't own Doctor Who or any of the characters.

Two years? Oops. He stood in the doorway, gazing at the house that he'd never actually been inside, despite having given it to them. Blue, like the TARDIS. Glistening gold tinsel shone happily behind Amy's head, clashing with her bright hair and fiery temper. He deserved the water, he knew.

"So...you're not dead…"

"And a happy new year!" he exclaimed, going for his 'look how endearing my unpredictability is' smile, which began to fade under a withering glare from Amy. She stepped forward menacingly. There were a good few galaxies that would be interested to see how panicked he was thanks to that gaze.

"River told us." Typical, he thought, the piece of good news, the redeeming feature of my appearance two years too late, and River's already had the glory of sharing it. She loves a good show. Probably laughed at me as she did it, knowing I'd try and go for the big reveal. That woman.

"Well of course she did," he muttered.

"She's a good girl," countered Amy. There was something in her voice, a hint that he couldn't quite grasp the meaning of. "Well...I'm not going to hug first."

"Nor am I." They both looked around, feigning a casual stance, both too set in their stubbornness to give in first. The bright blue door stood boldly in his eyeline. He shouldn't have let the TARDIS choose the house. Blue was nice, though. Maybe it reminded the Ponds of all their adventures, the good and the bad times. Or maybe it was just a colour. Silly sentimental Doctor. He caught Amy's eye and smiled, unable to resist. She laughed in response. She knew him too well. The massive hug said it all. He was forgiven, once again, by the girl who waited. And, he assumed as Rory came out into the hallway (in a cardigan, no less; who wears cardigans?), by the Roman who waited for her.

Their words washed over him as he stood by the door, watching the retreating couple beckon him in for dinner, with snow (for once) falling behind him. They always left a place set. They didn't care that he couldn't keep time to save his life, or at least not their time. The fact that he'd caused them to lose their child, die, get left behind and so many other terrible things wasn't stopping them from rejoicing at the sight of him standing on their doorstep. There were so many reasons why they should detest him and instead, he was greeted like family.

And that's when he realised what the note in Amy's voice was. It was the sound of a mother protecting her daughter, even against sarcasm. It was the sound reminding him that now more than ever, he was part of this family. The marriage may have been unconventional and its legitimacy questionable (he'd been avoiding going there), but it had tied him even more firmly to the Ponds. Not even yet another absence from their lives could break that. He felt water tumble from his eyes and down his cheek. He was the Doctor, traveling through time and space in his mad blue box, stumbling across planets and bygone ages and all before teatime, but once again, he'd found a place where he was considered welcome, maybe even normal (well, not normal, but relatively so). And he was getting old, so maybe it shocked him more that this could happen. He'd seen so much, but he'd never be used to this feeling.

Grinning wildly, he shut the door. Amy's voice sounded down the hall, ordering Rory about the kitchen. He'd have to remember to ask about what they'd been doing, those past two years, and try not to reveal just how much time he'd actually spent away. If River hadn't told them that as well, of course. Depends what time she'd come from, when they'd spoken to her.

"You're not getting away with not helping, you know," Amy called to him. He begrudgingly trailed into the kitchen, where dishes were instantly forces into his hands. "Take them to the table. No dropping." He rolled his eyes.

After a fair bit more bossing on Amy's part and a couple of sarcastic comments on the Doctor's, the three of them were sitting down in front of a mound of food waiting to be eaten.

"Did you make extra food in case I came as well?" he questioned, and didn't notice when Rory glanced at his wife before answering.

"Nope, she just likes to feed armies." Seeing the Doctor's worried look, he added, "Not literal armies, Doctor. It's a saying." The Doctor pouted. You occasionally get confused about human sayings and all of a sudden, it's a stereotype. He was quite old, after all: they should forgive his memory occasionally.

By the end of Christmas dinner, he thought he'd done very well with the conversation thing. Amy had told him about her work (he hadn't mentioned about seeing the advert, or her and Rory, in the department store), about Rory's work, about what they'd done with the house and other everyday details that occur over two years. Rory had added in odd comments, but had mostly been content to let his wife ramble on. The Doctor was worried that the Last Centurion had, however, worked out what he was doing, and what he was avoiding talking about. Namely, himself.

"Ooh, look," Amy exclaimed as they sat back in their seats, recovering from the amount of food they'd eaten. "I have both my boys here to help with the clearing up. Brilliant!"

Both of 'her boys' grumbled as they carried plates into the kitchen. This was somewhat less glamourous than their adventures on the TARDIS. Once they'd cleaned up the mess caused by the Doctor attempting to find a quicker way to load the dishwasher, Rory turned to his son-in-law and asked the question he'd been dreading. The one he'd only seemed to avoid because he'd been carefully fueling Amy's monologues by asking open ended questions whenever she stopped talking. The one which would involve a lot of explanation and berating and probably some lying. A lot of lying.

"So what have you actually been doing?"

He sensed that this wasn't the point to say "your daughter".