Isn't it funny how some bits are really hard to write, and others just pour onto the page like they'd already been written somewhere and you're just channelling the words. Well I wish the bits would come in order, some of the later chapters were so easy, but this one is taking quite a bit of work. Right now I'm trying to work out exactly what game River would have played with Cleopatra to get the pyramids... and how the gun fits into that game. Any thoughts?
Rach
Interlude
Tick tock, goes the clock, the truth you hear is lying,
Tick tock, went the clock, now time is slowly dying
When River emerged from the lake she was shocked to realise that she was no longer cold. She wasn't warm either, wasn't any temperature. Something was wrong with time, and it was affecting the whole world. There was no sensation of temperature, no breeze, an eerie stillness in the air.
River looked at her wrist, at the vortex manipulator she'd been hoping to use to leave this time and place, and was unsurprised to see that the display was dead.
"Of course not," she muttered. "If I can't feel time, if the vortex no longer reaches here, how could a vortex manipulator work?"
A Native American man stood watching River, seemingly unsurprised by her emerging from the lake in scuba gear or by her talking to herself. He was dressed in crudely stitched animal hides, his face was painted, and he carried a wooden fishing pole. In one hand he held several large fish. There were earphones in his ear, and an iPod strapped to his arm. A blaster was holstered at his waist and he leant against a motorcycle. It was like an undergraduate history quiz – what is wrong with this image? And there were so many things wrong, items that didn't exist yet on earth carried by a man wearing clothes that hadn't been worn this century.
"How," the Indian greeted her solemnly.
"Hello, to you too. I wonder," River smiled ingratiatingly. "I seem to be stuck in the middle of Utah, and I think I'm out of gas. Is there any chance of a ride?"
The Indian contemplated for a moment before asking, "Where are you going?"
River thought for a moment. Anywhere he could take her would be closer to civilisation than Lake Silencio, but where was she headed? What was her plan? True, she'd managed to not shoot the Doctor;, but there was no sign of him, and every sign that she'd damaged the very fabric of time. She needed a plan, a starting point from which to try to fix this world, and for River Song the best place to start was finding someone with the power to help her. This was twenty-first century America, and River knew where the power lay.
"Wherever you can take me, for starters," she told him. "Then to Washington D.C. Tell me, who's the president of America?"
Amy looked around in confusion. She was lying on the bed in her bedroom. Her childhood bedroom, with vibrant blue walls and fairy lights woven into the bed-head, not the one she now shared with Rory. Her husband Rory, the Last Centurian.
Why was she in her old bedroom?
She looked around, puzzled by the fact that all her possessions seemed to be here. Through the open wardrobe door she could see her clothes, and her books were on the shelves. The surface of her desk was strewn with old treasures, including a model of the TARDIS she had made as a child.
Amy remembered packing all these things shortly after her wedding and moving them: first to unit she'd shared with Rory, then later to the house the Doctor gave them. Why were they back in her room?
And why was she here? Her last recollection was of prowling the kitchen of their house, opening cupboards and the refrigerator, trying to decide what to cook for dinner. Rory was due home from work at the hospital in half an hour, and she'd promised to be the one to cook dinner this time.
Then she was here, lying on the bed, surrounded by her possessions.
Amy picked up her phone from beside the bed and rang Rory. Rather, she tried to ring Rory. His number wasn't in her phone for some reason, so she dialled it from memory. But instead of hearing Rory, the phone was answered by an lady with an Indian accent who swore that she'd had that number for years, and didn't know anyone called Rory.
She looked around the room, seeing photos from her childhood that should have shown Amy with her two best friends. But in all those photos she was on her own.
That's when Amy really started to panic. Something had happened to Rory!
President John F. Kennedy. Well known for his shocking death, his lovely wife, his support for civil rights and the space race, and of course his alleged affair with Marilyn Monroe. Of course, with time gone wrong it wasn't certain he was acting entirely in character, but the way he was staring at the curvaceous blonde strongly suggested that the affair with Marilyn was more than 'alleged'.
River looked in the mirror and carefully patted her hair into place. She couldn't get used to the colour -, it had never been this blonde before-, but you had to work with what you had, and JFK was known to have a thing for blondes. Blondes in very flattering dresses.
"You look lost," a deep voice spoke from behind her shoulder.
River turned and looked at the speaker, noticing his carefully groomed dark hair and easy smile. The one man at this party that she'd set her sights on for had come over to speak to her.
"Why, how can I be lost?" she asked breathily. "Since you found me so easily." Really, this type of flirting felt quite out of character to River, but history provided a detailed record of what this man found attractive, so for tonight at least she would play the fragile but plucky blonde. She only needed to keep him interested for long enough to expose him to her hallucinogenic lipstick, and then she could plant all sorts of wonderful suggestions about what he should do to help her.
River had a sudden flash-back. Three years ago she'd been sitting in the coffee room at the university taking a brief break from writing up her doctoral dissertation, and listening to two colleagues from the history department arguing about the man who was standing in front of her now. One argued that JFK's endocrine and autoimmune issues had kept him from being the greatest president America had ever known, and that his death was a tragedy. The other argued that Kennedy's health issues were actually the result of trying to pass as human when he was actually an alien trying to steer humanity's path towards the stars. It seemed like a life-time ago that she had lived surrounded by such academic debate. No doubt her former colleagues would be delighted if they'd had the opportunity to test those theories themselves. Personally River was hoping that the president was 100% human, because the effect of her lipstick on alien physiologies was unpredictable.
So River smiled, and flirted. Occasionally she came close to simpering. She laughed at witless comments from elderly statesmen, and danced with younger power-brokers. All through the party she kept glancing over at the president, smiling provocatively. As midnight approached she met his eye across the dance floor, winked suggestively and slowly made her way out onto the balcony.
President Kennedy followed her as soon as he was able, and attempted to seduce her in a dark corner. From the moment he pressed his lips to hers she had control, whispering in his ear to set up the support she needed: financial backing, access to the military and intelligence communities and introductions to Scotland Yard.
River had him wrapped around her little finger, and knew full well that all she'd have to do was call and he'd do whatever else she asked. You'd have thought the President of the United States might have more will power. Then again, he was only human.
"What is this?" Amy demanded. "Some kind of intervention or something?"
"Amy dear, of course it's not. Sit down," her mother begged. "We just want to talk to you."
"Really?" Amy flopped down onto the only empty armchair. "So you just happen to be sitting here having a cup of tea with Dr Bryce, right at the time you're expecting me home? And, by purest coincidence, Dad's not sitting on his favourite chair; you've left it free for me so you can all be facing me?"
"Amy, you know we're all here to help you," Dr Bryce said. "Your parents asked me to be here because they're concerned for you."
"Tell me more," Amy said quietly, with just a hint of steel in her voice.
"We love you Amy," her mother sounded sad. "But we're worried about you. I thought you were over this whole imaginary friend thing."
"We all thought that," her father said. "You were seeing Dr Bryce about that for years, and over the last five years you've been so much better. But then you came running down the stairs two weeks ago yelling about something having happened to Rory. There is no Rory, Amy. He's a figment of your imagination."
"Now Augustus," Dr Bryce reached out and touched Amy's father's arm. "Remember what we talked about. We're not accusing Amy of anything, we just want to talk about how her behaviour is making us feel. Use "I" statements. Amy, I feel concerned about this Rory situation."
"You're concerned?" Amy said angrily, thinking of the desperation with which she'd searched for Rory, the days hanging out at the hospital looking for him, because she remembered him as a nurse. But he wasn't there. "I'm the one whose husband has disappeared, and you're all acting like I've gone nuts. Why are you all pretending that you don't know him? You were all at the wedding, don't you remember?"
"Amy, there never was a wedding, you're making it all up!"
"Okay Amy," Dr Bryce spoke calmly. "I don't remember the wedding, but clearly you do. Could you tell us more about it?"
"We got married at the church in the village," Amy smiled fondly. "You were almost late Dad, because you kept re-writing your speech, rambling on about how the best man might be using the same joke book. I wore my hair loose, with flowers. Mum, you looked wonderful, you wore your big blue bead necklace, and a fascinator with feathers. The reception was amazing, there were balloons, and the table centerpieces were white twigs and red flower. Just before Dad's speech I remembered the Doctor. He'd planted all these clues, and when Rory started talking about that old wedding saying, it all came together in my mind: something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. He materialised in the middle of the dance floor. How can you not remember this?"
"The Doctor was there too?" her mother asked incredulously. "Your imaginary friend is back again; can't you see how wrong this is Amy?"
"Of course he was there, you danced with him, the lanky bloke in a tux, floppy hair. Come on Mum, you taught him to do the Macarena, it was brilliant. Tell me that you remember him."
Her mother looked at her father desperately, then turned to Dr Bryce. "Doctor, what's happened to her?"
"Amy," Dr Bryce used what Amy had once called his 'sincere voice'. "How long have you and Rory been married?"
"We married at noon on June 26th, 2010. You were all there, you have to remember," Amy looked at them desperately. "I thought maybe because you're my family, that you'd be able to remember."
"June?" her mother sounded confused now.
"Noon?" her father echoed.
"Amy, what's the date today?" Dr Bryce asked.
"It's April 22nd, 2011."
"And what was the date yesterday?"
"I know what you're trying to do," Amy said sullenly. "I know that yesterday's date was the same. But it shouldn't have been! Can't any of you remember? There's something wrong with time. The date should change every day, and time should flow instead of being frozen. Everything's changed, but you can't see it."
Her parents looked incredulous now, as if she'd suggested the world was flat. Dr Bryce just looked worried.
"Why would you be the only person who would remember this? What makes you so special?"
"I'm different," Amy tried to explain. "I grew up with a time crack in the wall of my bedroom." They were all looking at her; her parents faces blank, Dr Bryce's filled with pity. "I grew up with all of space and time flowing through my mind, and I can remember things that never happened. That's why I remember the Doctor, and why I remember my husband, Rory the Roman. It's not my fault none of you can remember, but I fixed the world before, brought you back when you'd been erased from time. I can fix this too." With that she jumped up and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.
The three people left in the room looked at each other, the silence dragging out as they all waited for someone else to speak first. In the end it was Dr Bryce who spoke the words they were all thinking.
"It's worse than I thought. Moving time, disappearing husbands, saving the world."
"I'd been thinking," Amy's mother suggested, "that maybe a bit of therapy could fix her."
"This is a full blown psychosis," Dr Bryce confirmed. "She's completely delusional, and who knows what she could do."
"What do we do then?" Augustus asked. "She's our little girl, and we love her. But we're so worried about her."
"I think she's going to need residential care," Dr Bryce suggested. "I know it sounds awful, but her grasp on reality is so tenuous that she'll need intensive therapy, counselling, and almost certainly some chemical assistance to be well again."
"You mean..." Amy's mother was scared to finish the sentence.
"I mean that I'm going to have to take Amy with me and put her in the mental hospital, whether she's willing to go or not."
"How are things at the FBI?" the clerk asked.
"Not quite what I expected," River replied. "That J. Edgar is a real piece of work. And his views on women in the workplace are positively archaic."
"Archaic," the clerk repeated. "Never heard that word before. What's it mean? Some kind of American slang, I suppose."
River sighed. With time gone wrong, of course the language would have changed. Things could never be 'old fashioned', or 'mediaeval', when time wasn't passing. "Something like that. Anyway, how are you going with that search I requested?"
"Some good, some bad," the clerk explained. He started tapping at the shiny new computer which sat on an antique desk within the buildings of Scotland Yard. He was wearing what River thought of as Elizabethan costume:, knee-high boots, scarlet hose, and a royal blue doublet emblazoned with the Union Jack. "I found Amelia Pond. She's in a village called Leadworth. Lived with her parents and an aunt until about 6 months."
"And now?" River asked.
"Six months ago she was involuntarily admitted to the psych wing of the Leadworth hospital, suffering delusions. Doctor of record is one Dr Roland Bryce. Indications are that she's not responding to treatment. Why are you looking for a crazy woman?"
"Sorry, that's classified," River said, trying not to show her shock at this news. Amy, in the psych ward? This wasn't at all good. "How about the other name I gave you."
"Rory Williams., I've been looking for him too." He continued tapping at the keyboard. "I have records of several people by that name, but none of them seem to match the description you gave."
"Do any of them live anywhere near Leadworth?"
"Not even remotely. Are you sure about the name? I can show you ID photos of all the Rorys I've found, see." He brought the images up on screen, but none of them looked anything like her father.
"I don't understand," River mused. "Rory has to be here somewhere."
"Have you tried talking to Torchwood? They're renowned for explaining the inexplicable."
"Torchwood?" River remembered reading about the secret agency, and some of the things they had done. She didn't know whether calling them now was a good idea,. They might still be the militaristic organisation that had shot first and asked questions later. "I'll keep them in reserve;, but maybe you've got a number for them."
The clerk called up Torchwood on his computer, and River was shocked to see the photo that came up on screen along with the number. Time Agent Jack Harkness, the man she'd left hallucinating in a bathroom in the 41st century was the head of Torchwood in the 21st century. Now that she recognised him, River was able to recall seeing his name in old Terran files detailing the history of the Torchwood Institute. She'd read them years ago, looking for references to the days of her childhood, and for stories of the Doctor. Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood, there had been obscure references to his intriguing origins, and even to his lantern jaw and beguiling charm, but River was stunned to know she'd met this historical figure in the future. Shock aside, the presence of Jack Harkness at the Torchwood Institute crystallised her decision not to contact the Institute. Her task here was nearly impossible, even without being pursued by a former time agent.
Amy Pond drew feverishly in her sketch book. They all thought she was crazy, of course. Not for the aliens, the historical events she'd experienced, the claims of a baby born in outer space and stolen from her, nor even for her compulsion to draw the faces from the events she remembered. No, what doomed her to being sectioned and , locked away in the loony bin, was her conviction that these events had happened at other times.
Everyone knew that it was two minutes past five on the twenty second of April, 2011. To even suggest that she had been married on another date was crazy, especially when she couldn't find her husband. Rory the Roman, the boy who waited nearly two thousand years for her. He was out there somewhere, and he probably couldn't even remember her.
He was out there, and she was stuck in a mental hospital where doctors repeatedly told her that time didn't move and clocks didn't tick. Time was broken, and the Doctor wasn't here to help.
Amy knew why of course, or at least she thought she knew. Lake Silencio, and the spaceman. The spaceman who killed the Doctor. She remembered the heartache, the tears she shed over his body. The heat from the funeral pyre as they pushed the boat into the lake was as fresh as if it had just happened, and the shock and joy she'd felt when he walked into that diner, oblivious to the paradox he created, seemed like just yesterday. But she also remembered the spaceman not killing the doctor. This memory was less sharp, and there was no detail of what happened after. It was like one moment they were picnicking by the lake, and the next moment she was back in Leadworth on her own, with time frozen at 5:02 in the afternoon.
She felt so isolated with Rory gone, Mels having disappeared, and no sign of the Doctor. Where were these important people from her life? Why had the disruption to time taken them away from her?.
So she drew them all instead. Her book was filled with Rory's aquiline nose and short hair, his gentle eyes. The Doctor's shaggy hair, sharp cheek bones and silly bow tie. Mels' cheeky smile and braided hair. But there were other creatures in her book. Daleks, and Sontarans; Silurians, Cybermen, Romans, pirates and angels. The TARDIS, inside and out. There was a baby, a cradle, and two women. One woman had a wealth of curly hair; the other wore an eye-patch and a bitter sneer.
"Put down the book, Miss Pond." A nurse had come up behind her while she was drawing. "You need to come with me. The doctor needs to see you."
Amy's heart jumped momentarily when the nurse said "the doctor", but she knew this was just the regular normal doctor, the psychiatrist who did regular rounds, prescribing medications and trying to convince her that time had always been as it was now. Clever logical arguments had not served her; he didn't care that if the time and date had never changed there was no reason for humanity to have named them, they would simply be. This doctor was prepared to give her all the time in the world to say that time hadn't changed. Maybe sometime soon she would go along with his reality, just to escape this place.
In the meantime Amy followed the nurse down the corridor, clutching her sketchbook and pencils tight to her chest. She usually tried to hide her pictures from the doctors; they were bound to argue with her that none of the things inside were real.
When they got to the office the nurse smiled at Amy. "You just knock, and then go on in. The doctor has a visitor with him, some kind of big wig who's an expert on problems like yours. They just want to talk to you, nothing to worry about."
Amy knocked and waited a moment before opening the office door. She was expecting another elderly doctor, come to visit and discuss the merits of her case with the resident doctors. When she stepped into the room she was surprised to see a familiar face. The wild curls were restrained in a neat bun, but the smile was unmistakably that of the woman in her drawings.
"Hello Amy Pond," the woman stood and extended her hand. "I'm Dr Song, and I'm hoping you'll agree to talk with me for a while."
Amy shook hands, trying to hide her shock. "Pleased to meet you Dr Song,. I'd be happy to talk with you."
"Thank you," the woman smiled, and then turned to the head of the hospital. "If you don't mind, Alfred, I think it would be best if we spoke privately for a while. May we use your office?"
"Of course Dr Song," he simpered. "I'll be just down the hall when you need me." He stood and walked out the door and pulled it shut behind him.
"Amy," Dr Song asked hesitantly. "Do you remember who I am?"
Instead of answering Amy threw her arms around her. "Of course I know who you are! River Song, Melody Pond." There were tears running down both women's cheeks. "Thank God you came. I was beginning to think I was imagining it all,: Rory and the Doctor and the TARDIS and you;, but if you're here then it's all really true."
"Oh Amy," River murmured, "I am so glad you remember, because I desperately need your help."
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm locked up in a loony bin," Amy protested.
"That's okay. I convinced your gaolers that I'm an expert on psychotemporal disorders. There's no such thing, I made it all up, but he swallowed it hook line and sinker. If you agree, he's going to release you into my care."
"Released into your responsible care. Just imagine if they knew you were part of my 'delusion', Amy grinned. "I mean really, there's a whole truckload of irony in this, daughter of mine."
"Well, that's a relief," River smiled widely. "I wasn't sure if you knew yet. I mean, you didn't find out until nearly a year after today's date."
"I remember all sorts of things from after this moment. How does that work exactly?"
"I wish I could answer that," River said. "But I just don't know. I guess that's something we'll have to put on our things-to-work-out list."
"And then what?" Amy asked.
"Then we need to find a way to fix time and save the Doctor."
"Alright," Amy agreed. "Let's go."
Please review, knowing people are reading is what inspires me to keep it going. :)