Author's Note: I'd never thought I'd give my hand at an actual Doctor Who fic that had a plotline like an actual episode, but the new season is so good and I can't resist.
Title: "Panic Moon"
Rating: PG-13. Nothing more mature than an actual episode.
Genre: Adventure/Companionship. Written in imitation of the episode styles.
Summary: He had always hated guns. Nasty, crude things. His choice of weapons were words, or something harmless like his screwdriver, because if you pulled that trigger, sometimes you couldn't fix it.
Disclaimer: The author claims no ownership to any characters or ideas affiliated with the Doctor Who show and is merely borrowing them for the sake of her own enjoyment, with no intention of making a profit.
(¯`·._.·(¯`·._.·(¯`·._.·/ Panic Moon: Prologue \·._.·´¯)·._.·´¯)·._.·´¯)
The Doctor glared at the five covering figures, the sonic laser gun gleaming in his steady hand. Behind him, Amy bit her lip anxiously. On the one hand, she didn't want to say anything; after all, he was the Doctor, and he knew what he was doing, and she was just a Scottish girl far more misplaced than merely in an English village. On the other hand—
"Which one of you is it, then?" he growled. "You can't hide."
One of them, couldn't have been older than ten years old, gave a startled cry on fear. Instantly, the Doctor pounced on him, pinning him to the wall and clutching his neck, all while keeping the gun trained on the others. "Why are you doing this?" his mother wailed, reaching to grab her son only to be prodded back by the killing instrument he clutched. Turning his attention back to the boy, he squeezed tighter, causing him to gasp for breath.
"Doctor, don't you think this is going a bit far?" Amy squeaked. As he didn't respond, carefully, ever so tentatively, she reached and brushed her fingers across his shoulder. In a movement born of instinct, he pinned her hand with his other one, the one holding the cold silver gun.
Amy felt herself shiver. She had never really liked guns in the first place. She had discovered far too young that there were too many ways to die, too many ways to lose the people you cared about. The universe didn't need a gun to take her parents away; a simple transportation vehicle had done that job just fine.
Suddenly, the Doctor's eyes widened and he let go of the boy, whirling fully around to grasp her wrist with his now-free hand. Amy winced as she felt her delicate wrist groaning under his too-tight grasp. His expression transformed into one of anger, and suddenly, she felt very, very scared.
"Amelia Pond," he snarled. "I never thought it would be you. But of course. Who else do I trust, enough not to question, but keep at an arm's distance away?"
The gun was pointing at her now.
Just one flash, and it would be all over. And she knew what was after death: nothing. Because if there was an afterlife, there would be no reason for someone like the Doctor to stick around. If there was an afterlife, then why hadn't her parents even tried to contact her? If an afterlife was possible, there would be some way of measuring a soul, some sort of trace, some sort of proof. The brain was a web of electric transmitters and receivers, a glorified organic computer, and computers didn't live on after they shut down. They just…stopped.
And that was the scariest thought ever. Nothing, for all of eternity. Amelia Pond, gone, erased. Disappeared. How long before the people back at home stopped wondering where she'd gone? How long before all traces of her life were wiped from the universe?
A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, and she quickly wiped it away with the hand he wasn't crushing. "Doctor, please," she begged. "You hate guns. No weapons. If I've done something wrong, just take me home, please!"
"Oh, you would like that," he spat, his face contorted with anger. "Destroy this colony, then off to Earth in the twenty-first century? No, this ends right here, right now. One death is enough for today."
She was sobbing now, and she couldn't stop. "No—p..please—Doctor, you're not yourself—please—just think…we can talk this—"
His body shaking but his hand still steady, he closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.
That way, he didn't have to see the blue light hitting her, lighting up her petite body and ripping her from his grasp. He only opened them to look at her smoking corpse on the ground.
He bent down to make sure she really was dead—feeling for a pulse, then scanning her with his sonic screwdriver just to be safe—then satisfied that she was, he stood, tossing the ray gun to the side.
"Nasty things, guns. Well, what are you all staring at me like that for? Come on, I usually at least get a thank-you when I save a colony with a population over 10,000. I mean, not the same as a planet, mind you, but…"
None of them listened to him rambling. They were too busy glancing from the corpse to the shiny silver gun to the man who went from a murderer's intensity to this mad cheerfulness. They were disconcerted, to say the least, although still in fear of lives would perhaps be a more apt description. His mouth continued running a million miles an hour; he was obviously paying no attention.
"…I had to touch it, all cold and silver and hard, but no thank you for saving your skins! I hate guns, mind you, are you all listening to me or—"
They all whirled behind them to the source of the cry, a very familiar voice and—
*Doctor Who Theme Song*
And don't you wish the rest of the episode was up now? Well, it's coming, don't worry. And see that big button down there, that says "Review"? One way to make it come faster!