This is a oneshot based on the song Endlessly by Muse. Hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, it belongs to the BBC.
This is pretty ambiguous as to when it's set; basically after the end of the most recent series, in the future somewhere...alright? Good
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"You'll wear fezes and Stetsons and tweed and braces and bow ties but you won't put on one little leather jacket?" Amy pouted, offending item dangling from her slender fingers, which were pale against the leather.
The Doctor pursed his lips, wondering where the Beak had got to in a half-hearted attempted to stay the flood of memories as he stared at Nine's favourite piece of vintage earthwear. Amy was frowning by now, and she stepped closer, long legs easily swallowing the space.
"Doctor, it's not going to bite. Besides, it'd look sexy on you."
Leave me alone was the thought that flashed painfully through his mind as he tried to focus on something other than black heartbreak leather, legs that were far too bare and red hair that…
"Why do I need to look sexy anyway! Rory's plenty sexy for the both of us!" As he tried to steer her thoughts back to her oh-so-wonderful fiancée (without a hint of mental bitterness, of course. Right.) the Doctor dashed around the console, a failsafe barricade against slitheen and immortal Captains, surely it would be enough to hide from Amy Pond. (And the memories.)
Amy snorted. "Sure, because Rory's the sexiest thing that's ever walked the Earth."
The Doctor raised his eyebrows, ignoring the slight leap somewhere in the region of his ribcage and at the same time hating himself a little bit more for it. "Charming Pond, I'm sure he'd love to know his wife's opinion."
The redhead rolled her eyes, though she was decent enough to allow a hint of contrition to flash across her expression: easing the Gallifreyan's conscience and twisting a somewhat rusty dagger further into his- anyway.
"You know what I mean Doctor. Besides, you need a girl, I'm trying to help you."
The Doctor decided to never get on her bad side when she had to hand an actual dagger, if this was what she could do with immaterial ones. Actually, the thought of Amy Pond with any kind of sharp object was really quite frightening. He successfully hid the twist of his expression behind the central column as he replied, mockingly indignant.
"Who says I need anyone?"
"You did." Somehow she'd come round when he wasn't looking, nervously his eyes flickered to her- golden hazel eyes, creamy skin, leather jacket- his fingers danced on dials and ivory keys, skimming over something like bronze whose name had faded from his memory as he skipped away from her. It seemed to be the way his time was spent with Amelia Pond. Running, thinking, looking, dancing…always dancing, like a puppet whose strings were being incessantly pulled. Like now.
"Did I really? Well, I didn't mean it."
"Yes you did. You said you were lonely; you told me when we ran away together. You meant it, don't try and lie to me." She was looking fierce now: well, she always was fierce somehow. He was considering a thesis exploring the link between human females with red hear and a fearsome spirit. He'd sat down to write it once, but after meeting this one…There were only so many words, and she was so very many things.
"Well yes, fine, but that doesn't matter any more."
"Why?" (Because you chose him. Because I won't-whilst you…)
