.

Counting

Author's Note: And so, alas, it ends. I would like to take a moment to thank all my lovely reviewers and readers, in particular judybear236 and InsertImaginativeNameHere. I know my updates have been somewhat staggered and this story was on the slow side but I'm glad you all enjoyed it nevertheless. And here it is, the final chapter, while quite short, I find makes for a rather appropriate end to this ficlet. To Amy Pond, the girl who waited. May we all eat fish fingers and custard in memory of the best Doctor Who companion ever. Cheers. *raises cup of green tea*

Chapter Seven

.~*~*~*~.

16 December 1996

Holidays at last. The schoolchildren streamed out of the building emitting whooping cheers, and Amy was no exception. She raced ahead of many of her schoolmates, doing up the zipper of her coat as she went, for she hardly had the patience for such trivial things as pausing to do it up at her cubby.

Being the tallest of the three, Amy didn't even have the patience to wait for her friends. Instead she sprinted ahead of them and ran all the way to the school gates before stopping and waiting for Mels and Rory to arrive.

Mels appeared half a minute after Amy, grinning from ear to ear. The two friends took each other's hands and jumped up and down a little, squealing in excitement because winter holidays had come and Christmastime and New Year's were just around the corner. Both had already written their letters to Father Christmas, of course, and had made sure to cover it in their very best crayon drawing and use their best penmanship so that Father Christmas might favour them over children with poor handwriting. It was important Father Christmas favoured them over other children because that meant he would get their presents earlier, and the bookshops in the North Pole would not run out and his elves would not run out of material before all the toys were made. This was a valuable and rare bit of information that had been taught to them by Rory's mummy years ago, when they were just learning how to write.

Of course, not all of Amy's requests could be made by the elves, but that was all right because everyone knew Father Christmas had magic powers.

The girls waited impatiently for Rory to arrive, hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm. It had rained every day the past week, and had been so positively pouring when they walked to school that morning that even Mr Islington had allowed his students to take off their shoes and socks to go about barefoot for a little while because their feet were so wet. Furthermore, all signs pointed to snow over the holiday. While this was a very exciting prospect – they'd scarcely gotten a few flakes last year, and the year before – it also meant it was cold for December.

"I wish he'd hurry up," groused Mels, not one for politeness.

Finally Rory was seen, trudging across the schoolyard with his hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket, his head bowed against the frigid air. Mels pointedly rolled her eyes as they waited for him to reach them. When they finally did, she gave him a solid shoulder-punch. "There you are," she said in a tone that suggested he'd committed some unspeakable crime.

Rory shivered and rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder, wincing. "I didn't t-take that long," he muttered sullenly.

Mels, however, did not care for such things. She patted her pocket, where her treasured twenty pounds sat in four ₤5 notes, the most money she'd had in a while. Her foster parents had given her this precious amount of pocket money for her own spending with her friends on the last day of school before Christmas break. Mels was not accustomed to having so much to spend, partially because ₤20 was quite a lot for a seven-year-old to be carrying around, and partially because she was always being deprived of her weekly allowance for the trouble she constantly got herself in. It was hard to believe, but Mels might just be on her worst behaviour yet this year.

"Oh, stop fighting, you two," said Amy with a roll of her eyes. She tugged Rory's hood over his eyes, and he swatted it back down again. "Are we going to get something together, or not?"

They went to Rosie's, a snug little coffeehouse a few blocks from the school, with armchairs and a fireplace. The children shed their coats and were pleased to find the very best seats, the table by the fireplace, was free. They settled into the deep armchairs and made themselves comfortable, feeling very grown-up. Amy had taken her rag doll of the Doctor and now she propped it up next to her in the armchair.

She and Rory both ordered hot chocolates and chocolate-chip cookies. Mels ordered a raisin bran cookie and a coffee. As the children settled back down at their table with their ordered, they gaped at Mels. "Have you had coffee before?" Rory wanted to know, eyes very wide, and Mels nodded smugly.

As they sipped their hot chocolates (or in Mels' case, her coffee), they discussed the matter of the extremely important day around the corner. "What did you ask Father Christmas for?"

Mels and Rory began to talk over each other; Rory answering her question, and Mels answering her own, apparently not interested in giving Rory the chance. Amy tried to listen to both of them, but it was not easy because Mels was very loud. She managed to gather that Mels wanted nail polish and lip balm, and Rory wanted the game Operation and some book series neither of them had heard of.

They were all just interested in toys. Amy had asked for some normal presents, too, mind: she wanted a new box of crayons and a castle for her fish bowl and a new doll. But there was only wish that she truly cared about coming true.

Later, Amy would walk home with her schoolbag slung over her shoulder and her coat done up, and her rag doll dangling loosely from one hand. She took a different route than Rory, claiming that Aunt Sharon wanted her to get eggs from the shop, and would refuse Rory's suggestion he come with her. Frankly, much as she loved Rory, for he was the dearest friend she could wish for at seven years of age, he'd been getting a bit clingy lately.

In truth, Aunt Sharon had not asked Amy to get eggs from the shop. She had not asked her to get anything, nor was she even aware that Amy had gone to Rosie's with her friends. Aunt Sharon's boss had been called on a business trip to Birmingham, and that meant that as his secretary, Aunt Sharon had to go with him. They'd left early today and it was likely they would not be back until Monday morning, or very late on Sunday, after Amy went to bed. It was not the first time her aunt had gone on business trips for the weekend, and Amy didn't mind much.

It meant she could wait outside as long as she liked. Or at least, until it grew too cold to be sitting outside waiting.

Now, she took the long route home, all the way around the main square, through the car park of Leadworth's single three-storey estate building, around the back of the hospital, along what the local called "Pub Alley," past the school, across the bridge, and finally through her own residential neighbourhood. Hazel eyes skyward, lips open in a prayer that came out in breaths that caught in the frigid air.

The forecasted weather had arrived at last, the delicate snowflakes wafting down and settling, gently, onto the pavement, turning the Midlands-grey landscape of Leadworth into something almost resembling prettiness. Some caught in the folds of Amy's hat, her eyelashes, and melted when she blinked.

.~*~*~*~.

21 December 1996

Next Saturday, Aunt Sharon took Amy to the shop to pick a tree. This would be a day for decorating the house for Christmas, and it was one Amy had been looking forward to for a while. Some families in Leadworth put their Christmas decorations up just after Hallowe'en, and didn't take them down 'til March. This meant that by the time Christmas rolled around, everyone in the town knew what their house was to look like over the holidays, and that was very dull.

When it came to Christmas, Aunt Sharon was as practical a woman as could be met. She believed in keeping up Christmas decorations for no more than a week (usually this became a week and a bit because she didn't have the energy to take them down for a while, but no matter). But even though the Pond household of two didn't keep their decorations up for long, theirs were always the very best on the street.

The tree they picked was tall and thin, and still had the delicious smell of pine. Aunt Sharon had the men from the shop deliver it to their house, because of course it was too large for one person (in high-heeled shoes) and her seven-year-old niece to lug halfway across town. While the tree was being brought over, Amy was sent to the cellar to bring up the boxes of ornaments, the reindeer for the garden, and the boxes of fairy lights. This she did, clad in her favourite green Christmas jumper for festive purposes, huffing and puffing as she hauled heavy boxes up and down the stairs, and feeling very grown-up about being able to handle the fragile items this year.

When Aunt Sharon got home with the tree, they erected it in the lounge, by the window so that it could be seen from the street. They hung it with brightly coloured bulbs, beautiful stained-glass ornaments from Inverness and tiny wooden angels, draped tinsel and fairy lights from its sweet-smelling branches, and of course placed a star on the top. Amy dragged the armchair halfway across the room and climbed atop it for the honour of crowning their tree with the star, and when they were done they closed the curtains and turned out all the lights and agreed it was one of their best trees yet.

The truth was, that for all Amy's resentment of Aunt Sharon, she was, at the end of the day her aunt, absent or not, and she loved her. It was at times like these she could really understand and feel that, when her aunt wasn't busy and wasn't nagging at her about her runaway imagination and fixation on the Raggedy Doctor. It was just Amy, and Aunt Sharon, and the air between them. At times like these, it tasted warm and sweet.

But the house was not even half-done yet, oh no. Next there was plastic mistletoe to hang from all the doorways of the lower floor, and a wreath for the door, and while there wasn't a fireplace, they hung their stockings from the windowsill. Finally, they strung the tree out front with fairy lights, and there were still lights for the roof.

Aunt Sharon wanted to make the tree out front extra-bright this year, and use the fairy lights for that, but Amy wanted them on the roof. She was not allowed to climb up there, but Aunt Sharon kicked off her high-heeled shoes and did it herself while Amy watched, awed, from the garden by the ailing sunlight.

Later, after supper, when the sky had turned a fine bruised black, but it was not so late that she had to go to bed, Amy put on her coat and boots and ran outside to admire the lights in all their glory. She wanted to make extra-sure the lights on the roof were especially bright and noticeable, a beacon for the friend she was waiting for.

.~*~*~*~.

Christmas Eve 1996

Leadworth was the sort of town in which having the most Christmassy house on the block was considered a very honourable thing, and Amy's house had won this title several years in a row now. She supposed she was rather proud of it, and in the days before Christmas, when she went outside to do anything, she liked to stop on the walk and admire it. She especially liked it at night. Sometimes, she would creep downstairs at night and make herself a hot chocolate just to admire the tree. She would sit in the lounge, bathed in the weak light of the Christmas tree, and stare, captivated by the simple wonderment of it in the way only a child could.

On Christmas Eve, however, she and Aunt Sharon got the chance to show off their house to some of the rest of the neighbourhood. Aunt Sharon invited over her work friends for a Christmas dinner party, and Amy asked Mels and Rory to come. Mels, however, could not make it, as she was being dragged all the way to Northampton for Christmas; her foster mother was going to be visit her brother for the holidays. It turned out Mels didn't see why they all had to go, especially her. "I'm not even your real daughter," Mels had apparently argued but it also turned out that this upset her foster parents, and even if she hadn't said that they would have made her come.

But it was 8pm, and dinner had been eaten. All the guests were now gathered in the lounge, laughing and talking and drinking champagne with Christmas carols playing on low volume over the radio; white noise. Amy hung by Rory, for he was the only other child at the party. They were given eggnog to drink, and a plate gingerbread cookies to nibble on. The children huddled in the corner by the stockings, busying themselves with a game of Clue, both of them in their very best clothes.

Rory was wearing the grey suit he'd worn to his uncle's wedding in the spring, and Amy was wearing her standard red velvet "fancy dress." Amy loved that dress, and as it was her first time wearing it around Rory, she sort of wished he would mention it. She'd worn it last Christmas but it still fit her. It was a dark shade of red, with short sleeves and a hem that brushed her knees, and a white lace that collar that was only a little bit tight, but it was such a nice dress Amy didn't care. Wearing it made her feel like Aileen Quinn in Annie.

They went on playing Clue, and Amy picked Professor Plum off the board and fiddled with him, beginning to feel sullen even though it was Christmas.

"Hey!" Rory objected. "Put Professor Plum back in the kitchen."

Amy did as he asked, but not without removing the scowl from her face. She picked up the dice but would not roll them. Well, that got Rory's attention.

"What's the matter?" he wanted to know. "Aren't you excited it's Christmas?"

Amy scowled at him. "It's not Christmas," she said. "It's Christmas Eve."

Rory considered this. "Well, it's almost Christmas."

"So?"

Rory tried a different angle. "Aren't you excited to get your presents?"

Amy dropped the dice and they clattered across the board. An eleven. She picked up Colonel Mustard but did not move him yet. She glanced over her shoulder to check on the grown-ups, but they were busy laughing and discussing boring topics like politics. They weren't paying the children the slightest bit of attention. She leaned forward conspiratorially, and Rory leaned closer to listen. "Rory," said Amy in a low voice, "you know what I want for Christmas. And I don't know if Santa can get it for me. He's got magic powers, so I'm hoping be able to help, but the Doctor's special too."

Rory looked very grave. "Santa can do anything," he said trustingly. "I b-bet the Doctor will come for you. You'll see."

Amy leaned back so as not to look suspicious, and nibbled at a cookie. "Hey," she said. "Do you want to see something?" Clue had been getting boring, anyway.

He brightened. "Okay!"

"Get your coat." Amy ran over to Aunt Sharon and asked permission to go outside for a few minutes to look at the houses, all lit up, with Rory. When she was greeted with a vague nod, a gleeful Amy grabbed her hat and peacoat from where they were hanging on a peg by the door, and stepped into her boots, then waited impatiently for Rory to dig his coat from the depths of the hall closet. He was so tiny she wondered if he could get lost in there, among all those big winter coats. If it had been a wardrobe like in his parents' room, she would have wondered if he might stumble upon Narnia, go on adventures, and never come out again. She wondered if he might be swallowed up.

But Rory emerged, though not without stumbling, putting on his jacket and scarf. He stepped into his boots and the two children went out the door and stood in the middle of the garden, looking out onto the street. The houses were all lit up, strung with the LED glow of the lights, and those houses with trees in their front yards had strung them up with Christmas lights as well. It wasn't snowing properly, but the ground was brushed with the early dustings of snow, the flakes like the forgotten feathers of angels fallen to earth.

Amy stared at the houses, peppered up for the holiday season, and then turned to her own house, the most lavishly-decorated of all. She wondered if the lights on the roof would be enough to bring her Raggedy Doctor to her, and sighing, rested her head on top of Rory's. He, in turn, rested his on her shoulder and they admired the lights like that in silence. In that moment, they neither looked nor felt like children.

"Do you think he's coming, Rory?" Amy asked softly, and Rory knew she didn't mean Father Christmas.

In full honesty, Rory didn't know if he believed in Amy's stories about the Raggedy Doctor. The idea of a man with a time machine coming from the sky to eat fish fingers and custard was a funny one, and the idea of the Doctor himself was almost too fantastic to be true. His young but sensible mind knew that Amy had a tendency to get carried away with her storytelling (in kindergarten, she managed to convince both Rory and Mels that there was a rhino living in the girl's toilets), but the story of the Doctor was just such a wonderful and well-crafted one, he found himself conflicted. He knew all the grown-ups, including Amy's Aunt Sharon and the teachers at school, didn't believe her, as grown-ups were wont to do with their dull and cynical minds. And he knew most of the children at school didn't believe her either; Jack Islington and his crowd of bullies had extended to half of Year Three. But Mels believed, whole-heartedly and loyally, and Rory didn't say anything because he didn't want to upset his friend. Up until now, he'd mostly been happy just to play the games and not think about whether or not the Doctor was real at all.

Now, for Amy's benefit, he said, "Yes. Of c-course I do."

Amy smiled at him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a hug. "Good. Thanks, Rory." She cocked her head, thinking. "You know what, though?"

"What?"

"When he finally does come for me, when he says hello, I'm going to punch him as hard as I can. He deserves it."

Frankly, Rory thought so, too.

.~*~*~*~.

It was five minutes before midnight. Amy darted up the stairs and tore open the door to her room, throwing it shut behind her. She made a beeline for the window and looked out of it in borderline desperation. Perhaps now? Now would be the absolute best time for him to come, the most appropriate …

But there was only the dark sky, and the new garden shed, and the frost-dead ground.

Amy turned and, with sudden motivation, kneeled down by her bed. Clasping her hands together, she uttered the only prayer she knew.

"Dear Santa … "

After all, she reasoned, it worked once, didn't it?

.~*~*~*~.

END