Extraordinary response to the last chapter. 15 reviews or something? I love you all. Will take a time out to mention mrswhovian, Some Doctor Who Fan and hermi1, since I obviously can't reply via PM to anonymous reviews.

The delays should be over now, since both exams (one was a breeze, the other somewhat disastrous - although I wasn't alone in thinking that, thankfully), most of the reports and all the assignments are out of the way. So I have time to work and think properly again. Temporal Discont'ies will get rolling soon, and there's another chance of something else under my name in the near future too.

Amazing how much you realise you can do once you go from being impossibly busy to impossibly untaxed.

It seems redundant and a little immodest to ask if we can get to 100 reviews, but... yeah?

CHAPTER 25. March and September: 11 - 22 March 2011

It took several days for the major muscles in Amy's neck, jaw and tongue to become responsive again, and just over three weeks to begin to regain use of her fingers. Unfortunately, this wasn't particularly useful, as she still had no feeling in her shoulders and only the slightest twitch of her right arm available to her. Still, if she wanted something, she found strumming her fingers on the seat of her wheelchair complemented any telepathic messages of impatience superbly, and sent the Time Lord scurrying off to find whatever she was demanding at the time.

I can't walk or talk and he's still terrified of me, she thought wryly to herself.

Amy could never have wished for a better, more considerate or understanding carer than the Doctor. He doted on her, never moving more than ten seconds' sprint from her, and then only ever for brief periods as he grabbed something for her, or going ahead to make sure her path was clear of obstacles. It was a reminder and a confirmation, as if she needed one, of the veracity of the choice she'd made to start acting on their mutual feelings towards each other. Those feelings had grown exponentially at a result, and whilst she certainly missed Rory, felt sorry for him and felt terrible for the injustices she'd inflicted on him, she had no regrets when it came to giving both her hearts, fully, totally, to the Time Lord.

But I can't even bloody TELL him that, can I? Can't open my mouth and say how I feel. Of all the abilities she usually took for granted that were denied her, her lack of speech was the one that grated the most. Of course, she could communicate anything she wanted or needed telepathically.

But that wasn't the point – she still hated the fact that this was the only method of communication available to her . For one, it meant exposing her mind in a manner that instinctively made her deeply uncomfortable. After the overload, she was even more paranoid (if that were possible) about the integrity and sanctity of her own mind. The Doctor, knowing this, didn't try to respond psychically unless he absolutely had to. Part of her expressed disgust at herself for displaying such a lack of trust in him, but some habits were much too hard to kill.

More importantly, however, it was the ability to do so that counted, that most basic, fundamental of skills. This was what she so craved, and not having it infuriated her. All I want to do is be able to speak WHO I want to WHEN I want to. Is that too much to freakin' ask?

Apparently it was, but that didn't stop her. Amy Pond was determined, and when she was determined, Amy Pond always got her way. Eventually.

The first time she'd tried to speak again all that came out was a vague moaning noise, her control over her tongue and vocal cords far too poor to articulate anything intelligible. She joked telepathically to the Doctor that it was not dissimilar to the sound she made 'in bed', a comment that had, once he registered the intended meaning, left the Time Lord spluttering and the approximate colour of beetroot. She chuckled to herself, knowing that her lack of speech didn't stop her being herself.

She didn't care about the hit to her dignity. She knew what she wanted, and there was nothing that would stand in her way. Not even her own muscles. So despite the fact that it made her feel a right fool she kept trying.

It wasn't a case of her not knowing how to speak. It was simply a case of her body not responding adequately to her commands. When she complained about this to the Doctor, he smiled sympathetically, often planting a kiss on her forehead, before telling her that she was already progressing at a rapid rate, and it wouldn't be too long before she could start to talk properly again. She'd already managed to reach the stage where she could pronounce any one-syllable words, after all, after just six weeks, and was already starting to get her tongue around two syllables again. Still, though...

I feel like a goddamn two year old, she grumbled, struggling to pronounce bloody simple words like "Doctor".

Between this and the denial of all and any independence, Amy found herself growing irascible and short-tempered. She had been completely self-reliant for all her life. She'd learned to cook by the age of six. Was shopping (or at least what passed for shopping in a village like Leadworth) and doing her own washing by the age of six and a half. Was perfectly capable of living on her own for long stretches of time by the age of seven, and it was near the end of one of these stretches that she would meet her imaginary friend and future lover.

But now she couldn't drop by the library and read a book without help, although the Doctor had installed a telepathically-controlled video screen and a book-holder, complete with automatic page turner. He still had to get the book for her.

She still couldn't eat without him literally feeding her, even if she could now chew and swallow safely.

She couldn't take a bath or get changed without help, though both experiences turned out to be rather unique ones in their own right, leaving both Time Lord and Lady bright red in the face.

She couldn't even go to the toilet without assistance.

This is gonna drive me insane, she grumbled. And it's so not fair he gets to see me naked without anything in return.

Though she didn't admit it to him, the wheelchair turned out to be an absolute godsend. A few teething difficulties with the controls notwithstanding, she found that it was responsive to her command and surprisingly nimble. The various lifts the TARDIS had installed all over helped as well, especially in the console room, with its multitude of layers and stairs.

They'd still managed to go around, the Doctor taking her to mostly earthbound, flat, romantic and safe locations, never going more than a few hundred feet from the TARDIS. If that meant landing inside the restaurant he had booked them into, then so be it. It would have been far too risky to do otherwise, especially since Amy was still suffering the after-effects of the overload.

Every now and then, without any warning at all, her still-recovering brain would object to its over-usage, and she'd be assailed with a debilitating headache, agony coursing through her Time Lord mind for several minutes. Unfortunately, this was an entirely biological phenomenon – there was nothing the Doctor could do other than let her dig her fingernails into his wrist, murmuring words of comfort and wiping the sweat off her brow whilst they waited for the pain to dissipate, doing his best not to get too worked up by the muffled moans she was making vocally and the heart-wrenching screams she was emitting telepathically.

According to the Doctor, the only way to stop the horrible episodes would be to greatly reduce the speed at which she regained control over her own body. The mere suggestion of this sent her into a half-hour rage at him – there was no way she'd do anything but try to return to normal use of her own body as soon as possible. However...

It... hurts... it hurts so much... Amy told him weakly, slumped over in her wheelchair in a TARDIS corridor and rivers of tears pouring down her cheeks following by far the nastiest episode yet. The best way she could describe it was akin to someone sawing her skull open with a rusty hacksaw and applying a blowtorch to her brain.

"I know, Amelia, I know," the Doctor whispered comfortingly into her ear, planting soft kisses on her cheek and temple, massaging the back of her head. What else could he say? What else could he do?

Nevertheless, they did their best to continue tramping around the universe. This helped assuage Amy's natural craving for adventure, knowing that this was probably the best she could manage right now. At least they weren't stuck inside all day.

Because by god TARDIS life had taken a turn for the boring lately. All she could do was read a book, watch some far-future reality TV show or jot down – rather, type, print and ask the Doctor to attach – notes in her diary. Truthfully this was not all that different from what she usually did aboard the TARDIS, but the fact she was restricted to such a narrow range of activities irritated her immensely.

At least if I have to sit stuck in one place, might as well make that "one place" different each day.

And she didn't need to walk around to be stunned at some of the places they were going.

This is absolutely amazing, she told him as they visited the Paris World's Fair in 1889. Is it really true that the Eiffel Tower was only meant to be temporary? She rolled beneath the immense iron edifice, craning her neck as best she could given her limited range of movement.

"Yep. Was originally meant to be torn down in 1909. Wasn't exactly the most popular piece of architecture around at the time. Lot of people thought it 'wasn't French'."

Seriously? Amy, growing up steeped in late 20th and early 21st century culture, couldn't imagine a Paris without the iconic landmark, let alone a Paris where it wasn't universally popular.

"Seriously. Guy de Maupassant would only ever eat lunch in the restaurant inside the tower, because it was the one place he couldn't see it."

Sounds a riot, him.

"Well he'll try to commit suicide in a few years, so..."

An awkward pause. Oh. Oops. Sorry.

"No need to apologise. Not everyone gets a happy ending, unfortunately."

We will, though.

He smiled at her. "Ever the optimist, eh, Pond?"

Yep.

"Thank you. Means a lot to me, and I'll do my best to make sure you're right."

You know, if I could stand, I would snog you senseless right now.

"Amy, there's thousands of people around us," he admonisher her gently, although he had to admit he didn't mind the idea.

Do I look like I care?

He bit his lip, trying not to think about the fact that given her slumped shoulders and haggard, vacant facial expression, she didn't look like much at all. Whilst she could move her head and mouth normally, she didn't have anything like the fine muscular control over her facial muscles to manage anything resembling normal facial expression. As a result her face maintained a constant blank, vacant expression, as if she were permanently staring aimlessly into space. It was highly disconcerting to witness, which was why the Doctor often refused to look at her directly, instead fixing his attention on her arm or some point above her. After catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, Amy couldn't say she blamed him as she saw herself perched in the wheelchair, her head slightly tilted due to her neck muscles having not quite recovered from their atrophy, her face locked in that unnerving, dead stare.

"I suppose not."

"Good sir, are you talking to yourself?"

He shot upright as if electrocuted, startled by the curious, French-accented inquiry of one of the assistants whose job was to help people navigate their way around the sprawling array of marquees and exhibits beyond the tower.

"Er – yes, no, sorry. Was just talking to my wife here. She had a nasty accident a while back, she can't talk very well."

Wife? Really? Amy's tone was surprised but more than a little intrigued.

The assistant blinked. "My apologies, I just heard you speaking rather loudly there and couldn't hear anyone respond."

The Doctor waved him off. "Not a problem, it's a common mistake."

"Thank you, good sir. I take it from your wife's attire that you're not from Paris?"

The Doctor glanced briefly down at the Time Lady. Whilst his bow-tie was far less out of place in this time period than usual, Amy's black leather jacket, cream blouse and tight blue jeans (a short skirt in this setting would have been nothing short of scandalous) was a combination that was more than a little anachronistic.

Amy didn't have to read his mind to know what he was thinking. Oi. None of that. No way you're getting me into some ancient history frock or something like.

The Doctor had to suppress a smirk at that. "No, we aren't. Scotland, actually."

The assistant's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Scotland? But your accent sounds English," he pointed out.

"Well, actually, my wife is from Scotland, but I'm not. Anyway," he continued, pre-empting the awkward question he knew would follow. "We're a little short on time, so could you direct us to the French section?"

"Ah, yes, down there," the assistant replied, gesturing down a cobblestone street packed with visitors. "Make sure you catch a glimpse of the Imperial Diamond, a quite remarkable jewel. The largest in the world, I believe."

"That's the plan."

The assistant nodded. "Enjoy your visit to the Exposition Universelle, and to Paris. And I wish your wife a speedy recovery."

The Doctor grinned in his usual effervescent manner, giving the assistant a quick salute. "Thanks a bunch. Come along, Pond, we've got a diamond to see," he called, already skipping ahead of her.

Wife, eh? She thought wryly as the wheelchair caught up with him.

"Yes, well, it sounds a lot more sensible than 'time-travelling alien couple who spend all day cooped up in a blue box', don't you think?"

Fair point. Could get used to it, though.

"If you think I'm about to do your washing for you permanently, Pond, you're sorely mistaken."

She would have smirked at him if she could. We'll see about that.

Another sign of her complete lack of independence came without fail every evening. Every night she acutely aware that she couldn't even get into bed by herself. The Doctor had to bodily lift her out of the wheelchair and place her gently on the mattress, kissing her on the forehead, or the cheek, or the lips as he did so.

On the other hand, she didn't really mind this so much, one because of the kissing, and two as it gave her a ready made excuse to ask the Doctor to stay with her for the night. Again. Just like every other night.

She didn't do this because she wanted to get laid like she had months before – although the thought had crossed her mind more than once, she was in no state at all to do so. No, her primary justification was the simply the comforting warmth that his presence gave her as she drifted off, ensconced safely in his arms whilst she slept. Whilst she dreamt.

The overload had led to an emergency shielding of all her memories, a last-resort measure genetically ingrained in her as a final defence against psychic attack. This had temporarily repaired the disintegrating barriers surrounding that deepest, most unwanted corner of her mind... but her dreams were still flecked with white, a low, buzzing and very familiar chant in the background.

The sheer fear of the nightmares returning meant her usually-short sleep was even more truncated. This added to her ever-present irritability, and it didn't take much to set her off. Such as, for example, the lift controls failing in the console room.

Stupid – bloody – thing! She pushed again at the little control panel next to her with her mind, willing it to activate and take her down to the console level. It didn't. Work, damn you! Why won't you just bloody work when I tell you to? Being inanimate, the panel was just as unresponsive to her much-angrier command as it was the first time.

If I could just use my bloody arms I'd be able to operate the effin' thing manually, but NOOO. It has to go break on me. AGAIN.

She sighed, controlling her near-incandescent ball of rage.

DOC-TOOOOOOOR!

She heard an almighty crash and a groan from somewhere below her, as the Doctor fell off the swing-chair beneath the console.

"Trying to to knock me out, Pond?"

Just trying to remind you that maybe if your stupid lift actually decided to work for once, we wouldn't have this problem, Amy shot back, in no mood to be reasonable.

He sighed. "Sorry, I'll get it fixed later," He flicked out his sonic and pointed it at the lift, which immediately shuddered into life, lowering the disabled-but-pissed-off girl to the lowermost level of the TARDIS. "Better?"

Much, she huffed. She reminded herself that he was doing the best he could, but her rather violent mood swings that she'd been prone to for most of her life had never been entirely borne out of rationality. So how's the repairs going? She asked in a much friendlier tone.

"Well, before your interruption. There's something I'm missing, though... something obvious..."

Did you remember to reconnect the chrono-distributor valve?

He clicked his fingers. "Aha! That's it. Knew I'd forgotten something silly like that." A shower of sparks cascaded from the console and a hum reverberated through the TARDIS as the Doctor reattached the device.

Amy laughed – out loud, one of the few vocal gestures she could actually manage, although it didn't quite sound like any normal laugh the Doctor had ever heard, being more of a gurgling hiccoughing noise. You're welcome.

"So what's the plan for today?" He asked, taking off his goggles and heading up the stairs. Before Amy could even begin considering a new destination, a shrill ringing noise rent the air of the console room. Surprised, the Doctor twirled over to the other side of the console and raised the phone to his ear. "Hel-lo?" He intoned in a sing-song voice. "Oooh! Hello, there... yes, yes, we're both good... now? Are you sure? I'm not sure this is an appropriate... ah. Sorry. We'll be there in one minute." He replaced the phone and spun back to the flight panel of the console, his fingers flitting over the keys as he entered their new destination.

Amy's eyes widened when she saw where they were headed. Leadworth? Really? Was that Rory who called you?

"No, it was Katherine," he told her, "I promised her we'd go back to Leadworth on the 1st of September, a few months after we left Rory. Apparently we're already two minutes late."

Amy groaned, still not entirely enamoured with the blonde. Figures. That girl's demanding.

"Hey, like you can talk."

Actually, genius, I can't. If you hadn't noticed.

"Oh, about that." He clicked his fingers, suddenly hit by a reminder of something he needed to say. "I installed a speaker, psychic-to-speech, in your chair the other day. You know the drill – think and words'll come out."

So that's where you disappeared off to last week – I thought you had abandoned me in some department store or something and run off.

"I'd never do that, Pond. Besides, I was back in two minutes."

True. Given her current state, however, two minutes felt a lot like two hours.

He turned and grinned down at her. "So you OK with going back? Just for lunch."

I guess so, she replied, the merest hint of a grumble in her tone, the after-effects of the reminder of the blonde-haired girl. I did sort of promise Rory Christmas lunch, she recalled, but we missed that, so I owe him one.

The Doctor smiled sympathetically at her, knowing that she still cared deeply for her ex-fiancée, before throwing the flight lever as the TARDIS shuddered into motion.

"So you reckon they'll stick around for lunch?" Katherine Broad asked as she replaced the sonic phone on the table.

"Doesn't matter what they want. I'm making them stick around, even if Jack has to rip up the TARDIS console room or whatever," Rory Williams replied.

The blonde laughed as the pair sat in the garden chairs, waiting for the blue police box to arrive.

September came with a rather dismal, grey day, but nothing could dampen the blonde's excitement at being able to cavort around all of time and space again. The taster she'd got some months ago had only server to whet her appetite and boy was she hungry for more. "So you'll be fine without us?"

Rory snorted. "Yeah, I think I'll manage in the five minutes you're gone." They both burst out laughing at that – time travel. It really was ridiculous, wasn't it?

Katherine's smile dampened slightly, a meaningful, serious light in her hazel eyes. "Before they get here, though, I just want to say that you've been bloody amazing these last few months. It must have been crazy tough for you, giving up Amy like that."

He sighed. "It still is, in a way. But I've moved on from that as best I can now. You've been a great help, and Jack too. Thank you for that."

She reached across to place her palm atop his hand. "No problem. So how do you reckon Amy's going?"

His face clouded. "That depends."

She bit her lip. "You reckon she found your note?"

"For sure. But did she listen? And is she OK?"

She glared reprovingly at him. "Of course she's OK. She's Amy. Although on the same note, that probably means she didn't listen."

He chuckled. "I suppose you're right."

A wind suddenly picked up out of nowhere and a whirring noise emerged out of thin air. Katherine broke into a broad grin as the police box faded into view before them.

Three minutes late.

The TARDIS doors opened and the Doctor, wearing the same tweed jacket, the same bowtie, stuck his out, filled with his usual verve.

"Right place? House, garden, trees – yes, right place. Date..." he sniffed the air, as if searching for some trace scent that would tell him the date. "First of September. Good. Weather's a bit rubbish, but oh well."

"Glad to see you too, Doctor," Katherine cut across the Time Lord's ramble, leaning back in her chair, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"And I see you're still quite the ball of wit, Ms Broad. Sorry about the lateness. And Rory! Good old Rory Williams, how have you been?" He bounded over to shake the young man's hand, gripping it in his broad palms and vigorously shaking it up and down.

"Good, actually. Mostly thanks to Kat, to be honest."

"Ah, I knew I'd left you in good hands." He smiled gratefully at the blonde, who predictably waved him off.

"Was nothing, seriously. So how long's it been for you?"

"A few months. It's March right now for us. We missed our Christmas lunch with you guys, so Amy thought we'd make it up today."

Rory blinked. "Christmas? In September?"

"March, actually, for us. Time travel, eh? Makes special days like Christmas more than a little flexible."

Katherine frowned. "Wait – so you're not coming to pick Jack and I up?"

"Oh, we might, depends on how Amy feels about the whole thing."

"I don't get it. What's the problem?"

"You'll find out soon enough," he replied cryptically.

It was Rory's turned to furrow his brow. "Is she OK?"

He sighed. "In a manner of speaking. Again, you'll find out soon enough."

"Right. So where is she now?"

"Oh, she's coming. Or at least, she should be coming." He turned and frowned, gazing intently at the police box as if listening for some signal that was otherwise inaudible to the others. After a second, he shook his head, sighing in exasperation. "Ugh. Lift's gone wibbly again. Give us a sec." And with that, he bounded back inside the TARDIS, the door swinging back and forth in his wake.

Katherine blinked in bemusement. "Since when was there a lift in the TARDIS?" She wondered aloud.

"Bloody good question. But I want to know what's happened to Amy first."

She smiled sympathetically at the young nurse. "Rory, I can see it in his eyes. He's taking good care of her, don't you worry about that."

"I can't help it. She's like a sister to me."

"And she's even more than that to him. Trust me, Rory."

He turned to her, his eyebrows raised. "You reckon they worked it out?"

"Positive. Can see it in his eyes, as I said. 'Bout time, too."

Rory nodded, an odd mix of emotions in his heart. Although he was definitely glad for both of them – after all, his last message to both of them had been to push them down this path, he couldn't help but feel a stabbing jealousy towards the man who was now with his ex-fiancée. He smothered the thought, cleansing it from his psyche. It wouldn't do to be clingy – that wouldn't be in Amy's best interests at all.

"I wonder what's taking them so long," he mused. The words had barely left his mouth when the Doctor reappeared in the doorway, holding it open to make sure it was at its maximum width. Rory opened his mouth to inquire what he was doing, but never got to say anything, because a second later his ability to speak had completely deserted him.

A silver-and-white wheelchair had rolled through the TARDIS doorway, halting just outside. Sitting on it, clothed in a plaid chequered shirt and knee-length skirt, her crimson hair tumbling down her shoulders, was Amy. Her forearms were placed on the armrests, her wrists hanging limply off the ends. Her shoulders were slumped and her neck tilted ever so slightly to the left, her face bearing an utterly blank, directionless expression that Rory recognised from some stroke victims he'd treated.

A computerised, female voice with a generic New Yorker accent emanated from the chair, Amy's lips having stayed firmly pressed together. "Hi Rory, Broad–oh bloody hell," the voice suddenly said, the wheelchair rotating on the spot in order to let Amy give the Doctor the best death glare she could manage given her state. "Is this seriously what I sound like?"

The Doctor couldn't help but notice that even without the ability to create a facial expression to back it up, the last of the Time Ladies still had quite a nasty death glare.

Damn. Was hoping to have found the regionalised model for the software. Evidently not. "Yeah, sorry, I couldn't find any Scottish voices for the speaker."

So instead you make me sound like some American random who's probably been watching grass grow for the last month, Amy grumbled telepathically. Reservations about psychic communication or not, anything was better than the mirthless, stupefying electronic voice the wheelchair had been given. Great. Thanks. As if my dignity hadn't already been right proper shredded already. I swear, when I get to use my arms, I'm going to smack you into next week.

It struck the Doctor that the list of things the red-head had promised to do once she regained full use of her body was growing very, very long and rather varied indeed. "I look forward to it."

I hope you do. She turned to face Rory and Katherine again, who were still staring at her, mouths agape, utterly aghast.

"Yeah, OK, I know this looks kinda weird," she said using the speaker, her facial expression remaining disconcertingly vacant, "But trust me, it isn't nearly as bad as it seems."

Katherine seemed to find her voice first. "What happened?" She whispered, unable to believe the scene before her. The Doctor opened his mouth to explain, but Amy got in first.

No, Doctor. I'm not letting you take the fall for this one too.

"It was my fault, a stupid little mistake," Amy informed them. "We landed on a planet full of telepaths. But I forgot to put up my barriers, and next thing I knew I was in a coma for two months. When I woke up, I was totally paralysed."

That's a lie, Amelia, and you know it, the Doctor rebuked telepathically, though secretly grateful she was standing up for him.

Of course it is. But I'm not gonna let you beat yourself up, or worse let Rory beat you up, for such a little thing.

A little thing? You can barely move and you can't speak properly!

It's only temporary.

"Right," Rory said slowly, his speech having returned to him. He was still throwing suspicious glares at the Time Lord every now and then. Amy couldn't help but notice this.

"Listen, Rory, I know what you're thinking, but it's not permanent. And the Doctor's been nothing less than amazing for me these last few months."

"Thanks," the Doctor told her gratefully.

You're welcome. It's an understatement to say the least.

Unexpectedly, Katherine broke into a smirk. "So you two worked it out at last, huh?"

Amy had a sudden urge stand up and hold the Doctor's hand at that moment, twining her fingers through his, her chest bursting with pride. But, of course, she couldn't. "Yep. Although he still owes me a proper first date."

The Doctor frowned. "What, taking you to the Moulin Rouge in 1890 didn't count? Or the first Olympic Games?"

Not to sound ungrateful or anything, Doctor, but it's hard to be all romantic when you're stuck in a wheelchair and can't properly pronounce any words longer than one syllable.

"You did your best nonetheless."

True. Still owe me one, though. And why the hell are you complaining, anyway?

"Who said I was?"

Back to answering questions with more questions, huh Doctor?

"Back to the hypocrisy, huh Pond?"

Shut up.

"Make me."

When I can walk again, I will.

"Um, if you're done talking to yourself, Doctor," Rory cut across them.

"Sorry," the Doctor replied sheepishly. "I think Amy prefers to talk to me telepathically rather than use the speaker."

Got that right.

Katherine shook her head. "Come inside," she told them. "Jack should have finished cooking by now. And then you can explain properly what the hell happened."

Yes, they're back. I like having them around (amongst other reasons that I'll keep closer to my chest), and I've done what I needed to do with the two Time Lords alone.

I'm starting to get really annoyed with FF "adding" 800-1000 words for every chapter. Minor thing, I know, but...