A/N: How thoroughly typical of me. I'm anti- Amy/11 romance right up until the point when she realises that Rory is the only fella for her. I was never TOO fussed on Rory, I personally think he was a bit too wet to be with Amy, but I was utterly bored of the whole 'being in love with the Doctor' business. I'm still not sure on full blown romance between the two of them...but...I'm rambling. Sorry. Anyway, this is just me wondering what would have happened if it had been the Doctor that had died, rather than Rory, and how much the death influenced Amy's choice overall. AND I would like to point out that when the Doctor and Rory were falling asleep and Amy was being left behind, the Doctor was the one that fought to stay awake and tell her it would be okay, and that he'd be back. Rory just passed out, the bloody great wimp. PSSSSHT! Anyway, hope you like this.


by Flaignhan.

She froze, hands on her stomach, eyes wide.

"I think the baby's starting."

"Honestly?" said Rory, an eyebrow sceptically raised.

"Would I make it up at a time like this?"

"Well you do have a history of..." he trailed off under Amy's death glare, "...being very lovely."

The sounds of windows breaking, wooden logs ramming at the doors and general mayhem seemed to be growing louder by the second.

"Why are they so desperate to kill us?" Rory demanded, whipping his head round in a panic.

"They're scared, fear generates savagery..."

Amy tried to ignore the flicker of fear in the Doctor's voice and concentrated instead on her contractions. If the Doctor was scared, then that wasn't good news. That wasn't good news at all.

The shock of a garden gnome smashing through the nursery window was enough to distract her from her imminent labour, and the Doctor left her side, rushing to the window to see what was going on. As soon as she heard the shriek, she knew what had happened. She didn't need to see the gas. She didn't need to see him cry out and stumble back, falling against the dresser and sliding to the floor. She didn't need to see Rory grab the lamp and thrust it at the old woman straddling the roof of their porch.

She didn't need any of that to know that they were doomed.

He gripped her hand, his green eyes staring into hers. "You have to make a choice."

She nodded, hand clutching his so tightly that she was sure her nails would leave marks on him. She couldn't let him go. She'd waited fourteen years for him, it couldn't be all over now.

His arm was starting to disintegrate. "Remember, it's not just your life at stake," he looked down at her bump and then back at her face.

"Leave the town, take the camper van and go somewhere else...find Torchwood, anyone. Get help."

And then he was a pile of dust on the floor.


She didn't look at him.

"Amy they're coming."

She got to her feet, using the dresser to haul herself up. "This is the dream."

"It's not Amy, you know it's not."

"Yes, it is!"

"How do you know?"

"I don't, but I am not raising a child in a universe where he's dead."

"But...it's not his baby, what difference does it make? I know it's awful but we have to think realistically, I – it's not his baby, is it?"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Amy..." he crossed the room to where she was, holding her hands in his own, attempting to make eye contact.

She could only stare at the pile of dust on the floor, and she pulled her hands away from his. She grabbed the keys of the camper van and moved towards the door, kicking the chair out of her way.

Rory followed, as he always did.

Amy opened her eyes with some difficulty, frost weighing down her eyelids. The Dream Lord was talking, but she wasn't listening. They'd all died in Upper Leadworth, and she was awake, so that must mean they were all awake.

She smiled against the icy floor, eyes closing softly in relief. The lights flickered back on, and she could feel the vibrations of the engines humming against her cheekbone, the small icicles that had built up on her face rapidly melting.

Looking through the lower section of the console, she could see a pair of too-short trouser legs, grazing the top of his beige shoe-boot-type-things.

He was here.

She got to her feet slowly, joints creaking as she straightened up, patches of frost falling from her poncho. He looked at her across the console and managed a smile, but it wasn't enough for her.

Amy stumbled around the control panel, numb hand gripping the edge until she reached him. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, not caring about the small, sharp particles of ice that were pressing into her face.

He abandoned the controls, holding her tightly, and pressed a kiss to her jaw.

"Amy," he murmured, after a short while.

"Yeah?" her voice cracked, her throat dry.

"I need to blow up the Tardis and I can't very well do it when my hands are full with you."

She pulled away from him sharply.

"Thanks," he said, returning to work, pulling the handle of a lever until it became unstuck with a loud crunch and an explosion of ice.

"What d'you mean blow up the Tardis?"

"Blow up the Tardis?"

Rory was awake.

"Notice how helpful the Dream Lord was. Okay there was misinformation, red herrings, malice and I could have done without the limerick, but he was always very keen to make us choose between dream and reality."

The Tarids began to shudder, red light filling the room. Amy held on tightly to the console.


Rory tried to pull the Doctor's hands away from the controls, but was thrown back into the Captain's chair as the Tardis gave an almighty lurch.

"A star burning cold? Do me a favour! The Dream Lord has no power over the real world, he was offering us a choice between two dreams."

"How do you know that?" Amy demanded.

His eyes met hers and he grinned slyly. "Because I know who he is."

She couldn't look at Rory. He didn't seem to be able to look at her either.

They headed down to the control room, where the Doctor was resting against the console, examining something tiny in the palm of his hand.

"Any questions?"

"How soon can you take me home?"

The Doctor closed his fingers over the small stones in his hand and frowned at Rory.

"Why d'you want to go home? Don't you want to stay with Amy? You don't want to go home too, do you?"

Amy shook her head.

"Just Rory then...why the change of heart?"

"Don't act like you don't know," he replied, looking at his trainers, arms folded over his body warmer.

"I'm not acting, I just don't know."

Rory shook his head. "Just take me home."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and turned back to the controls, pushing buttons and twisting dials. After short time of grinding and shaking, the Tardis stilled, and Rory took one last look at Amy, before heading to the door.

He slammed it behind him.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and glanced at Amy. She avoided his eyes.

"Psychic Pollen."

"That's what caused the dreams then?"


"And it...what...created the Dream Lord? So he was like a dream too?"

"Yes...and no."

"You said you knew who he was."

"Didn't you realise too?"

Amy shook her head.

"He was me, every dark part of me, every negative thought, every single bit of self doubt and venom in my mind all rolled into one – that's who the Dream Lord is. The Psychic Pollen picks it all out, makes it turn against you."

"You're not dark..."

"Amy, I'm nine hundred and seven. It's not all been ice cream on Jaffa Seven or big massive snakes in the Amazon," he looked down at the pollen, touching it gently with the tip of his index finger. "It must have just fell into the Time Rotor and heated up, that's all. Still, best get rid of it."

He trotted down the ramp towards the door and pulled it open, sending the pollen out into the darkness with a gentle blow. He closed the door gently and strode back up the ramp, settling himself down in his chair, forefinger resting against his chin, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"So I died, I remember that."

Amy nodded, and leant against the console, arms folded over her stomach which was now (thankfully) back to normal size.

"Did he want to stay in the dream, was that it?"

"We just..." Amy didn't know what to say. "We had a bit of a disagreement."

"Yes, in a dream. When you were being attacked by old people. People say a lot of things in circumstances like that, a lot of things they don't mean. Be realistic, Amy."

"I meant it though."

The Doctor sat up straight. "Meant what?"

"I didn't want to raise a child in a universe where you're dead."


"And then he asked if it was your baby, which was completely and utterly ridiculous but the fact that he asked, you know? And I don't know if I can give all this up and settle down in a place like that. It's his dream, not mine."

"You'll have to give it up one day..."

"Why, are you gonna kick me out?" her arms were folded, one eyebrow raised, challenging him, daring him to say yes.

"I told you. I don't get older, I just change. I don't see you running around when you're ninety, do you?"

"Well I guess we'll just cross that bridge when we come to it, but for now, I'm staying."

He took a deep breath. "So that's it for you and Rory then? You're supposed to be getting married and you're just going to chuck it all away?"

"I'd rather be wearing a poncho than maternity clothes."

He made a noise that was half triumphant, half laugh, and jumped to his feet, pulling Amy into a hug. "Where to next?"

"Anywhere, just as long as it's real."

"Well, I dunno about you but I fancy some ice cream."

"Jaffa Seven?"

"Jaffa Seven."

She grinned.

The End.