AN: Here ya go, I'm late for a lesson now. Ah well. :[
Cookies for whoever works out who/what the Threat is!
Disclaimer: RTD doesn't own it. By default, I do.

The TARDIS spins horribly, teetering on the brink of falling into Nothingness, and for a while it is all he can do to save them. Then, mercifully, they are home. Well. In the right Universe, for a start. He paces around the now-still console, lashing out and punching random objects.
"WHY DID I DO THAT?" he yells, his voice echoing hauntingly, and he reverts to silent thought.

STUPID ARROGANT YOUNG ME! I could have done so much more! And here I am, on my own, in a little immature body that doesn't know how to love. AND I CAN'T GO BACK NOW, can I? The TARDIS is OK again, and anyway, why in hell would Rose want me now? I'm just angry and lost and it hurts…

After what feels like a few hours of yelling at his own mind and crying unashamedly, he stops.

Earth, he decides. He needs to go to Earth. Not London, though. Too many people he needs to avoid for a while. Say until the next millennium. After deliberating for a while, he settles on Southampton. He went there once, two lives ago, on the 10th April 1912, to see the Titanic set sail and, foolishly, try to save at least a lucky few. It was (almost) a proper city, with stuff to do and people to meet, but hopefully not so big as to draw attention to any passing-by Judoon or Sycorax. As he sets the TARDIS co-ordinates, a message flashes up on the scanner. Reading it, he laughs grimly, and re-sets the co-ordinates. So much for staying away from London, then.

Amy flails around her bed hopelessly, aiming but failing to hit the snooze button. The alarm is positioned strategically to prevent her doing just that, so eventually she gets up and heads for the shower. Half an hour later, she's downstairs, trying to cram in a croissant without getting crumbs all over her clothes while simultaneously looking for her keys. Mission accomplished, she sets off, waggling her fingers at Kit, sprawled on the sofa, and hollering a "Bye, snore bag!" up to Kerry's room. Walking down the street, she flicks open the script and goes over her lines for a final time.

Come on, girl, she tells herself; You were made for this part, you know every single thing there is to know about Excalibur and you have been waiting for this moment since you were thirteen. Or more like three. Just breathe!

And she manages to calm herself down long enough to run through some scenes and clever, insightful things to say about Grace Fox and her role as companion to the Traveller.

And anyway, she tries to keep in mind; it's already fantastic to see the producers and casting people this soon after college. OK? Relax.

The audition is to be held in a dingy, forgotten B&B in Bow, so Amy walks rather than catch the Tube. The morning air is brisk, and she pulls on her hat to cover her ears more securely as she takes a shortcut through a windy park. For a second, she thinks she hears a noise that isn't the wind – a haunting, drawn-out sort of mechanical grind – and the creak of a door. But then she focuses on the script again, on Excalibur and Grace Fox, on the person she might be being in just a few months time. Lost in thought, she rounds a duck pond and continues through the park.

And suddenly, she's in the middle of London. But…it's not London as she knows it, it's foggy and smoky and it smells, of unwashed bodies and animals and something worse. Amy looks around; there's wooden houses, and are those thatched roofs, and the skyline seems alien. OK, there's the Tower,,, and St Paul's…although, hang on, is that scaffolding on the dome of the cathedral?
"Excuse me!" she shouts, trying to grab the attention of someone, anyone, who will tell her where she is. "Excuse me, sorry, where am I?"
"Eh?" a young man, pushing a wheelbarrow occupied by chattering geese, stops and stares. "What was that, miss?"
"Where am I?"
"London, miss. Blimey, you 'ent from round here, right? Is that…I mean, beg pardon, miss, but is it usual for womenfolk to wear those things were you come from?"
Amy looks down at her skinny jeans, knee-high boots, leather jacket. Something is dawning on her, something strange and terrifying.
"yes, it is…" she mumbles. "I'm sorry, I'd best get some new things here. What year is it?"
"Eh?"
"What. Year. Is. It?"
"Ooh, you're a Moor, 'ent you? But you look too pale…"
"I'm sorry?"
"Beg pardon, miss, but I know the Moors use a different calendar."
"Oh. Right. Yep, that's me," she smiles. "Land of the Moors, that's where home is. So the year is…?"

"1708, in the year of Our Lord. September 15th, miss."

"Right…" she mutters, dazed. "Thanks…"
Turning away, Amy is lost. She doesn't know how to act, who to talk to, whether or not pinching herself will help it all go away…in the end, she just walks. Walk with a purpose, she discovers, and people are less likely to question you.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor." Amy jumps. This man is…dressed in normal clothes, modern clothes, but they're too big on him, and ripped and scalded. Somehow, people seem to just…pass him by, going a few steps out of their way without seeming to notice, until there's an island of just her and him in the middle of a busy road.

"Hello," she manages, caught by the dark eyes.
"When are you from?" This seems like an odd sort of question, but Amy answers him anyway. Odd, she is beginning to gather, is going to be a bit of a catch phrase today.
"2010. You?"
"What makes you think I'm not from right here, right now?" he grins, challenging her.

"You're wearing a pinstripe suit and Converse. You didn't call me "miss" or "Madam". You know I'm from another time. Yeah, I think I can guess you're not a local."
"Oh, you're good…" he states. "Tell, me…"
"Amy."
"Amy? Nice name. Tell me, Amy, where were you?"

"Victoria Park, in London. Why?"
"Oh, just…wondering. Is there an old house, or mansion, or something, near where you were before you were here?"
"Not as far as I know…why?"
"Hmnm, now that is odd. Ah well. Come on, this way!"
And he grabs her hand, tugging her towards the Thames river bank at breakneck speed. Amy thinks that he's answered precisely none of her questions. That something wrong is happening here somewhere. That his hand is soft, and warm. Then, she decides that unanswered questions, wrong things happening, and holding onto warm hands are just something to get used to around this…Doctor. And realises that she's already planning on having to get used to it.

AN: Tadaa! I've realised that I FAIL at romance which isn't Rose/Ten. Ah well. *Shrugs* I'll just have to practise, and you dear reader, shall be my test subjects...*evil laugh*