Disclaimer: I, in no shape or form own Doctor Who. I'm just playing in the sand box - or rather police phone box.
Author's Note: What if Amy Pond, brilliant, mad and impossible, Amy Pond met the Master on the Valiant in the Year That Never Was? (DW 3.11 to 3.12)
This was actually an interesting piece to write because technically this isn't possible because than the Doctor would know about the future - and as there is a paradox happening does that in turn mean that the Doctor's future can never happen and therefore Amy's past can never happen ... in the end though I've tried to keep it that everything remains fixed - I'm not sure that make sense ... damn timey wimey wibbly wobbly.
But anyway - PLEASE ENJOY! This hasn't been beta'd.
I present to you ...
The Doctor That Never Was
Amy Pond regretted saying it.
She really regretted saying it. This was a new thing for Amy Pond because she rarely regretted doing anything. In her opinion if you did something, you did it and lived it. It was her way – all fire and passion with no stopping. Her Aunt had always told her that it would catch up with her one day – and she had just laughed at it and went on her merry way.
It was because of that she had yelled it at the … sphere things. She still isn't sure what they were called, but when they had smashed into her school – and everyone had ducked under the desks, as their knives drew out and they whirred around.
Amy hadn't hid under her desk instead she had grabbed a cricket bat and swung.
She had swung hard.
Not hard enough and soon she was sprinting off down the corridor whilst Rory, her not-boyfriend, screamed her name. She didn't look back though, she just kept running. Her fire hair flying back as she jolted down the stairs and into a supply closet.
To be clear she had not regretted that.
She had regretted yelling, when they found her: GET AWAY OR THE DOCTOR WILL COME AND STOP YOU! HE'LL STOP YOU!
She wasn't sure why her childhood not-imaginary friend had stopped the machines but he had. The threat had frozen them and she had remained crouched in the supply closest, the door wide open and eyes wide.
She had wanted to run but somehow felt that staying here might keep her alive a little longer.
It had. The spheres had guarded her the entire time while the soldiers were called. They came in, marching, only three and grabbed her. Being not under the threat of the knife things that the spheres had she had kicked, screamed bloody murder, twisted and attempted to escape.
Until she felt a prick and suddenly the world had melted away.
Only to melt back later – how much later she wasn't sure. She couldn't be sure. All she know her head hurt, there was metal – handcuffs – keeping her hands behind a chair. She was sitting on a leather chair – she could feel it. And the room wasn't dark, it was bright.
"And finally she awakes!"
A voice – she knew that voice but from where? She blinked a few times, looking up.
"Let's take these cuffs off her – it isn't like she can do anything,"
Harold Saxon – the Prime Minister.
The world was suddenly focused.
Harold Saxon in a black suit was in front of her: the Prime Minister, the bastard who had started all this, the man behind the madness. He was leaning against some stair railing, watching her closely. Above were two men working on the controls of the – holy shit, she was on the Valiant. She had to be. Saxon never left – and she tilted her head upwards: she could see the dark clouds, swirling about outside, the faint sunlight resting on them.
She was flying.
She had never been in a plane before.
She was flying.
Saxon laughed. "Now, I have never seen that reaction before."
Amelia looked sharply at him. "Well, I've never been flying before."
Her voice quivered as she said it.
He wasn't a cannibal was he? She hoped he wasn't – she really hoped he wasn't. Somehow she didn't think her Doctor would come and save her like he had all those years ago … the crack flickered before her, looming and ready to pull her in.
Don't think about it.
She glanced to her side. There were two guards in front of her: in black with big guns. There are more people behind her – she can hear them. And there is an old man, sitting on the floor besides a tent and tied up like a dog.
She knew him from somewhere.
She had no idea where though.
He was old – there were plenty of old man in Leadworth but he wasn't one of them. He was wearing a suit – now that was … the shirt, that blue shirt was the same colour. How could she forget that? But nothing else about his outfit was her Doctor.
Who was that man?
"Recognise him?" asked Saxon.
This was about him somehow. Who was he? Their eyes met: his old and full of ancient power, and hers young and brimming with unleashed fire. She knew those eyes – different colour, different everything but she knew those eyes.
The old man gave her a ghost of a smile – and she felt a burn of hope ignite within. The old man gave the tiniest of nods, the smallest of gestures and it told her something – but what?
Amy looked back at the Prime Minister, her eyes hopelessly large.
"Well do you?" he stepped towards her. She flattened against the chair, wanting to sink into it and vanish back to Leadworth: her aunt, her not-boyfriend Rory and her childhood imagination.
"Handcuffs," said Saxon suddenly, stopping.
"Sorry, sir," said one of the guards.
The guard moved towards her and went around her back. The handcuffs clicked open and Amy immediately rubbed her wrists, watching the guard walk away before pulling her attention back to Saxon.
"You never answered my question, Amelia Pond,"
That's a brilliant name. Amelia Pond. Like in a fairy tale.
Amy's breath hitched. This was hell. This wasn't a story. Her Doctor wasn't coming – her gut told her that. There wasn't a way to get out of here. There was no Raggedy Doctor to save her.
"My name is Amy Pond,"
Her brief flash of untempered fire fizzled when Saxon grinned. "Amy Pond then – do you know that man?"
"Oh," she said, "Sorry," she looked back over at the old man, her thumb running over her wrist. "I think I do … he's kinda similar – but that's impossible,"
Lie. It was all a lie. Why was she lying … those old eyes told her to. But it wasn't a lie. She knew him but she didn't.
Saxon moved closer to her.
He stopped and leaned over her, looking down at her. "Oh, you are interesting aren't you, Pond? Now, why don't you tell me about your Doctor?"
She didn't want to tell this man about her imaginary friend.
"Amelia," said Saxon in a sing-song voice. "Look at me, and tell me – TELL EVERYONE"
She jolted, tearing her eyes away from the old man and back to Saxon.
"He is my … imaginary friend."
Her face burned. Telling the Prime Minister – the more or less master of the universe about her childhood not-imaginary friend was not something she wanted to do.
"Tell me the whole story,"
Saxon sat down in a chair and rolled it in front of her, looking very charming and nice … but creepy. His smile had no warmth.
"It's just a –"
"He fell from the sky in a blue box," said Amelia quickly, "It was a police box. He was wet – said he fell into the swimming pool which was in the library – he was a bit mad."
Saxon smiled, nodding his head for her to continue. "And you didn't call the police?"
"He wasn't going to hurt me,"
The Prime Minister looked towards the old man, smirking as if he knew something – but what? Her Doctor would never hurt her, and yet the way he looked at the old man – who was … the not-Doctor.
"What did he do?"
"He came and looked at –"
Amy's knew, deep down, that she did not want to let this man know anything about that crack in her bedroom wall.
"Yes …" she said slowly before breathing in and rambling on, "and he ate a lot of food – or rather he didn't eat a lot – he kept spitting out the food … or throwing it out of the door. He made me fry stuff because I'm 'Scottish', and then he said beans were evil – and then there was the bread and butter which he did throw out the door, telling it to stay out, until he started to eat –"
Saxon cut her off with a wave of his hand, mirth lacing his features. He was laughing at her – just like all the others had. She glared at him, wanting to tell him to stop but for once she held her tongue.
"Amelia – is there any point to this? Did anything else happen?"
Her stomach flipped – he hadn't asked what the Doctor had looked at! He hadn't asked – and she continued. "His box started making a strange noise. He said he had to fix it and he ran off."
"Did he come back?"
"Sorry?" said Saxon. "He didn't come back?"
A strange look passed over Saxon's face. His voice lost as he seemed to be lost in a thought that was slipping away like catching water.
"Did he promise to?"
Why was he asking her this? Why was he looking at the old man when he spoke?
"Amelia. Did. He. Promise. To?"
"Five minutes," she blinked. "He said five minutes and then we could do away travelling into Time and Space,"
"And you've dreamed of that ever since?"
She looked over at the old man and said loudly. "Yes,"
She wanted the old man to feel guilty about it. Why did she want this old man, whom she didn't know, to feel guilty? He hadn't done anything and yet once again – she knew him. He was the Doctor – but a not-Doctor because her one was young and raggedy and saved her from the crack.
The not-Doctor did look slightly guilty, but there was also a … feeling of hope that seemed to swell in his eyes.
Trust me, I'm the Doctor.
Saxon rose from his chair and walked over to the old man, crouching to his level. "See isn't that sad – he just left her. Left her. How cruel is that? And do you know the rest of the story, Doctor?"
Saxon turned and looked at her: leering and smiling like a shark. "Oh, yes Amelia – this man is your Doctor who left you. I've just aged him a bit which is why he's different – by god you are a heartless bastard,"
He's been aged? And yet even so … this couldn't be her Doctor. But it would make sense if he was … but 'it's a time machine' – her Doctor's voice spoke to her through the depths of time and space, and she just knew this wasn't her Doctor.
She stared at him.
"Now Amelia," said Saxon.
Amelia snapped out of her revere.
"Do you want an apology from the Doctor?"
She didn't because this man owed her nothing.
The old man – the not-Doctor – however once again pierced her soul.
"Yes," she said. She wasn't really saying that. Something else was.
"I'm so sorry, Amelia Pond," said the not-Doctor, "So sorry,"
And he was – but what for? He hadn't done anything to her … had he? This not-Doctor … she blinked.
And I thank you for giving me hope. The Doctor will come, trust me, I'm the Doctor whispered a voice.
"Now that is all better – I was concerned there –" Saxon froze, "But no matter – bye, bye Amelia Pond,"
She looked at Saxon. "What?"
"Well, you are of little use to me – Paradox and all … and so …!"
The not-Doctor yelled.
The Master laughed.
But hope remained all because of one little Scottish girl and her yet-to-come-but-had-come not-imaginary friend called the Doctor.
"Trust me, I'm the Doctor."
And Amelia Pond lay limp with a hidden smile on her lips.
Author's Note: Thoughts are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!