International No Diet Day: Food

[chibifukurou]

Hi everyone! I’m chibifukurou and this will be my last day of enabling your comment_fic addiction.

Today’s theme is Food. Turn your favorite character into a kid and have them indulge in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or break out the jello shots, the possibilities are endless

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Leverage, Alec, Orange Soda

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[theme tag=Food]

Comments

[yoruichiyoshi12.livejournal.com]

Doctor Who, 9 or 10/Rose or 11/Amy or 10 & Donna or Martha, surprising her with her favorite food

Of Introspection and Ice Cream: Part 1 of 3 (Amy/11)

[falconwhitaker.livejournal.com]

Of Introspection and Ice Cream

Amy tried to like fish-custard; honestly she did. She quite lost track of how many times she crept downstairs at night to quietly cook up some fish fingers and choke them down slathered in cheap, cold custard. All so she could feel closer to Him – to her raggedy Doctor. But no matter how many times she ate it and how hard she tried to like it, fish-custard just made her gag. She stopped trying after eating it actually made her throw up one night, and switched to the food she had been snacking on that night: vanilla ice-cream. Right out of the tub.

It had been her favourite food ever since. All it took was the smallest piece, the most tiny scrap, the slightest sweet, ice-cold morsel melting its way across her tongue to take her back to that conversation on that night in that kitchen with that mad man from the blue box, so shortly before he went away and so long before he came back again.

And now, depending on how you looked it, it had been either forty minutes or – what, about a month? It was hard to keep track – since she'd last had a bowl, and, she decided, she missed it.

She'd been contemplating this issue for the past half an hour or so, a half-hour they'd spent floating around in a vortex somewhere. The Doctor did that, sometimes; he'd set them adrift to float around in a vortex of space and time, just staring out over it, like a tourist at the top of the Eiffel Tower looking over the entirety of Paris: able to go anywhere and everywhere but at a loss as to what to do next. The first few times, the scope and wonder of it had kept Amy enthralled too, but before too long, she found it got boring very quickly.

Usually, though, she just waited for the Doctor to snap out of it, no matter how boring it was, and usually, she ended up watching him instead.

The Doctor was sitting in one corner of the doorway of the TARDIS, his head leant against the door frame and a distant expression on his face. Staring. Just staring out into the ever-shifting, ever-changing colours of the vortex, the colours that made Amy's eyes ache. Neither of them had said a word in what felt like forever and the silence was almost like a living thing, like a dark, sinister creature with grasping tentacles wrapping around her throat.

But no. Enough was enough. She'd had enough of sitting around, watching the Doctor watch the vortex. She was standing in a ship that could travel through space and time, was bigger on the inside than on the outside, and had a swimming pool. If the Doctor wanted to mope, he could go ahead; but she was going to find that pool if it was the last thing she did.

"Well!" she said, getting to her feet. "Not that this isn't fascinating, but if we're not going to Rio, then I'm going to find that swimming pool you promised me."

No response. Not entirely unexpected, but a little disquieting, nevertheless. He'd been like this since they'd left Wales and she had no idea what was wrong with him and even less of an idea how she could help.

"Doctor?"

Still nothing. She walked over to the door and tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Doctor!"

To his credit, he didn't jump at the unexpected contact: he just turned his head, looked up at her, and gave her a sad little smile. "Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." A pause. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Amy frowned. There was something wrong; something was off, but she didn't know what. But if the Doctor didn't want to tell her what it was, she couldn't make him. He'd tell her eventually: he always did. Until then, Amy just had to leave him to it.

"I'm going to go have a look around," she announced. "Find that swimming pool, eh?"

"Yeah." He gave her a genuine smile, the one that lit up his face and made her heart flutter a little. "Don't get lost."

"As if. You know me, brilliant sense of direction. I'll be fine."

Of Introspection and Ice Cream: Part 2 of 3 (Amy/11)

[falconwhitaker.livejournal.com]

The Doctor watched Amy walk away and disappear into the labyrinth of rooms and passages beyond the console room before he turned back to the vortex to sit; to watch; to hurt. To sit and watch and hurt in his hearts and his soul and his head and in every inch of the flesh on his bones. He felt like a fresh bruise. No, not a fresh bruise: an old bruise. A deep, old bruise that lingered long after it had overstayed its welcome, throbbing down to the quick.

Everybody lives, he'd said. But they didn't. Not any more. Two humans stuck in stasis for a thousand years; three Silurians confirmed dead; and Rory.

Oh Rory.

There was nothing he could have done to save him. Nothing. He'd done the only thing he could do: just watch as Rory slipped through the cracks and disappeared through the very fabric of time, space and existence. And he tried to save the memory of him, to keep him alive in the mind of one who knew him so well, of one who loved him so much, but in the end, he failed. He failed.

Rory was gone. Amy's brilliant, brave, wonderful Rory was gone. And the Doctor was the only one who knew he had ever existed. And worst of all, Amy – his amazing, fairy tale Amelia Pond – had lost half her world and she didn't even know it. Would never know it. And it was all his fault.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Those cracks were wrong. And more than that, they terrified him. Inside that crack, he had found a broken shard of the TARDIS. Whatever happened, he had been there. And the idea that he had caused all this – that he had created those cracks, those things – is almost too much to bear. Like a hammer blow to the face. One that he probably deserved, too.

Oh don't start that again, you insipid, self-pitying twit.

He had bigger things to worry about than his hurt feelings, like finding out where those cracks came from, and what caused them, and why they were following Amy, and why the epicentre of this event contained pieces of his TARDIS. He and Amy would have to –

Wait. Where was Amy again?

Oh, right, yes, swimming pool.

He should probably go and find her. They needed to get moving, find something interesting, go on adventures. The worlds were turning and time was flowing and he was just sitting here, dithering around and feeling sorry for himself. It was time to get going. Keep calm and carry on.

Ah, he remembered that poster. In fact, he seemed to remember that he was the one who'd said that. Two or three faces ago, mind you, but still. It was a good mantra to live by. Keep calm and carry on. There was a catastrophe in space and time that he needed to fix and he was the only one who could do it.

But first, maybe he should do something for Amy. Something... nice. It couldn't make up for what he'd done to her, but it was the least he could do.

–

Amy wasn't sure what she had imagined the swimming pool to be like, but what she had found was nothing like what she had expected. She had thought of the swimming pool in Cardiff that she'd visited once or twice with her aunt, a thing of bright lights and white tiles.

This was different. For one thing, the tiles weren't white: they were a checkerboard of black and deep bronze-gold; and the walls looked like industrial red-brick, interspersed with Grecian-style columns made of brass that occurred every two or three feet. In the centre of each of the four walls was a gigantic brass cog set with small spotlights that glowed softly; the same sort of spotlights could also be found at the bottom of the pool, their gentle glow making the water glimmer. It was quite attractive, in its own way, but it was odd, too, and it felt old. It was a bit like the Doctor, in a lot of ways.

Having found a bikini in the Doctor's extensive wardrobe – why exactly he needed a rather attractive turquoise bikini was a question she was trying very hard to avoid – she'd dived right in; now she was floating on her back, her arms spread and her red hair billowing out around her head like a halo, staring up at the brass ceiling and the glass skylight in the centre that looked out over a dark night sky of stars.

She'd been dreaming of this pool since she was seven years old and now she was here and she in it. Amazing. Almost unbelievable.

Of Introspection and Ice Cream: Part 3 of 3 (Amy/11)

[falconwhitaker.livejournal.com]

She almost felt like she could stay here forever.

But on the other hand, it was getting cold and her fingertips had wrinkled like raisins. Time to get out of the water.

She swam to the edge and hauled herself out, her wet hair clinging to her head and neck. She gathered it in her hands, squeezed some of the water out of it and tossed it back over her shoulder with a flick of her head. That was when she noticed the Doctor. He was standing in the doorway, smiling and holding a large, fluffy tartan towel.

"I thought you might need this."

Amy suddenly felt very aware of the fact that she was standing there in just a bikini in front of the Doctor. She folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow.

"Tartan, eh?"

"Well to be honest, it was the first towel I could find," he admitted, walking across the tiles to join her. "Haven't used the pool in a while, really, I should really get more use out of it. Still want it?"

"Of course – hand it over."

Instead, he wrapped the towel gently around her shoulders. She felt a little fluttering in her belly and tried to ignore it, focussing on the towel instead. Up close, she could see that it had a row of Scottie dogs across its edge. Scottie dogs! Where in space and time he'd managed to pick it up, she had no idea. It was warm, though, and very, very soft. She wrapped it tighter around herself.

"Ooh, it's nice. Where'd you pick this up?"

"I don't actually know. I'm sure it came from... a place... in a time... somewhere."

Amy smiled. "So what now? Off again to new and exciting places?"

"What else?"

"What else, indeed? Where to, gallant captain?"

"Follow me."

He gently took hold of her hand and led her out of the pool room, down a corridor, around a corner, and into something that looked like it had been pulled from a country cottage. A dark wood dining table and chairs stood on a flagstone floor in front of a warm fireplace. The table was set for two: one side had a bowl of custard and a plate of fish fingers; the other, a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Her favourite food.

It was just like old times.

Amy Pond sat down at a kitchen table in a cottage room inside a time-machine-slash-space-ship, wearing nothing but a bikini and a towel, and began to eat ice-cream with an alien who was eating fish-custard. And oddly enough, the only thing that felt strange about it was how normal and right it felt to her. Like she should always be here. Like this was her place.

The first cold, sweet mouthful made her close her eyes, lean back in her chair and moan softly with happiness.

"Ooh, that is good. I have missed this."

When she opened her eyes, the Doctor was watching her, a half-eaten fish finger in his hand and a smile on his face. And she looked back, right into his eyes, ice cream on her lips and her tongue, sweet and cold and so delicious.

This was what she wanted right where and when she wanted it. She wanted this, these travels and these excitements and these moments of quiet, calm contentment in between when he could do unexpected things, like surprise her with her favourite food when she was least expecting it, and she wanted him. She always had. It was all about the Doctor.

Amy stood up, walked down the table to the Doctor, cupped his face with one hand, and kissed him full on the mouth.

She fully expected him to pull away. After all, the last time she'd tried to kiss him, he'd freaked out. But this time, he try to run. After a few moments of shocked stillness, as though he'd been frozen in time, he slowly, tentatively, started to kiss her back.

Amy could taste the fish-custard in his kiss, but somehow, it was nothing like the fish-custard she'd choked down before. It was so much better: it tasted of the Doctor, too.

Maybe fish-custard could be her favourite after all, as long as the Doctor came with it.