A/N: Back to a once-a-week posting schedule. Oh, how I wish I could write more and post more often, but alas, one has to keep one's day job, too. I've got three more chapters at least of this outlined in my head, including fun with Irial/a visit to Raven House, a letter from some dragons, and the mystery of the paintings revealed. It's frustrating not to have the time to sit down and get it typed up anymore. Sigh. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy.
Men are not prisoners of fate, but prisoners of their own minds.
~Franklin D. Roosevelt
No matter where you go or what you do, you live your entire life within the confines of your head.
~Terry Josephson
I.
"Doctor..."
He made a noise that might have been acknowledgment. It was hard to tell, since he was facedown in the pillows.
"Aren't they going to come looking for us? Isn't there somewhere else we should be this morning? I'm starting to feel a bit hedonistic and, well...conspicuous just staying in bed all day..."
He shifted enough to roll his head to the side and look at her out of eyes unusually peaceful. He reached out and gently stroked her face, that slightly crooked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"What? I can't believe what I'm hearing. Is Amelia Pond embarrassed?"
"Well, no... not exactly...it's just that...well, it is a bit obvious that we're not coming out of our rooms isn't it?" The faintest of blushes tinted her cheeks.
There's nothing about her that's not lovely, is there? Just want to put her in my pocket and carry her around with me always. He reached out, pulled her hand up, and kissed it lightly because he couldn't seem to help himself.
"No need to get in a bother, I promise. The Rishellians are a late-rising bunch themselves, you see. If you stay up all night long, you need a bit of a lie-in, I suppose. Listen. See how there's no noise?" The barest flickering of his internal sense of time and he told her, "They'll be starting their day soon, and the Citadel as a whole will be coming to life properly."
"But Áinfean...she was already up and dressed and..." Amy's brow was furrowed with the memory of their early morning visitor.
"Ah. Yes. That." The Doctor's good humor began to dissipate with the memory of the Empress's morning visit. "I suppose she had plans she just couldn't wait to get started on bright and early..." Tension showed in the line of his jaw.
Amy noted it, looked at him with assessing eyes. "Will you tell me now?" Her voice was level, soft.
He became very still and for a few moments, she was not sure that he would say anything at all. When he did speak, his tone matched her own. "Are you sure you really want to hear it?"
Her heart quivered just a little at that calm, dangerous softness, but she knew that if she didn't hear it, the danger was greater. She'd always wonder. She'd always worry. She loved him, yes, and she trusted him, but if she didn't yank this particular seed up by its roots right now...
She closed her eyes. "Yes..."
And he told her.
II.
She was shaking with anger as he spoke. She was pacing the cool floor of the chamber, stalking back and forth, gesturing, asking terse questions occasionally, but letting him tell it.
He watched her move, his voice retelling the events in a thoroughly dispassionate tone. It might have happened to anyone, anywhere. He might have been relating a story from a history text instead of something from his personal life, something from last night. He kept still, kept his own emotions out of it, kept his attention all focused on her, on the bond between them. So often before, when she'd become angry, especially when she'd become angry or emotionally confused as it related to him...
Sure enough, the more upset she became, the less he felt her through their bond. As he related Áinfean's attempt at seduction in her bedroom, her kisses, her touches, the wall he'd expected suddenly sprang up and except for the barest minimal sensation of her presence, he felt nothing from her.
Yes. As I thought. It's a defense mechanism of some kind. But does she know she's doing it? That's the question...
"Pond...Pond, stop a minute." His voice, his sudden urgency of tone, snapped her attention to him and she froze in her tracks.
"What? You're not done. Why aren't you telling me the rest? Finish the story. What did she do after she stripped down and crawled all over you? What's left to tell?" Oh God, how will I bear it? If he tells me that she seduced him, that he slept with her while he was drunk on that wine, how will I stand it? How can I STAND IT? I can't stand it Ican'tstanditI...I...
"Pond. Amelia. I need you to pay attention. This is important." He'd come across the room, took her gently by the arms.
She pushed at him. "So's this, Doctor. Finish. The. Story." He looked down into her eyes which were bright with unshed tears, ran a hand through his hair in frustration, nodded.
"Fine. Right. The story. The temptation of the Doctor... right." He took a deep breath, did some quick editing of the parts where Áinfean had disparaged Amy, and summed up the rest by saying, "I told her to sod off, basically."
Amy let out a disbelieving laugh, threw her hands in the air and turned away from him. "All of that. All of that build up and you expect me to believe that was the end of it? Just a simple, 'bugger off'? Sure. Right. Okay..." She grasped the low curving back of the vanity table chair for support, leaned heavily against it.
He fought impatience. We must get this done. She must believe me. There are things so much more important that bloody Áinfean here. I just saw the wall go up. Now I have to see if I can get her to lower it. I think I know why it's there... Oh Amelia, we have so much to say, but this is not the conversation we need...
He stepped up behind her, slipped his hands around her waist, pulled her back against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder. She squirmed slightly to try to dislodge him, and when she couldn't, she stood frozen like a marble statue, staring off into space.
"Pond," he said softly, his voice filling her ear. "I did not sleep with Áinfean. That's why she came in here this morning trying to stir up trouble. And I think we have to give credit where it's due to the Empress, succeeding fairly admirably on that front, really. Look, she's a schemer. She's got I don't know how many plots in play right now. She conned me upstairs by getting me drunk on that damn Lunacy, which I should have avoided like the plague, after spending all night telling me she had a great mystery so I'd trust her and giving me sympathy after you and I fell out. Not that she doesn't have a mystery. She really does. There's a problem here, something that is profoundly wrong. I'm working on it. But you know what?" He waited, but he got no response. He'd expected none, really.
He continued. "That's not what worries me the most. What worries me the most is the fact that every single time you get mad at me, you cut off the connection between us."
Her eyes flew to his in the mirror, startled, wary, confused. "What? I don't know what you..."
"I know you don't. That's the puzzling thing. Doing what you're doing should take a telepath of massive natural strength, exceptional training, and regular application of skills. And it shouldn't be something that happens by accident." He kissed her shoulder lightly. She shivered. Her eyes were wide.
"Right now, you've put up a giant wall in your head and it's keeping me out. I can barely feel you at all. It's a bit terrifying how strong you are with that, Amelia Pond. Because I'm not exactly what you call a beginner, a hobbyist, or a weakling in this area, and every time I've looked at it, I've felt like someone standing at the foot of Everest looking up and realizing that I've come equipped with only a pocket knife, a ham sandwich, and a reindeer jumper I got as a Christmas gift."
She had to laugh at the absurdity of his simile, but then she grew uncertain again. "How...how is that...I mean...how can I.. I don't know how..." She turned in his arms, pressed herself against him. "How is it possible? Is it bad? How did that happen, Doctor?" His arms came around her held her to him comfortingly.
"Well, I have a couple of theories. Your mind is more telepathically sensitive than the average human's, Amy. I knew it since I met you. So that's definitely going to be part of it. However, I suspect that your mind was altered by the flow of time through it from the crack in your wall. Couldn't possibly have lived next to something like that for as long as you did and not have had some effect from it. A bit like living next to something kicking off high amounts of radiation, I suppose. It might take a long time to show up, but...
"Anyway, I sensed it when I dipped in there to find your dreaming self when Prisoner Zero forged its link. And then, of course, there was Prisoner Zero all those years carefully worming its way in. Your mind began to form a defense mechanism against it, but of course it wasn't strong enough that first time to block out the intrusion totally. However, since I was able to reach you that first time and help you shape the dream, I think you must have been blocking out at least some of its influence. You had some free will, some ability to control your dream. You'd already laid the foundations of your wall, as it were.
"Then you started to travel with me, and telepathic influence surrounded you all the time. Your mind, your poor invaded mind, was a bit like an oyster invaded by a million grains of sand. It started turning out not one pearl but a wall of it. I mean, it's not that you found the TARDIS or me a threat, at least not all the time, I guess, but we're there, aren't we? And your mind could feel us banging about in the vicinity, and well, I suppose it started making sure that it could keep us on our side of the fence if it wanted to. Although, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure even the wall you have going, as strong as it is, will do you much good against the TARDIS. She's much stronger than I am..."
Amy was looking up at him with confused eyes, trying to process what he was telling her.
"So...you're saying that I have some kind of...what...mental force field that kicks if I feel threatened? Is that it? But that can't be right, Doctor. What about the Angels? They got in with no problem... And the thing that wiped my memory on StarShip UK?"
He nodded. "StarShip UK was a voluntary action. You consented to that, so your mind didn't jump in and fight. Also, that was very early on, if you remember. As for the other, well, the Angels are the Angels, right?"
She wondered if he thought that explained everything. She made a face as she concluded that in Doctor-land, it probably did... Minutes passed in silence, and they stood listening to one another's heartbeats. His hands made soothing circles on her back.
She dredged up her courage finally and asked the question she'd been chasing around her head, "Is...does it mean...is there something wrong with me?"
He leaned back to look at her very seriously for a moment, brought his hands up to cradle her face, tipped her head down and kissed her very gently on the forehead, then softly on both temples.
"No," his voice was achingly gentle. "No, Amelia. There is nothing wrong with you whatsoever." He drew her back against him. She felt the first of the knots of tension beginning to come undone. Then he spoke again.
"There is, however, something wrong with us. The bond. It's just not working out like it should be, you see?"
III.
She raised her head to look at him with shock in her eyes. His were filled with resignation. He took her hands and he led her over to the bed. He sat down. She remained standing, her heart pounding. He patted the mattress beside him with a little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
So we're not compatible after all. And now he's going to tell me. And then I guess he'll take me home...
She shook her head. "No. If I'm to receive bad news, then I think I'd like to get it standing up, thank you."
He looked at her oddly. "What? What are you on about with the 'bad news' bit? What bad news?"
"Isn't this the part where you tell me, 'So sorry, old girl. Been a boxload of fun, but it's just not working out'?"
For a moment, complete incomprehension reigned. Then his eyes sparked with humor and he fell back on the bed laughing. She felt her temper rising.
"Don't you laugh at me! Don't you dare lie there and laugh!" She grabbed the pillow from beside him and she brandished it. "I'm warning you..." He continued to guffaw, and she walloped him with the pillow. This simply sent him into fresh gales of glee. She drew back and hit him again, harder.
"Oh stop, stop, Pond. Please... I can't...breathe..."
"Good," she growled, "teach you to laugh at me. Hope you bloody pass out." And she raised the pillow over her head another time only to have him reach up and drag her down on the bed, pillow and all. He rolled her beneath him and pinned her gently. She glared up at him. He was still chuckling.
"It's so NOT funny."
"I'd say that rather depends on your position at the moment."
She snorted and turned her head away.
"You didn't really think I was about to tell you we were over, did you, Pond?" His voice was soft, suddenly, yearning, and it had her eyes coming back to his immediately, the ball of pain and anger inside her now shot through with uncertainty.
"You're not?"
He rested his forehead against hers and sighed. "You're my Mate, Pond. You're Mine. And I'm awfully sorry to tell you, but... that is a forever sort of thing." He dipped his head and nuzzled that place on her neck softly, kissed her there once. "I could no more walk away from you than I could cut one of these hearts out." He folded his fingers with hers, pressed their hands together against his chest to feel the slow dual beat there.
Her eyes searched his, saw nothing but stars and truth there. "I thought...I thought...that since I...that since I keep blocking you that maybe the bond...that maybe we aren't..." She stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence.
He smiled and kissed her gently, put everything he was feeling into that tender meeting of their lips. "No, Amelia Pond. You are Mine. You are my chosen BondMate. We are joined. It may not be a perfect joining...yet...but it will be so in time, if you will work with me."
She nodded. "Tell me what to do."
He gently placed his fingertips at her temples, was pleased to notice that she did not tense at all at his touch, and he kissed her again. "Just let me in. Just let me in."
IV.
She frowned up at him. "And I do that by..."
He grinned. "Right. Talking in riddles again? Sorry. Okay. I am going to try to slip into your mind. Last night, when you were blocking me, I sort of ….well for lack of an easier description, knocked on the door, and you opened it for me. That's what I want us to practice now. I don't want you to get rid of this wall. It's actually a very good thing that you have it. I just want you to stop using it on me."
His expression and his tone changed. The fingers at her temples tightened ever so slightly. "You can't keep cutting off the bond between us, Amy. When you do, I can't know things I should know. Like last night. I didn't know what was causing the surge of emotions I felt. I didn't know if...if...you were alive or dead...after the wall came down so hard when the Lunacy kicked in...and...and.." His face was a study in despair.
She reached up and linked her arms around his neck, rubbing gently with her hands, soothing. "Shhh. Shh.. It's okay. Just tell me. Just tell me how to keep it from happening again, okay?"
He nodded, took a deep breath, focused. "Close your eyes." She did. He did, too.
"Listen for my voice, for the feeling of me inside."
She focused all her attention, and for a long time, there was nothing. It was like being inside a void. There were only the sounds of the birdsong outside, the wind, the noises of the Citadel as it was coming to life around them. She focused harder, and she realized that faintly, ever so faintly, she felt that distant tug toward something, a sound like thunder very far away.
"Good," he whispered. "Go towards it. Remember, Amy. Let me in..."
She turned her mind toward the thunder, pursuing it inward, and she found herself in another place altogether.
V.
She was standing in the courtyard of a white-walled castle, complete with pennants flying from the battlements. She looked down to see herself dressed in the same long green gown she'd worn in the dream she'd had of Gallifrey.
"Doctor," she called. There was no response. He was not here. She could not feel him anywhere. And then it happened.
Wait. Who was it I was looking for? I can't...I can't remember... And besides, who else could I possibly need here?
She knew this place, however. She felt utterly safe here. She felt as though she'd been here many times before, and she began to walk slowly around the courtyard, looking at the odd carvings along the walls. There were friezes there, figures in battle, she herself an armor-clad warrior with a shining sword carved into the white stone in scenes of triumph over a snake with rows of razor teeth, again in another over a winged thing with a fanged face, other people in other battles covering a portion of the blank walls. In some of the pictures there was a man with her fighting by her side, but his face was always obscured, or one could only see his back. She felt a tug of curiosity about him as she strolled by.
Who is that, again? Shouldn't I know him? If he was there at those victories, shouldn't I remember his name? No. The sculptor must have just put him in there to balance the image...
Still, as she walked past, she couldn't help but feel the curve of that shoulder, the line of that hand, that head full of wild hair was somehow...familiar... Shaking her head, she put it aside, turned to survey the collection as a whole. She noticed that some of the walls were still bare, and she knew that in time, they, too would be covered with victories. This fortress was the key to those victories...
But she had come here seeking something. What was it again? That tug at her mind came again, and thunder rolled loudly. She looked up, frowned. Rain would be unwelcome today. There was much to do, work to be done on the fortress. There was always work to be done on the fortress...
She walked over to a place where faceless figures made like artist's wooden manikin were lifting and shaping blocks of the gleaming white stone into place and she surveyed their work. Their little flat or round knob hands were oddly capable at their task, and she did not question how they cut the stone or held the tools. This simply was. Lightning split the sky above her, thunder again rumbling impatiently, and for a moment, she froze. She had heard in that rolling bass of the thunder something impossible. She'd heard her name.
Nonsense. It will not rain here. It does not rain here. We have no storms here. Here we are safe. Nevertheless, I am reminded that I came here for a reason...what was it I was supposed to be looking for? I should go and find it... It was important and...
She walked slowly around the inner courtyard, puzzling over it, nibbling gently at her cuticle, trying to remember. Outside the walls of the fortress, the storm broke, a grey curtain of rain obscuring everything from view. Thunder and lightning battered at the walls, and she smiled in satisfaction. Not one drop of rain touched the interior of the castle.
Ha. Do your worst. You will not get in here. These walls are mighty. I have raised these foundations myself.
She tipped her head back and she yelled defiantly up at the sky. She kept walking.
Perhaps if I went up on the battlements, I could see the whole of the fortress, and that might help me remember. I know that there is something I came here for. Something important. Something I needed to find or do...
She climbed the stairs, enjoying the feeling of running her fingers along the stone as the staircase spiraled upwards.
Everything here is whole, complete, perfect. Every stone fits to every other stone. There is order, perfection, control. There are no holes here that anything can slink through, slither into. I have made sure.
Outside flashes of lightning lit the narrow windows again and again. She rolled her eyes at them, fought the childish urge to stick out her tongue. When she reached the battlements, she began to walk looking down into the castle proper. Nothing caught her eye as the thing she had been meaning to do. The wind from the storm lifted her heavy hair, fanned it out like a red flag, and she laughed. It felt good. Her dress flapped in the high wind, and she felt for a moment as if she could extend her arms and sail away into the dark sky, that the gale would lift her, support her, carry her like a strong hand.
Maybe storms aren't total rubbish then. Might be fun to fly like that...
Suddenly the tug came again, stronger than it had ever been, and she felt the irresistible urge to look down. Frowning, she glanced down at the foot of the battlements and she saw pressed against the white stone a sodden figure standing knee-deep in the fast-rising water the storm was dumping outside the walls. His hands were spread against the smooth rock, and he was staring up at her with anguish and despair in his summer green eyes. It almost looks like... He almost seems like... It was the man from the carvings inside come to life.
Him. I...know...him. Don't I? I...he...I...need...him.
But there was no door in the wall. The fortress had no doors. If one could get out it, after all, then an enterprising baddie could get in it. There were no doors here, no windows lower than thirty feet off the ground, and none of those were larger than arrow slits or other military openings.
But I need him.
She continued to stare down at him, and he raised a fist and knocked gently against the flat surface. Although it was impossible, she felt that soft knock almost as if it were an earthquake. The whole fortress shifted slightly. She cried out in alarm, and she dashed back into the safety of the stairwell, cowering on the first landing, shaking.
What is he? Whatisheisheishe? Nobody should be able to move my fortress. Built it strong, built it secure. Is he a baddie? A silver sword flickered into being in her hand, bright as the full moon on the surface of the sea, then disappeared as she began to calm slightly.
No. Can't be. Need him. Can't be a baddie if I need him. Right?
She took a deep breath and she crept out on the battlements again. She peered over the edge. His eyes were waiting for hers. The water was now up to his waist. He knocked again. Again, everything danced. Again, she retreated. Not quite so far, this time, though. This time, she simply ran as far as the edge of the stairs and stopped. Then she turned and walked back, stared down again, curiously.
The water had risen quicker than it seemed possible, lapped around his chest. It got higher as she watched. His face was tired, and he slumped against the stone now, pale and weak. He looked at her, and she could see despite the rain falling on him that he was crying. He raised his hand and he gently knocked one last time. Again the fortress shifted uneasily, but this time, she ran not at all. His mouth shaped a word, then two, as the water reached his neck.
*Pond. Please.*
The Doctor. It's the Doctor! And he's come here for me!
Doctor! No! Wait! she cried out against the howling storm.
She spun frantically, looking down at the interior, but there was nothing there that was of help. The builders calmly continued to fit stone after stone into place. When she looked down again, the water had covered the Doctor completely. She could see him dimly under the and anger filled her with determination.
Am I not mistress here? Is this not the world of my own bidding?
She raced down the stairs and into the courtyard, and she grabbed a large hammer from one of the manikins as she flew past it. Her long green gown trailed behind her as she ran. She allowed the sense inside her to be her guide as she sprinted down the length of wall behind which she knew the Doctor was submerged, waiting, possibly drowning, the hero who had fought beside her in her battles now perishing because he was locked outside the fortress. No! I'm coming! She followed the tug, listening to the sound inside her. When she found it, she placed her hand on the wall lightly, tapped hesitantly. An answering knock from outside shook the fortress again.
He's here. Thank God. Still alive!
She drew back the hammer, started to swing, and stopped in mid-strike.
Wait! If you make a breech in these walls... Anything can get in. If you let him in, really let him in here, what defense do you have, Amy? How will you protect yourself? Don't you know that there can be NO DOORS? NO HOLES? Haven't you been working hard all this time to make sure this place is safe? And now, you're going to give that up, damage it in such a way that it may never be safe again...for what?
The hammer wavered, and she thought she heard, almost heard her name, really just a whisper of sound, an impossible thing, given the situation, but her heart swelled with it, and she drew back again, determination filling her.
For love, she cried. And she smashed the hammer into the wall. A large hole appeared through which poured a flood of water that swept her off her feet, much loose stone, and a pale, limp, almost unconscious Time Lord.