Amy raised her hand and hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. The knock was louder than she'd intended and she had to steel herself with the thought that the absolute worst that could happen was that he was asleep.

"It's not locked!"

She pushed the door open slowly and popped her head round. The Doctor was sitting up in bed, missing jacket and boots, legs crossed at the ankle and a book open on his lap.

"What's wrong?" He slipped a bookmark between the pages and closed the book.

Amy stepped into the room, the blanket around her body trailing on the floor by her bare feet. "I had a nightmare," she said, "about the Angels."

He nodded. "Understandable. And you don't want to sleep in your own room," he said, as a statement rather than a question.

She shrugged under the blanket. "I know, it's stupid."

"No, it isn't." He placed the book on the nightstand and then patted the side of the bed nearest her. "Come on then, Pond. In you get."

She let the blanket fall to the floor as she stepped forwards, cool air hitting her through her nightdress. She tried not to feel absurdly grateful as she slipped under the covers and turned to face him.

"What were you reading?"

"Poetry."

"Oh." She pulled the covers up to her chin for warmth. "You don't have to stop reading on my account."

He shook his head slightly. "It was good, but a bit depressing. People kept dying of tuberculosis and falling in love with unsuitable men." He slid downwards as he spoke, turning to lie on his side facing her, him above the covers and her beneath them. "Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?"

"Not really."

"Okay." He didn't seem to mind.

"Do you have nightmares?" she asked, suddenly curious.

"Course I have nightmares, everyone has nightmares."

She nodded against the pillow. "Yeah, you must do. All those monsters that you meet."

He was silent for a few seconds and then he said "I don't have nightmares about monsters."

"What do you have nightmares about?"

He turned onto his back. "Other things," he said, with a tone that suggested she end that line of inquiry.

She was supposed to be trying to sleep, but the touch of the Angels was fresh in her mind and she was trying not to think about the fact that the Doctor was close and horizontal and probably wouldn't actually push her off him if she tried something. Probably. Maybe.

"I always thought your room would be full of stuff," she said.

"Stuff?" He waved a hand in a vague circle. "I have books. I've got a nice chair. There's an inflatable elephant in the wardrobe. Still not sure where that came from."

"I mean personal stuff. This is like a room you found and decided to sleep in without ever really moving into it."

"Who says it isn't?" He laced his fingers together over his stomach. "I like this room. It has everything I need except maybe a mirrorball." He turned his head to look at her. "Do you think a mirrorball would be too much?"

"I think you're very strange." She noticed something in the corner of her eye, flicked her gaze towards it and then wondered why she hadn't seen it earlier. A framed black and white photograph of a young woman, smiling and looking a bit like a pixie. Amy was fairly sure that he wouldn't tell her anything about it.

"Who's that woman in the photograph?" she asked, on the off-chance.

"Someone I used to travel with," he told her without looking at it.

"So... is she like an ex-girlfriend or something?"

"Eww, no! Really, no!"

"I was only -"

"She's my granddaughter."

Amy frowned for a moment, then said "Oh. Yeah, sometimes I forget that you're really old."

He turned onto his side again with a look of curiosity. "You're not shocked?"

"Like I said, you're really old. Of course you've got grandkids." She remembered something. "Had grandkids. Oh, Doctor, I'm really sorry."

"It's fine."

"No, it isn't." She was certain that he wasn't going to say anything else about that, so she pushed in another direction. "Hang on, grandkids means kids. And kids means you must have, you know, been intimate with a woman."

"Amy Pond, I'm nine hundred years old, of course I've been intimate with a woman. More than one, in fact. More than... well, I don't like to keep count."

"Have you been intimate with River Song?"

"I don't really see how that's any of your business," he said mildly.

"I suppose it isn't. I just wondered."

"Well, don't. No, wait, wonder away. It's one of the things I like about you." He shifted slightly. "Any more personal and somewhat rude questions?"

"I'll let you know if I think of any."

"Weren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

"I will soon. I've got another question, though."

"Of course you have."

"Do you ever actually sleep?"

"Yes. Did you really think I didn't?"

She shrugged. "I've never seen you do it."

"There's lots of things you've never seen me do, that doesn't mean I don't do them."

"You should at least get under the covers. It's cosy."

"I don't think that would be appropriate."

She sighed dramatically. "Yes, Doctor, I would absolutely ravish you in your sleep."

He snorted. "I'm not tired anyway. You get some sleep, I'll stay here and make sure the monsters don't get you."

She closed her eyes and yawned. "Thanks."

He didn't say anything after that, or if he did she was asleep before he spoke.




"Wake up, Pond!"

Amy opened her eyes and turned over to see the Doctor standing over her with a tray. She sat up when she remembered where she was, and took the tray when he handed it to her.

She frowned. "You made me breakfast in bed?"

"I got bored. Do you really have to sleep so much?" He lifted a piece of toast from the tray and bit into it.

Amy sat the tray on the small table by the bed. "I'm not really that hungry."

"Oh. That took me ages to make. The TARDIS forgot how to make bacon, I had to take her to a farm and show her a pig." He made a face. "Never bring a live animal into the TARDIS, it gets messy."

"Poor thing."

"It'll be fine. Well, until someone kills it to turn it into a sandwich."

"Yeah, that's not really making the food seem any more tempting."

"I used to be vegetarian, back when I was Scottish."

"How could you possibly be Scottish? You're an alien, aliens can't be Scottish."

He shrugged. "I don't know, still haven't worked that one out. Mid-life crisis, maybe."

"Most men just get a flash car and spend time with women young enough to be their... okay, I can see how that wouldn't have much novelty-value for you."

"The TARDIS is quite a flash car," he agreed, pointedly ignoring the other part of her sentence. "Have I showed you the engines yet? I don't know what they look like in only three dimensions, but it's probably still quite impressive."

"Engines," said Amy. "You really know how to charm a woman, don't you?"

"Are you going to get up or not? If you slept any longer I was thinking of putting you in a cardboard box and leaving you somewhere warm."

Amy threw back the covers and got out of bed. "There. Happy now?"

"Excellent. I took the liberty of landing us on quite a nice beach planet. They have the most wonderful -"

"I have to put clothes on first!"

He looked her up and down. "You've been out in that before. It might not be terribly flattering, but the locals probably aren't your type anyway." He looked her in the eye. "Unless you have some sort of tentacle fetish. Do you have some sort of tentacle fetish?"

"No, I do not have a tentacle fetish."

"It's just that you can never quite tell, can you? You think you know someone and then... where are you going?"

She paused at the door. "Clothes?"

"You should just wear the same sort of thing every day, like I do. It saves a lot of time in the mornings."

"You're a very odd man," she told him, shaking her head.

"A very odd man who never has to worry about what to wear."

She opened the door. "I'll see you in a bit."

"It wouldn't hurt you to try a bit of tweed," he called as she set off along the corridor.

It was quite nice, she decided, to be the least weird person in a relationship.