Word Count: 1292
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Warnings: slightly-submissive!Amy and a very pissed off clone!Eleven.
This contains clone!Eleven from the end of Rebel Flesh. Inspired off of the preview for The Almost People.
So how long did I expect love to outweigh ignorance?
By that look on your face I may have forced the scale to tip
She leans her hand against the stone wall as she bends over and tries to catch her breath. She shouldn't stop, she knows; she has to find the others, Rory, the Doctor. God knows what's happening to them now. She has to get to them, has to help them. But Christ, she can only run so much.
Tap, tap, tap.
She spins on her heels in the direction of the footsteps. "Who's there?" she calls out to the darkened hallway. Why is it so dark? Why is it always so bloody dark? Why can't she–for once–be followed into a nice, bright hallway? You know, with lots of light and not so much darkness.
Amy steps away from the wall and peers forward. "Doctor? Is that you?"
He comes close enough that she can see him properly in the light. "Of course it's me," he says. But there's something wrong about it, something off. He isn't concerned, doesn't seem worried or nervous. No, he's confident, he's smug. He's…different. Wrong.
She frowns and takes a step backwards. "Don't come any closer."
"Oh, come off it, Pond. It's only me," he smirks darkly and she thinks it's the scariest thing she's ever seen.
"No," she says taking another step back, "you're not the real Doctor. You're the ganger version. The copy."
"Am I now? How can you be so sure?" He takes another step closer to her and spins in a small circle, as if he's showing her his new body. "We look the same, we sound the same, we even share the same thoughts. The same memories. I know everything he does: the Silents, the Pandorica, even the fish custard. I feel everything he's ever felt. So, really, how could you possibly be sure? How could you possibly tell?" He steps closer until she's within his reach. "Tell me, Pond, are really you sure that I'm not him? Absolutely, one hundred per cent, pos-i-tively sure? No, of course you aren't. You can't be. Not really. Not if you can't prove it one way or the other."
"Shut up. Just shut up! I can just…tell, okay? I don't need a reason, because I know him."
He laughs. "Oh Amelia, you only know as much as I let you know." And then, before she can even think, his amusement fades and he grabs her by the front of her jacket. He slams her against the stoned wall and a sharp pain shoots through her back. "Amy, Amy, Amy. Young, impossible Amy, you don't know anything." He glares at her, his nostrils flaring up a bit. "Then again, it's easier that way. You're only human after all and knowing things is hard, isn't it? So very, very hard."
She does her best to ignore him. She knows her Doctor–she knows she does–and she needs to remember that. She needs to concentrate on that and ignore whatever this version is trying to do. Because he isn't the real Doctor. Except he thinks he's the same, which means… "You're hurting me," she tells him. "You're hurting me!"
It works. Well, sort of. He doesn't let her go, but he does loosen up a bit. But he never breaks his gaze. Never stops looking at her. There's something cold in his eyes–something hard, demanding, resentful–but there's something else there, something she sometimes sees in her Doctor's eyes. Something she's never been able to understand.
"You have no idea, do you?" he says, mimicking her thoughts. "You have absolutely no idea. No, of course you don't. How can you possibly know if you choose not to? If you decide to ignore it? No, no. You would rather live in ignorance. You don't know. Can't know. Won't know. You refuse to know. It's easier that way."
A heartbeat. "Refuse to know what?" she asks, despite her better judgement.
"What you do to me, Amy."
She freezes and opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. What?
He hardly seems to notice. "Though I suppose I do play along. Have to, really. No other way if I want to keep you around. It isn't easy with all of your flirting, you know. Then again, I've always loved me a good challenge and if you're anything Pond, it's a challenge. So I play along, pretend. I've gotten rather good at it, if I do say so myself. Too good, actually. Sometimes even I believe it."
"I'll give you one guess," he says.
His eyes are soft, kind, almost loving; exactly the way her Doctor looks at her, and suddenly he's so close she can almost, but not quite yet feel his lips on hers. Her heart pounds in her chest and for the slightest of moments she wants to. But she shouldn't. She can't. She won't.
"Doctor," the name falls out before she can stop it, but it's hard not to.
His head snaps back. "What?"
"Rory," she reminds him.
"Rory." His eyes harden again. "Always with the Rory!"
"Because he's my husband!"
"That didn't stop you last time," he snaps. "Do you remember the last time, Pond? We were in your bedroom. It was that night after the Angels. That was the night you told me you were engaged. And then you kissed me. Although I suppose the roles were reversed then: you that had me held against the wall. More than held, really. Pinned. Trapped. Didn't you ever wonder what took me so long to push you away? Do you have any idea how hard that was for me?"
"That was different," she explains. "I was scared–shocked–and you were just there. You said so yourself."
"Do you really believe that? Did you ever really believe me when I said that?"
She's silent for a heartbeat. "You had your chance."
"I never had a chance, Amy. Not when it came to you."
No. No! He's wrong. He has to be. He's just saying this to mess with her head. That's it. That's all this is. He doesn't mean any of this. He isn't even the real Doctor. So what if he looks the same, sounds the same, has all the same memories, even if he looks at her the same. It doesn't matter, because he isn't real!
She has to get away. Now.
"Let me go," she snaps.
He stares at her for a moment and a bit of smug amusement seems to dance in his eyes. "Okay."
"I'm not holding you here," he explains.
She looks down and sure enough he's let go of her jacket. His right hand's pressed against the wall beside her, but his left's rested in his pocket; there's nothing in between her and an escape. When the hell did that happen? She hadn't felt him let go.
"I've never trapped you, Pond. Never, not once. It's always been your choice to stay. You're free to leave any time you want. I won't stop you. So go. Go run off and find your husband." She stares at him for a moment, his words digesting. His eyes narrow when she doesn't move. "Go!"
She does. Amy slides right past him and runs away.
You would rather live in ignorance.
She runs and runs until she finds the others. Until she finds Rory and the Doctor. Her Doctor. Until she knows that it's all real and right and the way it should be. Until everything's normal again.
It's easier that way.
It's hard to face, but the fact remains
That this is nothing new
Almost Easy by Avenge Sevenfold
Note: There are so many fics that emphasize how Eleven's messed up Amy's life, but I don't think there are enough to show what Amy does to Eleven. Their relationship is beautifully destructive on both ends. I've always wanted to write a fic where he confronts her, but Eleven would never actually do that. Then I saw the trailer for the Almost People and, well, it gave me this out. (Also, I can't be the only one who was like "holy crap!" when he slammed her against the wall in the trailer.)
Beta-ed by my little brother.