PROLOGUE

Amy stands just outside the battered blue Police Box, looking around with growing annoyance. Slender almost to the point of emaciation, Amelia Pond is an extremely pretty young woman, with dark brown eyes and rich red hair – providing a stark contrast to her alabaster skin.

Anyone unfamiliar with 'time-honoured' clichés might mistake her for a lost waif – until they registered her clothing, and noticed the red tinge slowly suffusing her cheeks with colour. Amy's porcelain features hide a fiery temperament (what is it they say about redheads?) which is beginning to come to the fore. Since she is wearing a ripped black T-shirt over bright red Tartan bondage trousers, and Day-Glo green Doc Martens, the anger suits her.

Shaking her head in disappointment, Amy takes her hands from her hips and stops tapping her heel against the floor in annoyance. Instead she mutters "well done, Doctor!' under her breath, and then yells, 'Doctor!' as she barges her way back into the Police Box. The rickety door looks like it may come off its hinges under the force of her blow. 'This is most definitely not London, 1977!"

The door slams behind her, blocking the impossible view inside from any stray passersby.

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In stark contrast to its somewhat dilapidated external appearance, the Doctor's miraculous conveyance through time and space – the Tardis – is currently presenting its interior in bronze and copper shades of 'Space-Age Gothic'. A vaulted cathedral space of indeterminate size, the arching buttresses seem to combine walls and ceiling, but the eyes are immediately drawn to the large raised central platform.

Victorian style brass railings lead one up a flight of open-plan mesh steps, which provide a clear view of the 'Steampunk' architecture beneath. They continue on to encircle the next level. A large console squats at the center, resembling a biomechanical mushroom more than anything else, but the eye continues upwards. A huge column of solidified power appears to soar from the centre of the console, perhaps straining to leap into eternity.

The Time Lord is playing the controls of this bizarre mechanism, like a dandified 'scarecrow' version of Captain Nemo at his pipe-organ – he seems oblivious to Amy's return. To her satisfaction, the Doctor actually jumps as Amy calls out his name again, before turning to smile at her as she races up the steps towards him. "Ah… Pond! Don't worry, I'll be along shortly! Just had to check something first!"

"Aren't you listening to me, Doctor? You've landed us in the wrong place, and totally the wrong time!"

"Are you sure?' he asks, looking slightly perplexed. 'I mean, you've never actually been to 1977 before, so how would you know what it looks like?"

"Well, there's an easy way to find out, isn't there?' Amy replies aggressively, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back down the steps with her, until they stand before the Tardis' doors. Then she just steps back away and folds her arms across her chest, flicking her head to indicate that he should take a look for himself. After giving her a slightly dubious perusal, the Time Lord opens a door just enough to stick his head out. His body freezes for a couple of beats before he withdraws his head, closing the door gently.

The Doctor pauses thoughtfully, gripping his collar and stretching his neck; rotating his head as if trying to draw a circle in the air with his chin. "Ah…' he ruminates vaguely, trying not to glance guiltily in Amy's direction (and failing miserably.) 'Yes, I see what you mean, Pond.' Then he adds, somewhat defensively, 'I don't know why you are so bothered about it! All I have to do is try again!" So saying, he gives her his best 'cheeky chappy' grin, full of schoolboy mischief, and makes to return to the console.

"Hang about, Doctor!' Amy exclaims hotly, holding him back with a hand on his arm. 'Whyarewe in the wrong place anyway? I thought you could fly this thing! In fact, I believe you said something about being able to get me back 'before the kettle boiled', or something like that!"

"And I will, Pond, I will!' the Doctor reassures her – but he can see that she is not about to let this go. Almost exasperated, he flings his arms up to encompass the space around them. 'Time machine!' he shouts loudly, 'Remember?"

"But we're in the wrong time!" Amy persists stubbornly.

The Doctor just shakes his head, then closes his eyes and rubs imaginary creases from his youthfully smooth forehead. "Pond, Pond, Pond… Amelia Pond…' he starts, then trails off as he realises that he isn't sure what he had intended to say. 'Look, let me just try the time vector coordinates again – maybe I transposed a digit or two – you never know. There really isn't any need to get so worked up, honestly! The stories I could tell you…!" Without explaining that mysterious comment any further, he once more heads for the central console.

Amy follows him grumpily, still not quite willing to let the Time Lord off the hook. (Anyway, she is enjoying the effect her sulk is having on him!) As she approaches the centerpiece of the control room, however, she can't help but marvel anew at its intricate complexities. In places the surface almost seems toflowaround incongruous mechanical artifacts, as if they have begun to sink into it. Elsewhere, some areas resemble sections of ancient 'ironclads', held together by prominent bolts and rivets. Ultra-High-Tec monitor screens hang overhead, and also crouch incongruously amongst antique looking pumps, levers, and pistons on the console.

So far, Amy hasn't managed to find the clockwork control system, but she is convinced that there must be one!

The Doctor is muttering away to himself as he checks various settings, but just shrugs when Amy glares at him, as if he can see no problems. Then he hunches over with a double-handed thumbs-up and a mad grin, before launching into a whirling dervish of lever pumping and button pressing. (Half of which, Amy is pretty sure, he is just throwing in for effect!) Lights brighten in the massive central column, and it really sounds as if the Tardis is about to do something… Until the familiar launch noises cough and wheeze into silence. There is a loud, no compromise 'Thunk!' as the time rotor settles back into dormancy.

"Oh!" remarks the Doctor in surprise, a disappointed forelock drooping over one eye.

Tapping rather redundantly at a spare bit of tech hanging over his head, the Doctor glances casually towards Amy, offering a slightly queasy looking smile. She replies by tilting her head, to emphasise an interrogatively raised eyebrow, and offers her frostiest glare. "Well,' the Doctor declaims, after clearing his throat, 'it looks very much as if the Tardis wants us to be here. She does have a mind of her own, you know!"

"You what? You mean you don't control your own ship?" Amy sounds slightly gob-smacked.

"The Tardis isn't just a ship!' the Doctor retorts angrily, looking as if he wants to hug the console to protect it from the nasty lady. 'She's also my home, and my friend! I don't 'control' her. We have a… a mutual understanding, I suppose you could say.' He leans against the console almost resignedly, glumly adding, 'Unfortunately, she has a nose for trouble. I should imagine that there is something out there…' He gives a hair-flick in the direction of the door. 'That she wants me to investigate!"

Suddenly alarmed, Amy flings out her hands in violent negation. "Oh no, Doctor! I'm not having that! You can either take me to the Sex Pistols gig – as promised – or you can take me home so we can have that cup of tea!" Without giving him a chance to answer, she stomps down the steps to the floor level, and begins to prowl moodily.

The Doctor rushes to the rail and shouts down at her. "It's really not that much to ask, when you think about it, Pond. You have no idea how lucky you are to be travelling with me as I am now! For most of my lifetimes… Well, I didn't have the faintest idea where the Tardis would take me!"

Amy freezes mid-step, and slowly swivels around to look up at him. "Most of your lifetimes?"

"Ah…' the Doctor sighs, perhaps realising that he has said more than he had intended to, 'I keep forgetting… you've only ever known me as me, haven't you…"

"Well, who else would you be?' Amy asks, beginning to feel just a little uncomfortable. 'Ivor the Engine?"

"Wait there!' The Doctor instructs from the railing.

'Don't go away!' He yells, as he dashes down the steps.

Arriving in front of the (now slightly nervous) young woman, the Doctor halts his frenetic progress, fingering his bow tie casually. 'Perhaps there are a few things that I need to explain to you." He offers, sounding as if he may have forgotten to mention something that might possibly be slightly…

Important.

Amy takes a step back.

With a faint hurt registering in his eyes, the Doctor continues gamely. "Look, I've told you that I'm a Time Lord, haven't I?' Amy nods, wide-eyed and unusually quiet. He sighs again, running a hand morosely through his rebellious hair. 'Well, the thing that I haven't really explained to you about Time Lords before, is that we, er… Change…"

"Bollocks!' Amy interjects violently, in a welcome (to her, at least!) release of tension. 'You haven't changed since I was a little girl! You're even wearing the same clothes!"

"I most certainly am not!' The Doctor protests indignantly, 'These socks were fresh on next Tuesday! Anyway, that isn't what I meant… I'm not really sure how to explain…' Lowering his head to scratch at the back of his neck, he squints towards his confused friend from beneath a protective fringe. 'I suppose I should have told you about this before – I always meant to, just in case – but I never seem to find the right time!

He winces slightly as Pond gives him a hugely exaggerated roll of her eyes, before folding her arms across her chest decisively – her body language clearly shouting, 'I'm waiting to be impressed!'

'Well, what I mean to say, you see, is…' The Doctor is beginning to wish that he hadn't raised the subject in the first place, but forces himself to continue. 'Look, it's like this… I'm not the first me!

'Well, of course, I'm the first me – I'm the only me, obviously– but there have been other me's before, er… Me…

'Let me put it another way! I'm a Time Lord, right? Well, we Time Lords have the ability to survive our own deaths, in a way. It's a form of genetically modified morphogenesis, which we call 'Regeneration'. Each time I have to regenerate, it is like I become a totally different person, and…"

"Wait!' Amy interrupts abruptly. 'Let me get this straight. Are you saying that you don't die? That you get… reincarnated or something?"

A huge grin splits the Doctor's face as he raises a dramatic finger in the air, only to be chased away by a reluctant frown when he replies, "Yes! Well… no… notexactly. Erm, not even slightly, actually.' He looks at his raised finger, as if he can't remember how it got there. 'Um. Think of it as a survival mechanism. When I say that I change, I mean that I change everything! It isn't like the old version of me simply inhabits a new body, my personality changes as well! Although I can remember who I used to be and what that life was like – most of the time, anyway – well, I'm not that person anymore. Do you understand?"

"Not in the slightest,' Amy replies coldly, as an awful suspicion begins to creep upon her. "Why are you telling me this now, Doctor? You're not planning to… er… slip into something more comfortable… any time soon, are you?"

Blank incomprehension momentarily transfixes the Doctor's habitually animated features, but is rapidly replaced by a huge smile of relief. "Oh, Pond, I'm terribly sorry! I didn't mean to give you that impression at all! No, it's just something that I've been meaning to tell you for a while. You complaining about the Tardis not arrivingexactly where you expected, well, it just reminded me of all those previous lives… When I never knewwhere the old thing would take me! Or even when! The companions that… chose to travel with me in those days, they never even knew if they would see their own time and place in the universe ever again – let alone be able to phone up their Mum's to ask what was for dinner!"

As she has only vague recollections of her own mother, Amy decides to ignore this peculiar comment, and instead dives in with, "So how many 'lives' have you had – and when did you actually learn how to steer the Tardis?"

"Ah!' beams the Doctor, evidently believing himself to be on safer ground. 'I'm glad you asked me that! Er… those. Um… not entirely sure, and, ah… not entirely sure. I think it might have been when I was the little chap with the straw boaters, and the question-mark umbrella… Always rolling my R-r's"

Amy blinks, not entirely sure that she has heard him correctly. "Always rolling your what?"

"R-r's, Pond, R-r's. You know… A-r-r-ound the R-r-r-ugged R-r-r-ock, the R-r-r-agged R-r-r-ascal R-r-r-an!

'Oww! What did you do that for?" He shoots Pond an offended glare, rubbing at the shoulder she has just punched.

Amy's so recently aroused righteous indignation deflates slightly, as the Doctor's expression reveals his confusion. Almost apologetically, she explains. "That was the worst Scottish accent I've ever heard!

'I thought you were taking the Mick!"

"Well, I wasn't. I was just trying to talk like I used to! I was Scottish back then… I'm just… not now…"

This is all getting a little too much for Amy. She raises one hand up to massage her forehead, whilst thrusting the other, palm out, to ward off the Doctor's prattle. "Stop!' she demands, 'Just… Stop…' Taking a deep breath, she advances on him aggressively, until she is wagging a finger practically in his face. "Are you trying to tell me that – as if changing personality isn't enough – your nationality and accent changes as well? How is that supposed to make any sense? One minute you're Scottish, and the next you're a posh public-school boy who doesn't know which team to row for? Surely you can't alter that much!"

"Actually, it's a little bit more complicated than that, Pond,' the Doctor replies, gently guiding her finger away from his face. (So that it doesn't go off accidentally?) 'Firstly, it doesn't just happen at the drop of a hat – at least – not often. If I am suffering from a lethal dose of Metabelis radiation, for example… Or slowly dying from Spectrox poisoning… Or if I stumble in the Tardis and bang my head on the console; well, under those kind of life threatening conditions, regeneration is automatically triggered. I can't just try on different bodies to see which one Ilike – I have absolutely no control over who I am going to turn into! Regeneration is a bit like a box of chocolates in that respect – you never know what you are going to get."

"That sounds like Forrest Gump!" Amy erupts, incredulously.

"No, it's the truth, honest!' The Doctor defends himself, looking rather surprised at Pond's language. (He isn't entirely sure what she has just said, but he has a niggling suspicion that it may have been a bit ruder than even the 'B-Word'!) 'But the new me is a completely new me, so I have to get to know myself again, every time it happens! That's actually why it took me so long to get back to you, when I had promised to return in five minutes. I was breaking in the new me and, I'm sorry, but I just lost track of the time."

Amy stores this apology away for later consideration. (The apple had a face carved in it. It was still fresh…) "But doesn't it feel weird at all? I mean, one you speaks a certain way, then the next you has a Scots accent? Doesn't it sound strange to… um… you?"

"It could have been worse…' he mutters into his shoulder, checking to see if the feeling has returned to the numbed muscles. 'I could have been Welsh…"

A sudden premonition inspires the Doctor to duck down onto his haunches, and a brisk waft of air ruffles his coiffure. Amy, who is expecting to meet the resistance of something slightly more substantial than empty air, yelps as the momentum of her abortive slap topples her into a stand beside her. As she turns to steady the wobbling column, a dislodged pot plant sails past her head, and she hears an anguished cry of "Moooortiimuuuur!" from ground level.

What happens next seems, to Amy, to happen in slow-motion, almost like watching the only decent bits from the 'Matrix' movies. She snaps her head down in time to see the Doctor launch himself across the floor – horizontally – from his crouched position. With a hauntingly balletic grace, he twists in (low level) mid-air, so that he is facing upright…

Just in time to cradle the falling pot as it thumps into his chest! Amy gawps in astonishment as he lands heavily on his back, sliding helplessly across the floor until his head meets an obstruction. "Ow!' He sighs quietly, not bothering to move from that position. 'In fact, now that I think about it… Double Ow!"

"What on Earth was all that about?' Amy asks in mild disbelief. 'And don't bother telling me that we're not on Earth – I already had that figured out – in case you hadn't noticed!"

"You nearly hurt Mortimer!' The Doctor declares accusingly, levering himself into a sitting position with one arm – the other still cradling the pot-plant protectively. 'You really have to try to be more careful, Pond – we're not the only occupants of the Tardis, you know!"

Amy decides to ignore this for the moment.

To give herself time to think, she makes sure that the stand she had knocked into is now stable. Behind her, the Doctor raises himself to his feet, whispering comfortingly to his plant. Amy shakes her head, submitting to the inevitable, and turns to face him again.

"Wait a minute, Doctor. Let me see if I've got this straight. You called your pot-plant Mortimer?"

"Of course! That's her name!"

"Her name? How do you know?"

"She told me!"

Amy blinks, pauses, then starts again. "Look, Doctor… Okay, I've heard of people talking to their plants… It's supposed to be quite therapeutic, actually… But nobody has ever said anything about their plants talking back! At least, not that I've heard. And while we're on the subject – why would a plant be female – and why would it call itself Mortimer?"

"I'll have you know, Pond, that in her native Aspidistrian, Mortimer is a very pretty and feminine name!" He is standing with his arms wrapped around the pot that Mortimer lives in, twisting away from Amy defensively, as if he expects her to attack the plant at any moment.

"Are you sure you are feeling quite yourself, Doctor?' Amy has no idea if Time Lords actually have mental breakdowns – but they certainly seem like strong candidates for multiple personality disorders, if what the Doctor has just told her is true! A thought resurfaces. 'And what do you mean, we're not the only occupants of the Tardis?"

Assuming an air of wounded dignity, the Doctor casts about for somewhere safe to put his plant, settling for a recessed alcove illuminated by a soft blue glow. Once he is sure that Mortimer is settled comfortably, he pats her pot affectionately, before deigning to return his attention to Amy.

"My Aspidistrian friend back there, for example.' He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, as he walks back towards his human friend. 'She has travelled in the Tardis ever since I was an angst-ridden wet blanket in cricket togs – although not always… Anyway, sometime I invite guests to travel with me, and sometimes the Tardis invites her own guests' (He glares up towards the console) 'without telling me! You can't just assume that anything in here is what it looks like!"

Amy makes a mental note to examine everything in the Tardis more carefully in future! (What if she tried to sit in a chair… and it ran away! And no way was she using the time machine's toilet again! What if it decided to eat her?) She almost misses the Doctor's next words.

'And yes! I am most definitely me! I thought we'd already cleared that one up!"

Suddenly feeling mentally exhausted by the Doctor's bizarre revelations, Amy deflates and sighs in defeat. "So, what are we gonna do now?"

"What are we gonna do now?"

"Yes! What are we gonna do now?"

He fiddles with his fingers uncertainly, casting a longing look towards the Tardis' exit, and moves his jaw about as if trying to physically sculpt his next words. "Well, Pond,' he begins, cautiously, 'that looks like some kind of futuristic, space-alien type shopping centre, out there…' He pauses, checking for her reaction. When she nods her agreement, the Doctor continues enthusiastically. 'Well… you're a girl!' (So nice of you to notice! she seethes, silently) 'And girl's like shopping! So I thought that we could… Go shopping?"

He takes a large step back, just in case she decides to hit him again.

Amy just stands there nodding. She is trying to devise a suitable punishment for the Doctor's apparent sexism – but the sad fact is, he's just so innocent that he doesn't realise what he's doing. She opts to hit him where it hurts, instead.

"Okay then, give it to me!" She, demands, holding out a hand.

"Um… Give what to you?" He asks, totally befuddled.

"The psychic credit card!"

"But…' The Doctor scratches a frown of confusion for a moment, then spreads his hands wide. 'There's no such thing as a psychic credit card!"

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't work like that, Pond!

'Although I do have a variety of currencies that I've picked up along the way – would that help?"

Amy smiles alluringly at the bewildered Time Lord, then slinks close enough to cuddle his arm seductively. "So, are you going to be my Sugar Daddy then?" She purrs, batting her eyelashes at him saucily.

"Er… Don't think I want to… Actually…"

"Why not?' (Cheeky wink.) 'You might enjoy it!"

"It sounds…

'Naughty…

'What is a sugar daddy, anyway?" A slight hint of annoyance is beginning to creep into the Doctor's embarrassed response.

"Oh, you'reperfect for it, Doctor!' Amy enthuses, hugging his arm even tighter. 'A sugar daddy is an older man who spends all his money on a pretty young woman, just so she will be his companion!" Her eyes are twinkling with genuine amusement, as she waits to see how that one goes down!

A huge smile of relief splits the Doctor's face, and he gently removes himself from her grip. "Oh! That's alright then! I can do that!' he announces brightly, before dashing off to examine various nooks and crannies. 'Wait there, Pond! I'll be right back!"

Amy has to stifle a laugh as the Doctor transforms, once more, into the 'fishfingers and custard' lunatic that she fell in love with as a child. He zooms around the control room, opening obscure hatches and hidden recesses. A running litany of "Aha!'s, and 'Mmm… maybe not!'s, and even an 'Ooh, I'm terribly sorry! Don't mind me!' accompany his frenetic progress around the perimeter of the space.

Finally, he shouts back to his astonished companion. 'Don't worry, Pond! I've got it all sorted! Back in a jiffy!" Then he disappears through a door that Amy hasn't noticed before. Somewhat flabbergasted by the result of her teasing, Amy finds herself a little unsure what to do. She catches herself glancing over to the alcove containing Mortimer. As casually as she can, Amy sidles over in that direction, pretending that she is actually looking for something else.

When she is bathed in the alcove's blue glow herself, she double-checks that the Time Lord is well out of the picture, then leans in to whisper. "I'm really sorry, Mortimer! I didn't mean to scare you – it was a total accident – honest!"

Mortimer declines to respond…

"Yeah, right!' Amy snorts, as she folds her hands behind her back and saunters nonchalantly away. 'Nice one, Amelia Pond! You'll be as barking as the Doctor soon if you don't watch yourself, my girl… Next thing you know, you'll be talking to yourself!" She finds herself scrutinising various odd looking bits and bobs warily, making sure to keep her hands safely behind her back, until the Doctor returns.

"He we go, Pond!' He announces triumphantly, as he explodes back into the control room. 'Knew I had some Dosh… Some Spondoolicks… Some Grotzit's… Etceteraaa! Etceteraaa! Etceteraaa!" He is waving a small wooden box as he dances around Amy with abandon. With a flourish, he opens the lid and, still doing the Doctor Mash, begins to distribute handfuls of weird objects amongst his pockets.

"Oy! Don't I get any, Doctor?" Amy complains, loudly.

He stops moving abruptly, and examines her bondage trousers with a critical eye. "Got just the things for you, Pond.' He announces, as he pops open a compartment inside his box, handing her the contents. 'Paper money of many denominations… well it's not paper really, more like plastic. Probably useless here, but some might be antiques or collector's items, you never know!"

Amy accepts the wodge of notes unenthusiastically, then brightens up immediately at the Doctor's next offering. "Ooh!' She almost squeals, 'Shiny things! Amy's like shiny things!"

"Yes, precisely! You can never go wrong with jewels and gemstones, Pond!' The Doctor agrees smugly. "Everybody likes precious stones, no matter what species they are, or what use they put them to! You're onto a winner there, you can trust me on that!"

He seems inordinately pleased with himself as he places the nearly empty box on the raised console platform. Meanwhile, Amy is trying to work out which pockets to put what goodies in, trying not to lose her patience with all the false zippers. She is still trying to stuff away a few spare jewels when the Doctor yells cheerfully.

"Come on then, Pond! Let's go shopping!"