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The Ponds received the first of two presents at the very beginning.
When they were first thrown back in time, the first half-hour or so was spent reassuring themselves that they were together, that they were going to be okay. After that, they realized the enormity of their situation: they were stuck in the mid-20th century with absolutely nothing but each other, the clothes on their back, and the spare change they had in their pockets.
With nothing else, really, to do, that morning they bought a copy of the New York Tribune. They sort of skimmed over it, to familiarize themselves with what was currently happening if for nothing else, and that was when Amy saw it – an ad that read only two things. An address at the top, and a single phrase at the bottom: "Come along, Ponds."
They didn't need telling twice.
When they reached the address, they found it was the lobby of an apartment building – nothing too fancy, but rather nice. They stepped inside to find a woman tending the front desk. She looked to be a little past middle-age, probably with young adult children, and very kind as she looked up and smiled at them.
"Are you Mr. and Mrs. Williams?" she asked. Shocked, Amy and Rory looked at each other, and cautiously nodded.
The woman sighed. "Oh, good. I was beginning to think you'd never come." She stepped around the desk and came to them, holding two things: a key, and a slip of paper.
"A man came to me six months ago and told me that a Mr. and Mrs. Williams would come here one day, and that I was to tell them that their apartment was all set up and paid for two months' rent – it's the second one on the left of the third floor. And I was to give them this note."
Amy took it with shaking hands. On the small slip of paper was a bank account number, with the bank's address – only a few blocks away. Rory took the key from the woman's hands and led his wife upstairs to the apartment the woman had indicated.
Inside, it was perfectly decorated to be a somewhat period-accurate version of their house in the 21st century. There were plenty of things there that they recognized – some of them things that properly shouldn't exist yet. Amy noted that sitting on the counter was the rainbow-striped cup that the Doctor liked so much.
The Doctor had set everything up for them, she realized. He couldn't save them, but he could make sure that they had a life to live.
Amy wrapped her arms around her husband. Maybe they were going to be okay after all.
The second present came several years later.
It was Amy and Rory's thirtieth wedding anniversary. After everything, they'd done quite well for themselves. The Doctor had made sure they had everything they had in 2012, including all of their money – which was worth a whole lot more in 1963. Helped along by a little timey-wimey advance knowledge, the Ponds were quite well-off.
Rory finally became a doctor, and a very good one at that. Amy turned to investigative journalism, spending time advocating, breaking ground, and fighting for justice. She had a special relationship with President Nixon – often she was the only journalist he would talk to, due to their "shared acquaintance." (Canton was pleasantly surprised to see Amy, as well.)
In 1964, Amy and Rory adopted a young girl named Melody, an orphan found in Washington, D.C. It was a tacit fact that Melody was much more than a little orphan girl, but neither side ever said anything. There was consternation over the fact that Melody was black, whereas her adoptive parents were white – but Amy swiftly and firmly steamrolled over it all.
The years were good, overall. There were times when they wondered about hopping over to England – but it was too early for any of that. No one would know them; they would only be revisiting events that they had already seen.
They had a little party to celebrate their anniversary, just a few friends over for dinner and drinks. After everyone had left and the house was quiet, there was a knock on the front door. Amy went to open the door, but when she did, there was no one there. She almost closed it when she looked down – sitting on the stoop was an enormous bouquet of flowers.
A years'-old memory drifted to the front of her mind: a smiling face popping out from behind a wall of flowers before whisking her and Rory away on an ultimately ill-fated anniversary gift. She knew with sudden certainty that these were the same flowers that the Doctor had given to her and Rory on their anniversary all those years ago (or yet. It was still a little hard to keep track of tenses).
"Rory!" she called, bringing the flowers to the kitchen table. Her husband entered the room. "Those are nice," he commented. "Who are they from?"
Amy fished around in the bouquet and pulled out a small card. She opened it and showed it to the both of them, smiling as she read it.
Happy anniversary, Ponds.