Doctor Who: Amy, Captured Ch. 14byKurokami©
Author's Note: Hello folks! I'm really rather flattered with the responses I got about the final chapter. Seems like most of you liked it, which is awesome. Thanks for all the support!
That being said, this is the first of two epilogue chapters; this one focusing on Amy, Rory and the Doctor in the immediate aftermath of last chapter's big confrontation. There'll be another one to follow, about what Sander and Mara have been up to, but there are a few hints here for that too. After this, it shouldn't be too long before I start submitting chapters of Panic Moon for your perusal. I'm having a ton of fun writing it. Should be good.
Thanks again to my new fiancée and now the mother of my unborn child, Isabel, and to my test reader Allyourbase, who are both awesome people. I hope that my current incredible euphoria at the news I expressed at the beginning of this paragraph filters down into my writing, since I think it'd boost the quality, as it's already done so for my life in general. Crap, I went off on a tangent...
Anyway, votes, feedback and comments are highly appreciated. Enjoy, fellows!
Time can be rewritten...
Once you took this as true, what could you do with it? Sure, it was a secret of the universe, contained of vast, nigh on unimaginable power, but what were its practical uses?
Sander spent hours at his computer, devising methods of rewriting time and asking his intelligence program whether they would be possible. Could he do it this way? No, that would tear a hole in four-dimensional space. Could a machine that did this be constructed? Sure, but be prepared for the doors to the Howling Halls to fly wide open and for everything trapped within to come out. Was it possible, then, to accomplish this? Not if you're averse to the concept of colossal, world-eating squid monsters...
Of course, eventually he stumbled upon the correct path, as he always did. A machine of unimaginable power and precision, built to exacting specifications, that would accomplish exactly what he needed it to. But, the computer had argued, a machine like this would need to be built to incredibly accurate dimensions, probably to the nearest nanometer.
That doesn't matter, Sander had answered. I'm rich.
It was around this time, as the computer began formulating the plans for such a machine, that Sander finally received his email. He cocked his head to one side as he read, brow furrowing.
'Hey, Mara?' He called as she lounged around on his bed. She had been doing that a lot lately; there wasn't much for her to do during the planning phase, and her own room had practically been turned into a storage closet. 'We have mail.'
'Oh, yeah?' She answered languorously. 'How big do they profess to be able to make your penis this time? I thought they'd be all tapped out after inventing the eight-dimensional meta-dong, but maybe they have more.'
'Ha. Actually, there's one here from Lysithea. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he found me. I had no choice; he knows where you are and he's coming for you. I'm so, so sorry." Well... That's a little late.'
'We're running dark out here to avoid detection by Vesperian radar,' Mara mused. 'We don't really get a solid connection to the FTL comm. Bands, do we? You have to expect late arrivals, when you're doing that.'
'Hey, we got one from Tsugi, too: "Hey man, we just had a run-in with some asshole in a blue box. Seemed like the guy you're running from. His little friend knocked Cohen out cold- I guess he's fine, I haven't really checked yet- and he ripped the logs right out of our main boards. He might know where you were going now. Don't know if this is helpful to you, but I thought I'd better give you a heads up." Again, this is all terribly useful, isn't it? Good to know that the fucking Doctor's on our trail, huh?'
Mara laughed, 'Yeah...'
Sander leaned in closer, 'What the fuck? Viral's messaging me now? I didn't even know it owned a computer... "Hackett-Clan, the Time Lord is coming for you. I have delayed his progress by only imparting partial information; this will be costly." Shit... Think he'll take a busted Heavy Metal?'
'Who gives a fuck?' Mara deadpanned. 'That thing can't leave its cave anyway.'
Sander sat back in his chair, spinning it absently. Now that he had his plan locked down and there was some free time, he had remembered something... There was still one piece of unfinished business that he had to take care of. He had made a promise; it was unfair to Mara to keep her waiting. It didn't seem like she even remembered he had made that pledge to her, but she had a mind like a steel trap; she was probably just giving him some time to recuperate from his confrontation with the Doctor.
Well, she was his girlfriend now- she allowed him to use the term because "lover" sounded too pulpy for her, and "fuck-monkey" had been a little unsettling to him. He should show her that he was looking out for her without being prodded. That was a nice, normal thing to do.
Pity there wasn't anything terribly normal about the promise itself...
He smiled wistfully, remembering the simpler times when all he had to worry about was keeping Amy under wraps and avoiding an immortal, time travelling alien. Oh, wait... that was about a week ago.
If he was going to do this, he would need to call in some favors. He opened reply windows to Lysithea, Tsugi and- with a little helpless noise in the back of his throat- Viral.
TARDIS control room, mid-flight in conceptual space: One week earlier, objective time.
He was alone. Both fundamentally and... well, presently too.
His hand trailed absently over every familiar contour of the time machine's control panel, trying to draw some comfort from his surroundings. It was harder than it looked; a dark fugue had descended over everything. Maybe this time something had happened that they couldn't recover from.
Maybe the Doctor had finally found something he couldn't fix.
He had never encountered anything like this before; Sander's plan had been dark. He had fought Daleks, Cybermen and Angels; tangled with some truly nightmarish opponents. Things with impossible powers... And yet a pair of humans had struck a blow far more damaging than even the most fearsome alien enemy.
What was worse, if he concentrated, truly probed his memory, he could remember Sander. Just barely; some memories, the big ones, stuck between regenerations, but the- he hated using the word in this- smaller ones tended to grow blurred with time. Tended to disappear...
At the time, with that broken man standing in front of him and cackling like a maniac, he hadn't said a damn word. Usually it was hard for him just to keep silent, but confronted by Sander, the words had just dried up. What did one say in a situation like that? For god's sake, the man had tried to attack him seconds after seeing him!
Of course there was guilt. In the TARDIS it was easy to forget that life went on outside; when the fight was over and the Doctor leaves, nobody else has that option to escape the aftermath. Sander had fought for his life, and he had... what? Stepped back into the police box and swept away to some other time and place?
He should have been more careful... Indelicacy and time travel didn't work well together. He was the last of the Time Lords; he needed to know that he would leave a situation in a state of equilibrium.
Sander himself had given the Doctor a lot to think about, but he wasn't the primary concern right now. Amy was hurting, that was easy to see. But there was no possible way to heal her, not this time. There was nothing that he could do; Rory would try his best, but even then... Who could tell? Nothing like this had ever happened in the TARDIS before.
Aside from that first, clinging hug in the hall of Sander's base, Amy had found it remarkably hard to look at him. The Time Lord had seen her blush as she refused to meet his gaze; he wondered why, but now wasn't the time to broach it. That look in her eyes... He had never wanted her to look at him like that.
She and Rory were somewhere in the depths of the TARDIS; The Doctor could easily find out where, but he didn't. He could understand if they wanted to cling to each other in solitude for a while. They had earned that.
The Doctor leaned against a railing and looked up into the vaulted ceiling of the TARDIS. He had... Right away, he had asked her if she wanted to go home. The words had sounded so pathetically hesitant, almost needy; as though it was somehow selfish to want her to stay. She had looked at him then, coldly, and answered with just one word: No.
And then she had wandered off with Rory. Hopefully, the two of them would be able to coax some normalcy back into this place. But who knew? Maybe this uncertainty, the awkwardness and the trauma, would become a permanent fixture here. Maybe he would never be able to treat his companions as he used to.
One thing was certain: he would be more careful next time. Without context, it was easy to see his life as a series of adventures; fun little diversions to distract himself from eternity. But he was stepping in and out of people's lives. They have to keep living them, even after the last child of Gallifrey leaves them. He envied them for their ability to live normal, finite lives... But a Time Lord can't even understand what a life like that would mean.
He would be more careful... But it was too late for Sander and Elsa.
TARDIS chambers, elsewhere.
There was a moment of awkward uncertainty, in the seconds after they stopped and realized that they were finally together again after all this time. Away from all the darkness, away from that damn asteroid and the madness that seeped out of it... What was there to say? What did one do after something like that?
Amy's eyes darted around the little alcove that they had found themselves in, looking at everything but her husband. Rory simply watched her, hoping that she would make the first move, that she would know what she needed. Maybe not the best plan of attack...
'Are you okay?' Quite possibly a frontrunner for the stupidest question ever asked, but in the moment Rory could think of nothing else. His hands kept clenching into useless fists before unclenching again, wishing for nothing less than to be able to wrap around Sander Hackett's neck. That bastard...
'No,' Amy replied quietly. She moved closer to her husband, 'But listen... you can't blame yourself for any of this.' She leaned in and kissed him deeply, passionately; their reunion expressed in a single action, but with a desperate edge to it. As though she was... reclaiming him.
'I don't blame myself,' Rory said between increasingly heated kisses. 'I blame Sander and Mara. I wanted to kill them for hurting you!'
Amy's beautiful eyes flashed sullenly as she flipped her gaze to Rory, 'Can you understand why I wouldn't want to talk about those two right now?'
'Oh. Yeah,' Rory nodded as Amy melted against him. The two of them stumbled back, hit the wall...
'What do you want?'
Sander shot forward, pressed himself against her. His lips covered her own in a forceful, possessive kiss. Amy tried to push him away, but the larger man, whose hands firmly gripped her hips to keep her from wriggling out of his grasp, physically outclassed her.
The kiss broke, and Sander's eyes bored into Amy's with his curiously penetrative stare, 'You.' He said.
Oh. Oh hell. That couldn't be good. Amy shut her eyes tights and pressed her mouth to Rory's, harder than before, trying to dislodge the memory. Why had she thought of that?
She felt a shudder go down her spine to mingle with the growing heat in the pit of her stomach; finally, some legitimately welcome arousal... She tried to go along with it, after days of having to fight against it. It was a harder adjustment than she cared to admit.
'I just...' She began, trying to find the words. 'I need you, Rory. Now.'
That was certainly true; she had been so afraid that she would never see him again that the idea of taking back her life in the most heated, urgent way possible was incredibly enticing. So she pushed her body against his as hard as possible, shivering as his familiar hands caressed her, slid under her shirt. She was shaking, but something in the back of her mind hinted that this wasn't just due to arousal.
Her hands slipped to the buttons of her shirt, attempting to undo them with trembling fingers. Her eyes closed, and she tried hard to avoid seeming like she was screwing them shut. Try as she might, even with Rory right in front of her, Sander loomed in her mind. Mara flitted through her memory. Like chains, trying to drag her back into the past. If she could just do this one thing, this one act; turn sex from something torturous back into an act of love, they would leave her. She had to be able to shrug them off.
Rory's hands were at the button of her skirt, his mouth was at her ear, hot breath prickling her skin. She exhaled a fluttering breath as she heard the almost inaudible metallic pop, felt the denim slide down the curve of her thighs. Her tongue batted against his as their mouths met again; she tried to remember the old heat, how this was supposed to go. She felt herself shudder, almost retreat from his touch as another memory wracked her mind-
'Something's wrong,' Rory stated flatly. 'We can wait.'
'No!' Amy appealed desperately, descending on her husband with renewed fervor. 'No, no, no!'
He was hesitant at first, but Rory soon found Amy's incredible new energy infectious, and he pushed himself back into the fray. Amy groaned, a sound somewhere between pleasure and relief, and her hand went to his fly.
This was different; Rory's touch had love in it, so distinct and warm and wonderful. Yet somehow delicate, as though he was afraid she might break if he pushed too hard. And that was fine; Amy had had enough of roughness. A little tenderness would work perfectly. Except that...
Except that Sander had touched her like that, back in Nirvana when their minds had touched...
'No, no, no!' She hissed, under her breath as she stepped out of her skirt and pushed one leg lightly between Rory's, her soft thigh rubbing against his crotch. It didn't look like he had heard her, or if he had he didn't care. She was clearly providing too much of a distraction. She tried to smile, injecting as much allure into it as she could; he grinned back, the same goofy smile that she had fallen in love with. Why wasn't this easier?
Suddenly, her shirt was discarded, that final remnant of captivity strewn across the floor, and she stood naked, perfect and vulnerable. Their eyes met, hesitantly, as though they were afraid of what they would find. But the moment Amy saw Rory's fascinated expression, she grinned and hugged him, very aware of the effect this had on him, stripped as she was. Her smile curved higher.
Rory's hand cupped one small, pert breast, drawing a deep groan of satisfaction from Amy as heat raced from her rapidly tightening nipple. She had always loved the warmth of his touch, and he was more skilled at it than even he realized, but this was something special. This was safety, and stability, and Rory; finally Rory again, after so, so long...
She had been undoing his fly without even realizing it; when she had said she needed him before, that hadn't been an exaggeration. His fingers tilted across the smoothness of her stomach, making her abs squirm and tremble under his touch. Her flesh had such a wonderful soft pliancy, and she was so terrifically sensitive; every touch yielded some new sexy noise or reactive shudder. Rory could play her like a violin without even trying. But he was trying now, and sparks flew. Her legs shook as he caressed up her thighs before dipping just the tips of his fingers into her rapidly warming pussy, teasing her and watching as her hips bent to follow his retreating hand. His fingers came up glistening.
She reached out, grabbed his hand and brought his fingers to her mouth. She had never done this before, but Rory found it hard to complain as her tongue swept the juices from his digits and her soft lips stroked across his skin. There was a degree of subservience in this act; in her downcast eyes, the quickly deepening redness of her cheeks, something unspeakably arousing. In her own mind, Amy didn't know why she felt the need to do this now; it was so strikingly similar to something Sander had done, but... It had a kind of magnetic attraction for her, a deep, dark sensuality that she'd never really felt before. Besides, Rory seemed to like it.
He growled wordlessly as her graceful fingers wrapped around his hardness, as his jeans pooled on the floor around his ankles. She pumped up and down, once or twice, but it was more a treat than a necessity; he was already achingly hard, and in the moment she wanted nothing more than to have him fill her. She let him flip her bodily against the wall, so that her breasts pressed momentarily against the cool surface, the composition of which eluded her. She placed her hands high on the wall and arched her back, offering her needy cunt and creamy, taut backside for his use. Her legs spread wide, her thighs trembling with anticipation.
She felt his fingers penetrate her once again, and through the resultant cry of ecstasy she heard his breath on her ear, 'I missed you.' His voice seemed deeper now, and masculine too, devoid of all the awkwardness that was usually there. In truth, Amy could have done without the talking, preferring that he showed her that he missed her, but the sentiment was nice and the deep roughness of his voice sent chills down her spine.
Amy bit her lip hard, almost drawing blood as Rory continued to finger her, his hand circling and curling over all the right places to make her melt like butter. She whimpered in helpless pleasure, unable to do anything but buck against him and hope that he would fuck her soon, before she went mad with desire...
Sander plunged forward, his cock in her balls-deep. At the same time, he twitched his fingers inside her cunt, his thumb brushing against her clit. Immediately, Amy arched her back and moaned, long and loud. Her fingers dug into the sheets and her pussy spasmed around his hand as she came, orgasm slamming into her like a bomb blast, shattering her ability to do anything except moan like a whore and grind herself on Sander's cock.
Amy grunted, hit her forehead against the wall in a desperate attempt to grind the memory away. It wouldn't take much to distract her; the flashback had done little to reduce the heat flowing through her, or her desperate arousal. It had seemed to run parallel to it, a sense memory triggered by the climax brewing in her belly rather than an emotional recall.
Still, something in that couldn't be entirely healthy either.
His free hand skated across the trembling skin of her back, and she couldn't take it anymore, 'Please, Rory!' She begged. She begged, automatically. She wanted something, so she begged for it. Some small part of her, immune to the lust, curled up just a little more. She was lucky, that tiny shameful component of her supposed, that she had said Rory's name, rather than Sander's or Mara's.
He must have sensed that thought, because he was kissing her neck, whispering half formed apologies in her ear. Amy didn't care, not in the slightest. She had begged, but she had done it because she wanted to. It was going to take more than a fleeting impulse to make her feel bad for wanting him inside her. She shook her head, a small gesture to let him know that it was okay, and would he please, please, please continue?