The Dark Side of the Moon

by RosePond

Amy/11 - The Doctor, as most people know him, is a lighthearted adventurer who's far too interested in seeing the universe to have time to worry about his past catching up with him. Though he should be. Because, like the bright side of the moon, he also has a dark side, and it won't stay hidden forever... (M rating will come into play in future chapters)

1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone! I had such a positive response to my first DW fic "I Knew You Were Trouble" that I decided to brave the waters and try another one, this time with Amy/Eleven. :)

~OOO~

"The Dark Side of the Moon"

-Chapter 1-

"Doctor?" Amy asked casually as she strolled down the cobbled street next to him. The Doctor was preoccupied with fiddling with a setting on his screwdriver and didn't even glance at her. Amy elbowed him in the ribs, a tactic which she had found increasingly useful when the eccentric, easily distracted Time Lord wasn't paying her enough attention. "Doctor!" she hissed again. Finally, he lifted his head and looked at her, slightly irritated.

"Yes, Pond? Is it important?" The Doctor rubbed his side and widened the gap between them on the road, casting a reproachful glance at Amy's elbow. "Also, ouch!" His gaze drifted back to his screwdriver and he fiddled with the sonic some more, finally giving it an exasperated shake and lifting it up to eye-level to squint at it. "This thing is on the blink and I can't figure out why; it's not like the Italians had sonic interference in the sixteenth century—ouch! Pond, really!"

Amy had smacked the Doctor's arm with enough force that it would probably bruise, Time Lord healing genetics aside, and he finally came to a halt and turned to face his equally irritated companion. The Doctor found Amy standing several feet behind him, partially in the shadow of doorway from a nearby house, and she looked caught between glaring at him and casting haughty glances at passersby. Pocketing the sonic, the Doctor retraced his steps until he was back within speaking distance of his companion.

"Amy?" He looked between Amy, pressing herself into the door frame, and the throngs of Italians passing by.

"Doctor," Amy countered, folding her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow at him. Not a good sign.

The Doctor frowned. Amy looked cross with him; not an uncommon occurrence, but not one that made the Scottish girl great company either. Amy had been travelling with the Doctor for a fair amount of time at this point, and he'd come to realize that once she'd set her mind to something she was stubborn as a mule until she got her way. And right now she apparently wanted to discuss something, and appeared not to have any plans on vacating the doorway she'd planted herself in until that conversation had taken place.

"What is it, Amy?" the Doctor asked, trying to avoid being jostled by the crowds of shoppers moving past them, bumping him this way and that due to his suddenly stationary presence. One particularly burly man shoulder-checked him so hard that the Doctor stumbled forward and had to catch himself against the white stucco wall of the house. "Couldn't we talk somewhere else?" he asked hopefully, rubbing his shoulder and looking balefully after the man who had lumbered on through the crowd as other, wiser, shoppers moved quickly out of his way.

"No," Amy said, her Scottish accent thick in the single word. "We can't. Doctor, everyone keeps lookin' at me and whispering. I've seen three women now look me up and down and mutter 'cortigiana', before whispering behind their fans. What's up? Are gingers that uncommon in this time period? Or is it something I'm wearing? We're not exactly dressed for inconspicuousness, Doctor…"

At this comment the Doctor's expression cleared and he glanced anew at Amy's outfit. She wasn't wearing anything unusual—well, unusual for her… in twenty-first century London; but as the Doctor took in Amy's short leather jacket, denim mini skirt, tights and platform boots, in connection with her comment about being called a "cortigiana", suddenly everything made sense. Of course, the fact that the Doctor had figured out why the locals were sending Amy a mixture of snide looks chased with condescending laughter wasn't going to do him any favours when he explained it to his companion. He decided, therefore, that the safest thing to do would be to avoid answering directly. He quickly turned back in the direction they'd been heading.

"It's nothing to do with your hair, Pond," the Doctor said, taking Amy's arm and trying to tug her out of the doorway. "Red is a common enough colour even now. Now we really ought to be going. I'm supposed to be meeting the Order of Altron at St. Michael's in twenty minutes and we're already going to be late—"

Amy would not be swayed. "Doctor…"

He froze, hearing the warning in Amy's voice; the tone she usually reserved for impending rants about him not being completely honest with her about something. Very slowly he turned back toward Amy and ducked his head slightly, glancing over at her. He was a tall man, had been so for several regenerations now, but Amelia Pond was an imposing girl despite being half a head shorter than him, and right now the steely look in her hazel eyes had the effect of making him feel about three inches high. "Er… yes?"

"The word, Doctor," Amy said slowly, pinning him in place with her eyes. "What does it mean?"

She spoke clearly, eerily polite, and it was the strategic calmness in Amy's voice that cracked him after only five long seconds of holding her gaze. Wringing his hands, and avoiding meeting her eyes, he finally gave in. "Fine, yes, alright… I'll tell you, but don't say I didn't warn you… other cultures and language barriers and all that… Are you sure—?"

"Yes." Amy snapped.

"They're calling you cortigiana, Pond. It means courtesan."

Amy frowned at the Doctor. "Courtesan? Like a… a prostitute?" Her eyes snapped up to his with an appalled expression. Another pair of upper class women strolled past them just then, and, on seeing Amy, started whispering behind their hands. Amy quelled them with a murderous glare and they scurried past. "Look, I know this skirt is a bit on the shorter side for a girl in sixteenth century Venice, but that's no reason to—"

The Doctor could sense a full-on Scottish tantrum coming and quickly took Amy's arm, guiding her to the side of the road and away from the main crowd. "It's not your skirt, Pond, though you're probably right that it's causing a bit of a…er… stir. Most men in this time wouldn't be accustomed to seeing that much of a woman's legs outside the…er… bedroom." Amy raised an eyebrow and the Doctor blushed, rushing on. "But actually, it's your boots."

Amy blinked at him, thrown. "My boots?" she repeated, glancing down at her soft, leather, calf-high boots. "What's wrong with these? They're not even all that high! Maybe three inches…"

"Yes, but the thing is, in sixteenth century Italy only courtesans wore platform shoes. It was a way for them to stand out in the crowd, attract attention and all that…"

Amy was silent for a few seconds, processing this news. Then she swatted at him again, a gleam in her eye. "And you didn't think that this would be important information to share with the class?"

"Well, it didn't seem relevant at the time…" the Doctor muttered, anticipating Amy's wrath and sidestepping her swinging palm just in time. Amy still looked furious with him, but he didn't think that was entirely fair, after all, he'd been busy trying to work out a complicated message the monks had sent him and his mind hadn't exactly been on current fashion trends.

"Right," Amy said abruptly, causing the Doctor's eyes to flicker back to her face. "You're taking me shopping."

He blinked at her for a moment, thrown by Amy's sudden shift in attitude. "Sorry, I'm what?" he asked, a little confused, glancing between the spark in Amy's eye and the distant tiled roof of St. Michael's Monastery, far across the market plaza. He had a sudden ominous feeling that he was going to miss his appointment.

"You heard me," Amy said, already marching through the crowd without waiting to see if the Doctor was following. "You drag me half way across the world and hundreds of years into the past to meet up with a group of dusty old monks, without, may I add, informing me of the dress code, so the least you can do is purchase proper attire for me. Besides," And now she turned to face him, walking backwards with a mischievous look on her face. "The gowns the women are wearing are gorgeous! Now get out your credit card, mister, because I've got things to buy!"

"It's not a … a credit card…" he found himself trailing off weakly, as Amy skipped merrily into the crowd, no longer caring about the gossip she was generating. "And the psychic paper isn't really meant for frivolous shopping—Oh what's the use…" He pocketed the small leather wallet and wound his way through the throng of shoppers, following the indignant gasps of the women and approving mutters of the men as he went.

~OOO~

Getting Amy properly outfitted was not an easy task for the Doctor. The first few shops Amy approached, plucking at fancy bolts of cloth and intricately crafted gowns, turned the Doctor away as soon as he began to try and engage their owners in the possibility of a sale. Of course, he knew the reason why and did his best to hurry Amy along to the next option before she could get too attached to any dress in particular. If only Amy had worn a skirt with a slightly longer hem—perhaps to her ankles, something that would cover her heeled boots—then maybe he'd be able to pass her off as a slightly odd country girl long enough to buy her something decent to wear. Though he'd never admit it, he knew that it was his fault for allowing his companion to come along on this trip without making sure they were both properly outfitted. But the fact was, the Doctor rarely slowed down long enough to think through such menial details as clothing, not thinking it important enough for more than a passing glance in the grand scheme of things, and he did have a habit of picking up out-spoken travelling companions so…

"Ohhh, this is it!"

Amy's excited cry from down the crowed street ahead of him pulled the Doctor's attention back to the present. He looked up and spied Amy's red hair and pale hands pressed up against a glass window front. She was ogling whatever was displayed there with intense interest, barely sparing a glance for him by the time he managed to make his way through the crowd to her side. He was able to take in some sort of blue cloth before a large, solid belly pushed its way between them.

"Can I help you, My Lord…?" The shop keeper trailed off, the rest of his lavishly clothed body seeming dwarfed by his impressive stomach. He had an amiable expression on his face, though he cast a slightly suspicious eye over at Amy, as if unsure if she were with the Doctor or not.

"Uh…Doctor! Yes, that's me! Ever so pleased to meet you, good Sir!" He braced himself to be turned away once more, feeling guilty for actually hoping to be sent on, because he was already nearly half an hour late to his meeting at St. Michael's and that really didn't look good when he professed to be a commander of Time and Space.

The shop keeper slanted his suspicious look toward the Doctor at this boisterous response, but returned his greeting cordially enough. "My Lord… Doctor," he repeated uncertainly, but seemed to take the title in stride despite the Doctor's odd appearance. "Can I help you, Lord Doctor? Are you looking for some cloth to outfit your Lady wife?" Here he turned toward Amy, who had finally torn her gaze from whatever outfit was in the display and come skipping up to the pair of them.

"My what?" the Doctor responded in surprise before he could stop himself, then met the shop keeper's keen eyes and quickly cleared his throat. "Er… yes. The little lady is from…uh…the Highlands. Newly acquired and not yet trained up in the ways of proper, noble-y society, bless her." At the end of this statement the Doctor slung an arm around Amy's waist and tugged her to his side, pulling a startled "What are you doing?!" from Amy as she bounced awkwardly against his hip, and a raised eyebrow from the shop keeper.

"The Celts are a known for their rather…barbarous women…are they not? Quite the spitfire in your new bride, eh?" the shop keeper acknowledged with a wink of camaraderie. "Though the dress of your Lady wife is rather strange to me, if you'll forgive my comment, Lord Doctor. I've not seen others of her kin in such…. er…. revealing costume afore meeting you. Though their menfolk are known for being rather at one with nature in relation to their livery." His wary gaze had returned and the Doctor thought it best to move things along.

"She's from the far North. Very North. Very far. And she's set her eye on some dainty in your window, Lord Weaver. Isn't that right, er…dear?"

Amy, still pinned against the Doctor's side, was looking at him as if she weren't certain if he were drunk, teasing, or just a moron. "Let me get this straight…" she said at last, drawing out her words slowly and still eyeing the Doctor as if he were a few bricks short of a load. "You've finally decided this shop is good enough to get me the dress you promised me?"

The shop keeper was now looking at them as if he weren't entirely sure if he'd been insulted or not, and the Doctor hurried on, moving a safe distance away from both of them. "Yes, right, exactly. None of the other places we looked at were anywhere close to the quality of craftsmanship in this store. Far superior, isn't that right, Lord Weaver?" He cast a hopeful glance at the owner of said shop and was relieved to see that he looked mollified.

"The rest of the men on this street will try to cheat you," he declared, turning to usher both the Doctor and Amy inside the small store before following after them. "I will give you a fair price, Lord Doctor. And my Lady wife is known throughout Venice for her taste and style; she will see that your new bride is properly attired."

Amy looked at him sharply at this comment, though luckily for both of them the shop keeper had moved on ahead to summon his wife from a back room and didn't notice.

"Wife?" Amy hissed, but the Doctor was spared explaining by the jovial sound of a matronly woman appearing from behind a table piled high with bolts of cloth and various dress trimmings, exclaiming in a rapid stream of Italian at Amy's outfit. Before Amy could protest, or further question the Doctor on what sort of scheme he'd cooked up, she'd been bustled away by the woman and a teenage girl who looked a few years younger than herself, leaving the Doctor behind to hash out payment details.

~OOO~

Amy, the Matron, and her attendant—who Amy had decided must be her young daughter—squeezed into the back room of the shop. There were two small windows to let in the warm afternoon light, a couple of wooden chairs, a table with scissors, thread and various other sewing supplies, and a small raised platform onto which Amy was quickly prodded. To her delight, the dress from the window was quickly produced and draped over the back of one of the chairs. The woman and her daughter chatted rapidly to both each other and Amy as they buzzed around her, measuring various parts of her body and then the dress, before sticking pins into the material to adjust it to the best fit.

Amy couldn't wait to put that dress on. She was more into short skirts and tights as daily wear, but this dress was gorgeous, and besides, when else would she have a chance to wear one like it? Rory was dead set against fancy dress parties, and had complained non-stop the one time she'd managed to coerce him into attending one with her—though he had complained a lot less about them when she came over in her kiss-o-gram kit. She pushed the thought of Rory quickly from her mind. He wasn't here right now; she was with the Doctor. Rory was part of a whole different world.

The dress she'd seen in this particular shop window was a rich peacock blue, empire waist style, with a white under chemise so fine it was almost silk. The dress had gold embroidery stitched along the bodice on either side of the lacework, and again along the split hem down its front, continuing finally around the base of the dress.

It took the matron and her daughter a combined effort to bundle Amy into the dress, nimble fingers making short work of the various buttons and hooks in the back, followed by their tying on matching, elaborately embroidered sleeve covers over-top of the wrist-length sleeves of her chemise. The effect was strategically placed "poofs" of white silk that poked out between the multi-pieced covers at Amy's elbows and shoulders, providing ease of arm movement. The ensemble was topped off with a gold cross necklace—a piece of jewelry all respectable noble women wore to proclaim their piety and purity to the world, as the Doctor would later explain, and then brushed Amy's long red hair into gleaming submission down her back, pinning half of it up in a mess of intricate curls under a decorative pearl-studded hairnet.

In the end, a very little bit of sewing was needed to adjust the dress to suit her. The matron exclaimed over Amy's slim form and proclaimed the dress "made for her" (or whatever the Italian equivalent of that phrase was). With the addition of a pair of soft, proper, low-heeled boots (really, they would practically be considered flats back in Leadworth), Amy was declared ready to see her "husband" again. The whole process had taken less than half an hour, a miracle in Amy's eyes, considering the whirlwind of activity that had gone on in that back room during her stay in it, but she felt a little flutter of excitement to show off her new outfit to the Doctor now that she was deemed "acceptable". She'd show him that clothes really did make the woman.

~OOO~

Amy twirled into the main room of the shop in the wake of the Matron and her daughter, the long skirts of her opulent dress twisting tightly around her knees and then belling out around her legs as she turned in circles to show off her new outfit to the fullest advantage.

The effect this new look of Amy's had on the Doctor when she was finally presented to him was highly satisfactory, Amy thought, and she swallowed back the smirk she wanted to throw him when his mouth fell open, instead dipping down into a very ladylike curtsy, the skirts of her dress poofing up around her as she went.

The Doctor, for his part, had been chatting amiably to the shop keeper while he waited, trying to glean information on anything strange that might have been happening in the area, seeing as the market wasn't all that far from the monastery he was supposed to currently be at—such that he nearly walked into a pole when the man's wife pronounced Amy ready for public viewing.

Amy bit her tongue to keep back the bubble of laughter that rose up in her at the Doctor's reaction, then decided if she was going to play this role she might as well throw herself fully into it. Glancing up at the Doctor and the now-approving shop keeper demurely through her long lashes, Amy offered the group a small smile and said sweetly, "I trust I now look presentable, my Lords?" though she was barely able to keep a straight face.

The Doctor fumbled with the canopy pole, trying to set it up straight again after having knocked into it. Then, trying to regain his composure, he awkwardly straightened his tweed jacket, followed by his long fingers flying of their own accord to nervously fidget with his bow tie. Amy Pond looked different. Yes, different was a good word. He was used to Amy trotting around in short skirts, and they'd never really bothered him that much, seeing as he was usually too busy to pay much attention to his companion's wardrobe choices—and it wasn't even that Amy wore that revealing clothing, because Leela, for one, had spent the better part of their adventures in nothing but a flimsy animal skin if he was going to be picky about that sort of thing—but the thing was… Amy didn't usually wear something that revealed so much of the… er… upper type portion of her body, and it was suddenly a rather difficult task for him to wrench his gaze away.

Having settled the canopy pole back to rights, the Doctor cleared his throat and strode forward to eye Amy critically. "Yes, yes, very respectable, Amelia. We thank you, Lord Weaver, and your gracious lady wife, for taking pity on us. We've just completed a long journey and thus had no suitable clothing for our outing. Naturally, the little lady refused to stay behind while I went to sort it all out… and, well, the Celts and all that, eh?" He gestured in a what-would-you-have-me-do? manner in Amy's direction and the shop keeper grunted his sympathy.

The Doctor's psychic paper had gone a long way in convincing the weaver that both the Doctor and Amy were of high social standing, despite Amy's rather dubious first impression, and she guessed it had aided in footing the bill for her new outfit while she'd been getting trussed up in the back of the shop, too.

At the conclusion of this speech, however, Amy shot the Doctor a look, rising semi-gracefully to her feet, just barely managing not to trip and land flat on her face in the dust when one of the thin-soled slippers she'd been forced into caught on the hem of her skirts. The Doctor dropped her a wink, noticing her rising temper, and Amy gave him sugar-sweet smile in return.

"You are satisfied with your bride's presentation then, I trust?" the shop keeper asked, and the Doctor nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yes! Much better! Really, she looks almost a lady now, wouldn't you say?"

The shop keeper's wife gave a nod of satisfaction, her daughter hovering a few steps behind her shoulder, and Amy threw them a regal look. To the Doctor, whom she had now navigated her way to stand beside, she muttered through grinning teeth: "Keep talking about me like I'm some doll you're dressing for a party and you're going to have a divorce on your hands, dear husband—!"

"You're pleased, wife?" the Doctor cut in pointedly, raising his voice to cover Amy's sarcasm, and Amy realized that everyone was looking at her. Hastily she pasted on an appropriately grateful expression and bobbed another curtsy to the weaver.

"Oh, er, yes. Very pleased. My husband is most generous…" The Doctor grinned in a self-satisfied way, hooking his thumbs into the lapels of his tweed jacket and puffing out his chest. Amy moved closer on the pre-tense of showing her gratefulness—only to dig her elbow into the Doctor's ribs. He flinched, and glared at her, and Amy smiled sweetly. The Doctor shot her reproachful look which she took the liberty of ignoring, and Amy looped her arm through his with a decidedly unrepentant grin. "You said you had business at the monastery, didn't you, husband?" she added before the Doctor could say anything.

"Yes, right, of course! We should be off!" the Doctor announced abruptly, taking the not so subtle hint Amy was dropping him and reaching out to shake the shop keeper's hand with overdone vigour. "I'll be sure to recommend your wears to all those we meet in Society!" And with that he tucked Amy's hand into the crook of his elbow and hurried her away down the road, leaving the weaver and his family to stare after them in confusion; though Amy was almost certain she heard the Weaver's wife mutter something about them going to the monastery being a good idea, and they ought to pray for their souls.

~OOO

"Why is it," Amy asked as soon as they'd made it out of hearing distance of the weaver and his wife, "that you never have to change clothes, no matter where we go? I mean, really, a tweed jacket and bow tie don't really fit in with tights and capes, Doctor. And I am talking about the men you know…"

The Doctor sniffed and reached up to unconsciously straighten his bow tie. "Bow ties are cool, Pond."

Amy elbowed him in the side and he grunted, shooting her a wounded look. "Ouch! Really, Amelia, you're going to have to curb your violent urges while we're here. Women of this time period were much more… er… docile than you're acting."

Amy ignored the Doctor's jibe and pushed on. "I'm just sayin' that a nice neck ruff or something wouldn't be amiss, seein' as how we're trying to blend in…" She gave him a significant look which he studiously ignored. "Or maybe a codpiece?" she added innocently, flickering her gaze down his front as several wealthy-looking men strolled past them with prominent codpieces of their own made out of opulent fabrics that neatly matched their outfits.

The Doctor's even gait jerked as he twisted to gape at Amy in mute shock, but by the time he was able to untangle his tongue enough to sputter a reply, Amy had made her escape and was running down the cobbled street ahead of him, her lilting laughter floating over her shoulder and her red hair swinging wildly across her back.

With a grumble and several mutterings under his breath, the Doctor hurried to catch Amy up. She was always doing and saying things like that, he thought darkly to himself as he wove through the crowded street, keeping one eye on Amy's bright copper hair as she skipped about, peering into shop windows and greeting the native Italians who mostly gave her frozen smiles in response before turning away quickly and going about their business. I mean, really! Dropping remarks about… about things like codpieces of all things, like she was commenting on the weather! It wasn't like she couldn't know that her casual remarks got under his skin, but what was worse, the Doctor knew that Amy was in a relationship with a bloke from her village, Roy or Robby or something like that, the nurse—yes, that was the one—and if she was in a relationship she shouldn't be looking at his… his… codpiece area in the first place!

When he rounded the next corner the rust-coloured tiles of the roof of St. Michael's Monastery loomed in the background of the piazza, and the Doctor sighed in relief. He could see a group of monks waiting for him clustered under a stone archway, the cowls of their robes pulled up far enough that their faces were obscured in shadow. Strange symbols were woven in silver thread along the sleeves and hems of the men's dark robes, and they glowed with a faint light as one monk broke away from his brothers and started toward the Doctor.

The Order of Altron was an ancient and highly respected race, though not one that the Doctor had an overly abundant amount of experience with. He'd met the Monks before, of course, in groups of twos or threes, at various events and gatherings across the cosmos, but he'd never been summoned to their city before. Never, in fact, seen more than four of the Brothers gathered together in one place. Which was why he felt both excited and the tiniest bit unnerved to see a group of at least twenty figures milling around in front of the monastery.

"The Order welcomes you, Time Lord," said the monk who had left the group to come greet the Doctor. His voice was quiet, almost a monotone. In fact, the Doctor was left with a distinct impression that the monk's voice was coming from someone else, rather than from somewhere in the depths of his cowl.

"It's good to be here, Brother Cronus," the Doctor grinned back, looking completely at ease even if he didn't feel precisely that way. "Though your invitation was rather cryptic." He paused then, frowning slightly in thought. "'Cryptic'… that's such a strange word when you think about its meaning, isn't it? Crypt-ic. Sounds like a morgue or some lovely old catacombs—though I do love me some catacombs. I could tell you a story about a time I was chased through—" Amy's elbow was aiming for him like a missile and he danced out of the way. "—Er, better leave that one for another time. What I should have said was 'mysterious'. Or 'enigmatic'. Ooooh! Yes. I like that one. E-nig-ma-tic. I should use that word more often. Anyway, more to the point, I do hope you plan to explain your request now that I'm here…"

Throughout this entire speech Brother Cronus hadn't hadn't shown a flicker of emotion, though, of course, that might have been due to the fact that his face—if he even had one, the Doctor had never seen any of the monks with their hoods down—was hidden in shadow. Amy hovered at the Doctor's side watching this exchange, and when the Doctor finally stopped rambling she leaned closer and whispered in his ear. "Those are the monks, huh?"

He flickered a glance at her out of the corner of his eye and noted her curious expression. "Yes, Pond, this is the Order of Altron, the reason we're here in sixteenth century Italy."

"But monks? Really? We have monks in my time. Are they at least space monks? Go on… tell me they're space monks, Doctor!" Amy was grinning like she always did when she got over-excited at some new person or creature they met. Of course, not having the experience he did, she often made comments that were rather rude, if unintentionally so. The Doctor cast a quick look between Brother Cronus and the rest of the Order behind him, all still motionless as statues, then turned to Amy.

"The Order of Altron was founded twelve thousand years ago, Amy, and is a very respected religious group whose private texts are a highly guarded secret. People have travelled across galaxies just to look at their temple, let alone have the chance to speak with one of the Brothers and learn from their wisdom—which, by the way, is allowed only about once every two or three hundred years or so."

Amy's eyes had taken on a slightly glazed look, as often happened when the Doctor answered a simple question with a rambling response. He frowned when Amy didn't look suitably impressed by this bit of knowledge.

"So what you're saying is, Friar Tuck and his Merry Men over there are some sort of cosmic priests?"

He started to nod, his mind already moving on to the topic at hand, when he noticed Amy's smirk and raised eyebrow. She held his gaze for several long seconds before he finally cracked and huffed, "Yes, Pond. 'Space Monks'."

"I knew it." Amy grinned triumphantly and the Doctor rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well, can we move on now? Big mysterious message and big mysterious temple and all that…." he muttered petulantly, pointedly ignoring Amy's smug expression as she brushed past him toward Brother Cronus, her hand extended and a greeting on her lips. "Amy!" he shouted, just in time, causing her to pull up short seconds before she could touch the monk.

Amy jerked awkwardly, yanking her hand back and and spinning to look at the Doctor in surprise. "Wha-what?! What? Huh? What did I do now?"

The Doctor hurried up next to Amy and neatly guided her back a few paces, while Amy herself shot a startled look between Brother Cronus and himself, looking very confused. "No one is allowed to touch the Brothers without permission, to do so would cause bad things to happen."

Amy eyed the Doctor suspiciously. "What sort of bad things?"

"The sort of bad things that happen to people when they touch the Brothers without permission," the Doctor snapped back, cutting off Amy's imminent retort that that 'wasn't any sort of an answer' by stepping in front of her and directing his attention back to Brother Cronus. The monk however, had, like his brothers, not moved or acknowledged that something apparently 'dire' had nearly taken place. "So, shall we?"

Brother Cronus's cowl bobbed in what Amy assumed to be a nod, and then he turned and all but glided back across the cobbled road toward the other monks still gathered by the monastery entrance. The Doctor followed immediately on his heels, and Amy hurried behind him, trying to ignore the rest of the Brothers as they closed ranks around the pair and followed their leader inside the monastery.

It was dark inside, the long stone passageways lit only by iron sconces set into the bricks on alternating sides of the hall. The firelight cast eerie shadows all around them as they progressed further into the building, though the Doctor's face suggested he had other things to think about than the creep-factor of the decor, so Amy refrained from commenting on it herself. After they'd been walking about five minutes, though it felt like an eternity longer to Amy in her silly thin slippers—and she was beginning to mutter under her breath about women's lib and how she planned to enlighten Italian females on the glorious pros of owning a pair of high-heeled boots—societal consequences be damned—the party left the gloomy hallways and exited into a larger, open chamber with sunlight streaming past tall marble pillars. The Doctor and Brother Cronus stopped walking a few feet into the room and Amy and the monks filed in behind them. Once everyone had stopped walking—or in the monks' case, 'gliding'—Amy was able to take in the scene around them.

She discovered that they weren't in another room, per say, but rather standing on a flagstone patio that encircled a a wide, open courtyard. The courtyard was surrounded with a ring of Ionic pillars, tall and stoic, with curling stone scrolls carved into their tops. In the centre of the courtyard was a wide grassy field, in the middle of which was a carved marble fountain with two people beside it. Looking back over her shoulder to see what the Doctor and Brother Cronus were up to, Amy found everyone looking at her—or more precisely, looking past her. Curiosity welled-up inside her, and Amy turned to focus her attention on the Doctor, figuring he must know who the two newcomers were. Her eyes lit on the Doctor just in time to see his expression change from one of curiosity… to surprise… to cautious understanding.

"Oh," he said slowly. "I see. So that's what you summoned me here for."

~OOO~

And that's a wrap on chapter one! Hopefully you liked it enough that you want to stick around for chapter two. I'm working on it now, so please leave a note if you're curious about what's going to happen next. :)