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Doctor Who Fic: And the World Don't Stop, Eleven/Amy, PG-15
Title: And the World Don't Stop
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: There's a Heartbreak Beat
Ship: Eleven/Amy
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seren_ccd
Word Count: 5,966
Rating: PG-15, warnings for violence and disturbing topics regarding women, while I don't show anything explicit, it could be disturbing for some. PM me if you have any issues or questions.
Disclaimer: They are not mine. 'Tis a pity, really. The title of the story and the series is from the song Heartbreak Beat by the Psychedelic Furs.
A/N: Many, many thanks to my fantastic betafringedweller.
This story is foravarill for her EXTREMELY generous donation to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_queensland. I hope you like it!!! I do apologise for the delay in getting this next bit up. Life has an awful way of interrupting things.
Summary: Things are tense onboard the TARDIS. A quick trip to a bazaar doesn't really help.
Sequel to All Rather Obligatory, I'm a Heartbreak Beat and We've Got the Radio On, Playin' All Night Long and And the Beat....
Previously--
"I was going to quit," he says. He moves away to adjust something on the other side of the panel.
"What?"
"Quit. Leave the business."
"Why?" Amy looks baffled and sort of sad.
"Didn't want you to get hurt," the Doctor says lightly. "So! Anyway! What next?"
"Wait, you were going to stop because of me?" she asks walking over to him, but stopping a foot away.
"Yes," he says quickly. "But that was then and it was only in our heads and has absolutely no bearing whatsoever in reality because our subconsciouses are always far more alarmist than they should be. Right?"
"Right," Amy says. "So, we're going to just... forget this happened?"
The image of Amy lying on her bed cheerfully chatting to him while he cooks her breakfast in a tiny flat that doesn't exist flashes in his mind.
"Yep," he says. "Completely forgotten."
To say that things had been a little tense on board the TARDIS was something of an understatement.
While the running for their lives and saving of people hadn’t stopped, the Doctor was well aware that something was missing. Namely the way Amy touched him. The way she was...guarded. Mad, impossible Amy Pond was guarded. Around him!
And oh, wasn’t it just stupid to get all bent out of shape over the fact that she hadn’t so much as given him a flirtatious look or teased him or, or, or held his hand in what felt like weeks? And as for the incredible, cheerful sex they’d been having? Yeah. None of that either.
It was beyond stupid. It was silly.
And it was just as well, really, he told himself as he rewired an old bit of tech. What was it you used to say about humans? Wither and die. So, you see? All for the best.
Except it wasn’t and the lack of spark in Amy’s eyes when she smiled stabbed into his hearts.
In fact the stabbing into his hearts had even taken on a metallic pinging sound that grated his ears and vibrated in his hand and made him cringe.
“What are you doing?”
Amy’s voice cut through his haze and the pinging noise he thought was stabbing through his heart turned out to be the piece of tech he’d been fiddling with. Amy’s voice startled him and with one last hard tap, the bit of tech broke in half.
He stared at the broken tool and said, “Oh, ah, nothing? I’m doing nothing.”
With a quick rise and spin, he stood up to face Amy who was looking at him with one eyebrow raised and a look of disbelief on her face.
“Nothing, hunh?” she said. She nodded at the broken tool in his hands. “Did you just break that?”
The Doctor looked down at his hands and frowned. “Yes, I do believe I did. Well. Shame. I liked that thing.”
“What did it do?”
“Oh, this and that,” he said. “Plus it made a lovely beeping sound from time to time. Very hard to find, this thing is. Ooh! Oh, but that’s perfect!”
He smiled happily at Amy and raised his hands up in glee. “How do you feel about bazaars?”
She tilted her head and said, “What kind of bazaar? Because if it’s only going to have more of-” she pointed at the tool “-that kind of stuff, I’ll just go for a swim.”
“No, no!” he said shoving the broken bits of metal into his pockets. “It’s an everything kind of bazaar. It’s the Manseerian Bazaar. The Manseers have six fingers on each hand! Which helps them make all sorts of intricate things, tools, jewelry, clothes - oh, you should see them weave on their looms! Ooh! Good word that, loom. Makes one feel all-”
“Looney?” Amy supplied with a half smile.
“Yes!” The Doctor grinned at her and she returned the grin briefly, before looking away. He felt that stabbing in his hearts, but whirled around and started to pilot the TARDIS towards Manseeria, in the year 4331.
In no time at all, the TARDIS came to a stop and the Doctor headed towards the door. He did a quick double take at Amy’s outfit as she adjusted her jacket and scarf.
“You’re wearing a hat,” he said.
“I’m wearing a cap,” she corrected. “I found it in the wardrobe. I think it suits me.”
The cap was knitted in a dark forest green with a small knitted flower embellishment that rested just above her ear. The green made her ginger hair stand out and she was quite right, it suited her very well.
“I like it,” he said opening the door. “I wonder if--”
“No,” Amy said flatly.
“What?”
“You can’t borrow it.”
“But, it’s cool!” he said as he held the door open for her
“Yeah, on me,” she said sweeping past. “You couldn’t possibly pull it off.”
He locked the door and then came to stand next to her and said in a low voice, “That sounds like a challenge, Amelia Pond.”
The sound of his voice so near to her brought memories of closeness crashing to the front of her mind, some real (next to the pool in the library, on the console, in that big, soft bed, laughing, caressing, his hands, his mouth on her, focused solely on her...) and some she knew were a result of their forced hallucinations. She shivered none-the-less. And she knew he saw it. She bit her lip and just as his fingers twitched and made to reach for her hand, she moved away. Looking around, she asked, “So, where are we?”
The Doctor suppressed a sigh and said, “Amy Pond, I give you Manseeria!”
With an expansive wave of his hand, he indicated the city below them. The TARDIS was parked on a slight grassy hill just above a city made out of rings of brightly coloured tents that circled a main stone building that stood five stories high.
Hints of spice and something not unlike sandalwood wafted on the breeze and Amy took a deep breath, filling her lungs with new air.
“Well, you promised me six-fingered people and clothes,” she said giving him a quick smile. “Let’s go.”
The smile he gave her was bright and yet, somewhat cautious and she knew it was her doing, but... Oh, heck.
She always did this. The words she said to him on the Starship UK came back to her:
“Have you ever run away from something because you were scared? Or not ready? Or just because you could?”
Because, true to form: Amy Pond was running away. Running fast and scared away from the feelings that she’d had when they thought they were living together as two humans. Running away from the fact that in some secret place deep down in the Doctor’s psyche, he would be willing to give up so much to keep her safe.
This knowledge scared her. A lot.
What scared her even more was the fact that she herself was prepared to give up a great deal for him in return.
As they silently walked past the large gates marking the entrance to the bazaar, none of their usual chatting and teasing present, Amy wondered what in the world she was going to do.
Retail therapy, she thought to herself, her eyes caught by all the magnificent colours and patterns on display. Shop ‘til you drop: that’s the thing.
The stalls were filled with all sorts of goods, in all manner of shapes, sizes and uses. There were stalls filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, metalwork and even leatherwork. Everything had intricate patterns etched or woven into the materials.
The Manseerians themselves were fascinating to look at as well, although Amy did her best not to stare. They had downy, orange skin that looked soft to the touch and three ridges on the bridge of their noses. Plus, the aforementioned six fingers. Their voices were firm and clear as they called out the names of their wares to the passing punters.
“The bits I need are on the other side, then two rights, a left and then another right,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “Or was it two lefts and then a right? Either way, it’s this way.”
“Nope,” Amy said shaking her head. “I’m for the scarves which look like they’re this way. Go get your tech and be careful you don’t break anything, because it looks like you’d be made to buy it, and find me later.”
She flashed him a quick grin and turned on her heel, leaving him staring after her with a confused expression.
He recovered enough to call out, “Just don’t cause any trouble, Pond! No revolutions, do you hear?”
Amy lifted her hand in a facsimile of a wave and turned down a row of lined with scarves and trinkets. She stopped in front of one stall selling glass vials filled with perfumes. Amy leaned forward and smiled when she recognized the scent of lavender mixed with vanilla. She opened her mouth to ask the seller a question, but he turned his back on her and gave all his attention to another customer.
She frowned and then shrugged her shoulders. Apparently rudeness was a universal constant.
Amy wandered through the busy market and came to a halt in front of a stand filled to the brim with scarves of such vibrant colours and patterns. She reached out a hand and the fabric was wonderfully soft to the touch.
“Hey! Where’s your guardian?” a strident voice called out. “I didn’t give you permission to touch that!”
Amy snapped her hand back and with wide eyes faced the stall’s owner. The male Manseerian, the ridges on his nose made more pronounced by his scowl. A shorter female stood behind him, her eyes flickering up quickly to look at Amy and then back down.
“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “I should have asked first, they’re just so lovely.”
The man’s scowl didn’t lessen with the compliment, in fact it grew harsher. “I don’t care how lovely they are, you should have asked for permission. Where’s your guardian? He should be told about this.”
“I don’t have a guardian,” Amy said, her eyes narrowing. “And I apologized.”
“You have to have a guardian!” the man shouted, his downy skin prickling. “It’s against the law to be without one!”
Amy noticed a small crowd forming around them. She also noticed that the only ones looking at her outright and with a fair amount of derision were the men, the women were looking down or to the side. They also stood at least a foot behind the men. Some had odd markings on their hands and a few had a strange crooked set to their jaws. No one met Amy’s eyes.
Oh, crap, Amy thought angrily. Thanks for telling me about the apparently legalised chauvinism, Doctor. You great prat.
“I’m new to the area,” Amy said, feeling uneasy, but determined to be calm. “I have a, a companion, but he’s on the other side of the bazaar. Honestly, no harm was meant.”
The merchant continued to scowl and seemed to waffle about what to do. The woman assisting him unfortunately chose that very moment to trip over a length of silk and sent her stumbling into the table causing a stack of handkerchiefs to fall.
The merchant whirled around and started to yell at the woman. Amy looked on with horror as he rained abuse upon her. When the merchant raised his hand to actually hit the woman, Amy acted on instinct.
“Hey! Don’t you dare!” Amy yelled, stepping forward and grabbing the man’s arm.
Every single person in the crowd gasped and then a terrible silence fell. The merchant froze and the woman who was cringing away from the expected blow opened her eyes in shock. Amy felt her heart hammering in her chest and her grip on the merchant’s arm fell away.
As the man turned to face her, fury burning in his eyes, the ridges along his nose rising like hackles, Amy merely straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
The Doctor was doing his best to concentrate on the stalls that he strolled past, but his mind was still on Amy and the distance between them. Distance he’d put there.
Glaring at a set of titanium tools he wondered if the right thing to do, the mature thing to do, would be to simply talk to her. Explain things. Things like how it was a rubbish idea for them to be anything other than mates and while the ah, sex, had been amazing and fantastic and incredible and really, really, really very good, it wasn’t a good idea.
She’d put up a protest, simply because that’s what she did, but he could talk her ‘round. Amy was a smart, bright girl; she was fully capable of seeing sense and acting appropriately when the situation called for it.
The Doctor nodded at the tool set.
“See?” he said to the wrench. “Mature and reasonable is the way to go.”
The wrench had no reply for him.
The Doctor made a face and moved on. His decision in regards to Amy made, he began to pay a bit more attention to his surroundings. Slowly a frown appeared on his face.
“Odd,” he said looking around. “Something’s off here.”
He slowed to a saunter, his eyes scanning the crowd, his mind picking up on tiny things that seemed out of place but not quite able to pin down what exactly was wrong.
Two young boys ran past him, jostling his side. Lightning fast, he reached out a hand and grabbed one of the boys by the back of his tunic.
The boy grinned up at him and cheekily apologized for running into him, his little friend grinning at the Doctor, too.
“Yes, yes, fine,” the Doctor said cutting the boy off. He plucked a familiar looking forest green cap off of the little boy’s head. “Where did you get this?”
“In the fabrics! It came off the head of a bad, bad woman,” the boy said.
“She talked back!” his friend added. “To a man!”
The Doctor looked around the marketplace and finally noticed the way the women deferred to the men in every way, from their distance to the way they hardly spoke and kept their eyes lowered. A serious unease unfurled in his stomach and began to mutate into anger as possibilities flashed behind his eyes.
“Oh, no. Oh, Amy,” the Doctor said, his fingers curling tightly into the woolen cap. He looked at the boys, who were starting to look uneasy themselves. His voice was firm and cold. “Show me.”
The stall he was taken too looked greatly disheveled: remnants of fabrics strewn about, the table knocked askew.
No sign of Amy.
The Doctor scanned the area and then strode over to the stall opposite once he noticed the seller watching him.
“What happened?” he demanded of the man. The Manseerian did his best to look intimidating, but the Doctor’s fury was palpable and the shopkeeper took a tiny step back.
“A red-haired woman dared to speak back to Margolis,” the man said. “He detained her and reported her.” In the face of the Doctor’s narrowed glare, he hurriedly added, “He followed the law! It was the woman who was in the wrong.”
“Did he touch her?” the Doctor asked quietly, her green, woollen cap still clutched in his hand.
The shopkeeper looked confused. “What?”
“Well, it’s a simple question, really. Deserves a simple answer: Did. he. touch. her?” the Doctor repeated quietly, his body thrumming with anger and his hands balling into fists.
“Well, she dared to touch him,” the shopkeeper said mildly.
The Doctor leaned forward with a menacing glare.
“He hit her face!”
The Doctor whirled around pinning his dark glare on one of the little boys. They both looked frightened, but determined.
“Old Margolis was going to correct his wife and the red-haired woman yelled at him,” the boy said quickly, his speech excited and fast. “Then old Margolis lunged at her, but she kicked him! He made a terrible sound and managed to hit her in the face. That slowed her down, so he made to hit her again, but she moved out of his way and he fell on the table!”
“Then the guards came and put the red-haired woman in bindings while old Margolis told them of her crimes,” the other boy finished up. “Then they took her away and we picked up her hat and old Margolis and his woman left.”
“Where did they take her?” the Doctor asked quietly, not even bothering to hide his fury, letting it shine through his eyes, his voice, his posture.
The two boys quailed and stared, unable to speak.
“To the Q’arveern,” the shopkeeper said. “But, I don’t know what you think you can do. Are you her guardian? They’ll make you pay a fee, especially if they’ve already performed a silencing on her.”
“A silencing?” he repeated, his nails digging into his palm, softly tearing through the wool of the cap.
“Surely you know...” the man’s voice trailed off as it became all too obvious that the Doctor didn’t know.
The Doctor’s face twisted and he set his gaze on every person nearby. “And no one thought to stop this? You watch a stranger, a person who is obviously ignorant of your ways, a, a, a, visitor to your city be taken, be struck, and no one does anything? Oh, why should I be surprised. You’re the same the universe over. Mustn’t step out of line, mustn’t interfere, mustn’t rock the almighty boat!”
The fury inside of him was a burning, boiling thing and his hearts were pounding out a rhythm that matched the force of his anger and he wanted to destroy, he wanted to tear this world apart.
He wanted Amy.
“Take me to the Q’arveern,” he said as he scanned the crowd. “Take me there now.”
Once the boys got him to the Q’arveern, they ran off and a part of the Doctor really couldn’t blame them. The fury had become a white-hot rage simmering just below his skin; he could feel the anger licking at his fingers, his palms and flickering in his skull just behind his eyes.
He strode directly towards the detention cells, his gait loose and rangy, people took one look at him and moved out of his way, because no one wants to tangle with a wolf just let loose from a cage.
The desk was manned by a thin, reedy looking man whose eyes seemed too close together, his ridges were thin and weak on his nose.
“Do you have a complaint?” he asked not even looking up as the Doctor approached.
“You have my companion. A woman with red hair,” the Doctor said. “Bring her to me.”
The clerk had the audacity to smirk. “Oh, do you mean the human? Yes, she was brought in not too long ago. A bit careless of you to misplace her, wasn’t it?”
Feeling the flames increase, the Doctor simply said, “I asked you to bring her to me.”
“Well, you’ll have to sign the release form, avowing responsibility for her,” the clerk said shuffling through the papers on his desk. He pressed a button and called into an intercom system, “Number Seven Nine Five Horax to the front, thank you. She’s certainly a handful. Accosting a merchant in plain view of everyone like that. Don’t envy you the upkeep of that one, no indeed.”
“She isn’t a pet,” the Doctor said, biting the words out. “She’s an individual who tried to help another individual, tried to do something decent and instead of being listened to, has been taken prisoner.”
“Well, she’ll know better next time, won’t she?” the clerk said still sounding bored. “We’ve already fixed her for you. We do that for free when the, what did you call it, ah yes, the individual shows too much obstinacy.”
“You did what?”
The Doctor’s tone finally made the clerk raise his head and actually look the Doctor in the eyes. Most of the bluster evaporated out of the man, as did all of the boredom.
“We, ah, we fixed her?” he said, no longer quite sure of his standing and authority over the being in front of him.
“Fixed her how?” the Doctor asked softly.
The sound of the door leading to the cells clanged open, interrupting anything the clerk may have tried to explain. A Manseerian wearing a gray uniform came forward bringing Amy with him. He had a tight grip on her upper arm and brought her straight to the desk.
“Number Seven Nine Five Horax, ready to go. This her guardian?” the guard asked the clerk.
The clerk said something, but the Doctor didn’t listen, he just looked at Amy.
Her hair was in tangles and there was an angry red mark on her right hand, as though someone had branded something into her skin. Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, but the Doctor could see no trace of actual tears. But, her face... There was bruising around her cheeks and the joints of her jaw looked swollen. Too swollen.
Feeling sick, the Doctor realised that they had essentially dislocated her jaw in order to ‘silence’ her.
The fury raged in him and his hand immediately went to his pocket to get the screwdriver, unsure of what he was going to do but whatever it was, it was going to be long and painful and not even close to being enough to make up for this. His fingers had just touched the metal of the screwdriver when he finally looked in Amy’s eyes.
All of the fury in the Doctor seemed to seep away the second he met her gaze.
She was in pain, so much pain, but she wasn’t broken. Not even close. She was angry and perhaps a bit cowed, but not in pieces.
Amy Pond was still in there. And she wanted to leave.
The Doctor nodded and turned to the clerk. “We’re leaving now.”
“You need to sign this...” His voice trailed off as the Doctor stared blankly at him. “Um, or you could just go now?”
The Doctor looked at Amy and almost reached for her uninjured hand, but from the determined look she gave him, understood that she wanted to leave under her own power.
Without a backwards glance, Amy walked stiffly past him towards the exit. The Doctor gave the clerk and the guard one last assessing look and then he followed her out.
They finally reached the outskirts of the city and Amy stopped walking. The Doctor faced her. Tears had finally started to stream down her face and the colour was draining from her face, leaving her looking pale and wan. Her hand was beginning to swell around the marks and her jaw. Oh, her jaw.
"'m not sorry," she forced out between her lips, meeting his eyes. The pain of talking causing fresh tears, but anger seemed to override it.
"Amy, don't—
"'m not," she repeated glaring at him.
He nodded. "I know. I know you're not."
"I’d do it again in a heartbeat," she continued.
"Yes. You would."
Her lower lip trembled as she held her head up high. "It hurts."
He stepped forward and silently, smoothly picked her up. Then he turned to walk once again towards the TARDIS. At first she was stiff in his arms, but she relaxed and buried her face in his neck. Her tears were warm on his skin and he tightened his jaw as he formed a plan.
1) Get her to the infirmary and fix her jaw.
2) Do anything she asked of him.
3) Decide whether or not he levelled this city to the ground.
The medical bay of the TARDIS was quiet except for the Doctor moving about gathering bits of medical equipment. The screwdriver only went so far, Amy supposed.
The TARDIS herself seemed to feel the need for silence as well, as the usual soft hum of vibration felt lower than usual. Comforting, but still quiet.
Amy shifted on the small bed and winced as the pain in her hand flared, the wincing, of course, made the pain in her jaw worse. She closed her eyes and willed the pain to just stop already. It didn’t, but it lessened as she breathed in and out. She opened her eyes. The room really was too quiet.
“Talk,” she said through her teeth. The Doctor whirled around to look at her.
“Talk? About what?” he asked.
Amy rolled her eyes. “Anything,” she said, hating the way her voice sounded so weak and hoarse.
“Oh, okay. I’m very good at talking about anything,” he said rolling a tray table with instruments over to the bed. “Always have been. There’s always so much anything to go around.”
He picked up the sonic screwdriver and pointed it at one of the instruments, it whirred and he looked pleased. “Actually, I was thinking about something, as opposed to anything, and I was initially afraid that I picked the wrong date to visit Manseeria. I knew they’d had some troubles in the past, but I thought I had the dates right.”
He put a hand on her cheek and gently tilted her face to the right. “This is going to put things back where they belong, you shouldn’t feel a thing,” he said holding a long piece of metal with a flat edge to her jaw. Amy felt the cool metal against her skin and heard a tiny bring. Her jaw felt looser instantly.
“As I was saying,” he said as he tilted her head to the left and put the device up against that side of her jaw. “I checked and I did enter in the right dates. We should have landed in the year 4331. However, we actually landed in the year 4313. I’ll have to check what went wrong there.”
The Doctor put the device down and cradled her face in his hands and gently put pressure on her jaw to see if it opened. Amy slowly opened her mouth. It felt stiff and sore and there were still tiny bolts of pain shooting through her nerves, but it opened.
The Doctor smiled. He opened his mouth to say something but he paused, looked down at her hand and with a sigh seemed to deflate. “Oh, Amy. I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “It’s okay.”
“It really isn’t,” he said meeting her eyes. “It really, really isn’t.”
They stared at one another for a few minutes.
Then the Doctor sighed again and picked up her hand. He grabbed another device and said, “This will clear those marks right up, no trace of a scar, as well as disinfect and--”
“Leave the marks,” Amy said, her jaw now flexing, but her voice was still hoarse.
He looked up and frowned. “What? Amy--”
“I said leave them,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes. The Doctor frowned and looked down at her hand and the marks arranged with three lines running horizontally just above her knuckles and another line running across them.
“Amy--,” he said sounding confused.
“You have your way of keeping score and I have mine,” she said firmly. “You can heal it, but leave the scars.”
The Doctor studied her face, obviously hoping she’d change her mind, but she stared back at him, not wavering an inch. She needed to do this.
Finally, he nodded and scanned the device over her hand, disinfecting and taking the angry redness away. The four lines remained intact and clear on her hand.
The Doctor tried to get her to go to bed, to rest, and let the internal healing process take its course. But, Amy remained adamant.
“You said it got better,” she told him walking ahead of him down the hallway to the console room. “Show me better.”
She can tell that he really doesn’t want to take her anywhere except maybe back to bed and not in a fun, sexy-times way. Amy merely crossed her arms while she stared him down, deliberately letting the hand with the lines be displayed a bit too prominently to be anything be deliberate. He scrunched up his face and pointed a finger at her, which was his sign that she’d won this round and he’s given in.
Amy grabbed hold of the rail, while he flipped a few switches and spun a dial or two. She thought he might have muttered something to the TARDIS, but she wasn’t totally sure.
With the familiar wheeze and bump, they came to a stop.
Giving Amy one last glance, the Doctor went to the door and opened it. Amy followed him outside.
They had parked on the same hill and the bazaar looked no different from their previous trip. Amy could still smell sandalwood in the air and she looked apprehensively at the Doctor.
"It's the right date," he said. "I'm sure of it."
Amy simply looked back at the bazaar and then took off down the hill, her stride determined and her head held high.
There were tiny differences that Amy noticed right away. For one, women were selling things. Lifting their voices and haggling with the public with an air of confidence. They met people's eyes. Some still had marks on their hands, marks that matched her own, but no one appeared to have problems with their jaws.
"What happened?" Amy asked the Doctor as they walked along the aisles, taking in the changes.
"Change," he said. "Evolution, revolution, whatever you want to call it. Beings can't stay in the same rut forever and eventually change has to come."
Amy frowned and turned down another aisle, heading to where she'd stopped the merchant from striking the woman. She stood off to the side and watched the current occupants sell their fabrics.
The couple were young and eager for business. The woman smiled and showed customer a lovely scarf of green and gold, while the man showed another customer a bolt of satin.
"Maybe you didn't get the date wrong," she said. "Maybe I was supposed to come here."
"You think?" the Doctor asked, cocking his head to the side. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I feel like this is how it should have been the first time I came here," she said slowly. "This is right. What happened earlier was wrong." She made a face. "Am I mad?"
"Oh, absolutely," he said. "But not about this. Maybe you were supposed to come here. Maybe you were supposed to simply come here and be Amy Pond in a time that wasn't ready for Amy Pond in order to get it ready for Amy Pond."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, that made a kind of sense that it really shouldn't have."
"Sorry. I don't know how else to put it," he said.
Amy nodded and reached over to take his hand. They watched the couple selling and talking for a few more minutes.
Finally, she turned and said, "I'm tired."
"So am I," he said.
They turned and left the bazaar.
Once they got back inside the TARDIS, Amy didn’t say anything, just trailed her hand over the console and headed up the ramp leading to her room.
The Doctor sighed and watched her go. The lights in the room dimmed and he piloted the TARDIS into the vortex. Then he bowed his head and closed his eyes. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and grimaced. He pulled out Amy’s green woollen cap. It had great big gouges in the pattern from where his hands had fisted it too tightly and it was clearly out of shape. He sat it on the console and sighed again.
He walked out of the console room, removing his jacket as he went. Hardly knowing what he was about, he soon found himself in front of Amy’s bedroom door.
It was ajar.
The Doctor stared at the dark space between the door and the wall, not daring to think or speak.
“Get in here, you giant idiot,” eventually came from the darkened room.
He pushed the door open and entered her room. Amy was lying down on her bed on her side, facing away from the door. Silently, she reached behind her and held up the duvet, a clear invitation to join her.
The Doctor kicked his boots off and after a slight hesitation, removed his bow-tie and braces. Then he climbed onto the bed and scooted up behind her. She’d changed into her favourite white cotton nightdress and she smelled like she’d had a shower and her hair was slightly damp.
He buried his nose in her hair and slid his arm around her waist. She laid her arm over his and laced their fingers together.
The Doctor counted fifty-six of her heartbeats and on the fifty-seventh, she spoke.
"They weren't mean," she said. "Well, they were. But, they weren't sadistic. It wasn't a torture chamber or the Spanish Inquisition." She shifted on her side and he tightened his grip. "Maybe it would have been better if it had been," she continued. "It looked like any old surgery back home, with faded yellow walls and linoleum floors. And they…"
She took a deep breath.
"They were indifferent," she said. "Like it was any other day and I was just in there for a root canal. They just—did it and took me to a cell. Like I wasn't anything, like I was nothing important. Like I was nothing at all."
Amy turned her head a little so that it faced the ceiling. "I'm not nothing," she told the Doctor and the universe at large.
"No," the Doctor said. "You are the absolute opposite of nothing."
She kept her head turned and he watched her profile. Eventually, she turned back and settled into his embrace.
He counted another seventy-six heartbeats until she spoke again.
"It got weird, didn't it?" she asked. "With us, I mean."
The Doctor nodded. "Yeah, it did." He pulled her closer and pressed his lips to her neck. "Sorry about that," he murmured into her skin.
"S'okay," she said through a yawn. "I just missed you, is all."
"I missed you, too," he said.
"Of course you did," she told him. "I'm a highly missable person."
He smiled, letting her feel the curve of his lips on her skin.
“Sleep,” she said eventually. “Then take me somewhere with a lot of trees and sunlight."
“Deal,” he said his face still immersed in her hair.
"And if you're very lucky, I might let you kiss me,” she said her voice heavy with exhaustion.
"Amelia," he breathed out.
"Sleep," she instructed again, just before she drifted off. "Sleep and hold me."
So he did.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: There's a Heartbreak Beat
Ship: Eleven/Amy
Author:
seren_ccdWord Count: 5,966
Rating: PG-15, warnings for violence and disturbing topics regarding women, while I don't show anything explicit, it could be disturbing for some. PM me if you have any issues or questions.
Disclaimer: They are not mine. 'Tis a pity, really. The title of the story and the series is from the song Heartbreak Beat by the Psychedelic Furs.
A/N: Many, many thanks to my fantastic beta
fringedweller.This story is for
avarill for her EXTREMELY generous donation to help_queensland. I hope you like it!!! I do apologise for the delay in getting this next bit up. Life has an awful way of interrupting things.Summary: Things are tense onboard the TARDIS. A quick trip to a bazaar doesn't really help.
Sequel to All Rather Obligatory, I'm a Heartbreak Beat and We've Got the Radio On, Playin' All Night Long and And the Beat....
Previously--
"I was going to quit," he says. He moves away to adjust something on the other side of the panel.
"What?"
"Quit. Leave the business."
"Why?" Amy looks baffled and sort of sad.
"Didn't want you to get hurt," the Doctor says lightly. "So! Anyway! What next?"
"Wait, you were going to stop because of me?" she asks walking over to him, but stopping a foot away.
"Yes," he says quickly. "But that was then and it was only in our heads and has absolutely no bearing whatsoever in reality because our subconsciouses are always far more alarmist than they should be. Right?"
"Right," Amy says. "So, we're going to just... forget this happened?"
The image of Amy lying on her bed cheerfully chatting to him while he cooks her breakfast in a tiny flat that doesn't exist flashes in his mind.
"Yep," he says. "Completely forgotten."
To say that things had been a little tense on board the TARDIS was something of an understatement.
While the running for their lives and saving of people hadn’t stopped, the Doctor was well aware that something was missing. Namely the way Amy touched him. The way she was...guarded. Mad, impossible Amy Pond was guarded. Around him!
And oh, wasn’t it just stupid to get all bent out of shape over the fact that she hadn’t so much as given him a flirtatious look or teased him or, or, or held his hand in what felt like weeks? And as for the incredible, cheerful sex they’d been having? Yeah. None of that either.
It was beyond stupid. It was silly.
And it was just as well, really, he told himself as he rewired an old bit of tech. What was it you used to say about humans? Wither and die. So, you see? All for the best.
Except it wasn’t and the lack of spark in Amy’s eyes when she smiled stabbed into his hearts.
In fact the stabbing into his hearts had even taken on a metallic pinging sound that grated his ears and vibrated in his hand and made him cringe.
“What are you doing?”
Amy’s voice cut through his haze and the pinging noise he thought was stabbing through his heart turned out to be the piece of tech he’d been fiddling with. Amy’s voice startled him and with one last hard tap, the bit of tech broke in half.
He stared at the broken tool and said, “Oh, ah, nothing? I’m doing nothing.”
With a quick rise and spin, he stood up to face Amy who was looking at him with one eyebrow raised and a look of disbelief on her face.
“Nothing, hunh?” she said. She nodded at the broken tool in his hands. “Did you just break that?”
The Doctor looked down at his hands and frowned. “Yes, I do believe I did. Well. Shame. I liked that thing.”
“What did it do?”
“Oh, this and that,” he said. “Plus it made a lovely beeping sound from time to time. Very hard to find, this thing is. Ooh! Oh, but that’s perfect!”
He smiled happily at Amy and raised his hands up in glee. “How do you feel about bazaars?”
She tilted her head and said, “What kind of bazaar? Because if it’s only going to have more of-” she pointed at the tool “-that kind of stuff, I’ll just go for a swim.”
“No, no!” he said shoving the broken bits of metal into his pockets. “It’s an everything kind of bazaar. It’s the Manseerian Bazaar. The Manseers have six fingers on each hand! Which helps them make all sorts of intricate things, tools, jewelry, clothes - oh, you should see them weave on their looms! Ooh! Good word that, loom. Makes one feel all-”
“Looney?” Amy supplied with a half smile.
“Yes!” The Doctor grinned at her and she returned the grin briefly, before looking away. He felt that stabbing in his hearts, but whirled around and started to pilot the TARDIS towards Manseeria, in the year 4331.
In no time at all, the TARDIS came to a stop and the Doctor headed towards the door. He did a quick double take at Amy’s outfit as she adjusted her jacket and scarf.
“You’re wearing a hat,” he said.
“I’m wearing a cap,” she corrected. “I found it in the wardrobe. I think it suits me.”
The cap was knitted in a dark forest green with a small knitted flower embellishment that rested just above her ear. The green made her ginger hair stand out and she was quite right, it suited her very well.
“I like it,” he said opening the door. “I wonder if--”
“No,” Amy said flatly.
“What?”
“You can’t borrow it.”
“But, it’s cool!” he said as he held the door open for her
“Yeah, on me,” she said sweeping past. “You couldn’t possibly pull it off.”
He locked the door and then came to stand next to her and said in a low voice, “That sounds like a challenge, Amelia Pond.”
The sound of his voice so near to her brought memories of closeness crashing to the front of her mind, some real (next to the pool in the library, on the console, in that big, soft bed, laughing, caressing, his hands, his mouth on her, focused solely on her...) and some she knew were a result of their forced hallucinations. She shivered none-the-less. And she knew he saw it. She bit her lip and just as his fingers twitched and made to reach for her hand, she moved away. Looking around, she asked, “So, where are we?”
The Doctor suppressed a sigh and said, “Amy Pond, I give you Manseeria!”
With an expansive wave of his hand, he indicated the city below them. The TARDIS was parked on a slight grassy hill just above a city made out of rings of brightly coloured tents that circled a main stone building that stood five stories high.
Hints of spice and something not unlike sandalwood wafted on the breeze and Amy took a deep breath, filling her lungs with new air.
“Well, you promised me six-fingered people and clothes,” she said giving him a quick smile. “Let’s go.”
The smile he gave her was bright and yet, somewhat cautious and she knew it was her doing, but... Oh, heck.
She always did this. The words she said to him on the Starship UK came back to her:
“Have you ever run away from something because you were scared? Or not ready? Or just because you could?”
Because, true to form: Amy Pond was running away. Running fast and scared away from the feelings that she’d had when they thought they were living together as two humans. Running away from the fact that in some secret place deep down in the Doctor’s psyche, he would be willing to give up so much to keep her safe.
This knowledge scared her. A lot.
What scared her even more was the fact that she herself was prepared to give up a great deal for him in return.
As they silently walked past the large gates marking the entrance to the bazaar, none of their usual chatting and teasing present, Amy wondered what in the world she was going to do.
Retail therapy, she thought to herself, her eyes caught by all the magnificent colours and patterns on display. Shop ‘til you drop: that’s the thing.
The stalls were filled with all sorts of goods, in all manner of shapes, sizes and uses. There were stalls filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, metalwork and even leatherwork. Everything had intricate patterns etched or woven into the materials.
The Manseerians themselves were fascinating to look at as well, although Amy did her best not to stare. They had downy, orange skin that looked soft to the touch and three ridges on the bridge of their noses. Plus, the aforementioned six fingers. Their voices were firm and clear as they called out the names of their wares to the passing punters.
“The bits I need are on the other side, then two rights, a left and then another right,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “Or was it two lefts and then a right? Either way, it’s this way.”
“Nope,” Amy said shaking her head. “I’m for the scarves which look like they’re this way. Go get your tech and be careful you don’t break anything, because it looks like you’d be made to buy it, and find me later.”
She flashed him a quick grin and turned on her heel, leaving him staring after her with a confused expression.
He recovered enough to call out, “Just don’t cause any trouble, Pond! No revolutions, do you hear?”
Amy lifted her hand in a facsimile of a wave and turned down a row of lined with scarves and trinkets. She stopped in front of one stall selling glass vials filled with perfumes. Amy leaned forward and smiled when she recognized the scent of lavender mixed with vanilla. She opened her mouth to ask the seller a question, but he turned his back on her and gave all his attention to another customer.
She frowned and then shrugged her shoulders. Apparently rudeness was a universal constant.
Amy wandered through the busy market and came to a halt in front of a stand filled to the brim with scarves of such vibrant colours and patterns. She reached out a hand and the fabric was wonderfully soft to the touch.
“Hey! Where’s your guardian?” a strident voice called out. “I didn’t give you permission to touch that!”
Amy snapped her hand back and with wide eyes faced the stall’s owner. The male Manseerian, the ridges on his nose made more pronounced by his scowl. A shorter female stood behind him, her eyes flickering up quickly to look at Amy and then back down.
“I’m sorry,” Amy said. “I should have asked first, they’re just so lovely.”
The man’s scowl didn’t lessen with the compliment, in fact it grew harsher. “I don’t care how lovely they are, you should have asked for permission. Where’s your guardian? He should be told about this.”
“I don’t have a guardian,” Amy said, her eyes narrowing. “And I apologized.”
“You have to have a guardian!” the man shouted, his downy skin prickling. “It’s against the law to be without one!”
Amy noticed a small crowd forming around them. She also noticed that the only ones looking at her outright and with a fair amount of derision were the men, the women were looking down or to the side. They also stood at least a foot behind the men. Some had odd markings on their hands and a few had a strange crooked set to their jaws. No one met Amy’s eyes.
Oh, crap, Amy thought angrily. Thanks for telling me about the apparently legalised chauvinism, Doctor. You great prat.
“I’m new to the area,” Amy said, feeling uneasy, but determined to be calm. “I have a, a companion, but he’s on the other side of the bazaar. Honestly, no harm was meant.”
The merchant continued to scowl and seemed to waffle about what to do. The woman assisting him unfortunately chose that very moment to trip over a length of silk and sent her stumbling into the table causing a stack of handkerchiefs to fall.
The merchant whirled around and started to yell at the woman. Amy looked on with horror as he rained abuse upon her. When the merchant raised his hand to actually hit the woman, Amy acted on instinct.
“Hey! Don’t you dare!” Amy yelled, stepping forward and grabbing the man’s arm.
Every single person in the crowd gasped and then a terrible silence fell. The merchant froze and the woman who was cringing away from the expected blow opened her eyes in shock. Amy felt her heart hammering in her chest and her grip on the merchant’s arm fell away.
As the man turned to face her, fury burning in his eyes, the ridges along his nose rising like hackles, Amy merely straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
The Doctor was doing his best to concentrate on the stalls that he strolled past, but his mind was still on Amy and the distance between them. Distance he’d put there.
Glaring at a set of titanium tools he wondered if the right thing to do, the mature thing to do, would be to simply talk to her. Explain things. Things like how it was a rubbish idea for them to be anything other than mates and while the ah, sex, had been amazing and fantastic and incredible and really, really, really very good, it wasn’t a good idea.
She’d put up a protest, simply because that’s what she did, but he could talk her ‘round. Amy was a smart, bright girl; she was fully capable of seeing sense and acting appropriately when the situation called for it.
The Doctor nodded at the tool set.
“See?” he said to the wrench. “Mature and reasonable is the way to go.”
The wrench had no reply for him.
The Doctor made a face and moved on. His decision in regards to Amy made, he began to pay a bit more attention to his surroundings. Slowly a frown appeared on his face.
“Odd,” he said looking around. “Something’s off here.”
He slowed to a saunter, his eyes scanning the crowd, his mind picking up on tiny things that seemed out of place but not quite able to pin down what exactly was wrong.
Two young boys ran past him, jostling his side. Lightning fast, he reached out a hand and grabbed one of the boys by the back of his tunic.
The boy grinned up at him and cheekily apologized for running into him, his little friend grinning at the Doctor, too.
“Yes, yes, fine,” the Doctor said cutting the boy off. He plucked a familiar looking forest green cap off of the little boy’s head. “Where did you get this?”
“In the fabrics! It came off the head of a bad, bad woman,” the boy said.
“She talked back!” his friend added. “To a man!”
The Doctor looked around the marketplace and finally noticed the way the women deferred to the men in every way, from their distance to the way they hardly spoke and kept their eyes lowered. A serious unease unfurled in his stomach and began to mutate into anger as possibilities flashed behind his eyes.
“Oh, no. Oh, Amy,” the Doctor said, his fingers curling tightly into the woolen cap. He looked at the boys, who were starting to look uneasy themselves. His voice was firm and cold. “Show me.”
The stall he was taken too looked greatly disheveled: remnants of fabrics strewn about, the table knocked askew.
No sign of Amy.
The Doctor scanned the area and then strode over to the stall opposite once he noticed the seller watching him.
“What happened?” he demanded of the man. The Manseerian did his best to look intimidating, but the Doctor’s fury was palpable and the shopkeeper took a tiny step back.
“A red-haired woman dared to speak back to Margolis,” the man said. “He detained her and reported her.” In the face of the Doctor’s narrowed glare, he hurriedly added, “He followed the law! It was the woman who was in the wrong.”
“Did he touch her?” the Doctor asked quietly, her green, woollen cap still clutched in his hand.
The shopkeeper looked confused. “What?”
“Well, it’s a simple question, really. Deserves a simple answer: Did. he. touch. her?” the Doctor repeated quietly, his body thrumming with anger and his hands balling into fists.
“Well, she dared to touch him,” the shopkeeper said mildly.
The Doctor leaned forward with a menacing glare.
“He hit her face!”
The Doctor whirled around pinning his dark glare on one of the little boys. They both looked frightened, but determined.
“Old Margolis was going to correct his wife and the red-haired woman yelled at him,” the boy said quickly, his speech excited and fast. “Then old Margolis lunged at her, but she kicked him! He made a terrible sound and managed to hit her in the face. That slowed her down, so he made to hit her again, but she moved out of his way and he fell on the table!”
“Then the guards came and put the red-haired woman in bindings while old Margolis told them of her crimes,” the other boy finished up. “Then they took her away and we picked up her hat and old Margolis and his woman left.”
“Where did they take her?” the Doctor asked quietly, not even bothering to hide his fury, letting it shine through his eyes, his voice, his posture.
The two boys quailed and stared, unable to speak.
“To the Q’arveern,” the shopkeeper said. “But, I don’t know what you think you can do. Are you her guardian? They’ll make you pay a fee, especially if they’ve already performed a silencing on her.”
“A silencing?” he repeated, his nails digging into his palm, softly tearing through the wool of the cap.
“Surely you know...” the man’s voice trailed off as it became all too obvious that the Doctor didn’t know.
The Doctor’s face twisted and he set his gaze on every person nearby. “And no one thought to stop this? You watch a stranger, a person who is obviously ignorant of your ways, a, a, a, visitor to your city be taken, be struck, and no one does anything? Oh, why should I be surprised. You’re the same the universe over. Mustn’t step out of line, mustn’t interfere, mustn’t rock the almighty boat!”
The fury inside of him was a burning, boiling thing and his hearts were pounding out a rhythm that matched the force of his anger and he wanted to destroy, he wanted to tear this world apart.
He wanted Amy.
“Take me to the Q’arveern,” he said as he scanned the crowd. “Take me there now.”
Once the boys got him to the Q’arveern, they ran off and a part of the Doctor really couldn’t blame them. The fury had become a white-hot rage simmering just below his skin; he could feel the anger licking at his fingers, his palms and flickering in his skull just behind his eyes.
He strode directly towards the detention cells, his gait loose and rangy, people took one look at him and moved out of his way, because no one wants to tangle with a wolf just let loose from a cage.
The desk was manned by a thin, reedy looking man whose eyes seemed too close together, his ridges were thin and weak on his nose.
“Do you have a complaint?” he asked not even looking up as the Doctor approached.
“You have my companion. A woman with red hair,” the Doctor said. “Bring her to me.”
The clerk had the audacity to smirk. “Oh, do you mean the human? Yes, she was brought in not too long ago. A bit careless of you to misplace her, wasn’t it?”
Feeling the flames increase, the Doctor simply said, “I asked you to bring her to me.”
“Well, you’ll have to sign the release form, avowing responsibility for her,” the clerk said shuffling through the papers on his desk. He pressed a button and called into an intercom system, “Number Seven Nine Five Horax to the front, thank you. She’s certainly a handful. Accosting a merchant in plain view of everyone like that. Don’t envy you the upkeep of that one, no indeed.”
“She isn’t a pet,” the Doctor said, biting the words out. “She’s an individual who tried to help another individual, tried to do something decent and instead of being listened to, has been taken prisoner.”
“Well, she’ll know better next time, won’t she?” the clerk said still sounding bored. “We’ve already fixed her for you. We do that for free when the, what did you call it, ah yes, the individual shows too much obstinacy.”
“You did what?”
The Doctor’s tone finally made the clerk raise his head and actually look the Doctor in the eyes. Most of the bluster evaporated out of the man, as did all of the boredom.
“We, ah, we fixed her?” he said, no longer quite sure of his standing and authority over the being in front of him.
“Fixed her how?” the Doctor asked softly.
The sound of the door leading to the cells clanged open, interrupting anything the clerk may have tried to explain. A Manseerian wearing a gray uniform came forward bringing Amy with him. He had a tight grip on her upper arm and brought her straight to the desk.
“Number Seven Nine Five Horax, ready to go. This her guardian?” the guard asked the clerk.
The clerk said something, but the Doctor didn’t listen, he just looked at Amy.
Her hair was in tangles and there was an angry red mark on her right hand, as though someone had branded something into her skin. Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, but the Doctor could see no trace of actual tears. But, her face... There was bruising around her cheeks and the joints of her jaw looked swollen. Too swollen.
Feeling sick, the Doctor realised that they had essentially dislocated her jaw in order to ‘silence’ her.
The fury raged in him and his hand immediately went to his pocket to get the screwdriver, unsure of what he was going to do but whatever it was, it was going to be long and painful and not even close to being enough to make up for this. His fingers had just touched the metal of the screwdriver when he finally looked in Amy’s eyes.
All of the fury in the Doctor seemed to seep away the second he met her gaze.
She was in pain, so much pain, but she wasn’t broken. Not even close. She was angry and perhaps a bit cowed, but not in pieces.
Amy Pond was still in there. And she wanted to leave.
The Doctor nodded and turned to the clerk. “We’re leaving now.”
“You need to sign this...” His voice trailed off as the Doctor stared blankly at him. “Um, or you could just go now?”
The Doctor looked at Amy and almost reached for her uninjured hand, but from the determined look she gave him, understood that she wanted to leave under her own power.
Without a backwards glance, Amy walked stiffly past him towards the exit. The Doctor gave the clerk and the guard one last assessing look and then he followed her out.
They finally reached the outskirts of the city and Amy stopped walking. The Doctor faced her. Tears had finally started to stream down her face and the colour was draining from her face, leaving her looking pale and wan. Her hand was beginning to swell around the marks and her jaw. Oh, her jaw.
"'m not sorry," she forced out between her lips, meeting his eyes. The pain of talking causing fresh tears, but anger seemed to override it.
"Amy, don't—
"'m not," she repeated glaring at him.
He nodded. "I know. I know you're not."
"I’d do it again in a heartbeat," she continued.
"Yes. You would."
Her lower lip trembled as she held her head up high. "It hurts."
He stepped forward and silently, smoothly picked her up. Then he turned to walk once again towards the TARDIS. At first she was stiff in his arms, but she relaxed and buried her face in his neck. Her tears were warm on his skin and he tightened his jaw as he formed a plan.
1) Get her to the infirmary and fix her jaw.
2) Do anything she asked of him.
3) Decide whether or not he levelled this city to the ground.
The medical bay of the TARDIS was quiet except for the Doctor moving about gathering bits of medical equipment. The screwdriver only went so far, Amy supposed.
The TARDIS herself seemed to feel the need for silence as well, as the usual soft hum of vibration felt lower than usual. Comforting, but still quiet.
Amy shifted on the small bed and winced as the pain in her hand flared, the wincing, of course, made the pain in her jaw worse. She closed her eyes and willed the pain to just stop already. It didn’t, but it lessened as she breathed in and out. She opened her eyes. The room really was too quiet.
“Talk,” she said through her teeth. The Doctor whirled around to look at her.
“Talk? About what?” he asked.
Amy rolled her eyes. “Anything,” she said, hating the way her voice sounded so weak and hoarse.
“Oh, okay. I’m very good at talking about anything,” he said rolling a tray table with instruments over to the bed. “Always have been. There’s always so much anything to go around.”
He picked up the sonic screwdriver and pointed it at one of the instruments, it whirred and he looked pleased. “Actually, I was thinking about something, as opposed to anything, and I was initially afraid that I picked the wrong date to visit Manseeria. I knew they’d had some troubles in the past, but I thought I had the dates right.”
He put a hand on her cheek and gently tilted her face to the right. “This is going to put things back where they belong, you shouldn’t feel a thing,” he said holding a long piece of metal with a flat edge to her jaw. Amy felt the cool metal against her skin and heard a tiny bring. Her jaw felt looser instantly.
“As I was saying,” he said as he tilted her head to the left and put the device up against that side of her jaw. “I checked and I did enter in the right dates. We should have landed in the year 4331. However, we actually landed in the year 4313. I’ll have to check what went wrong there.”
The Doctor put the device down and cradled her face in his hands and gently put pressure on her jaw to see if it opened. Amy slowly opened her mouth. It felt stiff and sore and there were still tiny bolts of pain shooting through her nerves, but it opened.
The Doctor smiled. He opened his mouth to say something but he paused, looked down at her hand and with a sigh seemed to deflate. “Oh, Amy. I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “It’s okay.”
“It really isn’t,” he said meeting her eyes. “It really, really isn’t.”
They stared at one another for a few minutes.
Then the Doctor sighed again and picked up her hand. He grabbed another device and said, “This will clear those marks right up, no trace of a scar, as well as disinfect and--”
“Leave the marks,” Amy said, her jaw now flexing, but her voice was still hoarse.
He looked up and frowned. “What? Amy--”
“I said leave them,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes. The Doctor frowned and looked down at her hand and the marks arranged with three lines running horizontally just above her knuckles and another line running across them.
“Amy--,” he said sounding confused.
“You have your way of keeping score and I have mine,” she said firmly. “You can heal it, but leave the scars.”
The Doctor studied her face, obviously hoping she’d change her mind, but she stared back at him, not wavering an inch. She needed to do this.
Finally, he nodded and scanned the device over her hand, disinfecting and taking the angry redness away. The four lines remained intact and clear on her hand.
The Doctor tried to get her to go to bed, to rest, and let the internal healing process take its course. But, Amy remained adamant.
“You said it got better,” she told him walking ahead of him down the hallway to the console room. “Show me better.”
She can tell that he really doesn’t want to take her anywhere except maybe back to bed and not in a fun, sexy-times way. Amy merely crossed her arms while she stared him down, deliberately letting the hand with the lines be displayed a bit too prominently to be anything be deliberate. He scrunched up his face and pointed a finger at her, which was his sign that she’d won this round and he’s given in.
Amy grabbed hold of the rail, while he flipped a few switches and spun a dial or two. She thought he might have muttered something to the TARDIS, but she wasn’t totally sure.
With the familiar wheeze and bump, they came to a stop.
Giving Amy one last glance, the Doctor went to the door and opened it. Amy followed him outside.
They had parked on the same hill and the bazaar looked no different from their previous trip. Amy could still smell sandalwood in the air and she looked apprehensively at the Doctor.
"It's the right date," he said. "I'm sure of it."
Amy simply looked back at the bazaar and then took off down the hill, her stride determined and her head held high.
There were tiny differences that Amy noticed right away. For one, women were selling things. Lifting their voices and haggling with the public with an air of confidence. They met people's eyes. Some still had marks on their hands, marks that matched her own, but no one appeared to have problems with their jaws.
"What happened?" Amy asked the Doctor as they walked along the aisles, taking in the changes.
"Change," he said. "Evolution, revolution, whatever you want to call it. Beings can't stay in the same rut forever and eventually change has to come."
Amy frowned and turned down another aisle, heading to where she'd stopped the merchant from striking the woman. She stood off to the side and watched the current occupants sell their fabrics.
The couple were young and eager for business. The woman smiled and showed customer a lovely scarf of green and gold, while the man showed another customer a bolt of satin.
"Maybe you didn't get the date wrong," she said. "Maybe I was supposed to come here."
"You think?" the Doctor asked, cocking his head to the side. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I feel like this is how it should have been the first time I came here," she said slowly. "This is right. What happened earlier was wrong." She made a face. "Am I mad?"
"Oh, absolutely," he said. "But not about this. Maybe you were supposed to come here. Maybe you were supposed to simply come here and be Amy Pond in a time that wasn't ready for Amy Pond in order to get it ready for Amy Pond."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, that made a kind of sense that it really shouldn't have."
"Sorry. I don't know how else to put it," he said.
Amy nodded and reached over to take his hand. They watched the couple selling and talking for a few more minutes.
Finally, she turned and said, "I'm tired."
"So am I," he said.
They turned and left the bazaar.
Once they got back inside the TARDIS, Amy didn’t say anything, just trailed her hand over the console and headed up the ramp leading to her room.
The Doctor sighed and watched her go. The lights in the room dimmed and he piloted the TARDIS into the vortex. Then he bowed his head and closed his eyes. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and grimaced. He pulled out Amy’s green woollen cap. It had great big gouges in the pattern from where his hands had fisted it too tightly and it was clearly out of shape. He sat it on the console and sighed again.
He walked out of the console room, removing his jacket as he went. Hardly knowing what he was about, he soon found himself in front of Amy’s bedroom door.
It was ajar.
The Doctor stared at the dark space between the door and the wall, not daring to think or speak.
“Get in here, you giant idiot,” eventually came from the darkened room.
He pushed the door open and entered her room. Amy was lying down on her bed on her side, facing away from the door. Silently, she reached behind her and held up the duvet, a clear invitation to join her.
The Doctor kicked his boots off and after a slight hesitation, removed his bow-tie and braces. Then he climbed onto the bed and scooted up behind her. She’d changed into her favourite white cotton nightdress and she smelled like she’d had a shower and her hair was slightly damp.
He buried his nose in her hair and slid his arm around her waist. She laid her arm over his and laced their fingers together.
The Doctor counted fifty-six of her heartbeats and on the fifty-seventh, she spoke.
"They weren't mean," she said. "Well, they were. But, they weren't sadistic. It wasn't a torture chamber or the Spanish Inquisition." She shifted on her side and he tightened his grip. "Maybe it would have been better if it had been," she continued. "It looked like any old surgery back home, with faded yellow walls and linoleum floors. And they…"
She took a deep breath.
"They were indifferent," she said. "Like it was any other day and I was just in there for a root canal. They just—did it and took me to a cell. Like I wasn't anything, like I was nothing important. Like I was nothing at all."
Amy turned her head a little so that it faced the ceiling. "I'm not nothing," she told the Doctor and the universe at large.
"No," the Doctor said. "You are the absolute opposite of nothing."
She kept her head turned and he watched her profile. Eventually, she turned back and settled into his embrace.
He counted another seventy-six heartbeats until she spoke again.
"It got weird, didn't it?" she asked. "With us, I mean."
The Doctor nodded. "Yeah, it did." He pulled her closer and pressed his lips to her neck. "Sorry about that," he murmured into her skin.
"S'okay," she said through a yawn. "I just missed you, is all."
"I missed you, too," he said.
"Of course you did," she told him. "I'm a highly missable person."
He smiled, letting her feel the curve of his lips on her skin.
“Sleep,” she said eventually. “Then take me somewhere with a lot of trees and sunlight."
“Deal,” he said his face still immersed in her hair.
"And if you're very lucky, I might let you kiss me,” she said her voice heavy with exhaustion.
"Amelia," he breathed out.
"Sleep," she instructed again, just before she drifted off. "Sleep and hold me."
So he did.