Amy guiltily wondered if all the different versions of the Doctor were devastatingly sexy and just as devastatingly hands-off when it came to human females – not that she ever wanted to hurt or betray Rory after that one moment of wildness before the wedding, but they had enjoyed their threesome with Captain Jack just fine.
She quashed the thoughts, though, when another version of the Doctor got into another kind of trouble. This one had soft blue eyes and soft brown curls and dressed in an ensemble of a green velvet Victorian jacket with tails, a waistcoat, and a cravat, as luscious as it was out of place almost anywhen. A sunglasses-wearing Master in robes with an ornate collar possessed his companion, and then had him restrained with some device that kept his eyes open.
The Doctor's beseech to woman doing the Master's bidding: "The Master will steal the rest of my regenerations! He will live and I will die!" had barely faded when the scene changed again.
This Doctor had similar eyes but ruffled blond hair that made her think of a slightly ill-groomed angel, and wore in an incongruous but cute beige cricket outfit, complete with stripy pants and a v-necked cream jumper, with a stick of celery pinned to the lapel of the coat, trimmed in orange-red. He was sitting and hugging his knees in a dank, medieval dungeon cell, with a lit torch keeping him company.
A black-haired and bearded man in all black velvet and leather gloves came to visit him. He had a key in one hand and a cup in the other. "Enjoying yourself, my dear Doctor?"
The Doctor sighed. "I should have known you were behind this, Master."
"Would you like the key?"
"Enough games. What do you want?"
"I thought you could use some refreshment." He poked the cup through the bars.
"I know better than to take a drink from you."
"You wound me. I promise I'll give you the key afterwards." Suddenly the Master winced and clutched at his head with the hand holding the key.
The Doctor rose to his feet and looked strangely concerned, almost paternal. "Are they troubling you again?"
The Master gritted his teeth. "It's nothing."
"They're getting worse every time we meet. I wish you'd…"
"Just take the drink. I promise it won't kill you or prevent you escaping."
The Doctor took the cup, stared at it, and then at the Master, who was rhythmically tapping his foot, and drank. "Oh my…" the Doctor said weakly, sinking to the slimy tiles.
The Master unlocked the door and smiled. "You'll simply be paralyzed of all voluntary motion for the next three hours. I wasn't actually behind this one. I was simply in the neighborhood. But I don't do favors for nothing." And he knelt down to start unbuttoning the helpless Doctor's shirt.
….
The Nightmare Child showed Amy and Rory (and the bound Master) several other incidents too, involving a Doctor all teeth and hair with what looked like a fourteen-foot long scarf being thrown off a tower, a silver-haired Doctor battling a silver-goateed Master over and over, and a montage of various Masters killing, hypnotizing, and stealing the bodies of innocents.
Finally Amy jumped to her feet. "Enough! Enough! The point you wanted to make is either made or it's never gonna be, so stop torturing us!"
"Yeah, what she said," Rory added, kneading his temples and staring at the floor even though he could still see when he did.
The Nightmare Child froze the screen on a tableau of the Master holding what he had informed them was the Third Doctor at gunpoint. He made a dagger appear in Amy's hand. She shoved it at him, disgusted, though of course it could not make contact with his incorporeality. "I'm not a killer."
"He is, though. He has killed billions and repeatedly harmed the only person who could be even remotely said to love him. He will escape you and kill again if you don't stop him. Then you'll just be a killer by proxy."
And a traitorous, tiny part of Amy said, "He has a point."