So, this is set immediately after 'Amy's Choice.' I felt that Amy's words and actions would have affected the Doctor greatly. I also felt that there was unexplored drama regarding the revelation that the Dream Lord was the Doctor and the allusions made by the Dream Lord to the Doctor liking Amy. Also, you may notice bits of other episodes thrown in occasionally. This is because I just finished watching all six seasons of the show, so – yeah. That said, enjoy!
"What is the point of you?"
These words continued to run through the Doctor's head, even after Amy's incessant apologies and assurances that she hadn't meant what she said, that she believed in him and trusted him implicitly. Nevertheless, her words, though spoken in the heat of the moment, had caused the Doctor to doubt all the good he had ever done and had ever tried to do, because the truth of the matter was that he couldn't always save everyone, just as he had been unable to save Rory in the dream world. And someday, he feared that the person he would be unable to save would be Amy herself.
Since the trio's triumph over the Dream Lord, the Doctor had avoided going to sleep. He knew what awaited him, and he had no desire to see his nightmares come to life. He'd told Amy and Rory that he was the Dream Lord. He'd also let slip that no one hated him as much as the Dream Lord did. All this was true. He loathed and despised many of the things he had seen and done, most of which had been his fault. So many deaths, so many lives ruined – and all because of him.
When he slept, the Dream Lord took over, controlling what he did and saw. Since his most recent adventure with Amy and Rory, the Doctor knew what he'd be forced to see: Amy – with her sharp wit, her brilliant red hair, and her dazzling eyes – would parade Rory in front of him, rubbing in the fact that she was taken, that she had chosen another, and that she never would and never could love him. The very thought made the Doctor want to cry a river of tears until he'd drowned, just to escape the mental and emotional anguish that came with knowing Amy and Rory were together.
Sighing, he wriggled out from under the console, where he'd been fiddling with the TARDIS's controls. There were shadows under his eyes that indicated a lack of sleep, as well as a haggard look that spoke more for his years' experiences than words ever could. Luckily, so far, he'd been able to avoid an interrogation by Rory, or worse – Amy.
His luck was about to run out, though. "Amy!" he exclaimed, as his eyes found the exposed legs of his companion standing by his head.
"What are you still doing up?" she asked. "You should be in bed, Mister."
"Amy, I've told you," he said, doing his best to talk himself out of receiving a direct order that he knew he couldn't ignore, not just because Amy would kill him otherwise, but simply because it was coming from Amy. "Time Lords don't need to sleep as much as humans do. I'm fine."
"You're eyes tell a different story, Doctor," said Amy gently. "You need to rest. Come on, I'll walk with you."
The Doctor stifled a groan as he resignedly got up and made his way alongside Amy. Bumping shoulders, he couldn't resist engaging her in conversation, no matter how painful the topic. "How are things with Rory, now that you've chosen him?"
A smile started to grow as Amy thought about her boyfriend. "Life is good, Doctor. Thank you for asking. We've been talking a lot, and we want you to know that we're not leaving. We love traveling on the TARDIS through all of time and space with you, and we wouldn't trade what we've seen and done for anything."
"I'm glad," the Doctor replied, shooting her an easy smile while hoping that it appeared less forced than it felt.
Either the TARDIS was taking pity on him or playing a cruel joke, for the pair soon found themselves outside of the Doctor's bedroom door.
"Well, this is my stop," he said. "Good night, Pond."
As he opened the door and was about to disappear from sight, Amy's voice called him back, "Don't I get a goodnight hug?" she asked plaintively.
The Doctor turned, brow furrowed.
Amy huffed. "Just because I've chosen Rory doesn't mean that things have to change between us, Doctor. You can touch me, you know. It isn't a crime."
"Of course – come here, you," he said, opening his arms for her to step into. Her head came to rest on his chest, perfectly situated between his two hearts. "Good night, Amelia," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her brow and then quickly retreating into his room before he could be tempted any further.
The Doctor's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't expected being near Amy to have been as painful as it was. Shaking off the despair threatening to overwhelm him as he remembered that, if necessary, Amy would use the TARDIS to check up on him, the Doctor got ready for bed, exchanging his tweed suit and bowtie for sweatpants and a t-shirt before crawling beneath the covers and promptly passing out.
He was in a sterile, white room, similar to the waiting area of that hospital he'd seen when tracking down Prisoner Zero with Amy and Rory. At the thought of his companions, the Doctor looked around in an effort to figure out where he was and if there was anyone else there with him – wherever 'there' was . . .
Out of nowhere, the Dream Lord appeared, standing just out of range with a sinister smirk on his face. "We're going to have fun together, aren't we, Doctor?" he sneered. "Just the two of us, alone at last."
The two began circling each other, like competitors waiting to strike. But the Doctor wasn't a violent man. All he wanted was to leave this soon-to-be-hell, for he knew what was in store for him if he stayed, and return to the warmth and safety of the TARIDS – and Amy, if he was being honest with himself.
"There's nowhere to run, Doctor, nowhere to hide," the Dream Lord taunted him. "No one can escape their subconscious, not even you!"
The Doctor remained silent, determined to not let the Dream Lord bait him.
"She doesn't want you, you know," the Dream Lord continued. "She'll never want you. Even when given a choice, she'll choose Rory over you – she always will. Ask me why."
Again, the Doctor kept his silence. He would not give in, he simply couldn't.
The Dream Lord had apparently counted on this, as he went on to say, "She chose Rory because he's a better man than you. You're vain and selfish – you don't care how many lives you ruin, all you want is to be adored. Rory actively works to save lives, while you only seem capable of leaving death and destruction in your wake. What woman would choose a monster like you, when someone like Rory is available? Sweet, kind, caring, compassionate Rory – he will always win over you."
Throughout the Dream Lord's tirade, in which he extolled Rory's virtues while insulting and belittling the Time Lord, the Doctor had remained impassive, standing like a soldier at attention who was waiting to receive a dressing-down. He knew that what the Dream Lord was saying was true – every word of it – and he could not refute the truth.
"What do you want?" he asked tiredly, the Dream Lord having finally broken down his resistance.
"Ha, finally!" the Dream Lord crowed with glee. "I want you to ask—No, I want you to beg to be punished for your deeds, both past and future, as it is only fair for you to feel what you have inflicted on others."
"As if you are any better," the Doctor spat out. "You're a part of me, so my crimes are yours, and vice versa."
"I am your guilty conscience," said the Dream Lord, "which craves to be assuaged and demands the punishment you feel that you so richly deserve."
The Doctor sighed. "Get on with it, then."
"Do you like cats, Doctor?" asked the Dream Lord suddenly. At the Doctor's puzzled expression, he clarified, "Because I have a beauty here who would love to get to know you better." At his words, a black whip appeared in his hands, with nine separate tails which he then brandished in front of him. The Doctor wasn't afraid, though. If anything, he welcomed the pain he knew to be coming. Closing his eyes, he waited for the lash to descend. When it did, though expected, the first blow still came as a surprise to the Doctor, who let out a low gasp at the contact.
"Two dozen should do it," the Dream Lord mused.
The Doctor didn't miss the significance of that number: for every year he had kept Amy waiting, he would receive one lash, which had then been doubled to account for the two additional years after the Prisoner Zero incident that he'd been late.
"Let's begin," the Dream Lord whispered.
As the lash descended again and again, rather than put on a brave face and shut out what he was feeling, the Doctor let his true colors show. He writhed on the floor – never to escape the lash, but to provide relief for the dull ache in his body that came with knowing he had ruined and ended countless lives, many of whom had been nameless to him. Beads of sweat mingled with the tears streaming down his face. He let out an agonizing yell, "Everything's my fault!" as the lash fell for the final time.
The Dream Lord stood over him, an imposing figure, and asked, "Had enough?"
But the Doctor rasped out a, "No" before letting his head fall back down to meet the ground.
"Very well," the Dream Lord conceded, as he turned away to dispose of the whip, returning with a hot-iron poker. He began prodding at the Doctor's limp form, seeming to take pleasure in watching his skin steam and burn. He began to strike harder, using the poker almost like a cane. When the Doctor let out a muted groan, he ceased his movements. The Dream Lord knelt down to be at the Doctor's level. Looking him in the eye, he said, "You know you deserve this, don't you? Not only for all the harm you have caused your companions and the inhabitants of Earth, among other civilizations, but for desiring a woman who is already taken – Amelia Pond, the girl who waited, but who eventually moved on. She doesn't need her Raggedy Doctor anymore; she has a new hero – her boyfriend, Rory Williams, who was there for her when you weren't."
"I know," the Doctor whimpered. "I need more—more pain, to ease the guilt I feel. Please," he begged, practically groveling at the Dream Lord's feet.
"As you wish," said the Dream Lord ominously. Without warning, he stood and swung his foot back, aiming to kick the Doctor's abdomen. Only when the Doctor's flailing limbs stilled did the Dream Lord stop beating him senseless. He bent over where the Doctor lay, his breathing shallow from the torture he'd undergone, and whispered in his ear, "Before sending you back to reality, I have one more gift to bestow upon you." And with that, he doused the Doctor in icy cold saltwater. At this action, the pain from his previous injuries was reignited, and the Doctor let out a bloodcurdling scream.
The next thing he knew, the Doctor found himself in bed, back on the TARIDS. The sheets and blankets were tangled around his legs, which were also soaked with sweat and water. The shirt he was wearing was torn and bloodied from where the Dream Lord had hit him, and there were gashes and bruises that were beginning to blossom on his pale skin. Additionally, the burn marks had started to blister and were painful to touch. He let out an agonizing moan, though recognized that he was undeserving of comfort and that his companions were better off without him and should leave him to suffer.
No such luck, of course. His bedroom door burst open to reveal Amy, who was outlined by the light streaming in. At seeing his condition, she rushed to his bedside, fumbling for his hand and holding on tight.
"Rory!" she yelled urgently. Turning back to where the Doctor was still lying motionless, his breathing labored, she murmured sadly, "Oh, Doctor. We'll fix this, I promise, everything's going to be fine."
"Amelia Pond, the girl who waited," he whispered suddenly. "Was it worth it?"
"Shh," Amy cooed. "Of course it was."
At that moment, Rory arrived, breathless and gasping for air. "What happened?" he asked authoritatively.
"I don't know," said Amy. "I was looking for the kitchen and the TARDIS led me here. When I opened the door, there he was – exactly as he is now."
Rory nodded along to her explanation. "I need to examine him now, Amy. But you're going to have to move."
Wordlessly, she shifted to allow Rory access, but her hand remained joined with the Doctor's. At the realization that the couple weren't leaving him, and were, in fact, helping him, the Doctor shut his eyes, though a single tear trickled down his cheek, to be caught by Amy herself. "Hey, it's gonna be alright, you'll see," she whispered soothingly.
At hearing Rory clear his throat, the pair turned their attention to him. "Okay, Doctor," he said, in full-on nurse mode. "As near as I can make out, you have no broken bones, but there are deep lacerations along your chest and back areas, you have serious burns that are going to need immediate attention, and your ribs are severely bruised. Also, you appear to have been soaked in saltwater, which aggravated your pre-existing wounds. Now, any questions?"
"I have one," Amy piped up. "Who did this to you?"
"Dream Lord," the Doctor muttered, ashamed to admit his weakness to his two best friends.
They gasped. "But . . . but why?"
"Because I wanted to die," he snapped. "Only my body's too darn stubborn and its survival instincts kicked in."
"Why would you want to die, Doctor?" asked Amy timidly.
"I feel . . . guilty," he managed to gasp out before collapsing back onto the bed, unconscious.
"Amy, grab his legs," Rory instructed. "I'll grip him under his armpits, and we'll get him to the sick bay."
It was a slow, awkward journey through the narrow halls of the TARIDS, but they eventually made it and successfully got the Doctor stabilized. But when Rory suggested that they go to bed – saying that the TARDIS was adequate in looking after him – Amy flat-out refused to leave the Doctor's side, insisting that she would stay with him until he woke up.
"This has something to do with us . . . or, at least to do with me. I can just feel it," she said.
"Alright, dear," said Rory, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "I'll leave you two alone. Call me if anything changes."
"I will," said Amy, who had already turned away and was staring intently at the Doctor's surprisingly peaceful face. Hardly aware of Rory's departure, she clasped the Doctor's hand firmly in her own. "Don't give up, Doctor," she murmured to him softly. "I couldn't bear it if I lost you so soon after getting you back. Why else do you think I held on so long? I need you in my life, Doctor. When I'm with you, I'm Amelia Pond, the girl with the fairytale name. Otherwise, I'm just Amy, the girl left waiting for her imaginary friend. Don't leave me waiting anymore, Doctor. I love you."
Amy gasped. Not until the words had left her mouth did she realize that they were true. At seeing the Doctor in distress, something had happened to her heart. It had given an uncomfortable flip-flop at the notion that she could lose him, her Doctor, her Raggedy Man. And that thought terrified her in a way that losing Rory hadn't.
My boys, thought Amy fondly. I love each of them in different ways. But what I have with the Doctor is special because he makes me feel big and tiny all at once. I'm on cloud nine when we're together and saving the universe, one star whale at a time. But, simultaneously, he's able to cut me down to size by showing me how insignificant mine and my species' existence is, such as with the whole Prisoner Zero debacle. There was an entire fleet of alien police ready to incinerate the Earth. Yet who stayed calm and managed to save us all – and in under twenty minutes? The Doctor! Everything has always been about him – everything I do is for the Doctor.
She was pulled from her musings by the feel of a tug on her hand. Well, that was fast healing, she thought wryly.
The Doctor groaned as he tried to sit up, only to find himself restrained by the chair's bindings.
"Rory didn't want to run the risk of you being disoriented when you woke up," Amy explained without prompting. "We didn't want you to strain yourself by doing too much too soon."
The Doctor shut his eyes, as though to block out the sight of Amy's concerned face peering at him. Why hasn't she left yet? he thought morosely. When is she going to realize that I'm not worth her time or effort?
He was distracted from his melancholy thoughts by the sensation of fingers running through his hair – Amy's fingers, he realized.
"Whaz goin' on?" he mumbled with difficulty.
"Shh, just relax and enjoy," Amy encouraged him.
"What are you still doing here?" he asked, only a moment later realizing how rude that had sounded and hoping Amy wouldn't take offense.
"Do you want me to leave?" she countered.
Yes, he thought. "No," he said instead.
"Then it's settled – I'm staying until you're well," she replied, a steel edge to her voice that brooked no argument.
"Yes, ma'am," he sighed, settling back down in the chair he was strapped into, only for a slight moan to escape his mouth at feeling his hair being combed by Amy.
Amy chuckled, even as she withdrew her hands. "I'll stop if it's distracting," she offered.
"No," the Doctor protested much too readily. "Don't, please. I-I like it."
She placed her hands back on his head, her gentle ministrations doing more to cure him than medicine would or could have. As she carded her fingers through his hair, she spoke up, "Care to tell me now what happened?"
The Doctor stared pensively up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how best to broach a topic that would cause them both pain.
"As you might recall, I've said that the Dream Lord is me," he began at last. "You might also recall me saying that no one hates me more than he does. What I mean by that is there are parts inside of me that are at war with each other, parts of me that hate what I've done or what I might do. Tonight, the Dream Lord came to me in my sleep and doled out what every single one of my previous incarnations has always craved – punishment."
"What for, Doctor?" Amy asked.
"I'm vain and selfish, Amy," the Doctor revealed, however much it pained him to do so. "That's why I brought first you, then Rory, along with me on my travels. I want to be adored, and humans are quick to oblige my 'god complex,' for lack of a better term. But that wasn't my only reason for asking to be punished. I've seen and done many terrible things, Amy, as much, if not more than all the great things I've seen and done. I've watched Pompeii burn, and known that I was the cause; I've stood by as my friends have suffered, and done nothing; I've even killed off my own race. Not to mention, there isn't a single companion who I haven't screwed up in some way or another."
"I doubt any of that could be helped, Doctor," said Amy calmly.
"But it could. Don't you see? I'm to blame, for everything," he cried out desperately. "If I hadn't been born, the world would be a better place."
"Now, Doctor, that isn't true," said Amy firmly. "I'm sure the world would be different, but it certainly wouldn't be better. I, for one, can't imagine my life without you in it."
"I'm sure you could, if you tried hard enough. For one, you wouldn't have spent twelve years waiting for me to come back for you. You could have had a normal, happy childhood, free from the censure of your peers."
"Normal is relative, Doctor," Amy informed him. "And I was happy. I believed in you, and that gave me strength."
"Oh, Amy," the Doctor sighed. He would have cupped her face in his hands if they'd been free. "You're faith in me is astounding. Even when I continue to disappoint, you stand by me."
"And I always will, Doctor. You'd think you would have caught on by now – I'm not going anywhere."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Amy," he said with a tired smile, "Even if I don't deserve it." With that, his head fell back against the chair – he had passed out again.
Amy was left to puzzle the strange enigma that was the Doctor. She had begun to realize that his happy-go-lucky attitude was all a front, and that, in reality, he was a very insecure man who carried a seemingly endless supply of guilt around with him.
"Doctor," she said into the silence. "I think that, for once in your life, you're wrong. You are worth mine and everyone else's love and compassion. And, most importantly, you are worth saving. You have the kindest soul of anyone I've ever met. Sure, you may have made a wrong turn once or twice. But it's always been for the sake of humanity. You're constantly faced with decisions that no one should have to make, which sometimes means you're forced to choose the lesser of two evils. But that doesn't make you evil, Doctor. And never – should I live to be one hundred and one – will I ever describe you as such. You will always be my Raggedy Doctor, who is a good man – do you hear me?"
"Amelia . . ." the Doctor mumbled in his sleep.
"I'm here, Doctor," she said, gripping his hand tighter in an effort to anchor him to something solid and real – namely, her.
"Let's run away and have adventures. Come along, Pond," he said, and he sounded so alive that Amy had trouble reminding herself that he wasn't actually awake.
"Of course, Doctor," said Amy agreeably. "Where do you want to start?"
"Amy—" he cried out suddenly. "I love you. Please – don't leave me."
"Never, Doctor," Amy assured him, moving from her seat by his chair to perch on the chair's arm so as to be closer to him. "I love you too. I always have."
Her words must have registered with him, for the Doctor's movements stilled and he returned to a relatively peaceful slumber. She smoothed the hair away from his forehead before bending to press a kiss to his brow, just as he had done to her multiple times before.
"Hold on to me, Amy," he murmured quietly, and, not for the first time, she found herself wondering whether he was awake or not, "And never let go."
"I promise, Doctor," Amy vowed, gripping his hand tighter. "Trust me."
"I do," the Doctor replied, and Amy looked up to find that his eyes were open and alert, observing her intently.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Like I've been to Hell and back," he replied ruefully. "But it's no more than I deserve."
"Stop that," said Amy crossly. "You don't deserve any of what you've put yourself through. You're a good man, Doctor – never doubt that. It's why Rory and I continue to follow you through all of time and space."
"Thank you, Amy," he whispered, though she could tell that some doubt still lingered. "Now, care to untie me?"
"Of course," she said, smiling slightly, but all the while trying to think of ways to convince the Doctor of his worth. "I should call Rory," she went on, once she'd finished. "He'll want to know that you're awake."
The Doctor nodded silently as Amy went to the wall and pressed an intercom button that would connect her to Rory. Even through the few words they spoke to each other, the Doctor could tell how perfectly matched the pair of them were. He wanted someone like that for himself, but he only seemed destined to constantly bring along companions who already had that in somebody else. It wasn't fair!
Rory made his entrance at that point, coming to a stop beside Amy. "How do you feel, Doctor?" he asked in the same caring tone that Amy had used before.
"I feel fine, Rory. I'm much better now, honest," the Doctor replied, just wanting to get up and move around again.
Rory nodded, albeit hesitantly. "Let me give you a quick check-up. But I don't see any reason why you can't function normally – as long as you take it easy."
"Yes, Doctor," said the Doctor, saluting Rory sarcastically.
Having completed his examination, Rory could see no alternative but to give the Doctor a clean bill of health. "You might experience some pains in your side, but nothing too major. Let me know if it gets to be too much, though, and I'll give you something to make it easier getting around."
"Thank you, Rory, Amy," said the Doctor, wanting nothing more than to get out of there and go back to his room where he could have a good cry.
"We love you, Doctor," said Amy suddenly.
The Doctor turned around to face them. Rory's arm was wrapped around Amy's shoulder, hers was around his waist. They stared at him earnestly, willing him to believe in their sincerity. "I know," he replied simply. And he did know, just as he knew that that faith – specifically, Amy's faith – would be their downfall in the end. He dreaded that day, not wanting to be left standing over either of their graves – alone again, as he always would be.
There was nothing more to say then, so he walked away, leaving behind the shattered pieces of his broken hearts without a second glance.