“Amy,” he breathes, running his hands along his naked body, surprised to find himself naked in front of an old friend, “… what brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“Spoilers!” she laughs with that downturned pout of hers, tossing her vivacious red locks so that they flow against one police vest-covered breast, “You never could handle the truth! Just take this and don’t drop it on anyone’s head. I found it on the bottom! Later!”
She sticks her long, thin, articulate hand in a vest pocket and curves her fingers round something… which she tosses toward him from where she floats like a wet witch over the middle of the iced over lake. Then she blows away in the penetrating wind.
The Doctor strains to see the object, and leans forward a bit, jolting his ankles into belated action.
He falls flat, his new chin digging into the impaling frost with a black and blue vengeance.
Forcing one hand to scramble out from underneath his ribs, he crawls his fingers through the snow until he finds it.
It burns gold and demure in the snow, blinking away the ice crystals like a little lamp.
His cold hands wrap around it, tiny, inviting.
He looks down as his hands drag the small object close to him, cupping the light to shield it.
“Ahhh…” he murmurs, humbled. “I should have known.”