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seren_ccdTitle: And the Beat...
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: 3344
Rating: Adult, M, R, not for the kids!
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 is slightly different to the others in the series and can definitely be read on it's own.
Summary: This is the story of when John met Amy.
Sequel to All Rather Obligatory, I'm a Heartbreak Beat and We've Got the Radio On, and Playin' All Night Long.
The year is 1973. The UK enters the European Economic Community, the last American soldier leaves Vietnam and David Bowie retires Ziggy Stardust.
The pub is dingy and the wallpaper hasn't been replaced since before the war, but the drinks are reasonable. Dusty Springfield is on the jukebox singing about her preacher man while the smoke from a recently lit cigarette drifts in the air.
John's seated at a table in the back, surrounded by his crew when he sees her. Red hair, scarlet, really, and all sass and sharp looks from her position behind the bar. Her lips are full and look wicked and while he can't see her legs, he's betting they're amazing. She's slinging pints like a pro and not giving any of the boys from the local footie club a chance to give her a follow-up line to the first one she shot down cold.
He's seen enough. Roughly running a hand through his fringe, he stands up and makes his way over to the bar, propping himself up on an elbow at the corner.
She catches his eye and there must be something in his gaze, because she does a double-take and gives him a once over. Then she smirks a little and goes back to the ale in front of her.
After she's sent off the last bloke, she's standing in front of him. "What can I get you?"
"Your name," he says.
Her eyes narrow and she gives him a look that, honest to God, would make a lesser man shrivel up. "I'm sorry," she says, her glare not wavering in the slightest. "We don't appear to have that on tap. Try again."
"How about a pint of lager, then," he says.
"Which one?"
"Surprise me."
"Dangerous thing to say to a barmaid," she says, but he sees a hint of a smile so he must be doing something right. She gives him a pint of the local stuff and he's absolutely positive it's going to taste like piss, but he hands over the money anyhow.
He takes a sip while she watches. Yep. Just like piss. But, he licks his lips and smiles at her.
"Right," she says with a shake of her head. "Anyway..."
She turns to go, but he stops her by saying, "Out of curiosity, are you aware that you're making every man in this room ache with that hair of yours?"
"I suppose you included?" she asks over her shoulder as she makes a gin and tonic.
"I'm in the room, aren't I?"
"You certainly are. What's your name then, slim?"
He open his mouth to answer and has the strangest feeling that he's forgotten something. He closes his mouth and swallows hard, chasing away the feeling. "John," he says at long last. "Name's John."
"You sure about that?" she asks with a bemused expression.
"Only thing I'm sure of is how much I want to see you later," he says.
Her laugh is full-bodied and makes his chest burn and his trousers tighten. "That's the least smooth line I've ever heard," she says. He chuckles.
"Sorry," he says. "I'm out of practice."
"What do you do?" she asks coming to lean on the bar in front of him. He could sneak a look down her top, but he refrains.
"This and that," he says.
"Jack of all trades, is that it?"
"And a master of none," he says wondering why his temple throbs a bit at the word 'master'. But, she's smiling like she understands what he means and the pain goes away. "I still don't know your name."
"Nope," she says popping the 'p'. "You don't."
She turns away to answer a call down at the other end of the bar and he finally gets a glimpse of her legs.
Yeah. Pretty amazing.
He takes a sip of his god-awful lager and settles on a stool at the bar.
Amy should probably find the bloke watching her from the other end of the bar creepy, but he feels familiar and exciting and decides that she could probably handle him. His face isn't what you'd call traditionally handsome, but is striking none-the-less. Every so often, she sneaks a glance in his direction and marvels at his hands, slender and long and if the rumors she's heard about his crew are true, deft at breaking into places that are supposed to be impossible to get into.
The thought makes her warm in various places on her body.
"Amy! Throw me a shot glass, will you?" the other bartender calls.
As she turns to get the requested item, she catches the look of smug triumph on John's face. He raises an eyebrow, mouths 'Amy' at her and grins.
She rolls her eyes and goes back to work and enjoys the feel of his eyes on her.
The pub starts to finally thin out around last call and when Amy looks around for him, he's gone. She tells herself that it's exhaustion she feels from being on her feet all night, not disappointment.
Once the tables are cleaned and the rubbish is out, Amy says good-night to her co-workers and pulls her coat on. She exits the pub out the back and smiles when she sees a tall form leaning against the wall opposite.
"Little late for a stroll, isn't it?" she asks.
John smirks and lazily pushes himself off the side of the building. "Oh, I just felt like enjoying the night air."
"Right," she says walking up to him. He's only an inch taller than her and she can feel a thrumming energy pulsing off him in waves. It's immediately addictive. She licks her lips. His eyes follow the motion.
"Walk you home?" he asks. "Lots of scary things out at night, you know."
"Oh, is that right?" she says. "But, let me guess, they're no match for you."
He leans in close and says, "I'm the scariest of the lot, Amy Pond."
Her temples throb a bit as she says softly, "That's my last name. How did you know my last name?"
"I know lots of things," he says absently, his eyes suddenly far away. She slides her hand into his and the shock of electricity from touching him surges up through her arm and makes her take a breath.
"Well, then, you should walk me home and tell me all of the things you know," she says.
John smiles.
The walk back passes quickly and before John knows it, he's standing in her small flat helping her take her coat off. She walks over to a small lamp on a side table and switches it on, while he hangs up her coat and debates taking his own off. Dim light spills into the room, tinted red from the lampshade.
"Are you hungry?" she asks turning to face him.
"What's on offer?"
Amy lets out a little laugh and says, "I honestly don't know." Her kitchen is dark and the linoleum creaks as she walks over to a bowl of fruit on the counter. He follows her and stands in the archway. Her fingers dance over the fruit and one red-tipped nail taps an orange, before choosing an apple, bright green and perfectly round.
She turns and isn't surprised that he's right there. Her hand raises the apple up and he grips her wrist. Their eyes meet and John has the sensation of standing in such bright sunlight next to a car pleading for his life with the quick beating of her pulse under his fingers. Amy blinks and the moment is gone. But her wrist is still clasped in his hand and it feels so delicate and warm and her lips are parted and her eyes are dark. And he has to kiss her.
So he does.
His lips are gentle on hers, but she's having none of that and immediately opens her mouth to him. The kiss alternates between lazy slides of lips and tongue and harsh nips of teeth. By the end of it, his hands are in her hair, hers are gripping his waist and the apple is lying forgotten on the floor.
They rest their foreheads together.
"I don't usually let men I've met for the first time take me to bed," Amy says as his hands gently massage her neck.
"Is this you telling me to leave?" he asks.
"Not on your life," she says against his lips.
John groans and fiercely kisses her. If she wasn't pushing him towards her bedroom, he'd take her right there on the floor.
Clothes are ripped off bodies and his mouth has found a spot on her throat that makes her hitch her breath and dig her nails into his flesh. Her bed is small and the springs make groaning noises when they fall onto it.
He's mad with wanting her, she's grinding her hips up and clutching at his shoulders, then his arse to pull him even closer. John slides into her effortlessly and something flashes in his mind and he thinks he sees something shimmer in the room. But Amy slides her foot up his leg and bites his lower lip. He moans and rolls onto his back, settling her on top. She rocks while she kisses him madly, her hair everywhere and her skin hot and smooth under his hands. She makes one final roll of her hips and with a cry is coming hard and fast. John follows with a grunt and a furious thrust upwards.
Amy collapses onto his chest and they breathe heavily for several minutes. Her hand rests over his heart and her index finger taps out the beat of his heart inside his chest.
The next time Amy sees him, he's standing in the same place against the wall behind the pub.
"This is going to be a regular thing, isn't it?" she asks.
"Yep, it is," he says. "That a problem?"
"Well, to be honest," she says as she sidles up to press against the front of him, "I'm not sure you can handle me."
"Did all right last night."
"Did more than all right, but I should warn you, I'm mad and impossible," she says inches away from his lips.
"Oh?" his hands have found her waist and are caressing the base of her spine, "and who told you that?"
"You did, of course," she says.
"Did I?" he asks and immediately he feels an itch in his mind, like he's forgotten something, but it's wiped away when Amy trails a hand up his side.
"You did," she says firmly before kissing him.
He makes a mental promise to at least get her back to her flat before taking her, but the promise is forgotten by the time she's wrapped a leg around his waist and he's pulled her knickers to the side as he pushes into her behind the pharmacy a block from the pub.
"Here, mate," one of the lads says. "Come on, John. Get this thing open."
John studies the safe in front of him. It's one of the newer ones and is trickier than usual. He reaches a hand into his jacket pocket and his fingers close over empty space. He furrows his brow and pats himself down while an ache starts in his head.
"What's wrong?" someone asks.
"Nothing, nothing, lads," he says shaking his head and giving up the search for whatever it was. "Just thought I forgot something for a mo'. Right, let's get this thing cracked."
"So, 'this and that'?" Amy asks from her sprawled position on the bed. "What does it entail? Exactly."
John looks up from his exploration of her lower body, "You're asking me about what I do? Now?"
"You can multi-task," she says shifting her hips to get his fingers to move someplace interesting.
John chuckles and obliges her. Amy sighs and her eyelids flutter. "Come on. I want to hear about it."
"Well," John says kissing her white stomach and tracing patterns with his fingers inside her. "I do stuff that no one else can do. I find things. I get into places. I help others get into places. I get the items and send them to whoever's asked me to obtain said item."
"Mmm, do you ever keep anything?" she asks, her body picking up the rhythm his fingers are setting.
"Keep it?" he whispers sliding up her body. "Own it? Possess things? Have a bunch of stuff lying about that I'll never use tying me down in one place?"
Amy can only nod as the intensity builds.
"What's the fun in that?" he whispers in her ear as he touches something electric and she arches her back.
Amy laughs along with the waitresses and the other bartender at a joke at the Prime Minister's expense.
"All right, all right, that's enough," the pub manager calls to them. "KBO, ladies! KBO!"
The others heave a sigh and roll their eyes as they get back to work. Amy bites her lip at the sudden pain in her head. She bends slightly and stares at the wood grain of the bar top. The grain seems to swirl and a white glow emanates and something almost comes into view, almost, almost...
"Hey, Amy! Give us a hand!"
Amy blinks and shakes her head. She looks down and the bar is just a bar. With a laugh and rub of her eyes, she goes to help the others.
John's with his crew outside the museum and the window is jammed and that is definitely Amy looking at them from the pavement, one hand on her hip and an amused smirk on her face.
She raises an eyebrow at him.
John plans on saying something inane like, 'It's not what you think,' but, what comes out is, "Hiya love, this is exactly what you think it is."
Amy grins and says, "Of course it is. Need a hand there, boys?"
As she sashays forwards, pulls a hairpin from goodness knows where and expertly picks the lock, John, for the first time in his life, is considering settling down.
Later that night, after the job is done and they're in her bed, with the sheets kicked off and sweat cooling on their bodies, he asks her to marry him. Amy rolls over and kisses him sweetly, her hair a thick curtain of red around both their faces.
"I love you," she says. "But, I'm really not the marrying kind."
An expression of pain or regret crosses her face, and he feels an answering pain in his gut. His temples throb and for a moment there, he sees white strands of something... But, it fades and let's face it, he's not the marrying kind either. So, John just nods and pulls her down for a kiss.
Amy helping out on jobs becomes a regular thing. She's devious and the crew likes her and John is happy.
Then as they're traversing over a rickety rooftop, a section gives way underneath Amy's feet. She screams and John grabs her hands.
"Don't let me go," she says her eyes wide and scared, her feet kicking at empty air.
"Never," he grits out ignoring the pain shooting through his head.
One of the lads holds onto John's waist and Amy is pulled up safely. They finish the job, but her hands shake the rest of the night and John can't stop touching her.
He should stop.
He should quit and never take her on a job ever again. He should stop and do something else. Pain explodes behind his eyes and he cries out and slumps against the wall.
How can he leave this life? It's all he knows. The moving, the running for your life, the...
His temples are on fire and his limbs feel heavy.
He needs to see Amy.
He drags himself up and walks into the pub. The ache in his head lessens when sees her standing in front of the bar staring at something.
"It isn't real," she says, her face pale. "None of this is real."
"What?" John says, the pain returning tenfold. "What are you talking about?"
"This! This place! It's. Not. Real!" she yells throwing a pint glass at the wall. The wallpaper fades in and out and John can almost see something else in its place. Something like a web?
"What?" he whispers.
"None of it!" She grabs another glass and throws it to the floor. A shard ricochets up and hits her cheek, but she's past noticing.
"Amy!" He grabs the hand reaching for another glass and whirls her around to face him. Her other hand flies at his face and she slaps him hard. Amy gasps. He freezes.
"Amy Pond," he says. "Little Amelia Pond. The girl who waited."
"You're not John," Amy says coming up to him. "But I can't remember your name. Who are you?"
"Who am I?" he repeats. The pain in his head is overwhelming. "I'm..." He squeezes his eyes shut. "Amy, you know who I am."
"Doctor?" she says so quietly he almost misses it.
The pain in head explodes in a white light and the pub disappears, his grip on Amy's wrist disappears. The Doctor groans and forces his eyes open. Blimey, it hurts.
He sees strands of white all around him and he's held fast in a web. There's a hint of red hair next to him.
"Amy," he croaks out. "Pond, wake up. Now, Pond, that's a girl."
Amy moans and her eyes open so very slowly. "Doctor?"
"Yeah," he says."
"What? Where?"
"Later," he says. "Get my screwdriver. Left jacket pocket. We need to get out of here."
"Were we honestly caught in a psychic spider web?"
The Doctor looks up from the panel in the control room and studies Amy. She's showered and clean and the only physical trace of their ordeal are the faint lines around her wrists and ankles where the webbing bit into her skin.
"Yes," he says answering her question. "The Moraxia are arachnids that over time became their own webs. They trap you, and then feed off you very, very slowly."
"But, all the stuff that happened? I mean, you were there, too," she says wrinkling her nose. "It felt so real."
"Clever things, the Moraxia and slightly psychic. They just picked up on a thought in one of our minds and threw us into it." He looks down and away. "Prey is much easier to feed upon if it doesn't struggle."
"Oh. Gross. But, why were you a crook?" she asks coming to stand next to him.
The Doctor pins her with a look. "It might have had something to do with someone wanting to watch the original The Italian Job followed by the re-make, followed by the Ocean's 11 movies."
"Oh," she says. "And the whole seventies thing?"
"Your desire to watch the entire Life on Mars series in one go."
"Right. Sorry." Amy fiddles with a dial and the Doctor looks anywhere but at her.
"What made you wake up?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know," she says biting her lip. "I was cleaning the bar and it just felt wrong somehow. What about you?"
"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 sub-consciences 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."
Fandom: Doctor Who
Series: There's a Heartbreak Beat
Ship: Eleven/Amy
Author:
seren_ccdWord Count: 3344
Rating: Adult, M, R, not for the kids!
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 is slightly different to the others in the series and can definitely be read on it's own. Summary: This is the story of when John met Amy.
Sequel to All Rather Obligatory, I'm a Heartbreak Beat and We've Got the Radio On, and Playin' All Night Long.
The year is 1973. The UK enters the European Economic Community, the last American soldier leaves Vietnam and David Bowie retires Ziggy Stardust.
The pub is dingy and the wallpaper hasn't been replaced since before the war, but the drinks are reasonable. Dusty Springfield is on the jukebox singing about her preacher man while the smoke from a recently lit cigarette drifts in the air.
John's seated at a table in the back, surrounded by his crew when he sees her. Red hair, scarlet, really, and all sass and sharp looks from her position behind the bar. Her lips are full and look wicked and while he can't see her legs, he's betting they're amazing. She's slinging pints like a pro and not giving any of the boys from the local footie club a chance to give her a follow-up line to the first one she shot down cold.
He's seen enough. Roughly running a hand through his fringe, he stands up and makes his way over to the bar, propping himself up on an elbow at the corner.
She catches his eye and there must be something in his gaze, because she does a double-take and gives him a once over. Then she smirks a little and goes back to the ale in front of her.
After she's sent off the last bloke, she's standing in front of him. "What can I get you?"
"Your name," he says.
Her eyes narrow and she gives him a look that, honest to God, would make a lesser man shrivel up. "I'm sorry," she says, her glare not wavering in the slightest. "We don't appear to have that on tap. Try again."
"How about a pint of lager, then," he says.
"Which one?"
"Surprise me."
"Dangerous thing to say to a barmaid," she says, but he sees a hint of a smile so he must be doing something right. She gives him a pint of the local stuff and he's absolutely positive it's going to taste like piss, but he hands over the money anyhow.
He takes a sip while she watches. Yep. Just like piss. But, he licks his lips and smiles at her.
"Right," she says with a shake of her head. "Anyway..."
She turns to go, but he stops her by saying, "Out of curiosity, are you aware that you're making every man in this room ache with that hair of yours?"
"I suppose you included?" she asks over her shoulder as she makes a gin and tonic.
"I'm in the room, aren't I?"
"You certainly are. What's your name then, slim?"
He open his mouth to answer and has the strangest feeling that he's forgotten something. He closes his mouth and swallows hard, chasing away the feeling. "John," he says at long last. "Name's John."
"You sure about that?" she asks with a bemused expression.
"Only thing I'm sure of is how much I want to see you later," he says.
Her laugh is full-bodied and makes his chest burn and his trousers tighten. "That's the least smooth line I've ever heard," she says. He chuckles.
"Sorry," he says. "I'm out of practice."
"What do you do?" she asks coming to lean on the bar in front of him. He could sneak a look down her top, but he refrains.
"This and that," he says.
"Jack of all trades, is that it?"
"And a master of none," he says wondering why his temple throbs a bit at the word 'master'. But, she's smiling like she understands what he means and the pain goes away. "I still don't know your name."
"Nope," she says popping the 'p'. "You don't."
She turns away to answer a call down at the other end of the bar and he finally gets a glimpse of her legs.
Yeah. Pretty amazing.
He takes a sip of his god-awful lager and settles on a stool at the bar.
Amy should probably find the bloke watching her from the other end of the bar creepy, but he feels familiar and exciting and decides that she could probably handle him. His face isn't what you'd call traditionally handsome, but is striking none-the-less. Every so often, she sneaks a glance in his direction and marvels at his hands, slender and long and if the rumors she's heard about his crew are true, deft at breaking into places that are supposed to be impossible to get into.
The thought makes her warm in various places on her body.
"Amy! Throw me a shot glass, will you?" the other bartender calls.
As she turns to get the requested item, she catches the look of smug triumph on John's face. He raises an eyebrow, mouths 'Amy' at her and grins.
She rolls her eyes and goes back to work and enjoys the feel of his eyes on her.
The pub starts to finally thin out around last call and when Amy looks around for him, he's gone. She tells herself that it's exhaustion she feels from being on her feet all night, not disappointment.
Once the tables are cleaned and the rubbish is out, Amy says good-night to her co-workers and pulls her coat on. She exits the pub out the back and smiles when she sees a tall form leaning against the wall opposite.
"Little late for a stroll, isn't it?" she asks.
John smirks and lazily pushes himself off the side of the building. "Oh, I just felt like enjoying the night air."
"Right," she says walking up to him. He's only an inch taller than her and she can feel a thrumming energy pulsing off him in waves. It's immediately addictive. She licks her lips. His eyes follow the motion.
"Walk you home?" he asks. "Lots of scary things out at night, you know."
"Oh, is that right?" she says. "But, let me guess, they're no match for you."
He leans in close and says, "I'm the scariest of the lot, Amy Pond."
Her temples throb a bit as she says softly, "That's my last name. How did you know my last name?"
"I know lots of things," he says absently, his eyes suddenly far away. She slides her hand into his and the shock of electricity from touching him surges up through her arm and makes her take a breath.
"Well, then, you should walk me home and tell me all of the things you know," she says.
John smiles.
The walk back passes quickly and before John knows it, he's standing in her small flat helping her take her coat off. She walks over to a small lamp on a side table and switches it on, while he hangs up her coat and debates taking his own off. Dim light spills into the room, tinted red from the lampshade.
"Are you hungry?" she asks turning to face him.
"What's on offer?"
Amy lets out a little laugh and says, "I honestly don't know." Her kitchen is dark and the linoleum creaks as she walks over to a bowl of fruit on the counter. He follows her and stands in the archway. Her fingers dance over the fruit and one red-tipped nail taps an orange, before choosing an apple, bright green and perfectly round.
She turns and isn't surprised that he's right there. Her hand raises the apple up and he grips her wrist. Their eyes meet and John has the sensation of standing in such bright sunlight next to a car pleading for his life with the quick beating of her pulse under his fingers. Amy blinks and the moment is gone. But her wrist is still clasped in his hand and it feels so delicate and warm and her lips are parted and her eyes are dark. And he has to kiss her.
So he does.
His lips are gentle on hers, but she's having none of that and immediately opens her mouth to him. The kiss alternates between lazy slides of lips and tongue and harsh nips of teeth. By the end of it, his hands are in her hair, hers are gripping his waist and the apple is lying forgotten on the floor.
They rest their foreheads together.
"I don't usually let men I've met for the first time take me to bed," Amy says as his hands gently massage her neck.
"Is this you telling me to leave?" he asks.
"Not on your life," she says against his lips.
John groans and fiercely kisses her. If she wasn't pushing him towards her bedroom, he'd take her right there on the floor.
Clothes are ripped off bodies and his mouth has found a spot on her throat that makes her hitch her breath and dig her nails into his flesh. Her bed is small and the springs make groaning noises when they fall onto it.
He's mad with wanting her, she's grinding her hips up and clutching at his shoulders, then his arse to pull him even closer. John slides into her effortlessly and something flashes in his mind and he thinks he sees something shimmer in the room. But Amy slides her foot up his leg and bites his lower lip. He moans and rolls onto his back, settling her on top. She rocks while she kisses him madly, her hair everywhere and her skin hot and smooth under his hands. She makes one final roll of her hips and with a cry is coming hard and fast. John follows with a grunt and a furious thrust upwards.
Amy collapses onto his chest and they breathe heavily for several minutes. Her hand rests over his heart and her index finger taps out the beat of his heart inside his chest.
The next time Amy sees him, he's standing in the same place against the wall behind the pub.
"This is going to be a regular thing, isn't it?" she asks.
"Yep, it is," he says. "That a problem?"
"Well, to be honest," she says as she sidles up to press against the front of him, "I'm not sure you can handle me."
"Did all right last night."
"Did more than all right, but I should warn you, I'm mad and impossible," she says inches away from his lips.
"Oh?" his hands have found her waist and are caressing the base of her spine, "and who told you that?"
"You did, of course," she says.
"Did I?" he asks and immediately he feels an itch in his mind, like he's forgotten something, but it's wiped away when Amy trails a hand up his side.
"You did," she says firmly before kissing him.
He makes a mental promise to at least get her back to her flat before taking her, but the promise is forgotten by the time she's wrapped a leg around his waist and he's pulled her knickers to the side as he pushes into her behind the pharmacy a block from the pub.
"Here, mate," one of the lads says. "Come on, John. Get this thing open."
John studies the safe in front of him. It's one of the newer ones and is trickier than usual. He reaches a hand into his jacket pocket and his fingers close over empty space. He furrows his brow and pats himself down while an ache starts in his head.
"What's wrong?" someone asks.
"Nothing, nothing, lads," he says shaking his head and giving up the search for whatever it was. "Just thought I forgot something for a mo'. Right, let's get this thing cracked."
"So, 'this and that'?" Amy asks from her sprawled position on the bed. "What does it entail? Exactly."
John looks up from his exploration of her lower body, "You're asking me about what I do? Now?"
"You can multi-task," she says shifting her hips to get his fingers to move someplace interesting.
John chuckles and obliges her. Amy sighs and her eyelids flutter. "Come on. I want to hear about it."
"Well," John says kissing her white stomach and tracing patterns with his fingers inside her. "I do stuff that no one else can do. I find things. I get into places. I help others get into places. I get the items and send them to whoever's asked me to obtain said item."
"Mmm, do you ever keep anything?" she asks, her body picking up the rhythm his fingers are setting.
"Keep it?" he whispers sliding up her body. "Own it? Possess things? Have a bunch of stuff lying about that I'll never use tying me down in one place?"
Amy can only nod as the intensity builds.
"What's the fun in that?" he whispers in her ear as he touches something electric and she arches her back.
Amy laughs along with the waitresses and the other bartender at a joke at the Prime Minister's expense.
"All right, all right, that's enough," the pub manager calls to them. "KBO, ladies! KBO!"
The others heave a sigh and roll their eyes as they get back to work. Amy bites her lip at the sudden pain in her head. She bends slightly and stares at the wood grain of the bar top. The grain seems to swirl and a white glow emanates and something almost comes into view, almost, almost...
"Hey, Amy! Give us a hand!"
Amy blinks and shakes her head. She looks down and the bar is just a bar. With a laugh and rub of her eyes, she goes to help the others.
John's with his crew outside the museum and the window is jammed and that is definitely Amy looking at them from the pavement, one hand on her hip and an amused smirk on her face.
She raises an eyebrow at him.
John plans on saying something inane like, 'It's not what you think,' but, what comes out is, "Hiya love, this is exactly what you think it is."
Amy grins and says, "Of course it is. Need a hand there, boys?"
As she sashays forwards, pulls a hairpin from goodness knows where and expertly picks the lock, John, for the first time in his life, is considering settling down.
Later that night, after the job is done and they're in her bed, with the sheets kicked off and sweat cooling on their bodies, he asks her to marry him. Amy rolls over and kisses him sweetly, her hair a thick curtain of red around both their faces.
"I love you," she says. "But, I'm really not the marrying kind."
An expression of pain or regret crosses her face, and he feels an answering pain in his gut. His temples throb and for a moment there, he sees white strands of something... But, it fades and let's face it, he's not the marrying kind either. So, John just nods and pulls her down for a kiss.
Amy helping out on jobs becomes a regular thing. She's devious and the crew likes her and John is happy.
Then as they're traversing over a rickety rooftop, a section gives way underneath Amy's feet. She screams and John grabs her hands.
"Don't let me go," she says her eyes wide and scared, her feet kicking at empty air.
"Never," he grits out ignoring the pain shooting through his head.
One of the lads holds onto John's waist and Amy is pulled up safely. They finish the job, but her hands shake the rest of the night and John can't stop touching her.
He should stop.
He should quit and never take her on a job ever again. He should stop and do something else. Pain explodes behind his eyes and he cries out and slumps against the wall.
How can he leave this life? It's all he knows. The moving, the running for your life, the...
His temples are on fire and his limbs feel heavy.
He needs to see Amy.
He drags himself up and walks into the pub. The ache in his head lessens when sees her standing in front of the bar staring at something.
"It isn't real," she says, her face pale. "None of this is real."
"What?" John says, the pain returning tenfold. "What are you talking about?"
"This! This place! It's. Not. Real!" she yells throwing a pint glass at the wall. The wallpaper fades in and out and John can almost see something else in its place. Something like a web?
"What?" he whispers.
"None of it!" She grabs another glass and throws it to the floor. A shard ricochets up and hits her cheek, but she's past noticing.
"Amy!" He grabs the hand reaching for another glass and whirls her around to face him. Her other hand flies at his face and she slaps him hard. Amy gasps. He freezes.
"Amy Pond," he says. "Little Amelia Pond. The girl who waited."
"You're not John," Amy says coming up to him. "But I can't remember your name. Who are you?"
"Who am I?" he repeats. The pain in his head is overwhelming. "I'm..." He squeezes his eyes shut. "Amy, you know who I am."
"Doctor?" she says so quietly he almost misses it.
The pain in head explodes in a white light and the pub disappears, his grip on Amy's wrist disappears. The Doctor groans and forces his eyes open. Blimey, it hurts.
He sees strands of white all around him and he's held fast in a web. There's a hint of red hair next to him.
"Amy," he croaks out. "Pond, wake up. Now, Pond, that's a girl."
Amy moans and her eyes open so very slowly. "Doctor?"
"Yeah," he says."
"What? Where?"
"Later," he says. "Get my screwdriver. Left jacket pocket. We need to get out of here."
"Were we honestly caught in a psychic spider web?"
The Doctor looks up from the panel in the control room and studies Amy. She's showered and clean and the only physical trace of their ordeal are the faint lines around her wrists and ankles where the webbing bit into her skin.
"Yes," he says answering her question. "The Moraxia are arachnids that over time became their own webs. They trap you, and then feed off you very, very slowly."
"But, all the stuff that happened? I mean, you were there, too," she says wrinkling her nose. "It felt so real."
"Clever things, the Moraxia and slightly psychic. They just picked up on a thought in one of our minds and threw us into it." He looks down and away. "Prey is much easier to feed upon if it doesn't struggle."
"Oh. Gross. But, why were you a crook?" she asks coming to stand next to him.
The Doctor pins her with a look. "It might have had something to do with someone wanting to watch the original The Italian Job followed by the re-make, followed by the Ocean's 11 movies."
"Oh," she says. "And the whole seventies thing?"
"Your desire to watch the entire Life on Mars series in one go."
"Right. Sorry." Amy fiddles with a dial and the Doctor looks anywhere but at her.
"What made you wake up?" he asks quietly.
"I don't know," she says biting her lip. "I was cleaning the bar and it just felt wrong somehow. What about you?"
"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 sub-consciences 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."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2010-07-05 05:45 pm (UTC)My.
God.
I stumbled on this series a bit by accident (and without commenting; epic fail, me, and thorough apologies to you) and while those stories are tremendously enjoyable, this? Stop-in-your-tracks amazing. The premise is brilliant by itself, but all the subtle tie-ins to moments from the series is unfettered genius.
It's just spectacular all the way around. Thank you so, so much for a phenomenal read.
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Date: 2010-07-05 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 06:02 pm (UTC)Hot, but sad.
(very, very hot)
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Date: 2010-07-05 08:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 06:51 pm (UTC)I have to laugh, tho, because 1973 + mentions of the Master had me going "Simm!"
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Date: 2010-07-05 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 01:48 am (UTC)You are, btw, truly evil using that icon.
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Date: 2010-07-05 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:40 pm (UTC)brilliantmadepicangstriddenbeautifulamazing
Yeah. That.
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Date: 2010-07-05 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 08:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 04:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 08:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 04:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 06:08 am (UTC)Sorry, I feel like I should be more explicit about how much I absolutely adored this, but I can't really seem to gather my thoughts yet. Just.....amazing.
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Date: 2010-07-06 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 03:18 pm (UTC)Guh. So much love for this that I'm not really coherent at the moment.
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Date: 2010-07-07 07:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-06 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 07:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 07:58 am (UTC)But, thank you so much! I'm really glad you liked it!
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Date: 2010-07-07 07:37 am (UTC)This was beautiful and sexy and I loved how you managed to successfully switch POVs.
fwiw, I'm no longer an Amy/Eleven shipper, although I do ship *everyone* in the OT3 (4? 5?) now. So, unlike the above commenter NOT A FAN OF GETTING RID OF RORY.
BIG FAN OF YOURS.
They can all have adventures and sexytiems together sometime maybe plz?
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Date: 2010-07-07 08:02 am (UTC)And I'm shipping everyone these days too. But, back when I started this series (which I've got more or less completely outlined) I had no idea where they were going with the series. I adore Rory and River to pieces! I'll have to see if I can throw them all together at some point. :D
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Date: 2010-07-07 08:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-04 03:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-04 05:17 am (UTC)*grins*
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Date: 2010-07-09 02:42 pm (UTC)Loved the fact that you used the real quotes of the series to emphasize the strong bond between Amy and the Doctor. And the plot is superb.
You are truly amazing.
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Date: 2010-07-09 06:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 07:10 pm (UTC)Absolutely lovely.
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Date: 2011-01-07 09:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 11:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-12 08:32 am (UTC)