A/N: This chapter is a lot of Amy reflecting on things, so John Smith isn't in it, but the Doctor is :) Please R&R, let me know what you think.


John Smith left the room with the promise that he would be back the next day for their first session, leaving Amy feeling even more alone than she'd felt before he'd come in.

He wasn't possible. It was the only explanation she could think of, that he simply wasn't possible. He had the Doctor's face, he had the Doctor's voice, but he was so heartbreakingly human. He wasn't her Raggedy Man, though their looks were identical. He didn't know her, he hadn't saved the world with her.

And he wouldn't believe her either.

No one did. It didn't matter that he looked like her Doctor, John Smith certainly wouldn't believe her. He would be just the same as the rest of the psychiatrists who had tried to fix her, and failed miserably.

She groaned in frustration, falling her bed, the thin mattress barely stopping the springs of the bed frame from poking into her back. It wasn't fair. She knew life wasn't fair, she'd grown up learning that the hard way. She knew that the universe didn't grant any favors, that there were no cosmic forces that shifted a person's fate to have a happier outcome. After everything she'd been through, everything she'd endured, wouldn't she have had at least one stroke of good luck? At least one even turn out her way? Apparently not.

The greatest thing that had happened to Amy had been her meeting the Doctor, and even that had turned out to be a curse disguised as a blessing. A man who fell from the sky, a man who saved her when she was just seven years old. He was also the man who had driven her to insanity, the man who ended up being the reason she was tormented growing up, the reason she'd been locked away.

Of course, what sort of life would she have led had he not crashed into her garden? She'd grown up making up stories about a mad alien who could save the world with a glowing screwdriver. Amy couldn't remember a time in her life when there hadn't been a Raggedy Doctor. Maybe that was for the best. In the few hours she'd seen him in her life, he'd given her more excitement than she'd ever experienced before.

There were times when she hated him though. Hated that he was the cause of the torment and ridicule she suffered through. Hated that he'd abandoned her. Hated that he was the reason she'd ended up in a psychiatric hospital. An asylum.

Was he worth it?

Of course he was. He was her Raggedy Doctor.

So why did that man, that human psychiatrist have his face? Their looks weren't just similar, they were completely identical. From his bright green eyes, to his pale, slender fingers, to even the faint, upward curve of his lips when he smiled. It wasn't like she could ask, that would be ridiculous. He would get scared off faster than any of the other psychiatrists she'd met with. And while she'd wanted him gone before, she knew she was too weak to actually make him leave. She'd missed seeing him, and even if he wasn't her Raggedy Man, he was close enough.

Maybe he would help her get better.

Amy wanted to get out of the ward, there was no question about it. She tried acting as normal as she could. She didn't speak about the Doctor to anyone, she kept mostly to herself. It were the dreams that gave her away. There were times when she'd been told by nurses that they'd heard her during the night, mumbling nonsensical words like 'Dalek' or 'TARDIS'. Sometimes they told her that they could hear her scream in her sleep, shouting for the Doctor to run.

Her journals kept getting fuller and fuller, spilling open with paragraphs and paragraphs about the things she'd dreamed about, bursting with sketches that would make sense to no one but her or the Doctor. Many of her drawings coated the plain walls of her room. Some were in color, but only flashes of color. The red of her hair, the blue of his spaceship, the green of a forest filled to the brim with angels that killed.

Maybe he would help her get better. Or maybe she needed to stay in that place.

Amy sat up slowly, drawing her knees up to her chest, her back pressed against the wall of her room. A couple of papers crinkled slightly, but she ignored them. No, she didn't want to stay in that place, but there was every possibility that she needed to. That maybe she did really belong there.

She'd always considered it a mistake, her being locked up. She wasn't really mad. Her Doctor was going to come back for her, and all those people that mocked her or made her feel worthless, they'd all be proved wrong. They'd all know that he was real and that she was telling the truth. That she'd never been crazy. But after spending so much time dwelling on her mad man, after so long being broken from the inside out, maybe she had lost herself. Maybe she needed to be locked up.


Amy was with the Doctor, but they weren't at the Byzantium crash. They were in her old bedroom. The TARDIS was parked at the end of her bed, but she was sitting on the edge of the mattress. The Doctor was beside her, and they were talking. They were sitting close together, her thigh right beside his, their arms brushing together anytime either of them moved. And then she was closing the minuscule amount of space between them, trying to kiss him. He turned his head at the last moment, her lips just grazed his jaw. He climbed over the bed, moving back towards his TARDIS, looking flushed.

"Amy!" He spluttered, but she was already on her feet, a smile tugging at her lips. It felt right to her, being so close to him. She wanted that closeness. She wanted to kiss him.

She tugged at one of his suspenders, trying to push it off his shoulder, but he just fixed it again, a permanent blush standing out on his cheeks.

"Amy, listen to me, I am nine hundred and seven years old, do you know what that means?" He asked, ducking under her arm.

"That it's been awhile?" Was the first thing she could think to answer. She had never kissed anyone before, not since the people in her town all thought she was crazy. Even Rory, who she adored, never saw her that way. He saw her as someone who needed protection. The Doctor didn't see her the way Rory did, like a child who needed to be shielded from the world. Maybe he didn't see her romantically, but she just wanted the feeling of having someone kiss her. Of having him kiss her.

"Yes- I, no, no!" He stammered, fumbling over his words slightly as she let her fingers brush against his bowtie. "I'm nine hundred and seven, and look at me! I don't get older, I change! You get older, I don't, and this can't ever work!"

Amy just shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips. She would never settle down with anyone, not when the entire universe was out there. She wouldn't be able to settle, even with the Doctor.

"I really wasn't suggesting anything quite so long term," she admitted to him before she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his.

Amy had never kissed anyone before, not when everyone in Leadworth had thought she was insane. She'd never had a schoolyard fling, never had a passing summer romance. She was dreadfully unaware. So when she found a boldness in her she hadn't known existed, she went with it, and kissed her mad man.

She'd never been the best with words, always afraid that she would be reprimanded for telling falsehoods, though they certainly weren't false. Kissing, she found, didn't require words. It was a physical thing that let her express more through small touches than she ever could with a few simple syllables.

A few moments passed with the Doctor pressing carefully against her waist, her shoulder, unsure of how to react to her display. But pretty soon, Amy found him kissing her back, his nimble fingers twisting slightly in the material of her shirt as he held her closer.


When she woke up, she quickly sat up ramrod straight in her bed, breathing heavily. It hadn't been real. It was a dream, just another dream. Despite that, she found that she could still feel the ghost of his kiss lingering on her lips.

She turned on her light, fumbling slightly with the switch as she grabbed her notebook, flipping through it, trying to find a free page. Eventually, she did, and she started to draw.

Amy wanted to remember, wanted to keep the dream in her mind. She wanted to remember the sensation of his lips against hers, of his hands against her waist, his fingers tangling in her shirt, in her hair. She wanted to remember the butterflies in her stomach and the softness of his kiss.

She wanted the dream again. She wanted her Doctor to come back.