Doctor Who 1. Chapter 1

Foreword:

_It was by chance that I found this story. Digging aimlessly through an antique shop, which is something I enjoy, I came across an old desk. The desk held absolutely no interest to me, but while scurrying through a conglomeration of objects time forgot and generally making a massive mess, (much to the shop owner's annoyance) I found myself inspecting the continents of the desk drawers. I remember thinking there was something odd about the paneling on the front of the desk and I pressed gently on it, believing it to be out of place. To my great surprise, the panel pressed inward on well-oiled springs and slid to the side. I jumped back and glanced at the shop owner. She had given up scowling at me and turned her attention to her IPhone. Satisfied I was undiscovered, I peered into the hidden cupboard within the desk. It was a small dark space and I had to squint to see inside. Intrigued by the possibility of discovery, I reached my hand into the cupboard and felt inside. Cobwebs tangled my fingers and I swear something crawled across my fingers. Jerking back, I shook my hand to rid it of whatever was on my hand and quickly dove in again. Within moments my fingertips came into contact with a thick leather substance. I scratched for purchase on its face and finally managed to lift the leather thing from the cupboard. It was a book; the oldest one I had ever seen outside of a museum. The paper was thick, yellowed with age and ink words marked its surface, but confinement in the cupboard had preserved the book reasonably well. I figured it had to be worth a large amount of money._

_Acting quickly, I set the book back in its hidden drawer and closed the panel. Without further ado, I announced to the shop owner that I desired to buy the desk. She gave me an odd look, but named her price._

_Two hours later the desk sat in my living room. I smiled at the ugly thing and bent down to open the hidden cupboard. Taking out the book, I sat down on the floor and with my mind buzzing with curiosity, I opened to the first page._

_All that is written down here is exactly as I read it. The tale seems to be a diary, or a letter of some sort, but the stories and knowledge it contains is impossible. Obviously, whoever the story was intended for never received the letter. I can only hope that by publishing this work that he, if he indeed exists, will read and be put at peace._

_Now, I present to you words penned in the year 1913 by a woman named who called herself Amelia Pond._

* * *

Day One

Please hear me.

Don't be the stubborn idiot you always are and refuse to listen. Please. For me.

You of all people should know that if nothing ever ended, nothing would ever begin.

Even if I could go back in time and change things, I wouldn't. I made my decision _oh _so long ago by swinging away from the angel in that graveyard. The truth is that everybody says goodbye, and every story ends.

What I want you to understand is that even though my time with you is over, you bow-tie sporting idiot of a Time Lord, _my _story is far from finished. We've gone on different paths, and that's alright. Sure I miss you; I'll always remember the adventures we had, but in the end, leaving was the best possible thing. If I hadn't chosen as I did, so many things would be left undone.

This is my story, the story of Amelia Pond Williams, and unlike most tales, it started at the end of another.

I don't know what I thought it would be like, but I didn't imagine this. The moment the frigid fingers of the horrid statue touched my shoulder, everything rippled around me. Melting, smudged like wet paint, that's how the world seemed. I was screaming, but I couldn't hear my own voice. You were screaming too, frozen in time with your mouth open and your eyes openly showing the agony you felt. Probably you don't know, but I reached out to touch you, the best friend I ever had. You melted in my fingers like ice cream in the summer sun.

Terror seized me. It was dark, and I was alone. Sinking down, I could feel the coolness of dew covered grass underneath me and I knew my trip was at its end. I wasn't in New York anymore. I could be anywhere, any_when_. For a moment I didn't breath, didn't think, didn't move. Maybe if I stayed still long enough my heart would petrify and stop hurting so much.

And then I remembered.

I remembered why I made this choice in the first place. Stumbling to my feet, I wiped my leaking eyes. "Rory!" I screamed.

My voice was hoarse, like the cry of something dead. I felt like something dead.

I needed my husband, and I needed him _now_. Hoping against hope that the angel had sent me to the same place as it sent him, I screamed his name into the night. I had to find him because I didn't know what I would do if I didn't.

Actually, scratch that, I knew exactly what I was going to do if I couldn't find Rory. There was no way I could live without him, so I'd stop. It's not complicated. Stop living and just like that everything would be over with. All the pain and sorrow and tears would cease.

But don't worry, Doctor. I value my life. I wouldn't resort to that until I'd searched the whole bloody universe for that stupid face of his.

I'd start my search with the woods that I found myself in. It was dark and massive tree limbs hung over me like a bird cage. Mist floated a few inches above the ground and owls screeched in the distance. If I hadn't been totally exhausted, terrified, and generally panicking, I might have found the setting to be mysterious and a bit exciting. Right now it made my heart thump as fast as your double heartbeat. I was cold and lost and afraid and I'm ashamed to say my feet dug into the dirt and I fled.

Making ghosts in the air as I ran, my breath became more and more ragged. I continued screaming for Rory all the while. Suddenly a root seemed to spring from the ground. It caught my ankle like a bony hand might and I screamed, fell, and scurried on my hands and knees away from it. I rock bit into my palm and when I finally got to my feet and continued running, a branches slapped my in the face. my arms and legs and knees were on fire with small scratches as I blundered through the night, but I ignored the pain.

After an eternity of all this, I fell to my knees at the foot of a massive oak tree and refused to move a single inch farther. I didn't feel the pain across my body, because it was blotted out by the pain in my heart. You know me, I'm not usually one to cry, but on that terrifying, horrific night, I wept into my hair.

Being loud of a thing of the past. No longer did I scream and shout, instead fat droplets, glittering diamonds, dripped down my scratched and muddied face and puddled in my hands. Never in all of my life did I feel so hopeless, so alone, Doctor. In a single instant, I lost my parents, my daughter, my best friend, and most likely, also my husband.

I wondered if this was what you feel like, being homeless the way you are. Lonely, afraid, paralyzed? I don't know how you smile every day.

I doubt I would have ever moved again if she hadn't found me curled into a ball at the foot of that tree. First I heard footsteps, the leaves crunching under her feet, and then the humming of a familiar tune I couldn't quite place, trickled to my ears.

Swiftly I sat up and rubbed my eyes. It was too dark to see her face, but by the light of a tiny lantern she cradled in her arms, the woman definitely saw mine. Freezing, she thrust the lantern toward me in shock. "Oh my gosh! Are you okay?" The woman rushed forward.

"I'm fine," I croaked, clearly not. The light stung my eyes and I squinted to see the woman behind the light. She wore a full length dress that she had hiked up above her knees, and a head covering rested crookedly on the top of her head. It all had a very early 1900's feel and I supposed that that was where I was sent. Her skin was a warm, chocolate color.

She rolled her eyes, seeing through my words like I didn't even speak them. "No, you're not. You look like you were attacked by a bloody lion."

I really wasn't up for conversation, and my exhaustion was keeping me from forming even the simplest thoughts. "No… the trees are... pokey."

Frowning in concern, the woman bent down. "Alright. I'm a doctor. I can help you."

I cringed at her words. "Doctor? Yeah, I really, really could use 'im right about now." I couldn't see straight and everything was spinning. "But I don't need you, I need a different sort of doctor."

The woman cocked her head like I'd just said something strange. Then she shrugged. "Alright. I'm not giving you a choice. I'll take you back to the house and get you fixed up there." She reached down to help me up, but I scrambled away and got to my feet on my own.

I lurched to the side but managed to keep my balance. Brushing some leaves off of my clothes, I sniffed and attempted to regain some dignity. "I'm fine, thank you. Just lost. A place to stay the night would be really nice."

Smiling gently, the woman stepped toward me. "Of course, Master Smith has plenty of spare rooms."

She was a maid then. That made sense, being that sadly, in the early 1900's there weren't many occupational options for a woman of her complexion. I nodded briskly and pretended I was still in control. "Thanks."

The woman pointed in the distance. "Come on. It's not far from here." She smiled but there was concern in her eyes. Keeping close by me as we walked, her lantern flung the shadows away. At one point exhaustion got the better of me and I tripped. Instantly the woman was at my side. She wrapped a warm arm around my shoulders and lifted me to my feet. Step by step, she kept me going, and I found I was too tired to complain.

Only partially conscious, I dimly wondered what a woman like her was doing in the woods so late at night, but then the thought slipped through my fingers at the sight of 'Master Smith's' house.

I could see very little in the darkness, but it seemed to be a pleasant enough building of a comfortable size. All of the lights were off except for a room on the second story. I briefly caught the silhouette of a man before a curtain blocked my view. Going by the size of the house, I supposed that Master Smith was well off, but not exceedingly rich. Warmth and safety seemed to waft off of the site in waves and I attempted to hasten my pace.

Stumbling together onto the back porch, the woman quickly set me on the floor and raced inside. "Don't go anywhere," she cried, "I'll be right back!"

Like I was going to go back into those dark woods. I had been rushing about for, good grief, at _least _twenty four hours now, and my panicked race through the woods tipped me over the edge. I could hear her voice echoing from within the house and then the replies of a masculine voice. As I waited for my savior to return, my eyelids grew heavy. My vision tunneled and I felt strong arms under my arms. Graciously I was claimed by unconsciousness.

_**AN:Please leave a review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

Day Two

I don't actually remember waking up, or falling asleep for that matter. One moment I was sitting on the porch, and the next I was curled up in a ball, tangled in white sheets. Blinking open my eyes, I focused lazily on the sunlight dribbling through the open window. Long, light colored curtains waved gently in the breeze.

Inhale, exhale.

Where was I?

The thought jerked me fully into consciousness and I sat up. My hair tumbled down my shoulders, horrifically tangled. I blinked, taking in the room. It was very simple, light baby-blue walls, and white furniture. A mirror hung on the door.

Yawning, I dangled my legs over the side of the bed and realized I was dressed in a nightgown. My feet were bare and my cuts bandaged.

Then I remembered the night before. It came crashing down on me like a physical weight. Groaning, I fell backwards onto the bed and closed my eyes. I refused to cry. Never again would I let my emotions get away from me in such a manner.

Alone. I didn't want to be. I needed to find Rory.

Determined, I quickly stood up. The wooden floor was cool against my feet. Clenching my fists, I walked toward the door. My fingers rested against the knob and I was about to exit the room when the door opened outward on its own accord.

I stumbled backwards, and in burst a tall and skinny, well-dressed man. Surprise colored his face. Taking one look at me, he averted his eyes. "My apologies, miss. I didn't realized you were undressed... or awake, for that matter." He turned to go. "I'll just-"

"No," I interrupted holding up a hand, "It's fine. Just startled me, s'all."

The man hesitated. "Are you sure? It's highly inappropriate that I would intr-"

I shook my head and turned to sit back down on the bed. "Pinky swear. It doesn't bother me. I've been in worse situations in a nightie."

He raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. "I suppose if you don't mind…"

I smiled to put him at ease, but I knew it wasn't reaching my eyes. "Seriously, relax."

The thin man eased down into a chair beside the bed and scratched his neck awkwardly. He had brown hair that stuck straight up, despite his obvious attempts to tame it. Long, thin fingers scratched his cheek and his brown eyes were wide with curiosity. He smiled nervously and cleared his throat. "So, feeling better, are you?" He looked honestly concerned. "You a bit worse for wear when Martha found you. I had to carry you in, but Martha seems to have fixed you up rather nicely."

So _he _was the man who was awake at that ungodly hour of the night.

I pulled a strand of hair from my eyes. "Martha?"

"My maid," the man explained, "She has a remarkable grasp of medicine for a woman of her color…"

I frowned inwardly at his choice of words but kept quiet.

"She said she found you just inside the woods?" He continued, "Apparently she heard a noise, went out to investigate, and found you unconscious."

I blinked. That wasn't what happened. Why didn't she tell him the truth?

Whatever her reason, I wouldn't give Martha away. Slowly, I nodded. "Yes, that's it. She seems to have fixed me. I feel much better." I exhaled breathily, tapped my fingers on my knees, and stood up. "Actually, I think I'll be leaving. Thanks for caring for me and all, but I need to find someone."

. "Oh!" The man stood up, surprised. "Already? Are you sure? I don't think you should-"

"Really," I started, edging around him toward the door. "I'm fine."

I honestly think he was too flustered to stop me, and if my legs hadn't given out at that precise moment, I would have left the house, nightie and all.

As it was, the man jumped forward as I fell. Dizziness prevailed over me and I clung to the man's suit. "I'm f-fine," I stuttered.

"I think you still need rest, miss. How about you just sit on the bed for now. I'm sure whoever you're looking for can wait a bit longer."

Protests rose to my lips, but I felt nauseous and suddenly sitting on the bed seemed like a good idea. The man slowly set me down and I gripped the bedsheets tightly.

We were silent for a moment, and soon the nausea in my head died down. "Are you Mr. Smith, then?" I asked the man.

He nodded. "Yes, um, John Smith. I'm a teacher at a boarding school down the road."

A memory tickled the back of my mind. The faintest glimmer of a smile lifted my lips. "I had a friend who liked to call himself John Smith…" Shaking away the thought, I continued speaking. "I'm Amy, Pond- sorry, I mean, Williams."

John chuckled. "Sure about that?"

"Yes," I replied. "Amelia Williams. Got married- still getting used to the new last name." I twisted a strand of hair between my fingers and kept my eyes on my lap.

John Smith nodded, seemingly satisfied. "And what brings you here Amelia Pond Williams? I do like that name, sort of… fairytale like."

My attention perked up. I remembered how you use to tell me that. "I- uh," Crap. What could I tell him? "I'm suppose to meet up my husband, but I got… lost, in the woods... yeah," I ended lamely.

John nodded. "What's his name?"

"Rory…. _Williams_, obviously."

He smiled. "Obviously." John sat back, apparently more at ease. He crossed his long legs. "I'll ask around the school while you're recovering. I mean, if you'd like me too."

"Oh would you?" My stomach twisted. Hope… what a ridiculous thing.

At that moment, the woman from last night chose to walk in. Martha balanced a tray of food in one hand and fresh bandages in another. Surprise lit her eyes upon seeing Mr. Smith and I. "You're awake!" She cried happily, "It's been three days- thought you'd sleep forever!"

My eyes widened. "Three days?!"

Giving Mr. Smith an accusing glance, Martha set the tray of food down on a bedside table. "You've been chattin' in here and didn't bother to tell her how long she was asleep?"

He put his hands up in protest. "She didn't ask!" He shrugged. "Besides, we were just getting introduced."

"S'not an excuse."

John huffed in fake annoyance. "You are much too opinionated for a maid, you know."

"Yes, sir."

A small smile tugged my lips at their friendly banter. Zeroing in on the food, my eyes took in the breakfast. My stomach growled and I glanced at Martha. "Can I-?"

Nodding enthusiastically, she placed the plate in my lap. "Of course! It's for you."

"Oh, thank God!" I devoured the oatmeal and toast like it was my last meal. The flavors spun through my lips and I moaned in satisfaction. "Did you make this?"

"Oh, no," came Martha's chuckling reply, "My friend Jenny did. She works here too."

Nodding, I inhaled the food without further comment. When I was done I looked up and realized both Martha and John were staring at me. I smirked in embarrassment. "Guess I was hungry."

John laughed. "Obviously."

_**AN: Please review! I want to know your opinion!**_

_**Anyhow**__**, I just came to the realization that Doctor Who and Back to the Future is a crossover made in heaven and I don't know why people haven't written more of it... The point is, I'm writing one, and it would be really cool if you checked it out. So yeah, it's called **__**New Life.**__** By me... Obviously.**_


	3. Chapter 3

"This is your fault," I breathed, my legs hitched up underneath me. The window seat offered a wide view of the English countryside and I let my eyes wander lazily up and down it. Frigid wind brushed the rolling hills and a small creek let out of the forest and under a quaint bridge. The road leading to Mr. Smith's house was dusty and well-trodden. In the distance, I could make out the tops of buildings hiding behind the stretch of woods. _That must be where Mr. Smith's school is_, I reasoned. It was a pale and shiverish day that threatened snowfall if it happened to rain. Although I itched to go out and search for Rory, I was grateful for the warm fire that heated my toes. Truthfully, I was exhausted, physically and emotionally and I figured that being ripped from time and pasted into another did little to invigorate a person.

Despite this, I only agreed to stay here when Mr. Smith and Martha promised to ask around for Rory at the school. They both seemed to work there, Martha as a maid and John as a teacher. Poor Martha, she was such a bright one; too smart to waste on clean floors. I saw the way she glanced at the newspaper. She could read, which was unusual, and I recalled her saying that she was a doctor, but that couldn't be right. The unfortunate reality of history: women were underestimated. In this time period, which I saw was indeed the early twentieth century, (1913, to be exact), women were just barely were allowed to vote, and that was only white women. I sighed inwardly. Some people really did seem to be born at the wrong time.

Turning away from the window, I stood impatiently and looked up at the ceiling. "It is absolutely your fault. I used to be a very patient person before you got me addicted to your rushing about."

Don't judge. Yes, I was speaking to you and yes, I was totally aware that you couldn't hear me; that you were farther away than I could comprehend, but what else was I supposed to do? I was alone and that's what happens when you're alone. You start talking to drown out the silence. Don't pretend you don't know what that's like. I know you do.

I fidgeted, pacing. My bare feet slid across the floor and I could see my distorted reflection. Squinting, I lamented the lack of my glasses. _I wonder where they got to... _

Good grief, I looked old. Red-haired, tired, defeated and old. River told me once to never let you see me age; that it hurt you. I'm glad you didn't see me right then because she's right. It would have killed you to see me.

Huffing, I flopped backwards on the bed and let the springs bounce me up and down. My hair splayed out behind me and I wondered how long I could stay here before the confinement forced me to do something ridiculous. I wouldn't leave the house, but there were plenty of places to explore _outside _of the bedroom.

It turned out that after ten years of exploring space and time, exploring a largish house in 1913 was a piece of cake.

I didn't want to say that I was sneaking around, but it sure felt like it. Unbidden, memories rose in my mind's eye of sneaking about all across time and space, you and Rory at my side.

As I rounded a corner in the long hallway, I studied the door before me. If I remembered correctly, this was the door into a room with the window that was lit the night before. In all probability, it was Mr. Smith's study or bedroom. Perhaps both, seeing that he was an academic sort of man.

Without thought, I turned my head to whisper to Rory that I _knew _this was a bad idea and I was going to do it anyway.

But I stopped myself.

He wasn't here and you were gone. I was alone. Still.

Gulping down the subdued fear at this thought that was thumping in my throat, I placed a hand on the doorknob. I needed a distraction and investigating was as good a distraction as any. Besides, given our tendencies to run into unseemly people, it didn't hurt to make sure my rescuers weren't secretly plotting to destroy the galaxy or something daft like that.

Looking back, I wonder how things would have turned out if I had never gone inside. What if I had lost my nerve? Wouldn't be the first time. Would I have gone away from the Smith household ignorant?

But that is not important in the long run. What's important is that I _did _open the door.

I stepped inside and my bare feet were silent on the woven mats scattered across the floor. The room had a sort of organized chaos look. A small bed sat by the window and a cluttered desk next to that, confirming my suspicion that Mr. Smith spent his nights in the study. A few bookcases held onto a multitude of books and hardly any of them held any dust. He must use them often, I mused. A bookworm, like I suspected. Smiling fondly in remembrance of all the times I found you tucked up in the TARDIS library, I breathed in the smell of paper and ink.

I always thought it odd to see you so quiet and still, tamed by stories of all things.

You told me once that reading was one of the few ways you could escape.

"Escape what?" I'd asked.

You didn't answer, but that was alright because I already knew. You were escaping yourself. Daft idiot.

I wondered now, whether Mr. Smith escaped through stories. Probably not. He didn't need to escape. He seemed to have a nice life, a bit dull, but nice.

I know it hurt you that a life like his was something you could never have.

Shaking away my memories, I preceded to shamelessly snoop.

I opened up a few drawers, looked through some books, read some papers, and was generally bored by what I discovered. Everything was ridiculously mundane, almost oddly so, _your _troublemaking voice whispered. Mr. Smith hadn't seemed like a mundane man, not once I spoke to him. So why was _everything _here so blooming _dull_?

Sighing, I stepped back and put everything in their proper places. This was ridiculous. I had had the luck to fall into the hands of a kind, generous, _normal _man. There was no need to see something strange when everything was perfectly in order.

Deciding I had had enough exploring, I moved to exit the room. However, something caught my eyes and held them. Cocking my head, I stared at the object sitting on a cluttered mantelpiece. I picked it up slowly, feeling the cool, smooth surface of the grey pocket watch.

There was an odd design engraved on the lid and I squinted at it. That almost looked like- no. It was coincidence, that's all.

Suddenly the air behind me shifted and I stiffened. Spinning around, I set the watch in its proper place and started guiltily. Martha stood in the doorway, windblow. She appeared to have run here.

She cocked her head, confused. "Amy? What're you doing in here?"

Quickly, I searched for an excuse, but finding none, I opened and closed my mouth wordlessly. Embarrassed, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Right, um, I was snooping."

"Snooping?"

"Yeah." I paused, biting my lip. "Sorry."

For a moment Martha was totally silent, her shoulders taunt with suspicion, and I thought I had misjudged her, but suddenly a smirk lifted her lips and she chuckled. "At least you're honest." Rolling her eyes, she waved me forward. "there isn't anything of interest in there, is there?" she asked, amused.

I pouted, relieved. "It was horribly dull. I've gotten into a habit of checking people's papers, I hope that's not offensive. You know…" I thought rapidly. "With the war comin' on and such, it's necessary to make sure there aren't... spies."

Martha blinked. "You know about the war?"

Crap. Was that not well know information? I decided to play it safe. Shrugging, I exited the room and shut the door behind me. "Not really. I'm just a paranoid person, to be honest. I was checking to make sure Mr. John Smith was truly who he says he is. I've had run-ins with… liars in the past." I frowned at the memories of the countless times we were betrayed by people we thought were friends.

Martha evidently had as well because her eyes creased with sympathy. She was clever; clever enough to know that I didn't mean any harm, however, I still caught her looking at me when we left. No one in their right mind let something like that pass without at least monitoring their guest afterwards. However, suddenly Martha's face morphed into a grin. "Oh!" she cried, "I nearly forgot why I ran here! We asked around for Rory, like you asked us too,"

My eyes widened and I gave her my full attention. "And?" I breathed.

"Turns out, there's been a young man helping Mrs. Nurse. He arrive a few months ago. I told him about you and he literally tripped over himself. He goes by _Roman_. Does that sound like him?"

Instantly my heart flew into my throat and I slapped a hand over him mouth.

"Last I saw, he was coming here, I ran ahead to warn you."

Nodding rapidly, I let out a breathless laugh. Could it be him? Leaving Martha grinning behind me, I ran down the hallway. Of course it was him! It had to be him! Who else would call himself Roman and work with a nurse?

Nervousness twisted my gut and it wasn't until I reached the door that I managed to stop myself. I needed to be careful, not showing myself until I knew for certain that it was him. Carefully, I peeked around a curtain in front of a nearby window. I had a good view of the road leading up to the house. Biting my lip, I waited and soon Martha joined me. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

I glanced at her and then back out the window. "Believe me, I have been kidnapped enough times to not go waltzing into someone's arms until I know who they belong to."

"Kidnapped? Seriously?"

Had I said too much? Hopefully not. Shrugging away her question, we continued to look out the window until I caught a glimpse of a red shirt.

A man rounded the corner and my breath caught in my throat.

It was Rory William's, my husband.

_**AN: Sorry this is so short. I'm trying to update as many stories as I can! Anyway, please leave a review!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Last time: [because I literally haven't updated in eternity]_**

_Biting my lip, I waited and soon Martha joined me. "What are you doing?" she whispered._

_I glanced at her and then back out the window. "Believe me, I have been kidnapped enough times to not go waltzing into someone's arms until I know who they belong to."_

_"__Kidnapped? Seriously?"_

_Had I said too much? Hopefully not. Shrugging away her question, we continued to look out the window until I caught a glimpse of a red shirt._

_A man rounded the corner and my breath caught in my throat._

_It was Rory William's, my husband._

* * *

I think I screamed. Yeah, I probably screamed. I don't really remember. It's all bit of a blur. One moment I was behind the curtain and the next I was scrambling across the white porch and racing down the lawn.

I don't think he even had a chance to see my face before I ran into him, nearly tumbling him into the grass. I held him as tightly, breathing him in. If I held him like that, he would never disappear again. For a long moment, we just stood there fitting nicely like puzzle pieces.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," I said into his shoulder. "You stupid, _stupid _man." He was the same as ever. Same smile. Same smell. Same man.

Slowly, he pulled back and gave me a timid smile. "Amy Pond," he murmured, blue eyes wide and amazed. "You're her, aren't you?"

I blinked, frowned. That… wasn't right. "What? Yeah. Rory, of course, it's me."

Rory let loose a small nervous laugh and took a step away from me. "I thought you were just a- a dream," he whispered. "I couldn't remember. I still can't remember."

What?

_What?_

Apprehension thudded in my stomach like stones. "Rory," I interrupted him. Carefully I reached forward and took his hand between my own. He let me, feeling the pads of my fingers as if they were lifelines. "You don't remember _what_?"

Rory gulped. "I get these dreams. Something about Romans. And… there's you. You're always there. Amelia Pond."

Oh no. His fingers began slipping from my own, but just as quickly, Rory tightened his grip. His eyes searched my face. "Please tell me who you are."

I shivered. This was too much. He didn't _remember_! How can he forget a lifetime?

"I-" I start, but my words caught in my throat and I let my gaze fall to the floor. "How far back do you remember?"

"Two months."

My heart yanked. Two months. He was all alone, confused and amnesic for _two whole months_. I hardly survived a single night by myself. Slowly, I pulled him into an embrace once more. I held him gently now like he was made of glass. " I am so sorry, Rory," I murmured.

"I don't understand," Rory said, his voice muffled. He pulled back and studied me quizzically. "Are we… are we married?"

I gulped and lifted my hand to show him my wedding band. "Yeah. We're married."

Rory nodded slowly and then he smirked. "I can live with that."

I snorted, not really laughing. This situation was so similar to a previous experience of ours; it was uncanny.

"_But I don't know you, I've never seen you before in my life!"_

"_You have. You know you have. It's me."_

"_... Why am I crying? _

"_Because you remember me. I came back. You're crying because you remember me._"

"Rory. You keep calling me Rory. Is that my real-?"

I nearly choke. "Yeah," And then again, more put together now. "Yeah. Your name is Rory. Let's go inside, alright? I'll try to explain what I can."

Slowly, Rory nodded.

Soon we were in the living room. My fingernails were bitten down to nubs, and I glanced at Rory every few minutes. Still there. Still alive.

"Roman Williams, I presume?" Martha asked. She sat on the couch opposite us, and her black dress wrinkled beneath her. An excited light reflected out of the back of her eyes, and she leaned forward, interested. I took it that she was the sort who thrived on interesting tales.

"_Rory_ Williams, actually," Rory responded slowly. He caught my gaze and seemed to read something in my face. He faltered, and I picked up his sentence hastily by the tail.

"The word 'Roman' is a sort of code word between us so we can find each other if we're ever separated. There's bound to be many 'Rory's, but someone named _Roman_? Far rarer."

Rory and Martha digested this. They both nodded. This was obviously news to Rory. Ice prickled my stomach, and I took a deep breath to still the pain ever so slightly. He still didn't remember.

Why did stuff like this always happen?

"Well," Martha said after a moment. She stood and brushed the nonexistent dirt off of her apron. "I'll leave you two to catch up." Quickly, she left the room and shut the door behind her. I frowned. Strange. A moment ago she acted like she would die to hear their story (which would have been made up on the spot).

But no matter. I turned by attention to Rory and grabbed his hand. He stared at the floor, a soft frown marring his features. A pang of sadness echoed through me as I noticed the tiny differences that had come to pass since we'd last seen each other. His hair was longer, and he had a day old beard shadowing his chin. A small cut on his lip suggested he'd been punched at some point.

Pursing my own lips, I gently lifted his face so that I could stare directly into his eyes. They were sincere and thoughtful, as always, but now with a hint of fear.

Rory gulped and slowly released a pent up breath. "Who I am? Can you tell me?"

I smiled sadly. "Of course."

"Even," There was that fear again. "Even if it's bad. I want to know if I'm not… a good man."

My eyebrows rose, and a surprised laugh escaped me. How like him to imagine himself as something less than he was. "Rory Williams, I may be biased, but you are by far the bravest man I have ever met. The purest soul."

Rory blinked. He pulled back slightly, incredulous. "Are you sure you're not mixing me up with someone else because-"

"Oh don't be daft." I punched him lightly. "I'm not about to lie to you!"

For a long moment, Rory's face stayed thoughtful, but then a relieved smile broke through and he pulled me close again. "I'm so glad you're back. From wherever you've been."

"Whenever," I murmured into his shoulder.

Confused, he pulled away to look at me. "What?"

"I'll explain later."

And I did.

We spent most of the rest of the day talking, me reminding him and he nodding, trying to remember. I couldn't say some things. I had to monitor my tongue because I was fairly sure Martha was peeking through the keyhole.

Before I knew it, day fell into bruised night. Rory lit a candle and placed it on the shelf across from us.

"Where have you been staying?" I asked.

"Nowhere I'd ever take you," he replied. His mouth set grimly, and I didn't pry, although, curiosity was killing me and I still didn't know how he'd split his lip.

"How long have you been staying here?" he asked.

"Just one night. I… _arrived _yesterday."

Slowly, Rory nodded. His eyes burned to know what I meant by 'arrived', but he held his peace. I figured he was aware of the prying maid as well. Didn't she have things to do?

Then again, I'd be doing the same thing if I was her.

"And Mr. Smith?" Rory said.

"A kind soul,"

"Good. Would he let us stay here a bit longer?"

"I suppose you'd have to ask me."

Both of us jumped. Rory actually rose out of his seat.

John Smith was leaning against the doorframe, having quietly entered. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to startle you. You're Mrs. Pond's husband, yes?"

Slowly the tension dropped out of Rory, and I stood next to him. "Yes. I am," he answered. "Master Smith? I've seen you around the school a bit, I believe."

Smith nodded and peeled himself off the wall. "You were saying you haven't got a place to stay?"

Rory glanced at me, clearly awkward. "I… yes I do. But it's not a place to take a lady."

Interesting. Living in the nineteenth century had altered his perception a bit. A feminist part of me bristled. I could go anywhere a man could.

But at the same time I warmed to know that he wanted me safe. Weird.

Conflicted, I kept silent.

John Smith nodded understandingly. "Well, your house is my house, as they say. I've got too many spare bedrooms anyhow." He smirked almost playfully; a hint of excitement that made me wonder whether he was lonely. It clashed strangely with his gentlemanly attitude. The expression suddenly felt so very familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"That would be amazing," Rory sputtered.

"It would be my pleasure."

_**AN:**_

_**Oh, My Gosh. I feel so awful for doing this to you guys. It's been forever since I updated. This is a really fun story, but I got stuck in a plot hole. Now I'm back. Ignoring the plot hole for now. Finally.**_


End file.

Doctor Who, Adventure, Hurt-Comfort