Kaleidoscope Heart, a doctor who fanfic

"Hearts have colors / Don't we all know? / Red runs through our veins
Feel the fire burning up / Inspire me with blood / Of blue and green
I have hope / That inside is not a heart
But a kaleidoscope."
- Sara Bareilles 'Kaleidoscope Heart'

They are not in love.

At least, not in conventional ways.

There are moments when she almost could hate him. There are times when he is so angry with her and she is so angry with him and they almost could bring themselves to hate one another-but they never do. They fight, in their way. She yells and she goes to Rory; he slams things and tries to ignore her and puts on that old mask of stern Time Lord, because after 900 years, he is very good at it.

When they are on Atakkapalla, they become angry.

Amy doesn't think she's done anything wrong, there's no reason for him to get so angry; she didn't know the native girls planned to try and take her hair-and her blood-or that it was considered a very high offense for the Doctor and Rory to try and save her. Rory is upset; but he forgives her more quickly than the Doctor seems to.

He is angry; angry that he let her get carted off by the sweet-talking girls of the Ranfa people, angry that she ignores his warnings about wandering off, angry that it is her curiosity and her humanity that make him love her so much and make him get so angry with her. He raves inside the TARDIS about listening to his rules and about how she could have gotten herself killed. His eyes are full of rage and fear and they blaze at her as he shouts. Amy's voice is defiance and rage to meet his own-how can he blame her? He still saved her, they're all safe, he's overreacting. Her eyes search his with petulant annoyance and reproach, and they are both angry now at their weakness for one another. He spins on his heel and growls about taking them home. Amy drags Rory away and they both feed their anger a little longer.

The TARDIS comforts the Doctor; he tends her wiring and she sparks and sizzles and pops at him; lets him take his anger out on her and then, when he is sitting in the mechanic's swing beneath the console, worn out from working harder than he needed to and from thinking so hard and so angrily for so long, she just whirrs softly and the Doctor knows that the soft beeping and humming of his TARDIS are her way of saying 'is your tantrum over?'And with Amy, it always ends.

Amy lets Rory comfort her. He's always there when she needs him, she knows, and he sits with her in their room as she viciously lobs articles of clothing at a small suitcase on their bed growling and muttering angrily to herself and to Rory. He knows this will pass; it always does. They'll get as far as Leadworth sometimes; but then they'll always turn back. Once Amy even dragged them both off of the ship and went back into the house without looking back. That had been the worst he'd seen so far, when she'd stomped into their house and slammed the door behind her, and for about two days, the Doctor had actually been gone. She'd sat in the kitchen at their table for hours on the second day, conveniently right in front of the window overlooking the yard, and Rory had left her alone most of the time. It would pass, it always did.

But they were thunder and lightning these times, Amy and the Doctor, and they would roil and rage until they could not anymore.

There are moments when they are afraid. It isn't something that separates them, it isn't something that ever lasts long, but their fear drags them together in a vice.

The day he comes back from that small absence, Amy is sitting in her kitchen, a small light over her stove the only light in the dark of the lower level of her house. She's alone, staring hard at the wall across from her, leaning back in her chair, arms folded over her nightie. It's nearing 3 in the morning, and she's still too angry to sleep. Rory's upstairs, she hasn't got any idea if he's awake or not, or if he even knows she's not in bed, but she hasn't been most of the night. Long enough for the anger that kept her awake to turn into fear that has her fingers biting into her arms as she gnaws at the insides of her mouth. She doesn't want to sleep, now, afraid of the dreams she knows will come that leave her terrified of never seeing him again.

The noise meets her ears, then. It's soft at first; it's the old girl calling to her as if to say, 'We're back again, the storm is over. You children need to apologize now.'

It takes him a moment to collect himself and step out of the TARDIS. He's afraid she'll still be angry. He's afraid she won't want to come, afraid she's finally made her mind up to live here, with Rory, who doesn't get angry with her like he does, and who is steady and can be a foundation for her.

She's standing in the garden when he steps out, standing there just as she had been when he first stole her away. Both of them stare with hard eyes and limp arms at one another across the grass that's like an ocean between them. His eyes fall first, looking away from her, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He's distraught that he's made her so upset, he's afraid he can't make these fights up to her, and he's too ashamed to go to her now. Amy's not so burdened; she sees his eyes fall and her heart swells, her feet moving before she can even stop them. Her arms are around him tightly, her face burying into the shoulder of his tweed jacket, inhaling his smell that always managed to calm her. He feels her fingers clutching at the back of the jacket, feels her heart pounding, feels even her throat clenching up with the effort to not sob. His arms lock around her as she does this, holding her to him as if he's afraid to loosen his grip, like she'll disappear forever if he does. He presses his cheek to her hair hard and brings a hand up to the back of her head.

His eyes are shut tightly and feeling her shallow breathing makes his throat constrict like hers. They don't even realize they're both spilling out their fear; whispering in that way only they know how of their fright that they'd never have this again, the fear that she wouldn't come back, the fear that he wouldn't come back. His fingers in her hair tell her he will always come back for her. Her hands on his coat tell him she will always come back to him. They comfort one another in a way that only the two of them can; and it's only him and only her that can console the other completely. They stand out in that garden until the sun peeks up over the trees and their arms ache from holding onto one another so tightly, but even then they can't let go.

They hate being fear; and that is why they change as quickly as they can.

There are moments when they are only joy; when there's no such thing as anger or fear or love or sadness; it's only happiness because why would there be anything else?

On Omma Centrati, there's nothing but laughter, and they're just happiness. They all laugh. It's been a good trip this time, a fantastic trip. They've spent hours roaming through an open-air market; passing foreign creatures of all kinds; humans in all sorts of clothing, aliens of all colors shapes and sizes. Amy says this is like a fairytale market, as they pass a stall selling small creatures probably as pets, and one of them looks like a tiny dragon. Rory nearly gets his fingers burned off by it, but Amy laughs and the Doctor tugs him back with a chuckle, telling him a bit too late that the sign above their little pen says something not unlike 'death to fingers'.

Amy gets herself some very interesting jewelry, and the Doctor buys himself a scarf that Amy is both fascinated and rather repelled by. It's in all sorts of insane colors that clash and roar from the fabric of the thing-that's about ten times too long for him-but he's positively in love with it and nothing Amy says will change his mind. Rory even laughs as he wraps part of it around his head and lets the rest trail around his neck and over his shoulders, telling them both about how he used to have a scarf that was the most magnificent scarf ever; sometimes it smelled of bananas and that this one would do wonderfully even if it wasn't just like the last one. Amy's dislike of the garment evaporated as she watched him gazing at the thing lovingly, memories hopping about in his eyes. She just laughed and tossed a dangling end over her shoulders and the other over Rory, who shook his head and grinned, looking it over with interest.

They ate strange food that tasted even stranger under a sky of stars while three pinkish moons loomed overhead. The Doctor was telling them about how once when he was here he'd been chased down by three men on large animals that were like walruses and hippopotamuses combined
"Surprisingly fast, those things were, it was brilliant! Not while I was running, mind you, but you should have seen the size of them! Stubby, enormous legs they had, and they were coming after me like gazelles!"

Rory and Amy both snickered at this, imagining what that must have been like; it was probably just like most other chases they'd been through; terrifying, though the Doctor would have been fascinated and thrilled to death by what was chasing him. The story ended with him getting hoisted over a parade in a sort of hot-air balloon and having bread thrown at him, and all three of them laughed and Amy tossed a bit of the most bread-like food they had at his head.

These are the times they only laugh and only smile. There is nothing but enjoyment; there are no relationships, there are no boundaries or bad memories or things holding them apart. Rory is Rory, Amy is Amy, and the Doctor is not quite so 900 for a little while. They love these moments, they love the smiles that are for all three of them and the laughter that they all share. They all enter the TARDIS again hand in hand, arms linked and smiles abound.

They are the best of friends these days, and they are bright as stars.

There are moments when they are sorrow and hopelessness.

The Doctor feels heaviness settling over him as he notices years growing in Amy. It isn't physical; physically she still looks like she did the first time she stepped into the TARDIS. But there is age blossoming in her eyes and in her voice. She is aging and he knows it is only a matter of time before she won't be able to travel with him anymore. She is so painfully human, she is so fragile and not like him, and it makes his heart ache to see her during these times. Amy feels the pain rolling off of him like fog. It clouds his eyes and makes his voice faraway and drags him out to sea where she can't swim to reach him. She knows these looks, she knows these days, and her heart echoes the aching of his. These are the times when she feels hopeless, feels the strain of all the time separating them, and the futility of trying to reach him over it.

This lasts days, sometimes. Rory even feels the depressing atmosphere; the TARDIS seems somber herself. Amy seems disconnected and distracted, the Doctor drifts around the ship almost in a daze. She catches him staring at her, sometimes, and when her eyes meet his they hold for a long moment, and the hurt she finds makes tears spring to her own eyes and a lump well in her throat. She can feel it, only with a look. She doesn't sleep most of these nights, and instead wanders around in the dim hallways and sometimes goes to drift outside the TARDIS or in the swimming pool, as if to feel the same floating that he does. It isn't the same, she knows, but during these times all she can do is wait on the shores for him to drift back to her.

She manages to wait, somehow, and he always does.

He drifts back to her at last, finding his way back to where she's waiting, and wanders into her arms. She holds him there, smooths down his hair and lets him hold onto her without a word spoken between them. His head rests on her shoulder, his face pressed to her neck, and his arms just wrap around her waist, letting her hands run over his back and her fingers run through his hair soothingly. She feels the pain, she feels their hearts pressed together and the hopelessness is shared. They both feel the distance, they both feel the strain, and they both feel the hurt. Sometimes they cry together, tears that they will never speak of and that they try to forget; tears that dampen Amy's shoulder and drip onto the Doctor's hair.
They are not in love these days, they are not friends these days.

They are Amy and the Doctor, and they are held together by a bond that isn't quite anything and is stronger than everything.

There are moments when they are in love.

There are times when the Doctor sees no one but Amy, wants no one but Amy. Amy stays by his side during these times, and she knows that there is no stronger love in her for anyone else. They're smiles for only one another; eyes that see nothing else, touches that send shivers and sear their skin together, connecting them in ways no one else will ever be. They make excuses to touch.
The Doctor grabs her hand to pull her out of the way, she embraces him without cause. He touches her hair and puts hands on her face because these times, she is all there is for him.
Amy gives him little smiles and little whispers, and her fingers find his when they can-he is all there is for her.

They think nothing of the past, they think nothing of distance or of time or of pain; they think only of one another. They become love though whispers that only they can hear, through touches that are with hands and foreheads and lips, and through gazes that speak when their mouths can't form words. Their love is something that isn't just an emotion, it isn't just physical or temporary. Their love manages to peek through at them wherever they are and whatever they're doing. It's a part of their bond like any other, a part that drags them together and entraps them in one another's arms because there is no one else in the universe they want more than each other.

Their love is something that doesn't need to be spoken because it's acknowledged between them. It's something they never question, something they can't ignore or escape if they try. They float together these times, swept away together and letting the current take them wherever it will. As long as they are together, it doesn't matter to either of them where they end up.

He has never felt this with anyone else, this bond he feels with her. He has felt love, he has felt longing and want, he's felt ties to other companions; but with Amy, he's drawn to her inescapably. She's the first he feels he can't let go with any ease, she's the first he will do anything to come back to or to protect. He does not care that she is bound to Rory, he does not care that there are days when they don't feel the intense love they feel other days. She stays, she wants to stay, and she has stayed, and that is what matters to him.

Amy has loved others before. Amy has been with other men, she's felt strong bonds and felt longing and want. She loves Rory, she always cares for Rory. But with the Doctor-her Doctor-it's different. This is a bond, this is a pull she's never experienced before. She couldn't ever leave him if she wanted. She doesn't care that he's had others, she doesn't care that there is River and Rory and there will inevitably be others after her. She stays, she trusts him completely, and she knows, she knows through everything and it's reaffirmed with every look and every touch, that he loves her just as she loves him. She knows, and she stays because that alone is enough for her. They won't have eternity, she knows, but what they have now is enough to her, these days.

They will never be bound in a way like marriage. They will never have a happy home together, she will never wear his ring and he will never wear hers. He cannot give her a normal life, and she cannot give him all the years he has left at his side-but they don't need those things, and they don't care about those things when they're together.

They are not in love. At least, not in conventional ways.

Instead, they are Amy Pond and her Doctor, the Doctor and his Amelia Pond, and what they have cannot be labeled, defined, named and often cannot even be put into words. It's real, and it is everything they are, and it binds them together more strongly than any conventional means of connection or normal ties can.

There are days when she does not love him, there are moments when she does not love him-but in those moments something else will always fill the space where her love was the previous moment. It is never empty; because the bond she has with him will never allow it to be. She is playing with something in a market when she thinks of this; a kaleidoscope that's the most intricate one she's ever seen. She shows it to the Doctor, spinning it while he looks.
"Look how pretty it is..."
"Ah, a kaleidoscope." He smiles fondly. "This one's made by the Borumi people on Terala Nampa-they're some of the most beautiful trinkets in the galaxy. Love kaleidoscopes; no matter how you shake or turn them, the patterns change but there's never any empty spots, and they always change into something beautiful. Genius things, absolutely fantastic." She gazes at him with curious eyes and wonders if his mind is wandering over the same path hers is. He pulls away from the toy and his eyes meet hers, and she is certain it is.

A/N: I've been without internet access for about 3 days now, and this is what I did in the spare time I had.
Thinking about them, I think it is a lot more complicated than just 'oh we're totally in love all the time'. They're not-but I think that's what's kept them together for so long now. They've got this incredibly strong bond that keeps them together; it's not just love, it's so many things rolled up together, and I love that about them.