Author's Note: This story was originally written in 2012, and published on the whofic website under my alias there, anthem. The story came about after rewatching "The Almost People" and "The Rebel Flesh" episodes, and fully understanding what the Doctor and his Ganger had done. Ratings and reviews are greatly appreciated.

Amy Pond was not easily frightened. She prided herself on that, never having been the one to jump at a "boo!" or scream at a horror film her friends would watch late at night.

She'd never been frightened until she met the Doctor.

First it was with the Weeping Angels. She, as she herself had put it, was "properly frightened". In the end, she'd come away lightheaded, mind still reeling with the remnants of fear, and still shaking, though whether the shaking was from the reality of what had almost happened of the cold of the island, she didn't know.

The Doctor had wrapped her in a blanket, embracing her with warm arms, murmuring into her ginger hair that she was alright, he had her now, and he was so, so sorry for letting her into the dangerous situation.

She'd hugged him back, telling him it was okay, and thank you for saving her.

Then, she'd gone home with him, and showed him her wedding dress, and engagement ring, and tried to snot him, though he wouldn't let her.

She could remember vowing to make it happen one day before complying and going with him.

The second time, she'd been pulled under by the hungry earth. It had been like quicksand, pulling and pulling at her under she was buried underneath it, and, sure she was going to die, she'd blacked out, only to wake later contained.

Following that, in the same day, Rory was killed. She couldn't remember most of it now, but she had what the Doctor had told her, how Rory had been shot down, and then pulled in by the time crack. How she'd forgotten about him until he showed again at the Pandorica's opening, as a roman solider, and how, to save her life, he'd become the Lone Centurion.

The third time was the final moments of her life, in Rory's arms, as she died from the bullet he'd shot into her. She'd been so scared, not knowing what to expect.

The fourth, was when the Doctor, HER Doctor, had died, by the hand of a NASA astronaut emerging from the waters of Lake Silencio. She'd felt the bolts in her heart, all Eleven of them, just like he'd gotten.

The fifth time, this time, was with the Flesh.

The Doctor had been so frightening, so very very frightening in that moment when he shoved her up against the wall, raving about the eyes, and the question of why. Her heart had raced, her knees had gone weak, and she'd been so scared.

Now, laying in this new place, captive, she thought about him. She trusted him with everything she was, with her life and her feelings and even more than that.

She'd kept that faith throughout the ordeal with the flesh, the two Doctor's and the acid factory, sticking by her Doctor, the REAL Doctor, as they ran.

Then he'd turned out fake.

It turned out that the real Doctor had been the one to push her into that wall, the real Doctor who had yelled and gripped her shoulders with an vice like hold.

That thought alone scared her.

But as soon as she saw him, him and his ridiculous Bowtie, and that floppy hair and tweed, she'd run and hugged him. Tightly, so, so tightly, reveling in the feeling of being reunited with her best friend.

She was scared of him, that much would remain true.

But she loved him, she loved him with everything she was, and she knew, deep down, she couldn't stay away from him. The only way that she'd ever be able to had already happened to her, that fourth time on the shores of Lake Silencio. Even then, though, she'd had to be physically pulled away from his body, crying.

She vowed to herself as she hugged him that that would be the only time, and the only way.