Word count: 991
Summary: Amy wants to set a place for the Doctor at Christmas dinner. Rory doesn't think it's such a good idea, because the Doctor thinks they think he's dead.. But Amy Pond always gets what she wants.
Pairing: Amy x Rory
Rating: PG
A/N: Secret Santa fic for bluetardls. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.
**********
Rory stood by the stove stirring the gravy. Amy breezed past him to take the plates down from the cupboard. “Alright, pudding’s in the oven with the goose. How many people are coming, again?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Just you, me, and Dad this year.”
Amy nodded, taking down four plates and a handful of cutlery. “And one for the Doctor.” She went to the table and started laying out the places.
With an exasperated sigh, Rory turned from the gravy and stood next to her. “Don’t set a place for the Doctor this time. He’s not going to come, you know.”
“Amy, please,” he said, taking her hand. She looked up at him, her other hand frozen in midair halfway across the table. “This is getting ridiculous. You set a place for him last Christmas, and at Easter and our birthdays, and he never comes. It’s been two years. I don’t think he’s coming back.”
She looked into his eyes, and on the surface she was as stubborn as ever, but Rory knew her too well. In the depths of her eyes he could see the desperation she tried to keep hidden. Setting a place for the Doctor was one of the only things that kept her believing. Rory pursed his lips and didn’t push the matter any further. She turned back to her task. “Well, maybe this time he will.”
There was a knock on the door. Amy slammed the plates down on the table. The sound of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen floated through the door and into the kitchen. “I’ve had just about enough carolling for one day,” she grumbled as she went to answer it. She glared at the carollers and tapped her toes impatiently. “I’m quite busy right now, and not at all in the mood for carols,” she said. They finished their song anyway, and started another one.
Several carols later, Amy stormed back to her husband. “You don’t have to stand there and listen to them, you know,” he chuckled, staying close to the stove. He had learned long ago not to approach an angry Amy.
“I’ve tried glaring at them, I’ve tried telling them I’m busy, I even tried just telling them to go away. Nothing works! Oh no, they have to go on spreading their holiday cheer,” said Amy, stomping around the kitchen. She stopped and pointed at her husband. “I should get a water pistol. Any more carollers tonight, and they’re getting all wet.” With that, she scampered off to find a suitable weapon.
It took a few minutes, so Rory had time to think. He probably shouldn’t have told Amy not to set a place for the Doctor. She wasn’t hurting anyone with it, and they really couldn’t give up on the Doctor. When she returned, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he murmured into her ear, rubbing his hands up and down the back of her knitted Christmas sweater. “You should set a place for the Doctor if you want to.”
Amy leaned back so she could see his face. “I was going to anyway, idiot,” she said lovingly. She put her arms around his neck, still holding the water pistol in one hand, and captured his lips in a fierce kiss. Rory hummed into her mouth as they moved in sync with each other easily after years of practice.
Before Amy had nearly enough, Rory pulled away. She had barely registered the ding of the egg timer or the faint smell of smoke in the air. “Amy, the pudding!” Rory yelped as he grabbed a cup towel and dove for the oven. A cloud of smoke billowed out when he opened the door. Coughing, he waved it away with the towel and took out the scorched pastry.
“Sorry,” said Amy, wincing as her husband disposed of the blackened pudding.”But hey, at least the goose is still good.”
There was another knock on the door and Amy growled. “If that is more carol singers, I have a water pistol,” she shouted as she stormed down the hall. “You don’t want to be all wet on a night like this!” She opened the door, aiming and squirting.
As soon as she recognized the Doctor, all the anger disappeared from her face. She froze, the water pistol pointed straight at him. “I’m not absolutely sure,” said the Doctor, “How long?”
“Two years,” said Amy. She squirted him twice, then again for good measure.
“Ok,” said the Doctor, wiping water off his chin. “Fair point.”
Amy lowered the water pistol. “So, you’re not... dead.”
“And a happy new year!”
She stepped closer to him and said, “River told us.”
“Well of course she did,” grumbled the Doctor.
“She’s a good girl,” said Amy. “Well, I’m not gonna hug first.”
“Nor am I.” They stood there for a minute, Amy toying with the water pistol, the Doctor pretending to be interested in the neighbours’ wreath, until they finally laughed and hugged each other.
“Mr. Pond! Guess who’s coming for dinner,” Amy called.
“Oh!” Rory pulled his cardigan tighter around him as he came down the hall. “Not dead then,” he said when he saw the Doctor.
“We’ve done that,” she said to Rory before turning back to the Doctor. “We’re about to have Christmas dinner. Joining us?” She motioned for him to come inside the house.
“If it’s no trouble,” the Doctor smiled.
“There’s a place set for you,” said Rory.
“But you didn’t know I was coming, why would you set me a place?”
“Oh, because we always do,” said Amy. Rory pointed at her and nodded. “It’s Christmas, ya moron,” she said, squirting him with the water pistol again. She strode back to the kitchen. Rory nodded at the Doctor and followed after her.
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