A/N: You've seen him and you've seen her. From this point forward, it might vary in POV. I'm playing around with the concept of the Doctor's telepathy in this one. Hang on. Here we go. Those of you who know me from the IPS-fandom (cough, tillygirl, cough) know how this goes...

I would rather trust a woman's instinct than a man's reason. ~Stanley Baldwin

I.

The little waves and ripples of water grew larger, and with them, so, too, did the strength of her presence brushing against his mind despite his discipline. It was like electric velvet fingers running up and down his spine, sensations he'd normally have needed to have been in physical contact with her to have been receiving at this strength and intimacy transmitted to him through the conductive medium of the water. It was in many ways an invasion of both their privacies, one that he knew she had to be completely unaware of. Yet he did not use the strength in these new arms, in this new body, to push out of this deep end of the pool and leave. He continued to cling to the side, waiting for whatever new hell was coming because...

Because I don't seem to be able to stop myself from it tonight, actually.

He sighed. Opened his eyes to focus them blankly on one of the towering potted palms sitting in the corner of the room. Waited. It wouldn't be long now.

II.

As she made her steady breaststroke lap down the pool, she watched him. He was just hanging there on the edge, staring off into space, legs circling idly keeping himself stationary.

What's he doing, then?

When she'd first come through the door to the pool in her search for him and seen him doing laps in that mechanical and driven fashion, it had seemed like a gift from the gods. She'd quickly ducked into one of the changing rooms nearby, stripped down, and found a likely-looking suit hanging from a nearby hook. Her lips quirked as she studied her reflection in the mirror.

'S amazing how fast one gets used to having things just come to hand like this, isn't it? I guess you really can get used to magic if you're around it long enough...

She knew the TARDIS was probably responsible for the presence of the suit in the proper size and also for its being a dark kelly green that flattered her coloring. The cut, while modestly one-piece, had a low plunging back and an odd cut-out that left a large portion of her abdomen bare as well. The fabric was supple, shimmery, and did not feel like anything she'd ever come across for a swimsuit before. It slid through her fingers like a combination of silk, water, and something cool, and when she put it on, she could hardly feel the suit against her body.

Bit of a fashion designer, are you? She thought idly, flicking back curtains in other changing rooms as she went back to the pool area to see bathing costumes ranging from men's trunks with whales to a very conservative striped suit from the 1980s to what looked very much like a suit made entirely of some kind of stitched animal hides to a very small silver Speedo (Who'd ever have been ballsy enough to have worn that blessed thing?) to a set of ancient bathing clothes that looked like they'd come right out of a Victorian print.

She'd dived right in, intending to catch him in the middle of a lap, engage him in conversation that would hopefully be pleasant, force him to talk to her if all else failed, but although he must have heard her enter the water, he was not reacting to her presence at all. He looked for all the world like a man lost in deep contemplation.

Either that, or he's ignoring me...

She gritted her teeth, dove lightly under the surface and pushed for the far wall.

III.

She'd misjudged the length of the pool she had to swim, and her lungs were burning with the need for air as she approached the end where his long pale legs slowly stirred the water. She also misjudged her distance as she closed her eyes and came up and so was rather closer to him than she'd intended. As she broke through the reflective surface, she gasped for air and flung out a hand for the edge of the pool. Her dripping fingers closed over his and as he jerked his hand away as if burned by the contact, her head slid back under for a moment. She felt strong hands reach down, slide under her arms, and lift her back above the waterline again, and there he was, looking down at her with that amused, puzzled, and faintly irritated expression on his face.

"What are you trying to do, Pond? Drown? That would hardly be convenient at this juncture."

Her expression was mutinous. "No. I was not trying to drown myself. I just...ran a bit short of air and had to come up quickly is all. You were in my way."

The amusement that had been faint at first became more pronounced. "Really. Is that so? Because I had the oddest impression that I was here first."

She would have crossed her arms if she could, would have tapped her foot, but those things were denied her in this aquatic medium. She settled for reaching up and pushing her sodden hair out of her face in what she hoped was a dignified and cutting manner. "That has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you were in my way..."

And he surprised her by laughing. It was a sound she hadn't heard in far too long, she realized. She watched his face transform with it, with the happiness, and she felt her temporary flash of irritation and embarrassment fade away. On the heels of her realization that she wasn't still ticked-off came the discovery that his arms were still loosely around her, looped under her own arms for support and holding on to the pool edge behind her. She'd been floating there pinned between a wet and half-naked him and the tiled wall for some time now, hadn't she?

Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy...

His laughter stopped, and she became aware that he was looking down at her with eyes full of questions and something that simmered hotly behind them.

"Amelia Pond," he said slowly, drawing the individual syllables out as if he relished the sound of each one, the feel of the words in his mouth, and then he reached out hesitantly and lightly, lightly brushed his fingertips across her forehead and temple, as if he were tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear. She felt something like a shiver when he did that, something like a strong rolling jolt of electricity only absolutely everywhere and somehow very, and I mean very, good, and she grabbed his shoulders for stability. Almost instantly, she saw guilt dart through his eyes, and he murmured, "Sorry. Sorry. That was...I shouldn't have...I should probably just..."

He was going to run. She could see it. Distract him! Stop him. Instinctively, she knew better than to ask the question uppermost in her mind, What the hell was that? Also probably taboo was the one crowding its heels, Won't you try that again so I can figure out if I liked it or not because I think I really might have? What tumbled out of her mouth was insipid, and she hated herself for it instantly, "Doctor, can't you just...d'you think you might be able to...I mean... hold me up just a minute more, would you? I think I might've gulped down just a little bit too much water to be free floating on my own yet..."

IV.

So here she was in his arms, and she should have looked like a half-drowned kitten. But she didn't. She should have been ridiculous and pale in a swimsuit. But she wasn't.

Oh, yes, and I'll be having words with you about giving her this bit of nothing to wear later. Don't think I haven't noticed she managed to just stumble across a Sylarian sheensuit in just the perfect shade of green to make her eyes a sylvan mystery and her hair a tumble of wet flame across my hands. You know good and well these things were made to be like having nothing on once they're wet. You could have just given her a bucket of paint, you know, and gotten the same effect.

He felt the deep, vast amusement of the TARDIS roll to him through the bond they shared. It was unmoved by his annoyance, too used to the caprices of his humors to worry much now, saw things on an even vaster scale than he did himself as a Time Lord, and it found humor wherever in eternity it liked. He had long ago learned to take her little practical jokes and temperamental outbursts in stride, but he had the subtle feeling now that he was being plotted against by the ancient heart of his own time machine, and he didn't much care for it. Again, like the tolling of a bell too deep to be heard, a reverberation only felt, came the sensation of her laughter against his mind.

He had resolutely refused to look down, but it wasn't really necessary for him to. He'd already seen her once as she'd emerged from the water, and mythologies, names of water goddesses had crowded into his head so quickly that he'd been dumbstruck as she'd collided with him. He'd been backpedaling, trying to avoid physical contact in an environment that was already conducting too much of her to him, was already allowing her mind to batter at his mental shielding when she'd brushed her fingers across his hand, and he'd wanted to groan, to growl, to drag her out of the water, to have her right here where she was as he got images of her seeking him through the ship, of her desire for him, fragmented as those images were. That added to the sheensuit's ...definition of her attributes, the ones it was covering anyway...were simply more temptation than he'd bargained for when he'd stayed.

He'd tried to push her away with sarcasm. It had always worked on the traveling companions before. He'd kept countless numbers of them at bay with the sharp edges of his witty and sometimes brutal tongue. It didn't work with Amelia Pond, though. She simply cocked her head, narrowed her eyes, and proceeded to skewer him in a voice that flowed with a Scottish cadence. And he laughed in delight at her defiance.

Parry and thrust. It's like fencing. I have always loved fencing. Wonderful sport. Very fine. I need to teach it to Amelia. I think she'd be excellent at it, really. Wish I hadn't said thrust just now, though, not even in my head, especially since she's just started thinking about... Oh, Amelia. Don't take your thoughts there, please... Damn.

And he sighed. His arms were around her body supporting her and they were very close together. Water surrounded them both. He could almost taste the desire of her (strawberries again, wonder if she tastes like that all over, wonder if...) like a tangible thing, like something that curled around him, like something he was absorbing through his skin.

He looked down into those green eyes, and he saw her pupils respond to something she was seeing in his own. What do you see, Amelia Pond? Does it scare you? It should. You should be afraid. Oh so very afraid. Because I want to gobble you up in one greedy bite like the monster in the fairy tale. Because I'm not going to be able to stop myself from doing just this... And he'd lifted a hand from the pool decking to caress her forehead starting in the middle of her brow, brought his fingers across and down over her temple, softly, gently, barely touching, forcing himself to keep the contact feather-light, finished by tucking her hair behind her ear, traced the delicate whorls of the outer shell of it. He watched the path of his hand, and he shook slightly with the effort it took to keep his touch barely there. His eyes cut to hers, watched her shocked response as she felt the superficial connection he'd created shimmer through her before it faded.

He felt absurdly pleased with her gasp-and-shudder response, not to mention the corresponding sensations in himself. Ha. Let's see the nose pull that trick out of his bag. You don't get to be 907 without learning something useful, I guess. Instantly, shame struck. Oh, Pond. Oh no. And so the fairy-tale hero isn't much of a hero after all, is he? Reckon he's more the beast in the shadows waiting to pounce. I need to get away, I need to just get out and get away from here...

V.

"Pond, I need to go. You need to let go of my...my person...and let me get out of this pool right now."

"Why?"

"This isn't...this is... What you're doing...It's a bad idea."

"What am I doing, then?" Challenge in her voice.

"A-me-lia." Irritation and something charged in his.

"Okay. If I were doing something, which I'm not admitting that I am necessarily, why would it have to be such a bad idea?" She ran a hand up his chest to his neck, casually. He firmly took it in his own, placed it back in the water.

"Because you'd be biting off more than you can chew, Amy."

"Oh, Doctor..." Flirty smile through lowered lashes hung with liquid diamonds of pool water.

"Don't be flip. I'm not being cute. This isn't double-entendre or pillow talk. I'm trying to warn you for your own good and you just keep not listening!"

"Look. You've been warning me off practically since we met, and I'm sorry, but I just don't believe it, alright? I don't believe you're this big, bad wolf who's going to gobble me up." Sassy, challenging smirk on those strawberry lips. Fingers creeping back up toward his neck again.

"Amy. Please. Don't." His eyes slide closed. He can't keep his shields up. They're crumbling, and all of her, all her desire, her need, the images she has of the two of them and what she'd like to do to him, with him, for him, are sliding into his mind like the lewdest kiss, the crudest dirty talk ever conceived...

"Oooh, or what, Mr. Grumpy Wolf? Are you going to get me? Gobble me up like...like..I was Little Red Riding Hood? Should I be scared?"

And he opens his eyes again, and she has to swallow hard at what she sees there. His hands leave the tile pool decking and come to rest on the bare skin of her back. She cannot stop the shiver that flashes lightning quick up her spine.

"Yes. Yes. And yes."

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