Copyright infringement not intended.
Warnings: Strong language, not-being-from-the-UK, sexuality and other mature themes.
Pairing: Eleven/Amy, Eleven/Amy/(Rory), Rory/Amy, Eleven/River, River/Eleven/Amy.
Part: 1/2.
A/N: I'm so, so, so, sorry for the late update! I spent the entire weekend watching series five with my mum and up to the newest episodes and arguing about the merits of Eleven/Amy and River and Rory and that damn kid! But, oh my God, does the next episode not look AMAHZING? See my profile for an amazingly special link, full of teasers and speculations. (:

Andd read the bottom for a special announcement! Rightio, off you go, my loves.

BETA

The dog days are over,
The dog days are done;
The horses are coming
So you better run.

i.

She's young. Not compared to him, even in human terms. She's barely twenty-two and she's so ready to exchange her old life for a new, shining and deceivingly pretty life that he is offering stupidly. It's almost like kidnapping.

It almost makes him feel guilty. It almost makes him take her back to Leadworth. It almost makes him take back every promise he made to her.

But, then, she turns to him, her fiery hair settling around her glowing face in sleep-tousled waves and, dear Rassilon, her eyes. She may be physically and emotionally twenty-two, but mentally? She is so much older.

Because in her eyes, he swears to every God he's ever heard of that he can see those fourteen years that she waited. He can see how she grew and how she learned not to trust easily and not to throw her emotions around wildly, because of him. And he's cruel, but isn't this cruel.

He could never leave her behind, no matter how young she is.

ii.

His blood is boiling and his hearts are pounding in his chest furiously. He hasn't ever been this angry, not in his new body at least. It swells in him, churning his stomach fiercely.

"I'm.. I'm sorry," his suddenly weak ginger companion apologises, sounding truly at a loss for what to do. He doesn't want an apology, he wants anger, he wants fire! He wants Donna Noble, telling him not to talk to her that way, telling him to stop acting like a Martian or something else incredibly mad.

"Oh, I don't care," he says venomously, his eyes flickering across her face. She's hurt, it's obvious, and each word he says is like a physical blow. "As soon as we're done here, I'm taking you home."

He can't look her in the eye as he speaks those dreadful, traitorous words, turning away from her and marching back to the controls. He doesn't want her to go, he won't live up to his promise if he doesn't have to. It's just.. He's so angry and he doesn't know how to handle the youthful energy that is twisting with fury.

"Why?" She asks and there you go! There's that feisty, stubborn, ginger-y Scottish woman that he knows she is and has seen in her. There's that reluctance to back down from a fight or a challenge. "Because I made a mistake?"

He doesn't look up, even as he hears her approach.

"One mistake? I can't even remember doing it - Doctor!" She hits the ledge with her flat palm, no longer asking for his undivided attention. She's demanding it.

"Yeah, I know." He informs her, glancing at the monitor before finally meeting her eyes. She's still hurt and her rejection is blatant, but burning in the hazel depths is an anger that matches his own. She'll do fine, his sub-conscious comments, but he isn't in the mood for his sub-conscious.

It's cost him enough.

iii.

Amy Pond is so human. Everything she does, everything she says, screams humanity. No, it doesn't scream - it roars, bellows, belts, humanity.

His lip twitch when she displays one of her naïvieties, her humanity, her ignorance to the rest of the Universe. Yes, it's frustrating and yes, it grates his nerves when he has to explain the exact same thing over and over again. But, it's quaint and funny and he's addicted to their shock and awe of the Universe around them.

"All of time and space. Everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was. Where do you wanna start?" He asks her on one of those deceptively small days, drumming his fingers on his stomach and staring up at the vast sky. He glances over, meeting her disbelieving and slightly awed expression evenly.

A smile tugs the corners of his mouth upward and he shakes his head at her, knowing from past experiences that her adorably confused expression will quickly change to one of reflexive anger and defensive irritation. It only lasts so long, of course, but the confusion and disbelief are hard to get back.

"Don't laugh at me," she snaps, pushing herself into a sitting position. Her ginger hair burns around her annoyed features, bangs flopping into her darkening eyes. "Don't you dare laugh at me, Doctor."

He doesn't really hear her. He's only vaguely aware of her speaking and what her words are. Something about not laughing or like that.

No, he's far too preoccupied with trying to resist the urge to brush her hair out of her beautiful, angry eyes, and to ignore the desire for her eyes to be darkening, not with anger or annoyance, but with -

No.

His smile falters and his stomach sinks and he blinks at her, trying to give her a cheeky grin. "Me? Laugh? At you? Noo," he shakes his head dramatically, his weak grin strengthening as his attentions turn quickly from his distracting thoughts to his glaring companion. "Ah, you humans. Get defensive so easily."

Amy slaps his arm, a scowl distorting her young features. But, he can see the humour glowing behind the glare and the grin tugging at the scowl and he remembers why he always travels with humans, not another alien.

It's their life and energy and their innocence, mixed with their strength and independence and stubbornness. Everything about them.. He just loves.

iv.

It's an elementary rule, known all over the Universe, by every race that has, will or does exist. It's a rule that, as time goes by, he seems to gradually forget. It was always in the back of his mind when he was with Rose, during both regenerations. It was with him when he kissed Martha and when he allowed Donna to come with him.

But, he is forgetting this incredibly important rule. He's letting himself and her toy with his emotions, he's letting her tow him along. He knows it's not fair, there's that thing in the back of his head screaming at him to pay attention, but he can't seem to stop himself or remember that thing.

Until he finds himself pushed up against the door of the TARDIS, the slim body of his companion pressing him further and further into the rough wood. Her lips are moving sensually with his, though he can't even remember kissing her back. He puts his amnesia down to the fire burning through his veins, licking hungrily and heating every part of his body - and then he thinks no more.

He grasps her hips, pulling her ever closer to him. He's burning, he's on fire with his overwhelming need to feel her against him, to hear her soft gasp and appreciative sigh. He needs her, he wants her, he has to have her all for himself.

He's positive she wouldn't mind. The way she is leaning into him eagerly, how her hands are fisting in the soft hair at the nape of his neck and pulling in a way that should be painful but really isn't - it all tells him she really would not mind if they just left right now and never came back.

She pulls back for a breath and his eyes flicker open, darting around the room before - wait, what was that? That small red box, a ring box. Shit, Big Nose.

And there goes that marvelous, distracting fire, put out by water and common sense. It leaves burns and scorch marks, blistering reminders of the cardinal rule that had slipped away from him;

If you play with fire, you'll get burned.

v.

He would really rather if she had never said anything at all, but she did and now they all have to deal with the consequences of her words. Take us home. Now.

He almost wants to refuse her, the sturdy and selfish no is on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't, though, and it changes everything. He could stop her, they both know this, but he won't.

And that is the tipping point.

"Alright." He says softly, turning away from her, putting the coordinates into the TARDIS and pulling the lever. He can't stand to face her, not when he feels like his hearts are breaking, not when he feels like everything is crashing down around him. "Okay. Back to Leadworth, yeah?"

Say no, say you'll stay. Anyone can leave, it takes strength to stay. Please stay, Amy, please.

He's waiting for her to respond but she doesn't and the silence is unbearable, pressing in on all sides. He glances over his shoulder as the TARDIS wheezes dryly, finding that neither Rory or Amy will meet his eyes or each others. Rory's face is contorted, caught viciously in between sympathy and glee.

Rory has won. They, he and the Doctor, know this. They can feel this.

Rory has won and the Doctor has lost, again. It's not the first time, but it is definitely the last.

"Leadworth," he announces as the wheezing quiets. Rory gives him an appreciative smile and Amy marches right on out, not looking back, not speaking. Rory lingers, obviously unsure of what to say or what to do, deciding to nod farewell and scuttle after his fiancée.

And that's how it ends;

The Doctor tries so hard to win and when it matters most, he loses.

He always loses.

Sorry if V and IV are odd. There was a day in between IV / V and the others, so I sort of lost focus and my line of thoughts. Sorry if any of them are OOC.
Anyways, it's Sunday. I've got school in the morning and then Curse of the Black Spot in the afternoon. Gonna take a snooze now.

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT:
There will be two fics after this one, one for River and one for Rory. After that, there'll be one for when the Doctor leaves and then a nice sort-of oneshot/ficlet series for series six. Sort of like these, but they're all compiled into one fic.

Well.. I hope you enjoyed this fic. Stay tuned, lovelies, and read!
Yr Alban