Title: her name is eve
Summary: This is what the Doctor teaches Amelia Pond.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of this wonderful ‘verse.
Spoilers: More or less all of series five.
A/N: Unbetaed and my first time writing straight up Whoniverse. Concrit would be greatly appreciated. Also, this turned out kind of… weird, which shouldn’t surprise you if you know me at all. :)
her name is eve
The Raggedy Doctor comes and goes from her life in a whirlwind of blue and gold and she is left with nothing but memories. Dreams. She dreams of worlds and worlds and worlds, all the adventures she might be having with him.
(Amelia Pond. Dreaming of the days that never came.)
At first there are Romans and mountains of sweets and then there are… okay, there are still Romans, but they start wearing less armour and more sweat and the sweets get replaced by other things. Sometimes there is kissing, a few times even groping (when Rory goes off-script) and always, always is there adventure.
Then he comes back, twelve years later, and it’s not like she wanted it to be. He seems crazier for one, than he did when she was seven. Less sure of himself, fumbling about, hands always in motion, running off at the mouth. And then the big aliens with the big eye come and she thinks that she might die.
She might die.
But he’s wonderful and brilliant and bright, the most amazing man in the universe.
(River says, “The best man I’ve ever known.”)
And running all over Leadworth with him, it’s still wonderful and it’s as breathtaking as it was when she was seven, but it also gives her nightmares because she might have died. She’s only nineteen.
(Rose was nineteen when the Doctor found her, but Amelia Pond never knows that. Amelia Pond never knows anything of those the Doctor lost, except for the traces of them she finds scattered in an infinite spaceship.)
He disappears again because he always does. (He never stays. Not with her, not with anyone. She thinks he might stay with those he doesn’t love, but he loves them all. Every last thing in this universe he loves. It’s his greatest weakness.) He disappears and she has two years and Rory to convince her that it wasn’t all that dangerous. He had it under control the whole time and it was… it was an adventure, like the ones she always made up, except this time Rory got to play himself instead of the Raggedy Doctor.
And then he comes back again and gives her a spaceship, gives her Churchill’s bunker, gives her a planet. Gives her the entire universe to run through and himself to run with and everything is beautiful.
Except when it’s not.
(He takes her to see something wonderful once, something more beautiful than anything she’s seen and he only tells her what it was afterwards. He says, “That was a dying star.”)
Because on the spaceship there are people that torture a creature that only wants to help, a beautiful, ancient creature that can’t stand to watch children cry. They don’t mean to hurt it, don’t mean to do what they’ve been doing for centuries, but they don’t know any other way. The space whale is good, but that does not make Liz Ten evil. It makes her wrong and sad, but not evil.
Amy doesn’t know who to cry for.
(So she asks, “Why am I crying?” and no-one ever has an answer.)
The Daleks are evil. That is simpler. But the things they say, about the Doctor, and how angry he suddenly is, how full of rage that’s really pain and grief and they say he killed them all, his own kind and theirs and that makes him the bad man, makes him evil, only she knows him, knows her Raggedy Doctor and he’s not. He’s amazing and wonderful and brilliant and a million other words she can’t think of. He’s everything.
(The Doctor breathes into the darkness behind her eyelids and says, “If I always told you the truth, I wouldn’t need you to trust me.”)
Sometimes, he’s cruel.
Sometimes, angels kill you when you close your eyes and people walk into cracks in the universe and cease to exist. Sometimes women who are fun and loud and beautiful are imprisoned for life for murder. Murder of the very best.
(“The best man I’ve ever known.”)
The angels murder Bob and they speak through him and they are not evil as much as they simply… are. Indestructible and undefeatable. Like the Doctor. Only they displace people, whereas the Doctor finds them.
There are a hundred empty rooms inside the TARDIS, clothes abandoned on the floor, pictures on the walls, knick knacks from a thousand worlds scattered across the surfaces. Empty rooms that were once filled with the people the Doctor found. He found them and then they lost themselves or he lost them. Someone got lost, in any case, and Amy stands in the middle of her own room and wonders who will find it, in a hundred years, look upon it and wonder who she was. If she was good, or bad. If she was found or lost, brave or scared.
(The Doctor says, “We’re all stories in the end,” but she never remembers that.)
But it doesn’t work like that. The world isn’t made up of opposites anymore, black and white, up and down. There’s so much more suddenly, people who are stupid but not evil, people who are good but cruel, people who are not people but stone. Deadly stone. People who are long gone but still there, with the Doctor and the TARDIS, forever travelling the stars long after they’re gone and all other traces of them erased. Everything’s upside down and inside out and Amy sits in an artificial forest, blind and helpless and waits for the Doctor to come back to her, waits for him to save her.
Trusts him with all she has because she knows him and she knows nothing else in this world anymore.
(He says, “It’s never been more important.”)
It’s not spaceships and bunkers and planets the Doctor gives people. It’s not his hand and all of time and space. It’s not beauty.
What the Doctor, her wonderful, wonderful Doctor, gives people is knowledge.
Her name is Eve here, in this garden in space.
(Amelia Pond. A name from a fairytale. But she stopped being Amelia a long time ago.)
She is Eve and this is her apple, this, the knowledge he gives her.
He puts the apple in her hand, red and bright and she eats it because she wants to know. She eats it and it tastes like sunlight and stars and she is cast from her paradise of childhood fantasies into the big, dark universe.
(“Anywhere you want, any time you want. One condition, it has to be amazing.”)
She floats there now, in this place that is beautiful and terrifying and all she can hold on to, all she has, is a madman in a box and the knowledge that everything is flawed.