Imagine Doctor Who Characters

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Imagine an interaction between Danny and Courtney

“Courtney, will you behave yourself?” Danny snapped as the fifth wad of paper that day hit his turned back. Teaching could be a real challenge, and Courtney seemed to make it her goal to be the biggest challenge of all.

“I don’t know, will I?” Courtney asked smugly, folding her arms. Danny rolled his eyes, sighing.

“Careful, Courtney!” cried another girl sitting next to her, pigtails wrapped in pink ribbons. She was one of the quieter ones, Danny noted, and he couldn’t quite remember her name yet. One of the many struggles of being a new teacher, he supposed. “I hear he killed someone!”

Courtney’s eyes lit up at that. “Did you really?” she asked enthusiastically.

Slumping against the wall, Danny quietly broke. “Courtney,” he began softly, “could you come outside for a moment?” Taken aback by his grave seriousness, Courtney fell silent, following him into the hallway. The students began to murmur at this, theorizing increasingly macabre possibilities.

Danny closed the door slowly, barely making a click. He blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes. “Courtney, look,” he told her softly, taking deep breaths to hold his shattered self together, “being a new teacher is hard, and…” he trailed off, leaving his deeper issues unspoken.

Nodding at this, Coutney replicated Danny’s sombre tones and told him “I understand.” And, with a slight smile, she added, “I’m a disruptive influence, not a cruel one.”

Danny chuckled, and the two walked back into the classroom, greeting a room of children full of awe and fear. Courtney winked at him as he took his place at the front of the room, a silent promise to not share his unsaid secrets. And from that day on, neither Courtney Woods nor any other student misbehaved in Danny Pink’s classroom again.

Well, at least not when he was looking.

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Twelve being forced to sing karaoke by Clara

“Oh, c'mon, it’ll be fun,” Clara said, tugging on his arm.

“No, Clara, badly singing lyrics to some of the daftest music in the universe in front of a bunch of pudding-brains is not fun,” he replied, extricating his arm from her grasp. His arm was his, thank you very much, and he’d like to keep it that way.

But then Clara did that thing with her eyes, that thing he couldn’t quite grasp even when he wanted to, a look that was quite impossible to say no to. He fixed her with what he hoped was a baleful stare, then gave a huffy sigh when she just continued the thing with her eyes. “Well, if that’s what you want,” he said.

She grinned, her face lighting up like a newborn star. “It is.”

He yanked back on the TARDIS controls and off they went. Just because he’d agreed to go, however, did not mean that he planned to sing. There was no way that anyone–Clara included–could make him sing.

The TARDIS landed in an alleyway. He opened the door; it was a cool evening, Earth definitely, probably Clara’s time. “Doesn’t look like a good night for singing, Clara,” he rumbled.

She pushed past him, ducking under the arm he was using to hold the door open. “It looks fine,” she said, then held out her hand. “Let’s go.”

He nodded and took her hand. He still wasn’t going to sing. Nope.

Right around the corner was a cozy little pub, snuggled into the tiny town’s tiny streets. Apparently the old girl had been conspiring with Clara in order to force him to sing. The question was, how were they doing so? It’s not like Clara had been using the interface lately. If the TARDIS was picking up subconscious clues–

His train of thought was interrupted when Clara, thoroughly excited, pulled him into the pub and settled them down on to the stools. Her feet dangled a bit, then rested on the bottom rung of the stool.  “Okay, what song are you going to do?” she asked.

“Me, I’m not singing, Clara,” he said. “Now, if you want singing, there’s some excellent places we could go, like–”

“You’re singing, Doctor,” she said, making the eyes she did whenever she was adamant. Which was quite a bit, if he were honest. “Look, we can pick a nice, easy song. Something fun.”

He arched his eyebrows and shrugged, then nodded. Clara took his outstretched hand and they went up on stage. The things one does for those one loves, he mused, as they warbled through some Earth ballad that was old even in pudding-standards.

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Imagine the Brigadier making Three dress up as Santa on a Christmas party

For a centuries old alien genius, the Doctor could be really quite petulant and childish.

“Come out of the box, Doctor,” the Brigadier lectured towards the tall, blue police box parked in the lab.

“I will not,” the Doctor replied from inside, his voice distant and faint. A hammering could be heard echoing through the box.

Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart sighed. “You drew the short straw, fair and square. You have to wear the Santa costume.”

“No!”

“Doctor, you can’t escape this in your box. Your people broke it, remember.” It was only the fifth time so far that month he had tried to escape UNIT. Perhaps he was adjusting after all.

“I can try!”

The smiling face of Jo Grant lit up the room as she strolled in, bemused by the Brigadier’s antics. “Has he locked himself in there again?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, continuing to glare at the TARDIS. “Could you tell Benton and Yates to gather the men? We’re going to batter our way into that infernal box once and for all.”

“I have an easier idea,” Jo told him.

“No, no,” the Brigadier chided. “The men won’t touch that costume with a barge pole. It’s about time we’ve found someone else to stick Santa duty on.”

“No, no, not that,” Jo replied. “It’s just that I have a key.”

In the end, it took twenty strong, young men to drag the Doctor out of his box, complaining all the way. At one point he almost escaped down the endless TARDIS hallways, but when the Brigadier told them that if they failed, one of them would have to wear it, the men got a second wind and swiftly recaptured the Time Lord. And so it came to be that the Doctor spent a Christmas party dressed as the grumpiest Santa Claus ever.

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Imagine Rose and Clara staying up all night in the tardis talking about their doctors together

The two woman sat together, a mug of fresh tea each, enjoying the comforts of the TARDIS library. Rose reclined in a plush armchair, her legs crossed over each other, while Clara leaned in close, eager and excited to meet a fellow companion of the Doctor.

“Won’t the Doctor be angry about us breaking the laws of time or whatever to meet?” Rose asked, draining the last dredges of her mug.

Clara laughed, grinning conspiratorially. “Of course he will,” she replied. “That’s why we’re not going to tell them.”

“As long as neither of ours find out,” Rose said. “I tried rewriting history once. He wasn’t too happy.”

“Ah, my two are a bit more lenient on that,” Clara told her. “Actually, I once got yours and mine, well, one of them, to rewrite their own history.”

“Really?” Rose questioned, leaning forward eagerly. “How did you manage that?”

“He never can resist these big sad eyes. They’re like his secret weakness.” Clara widened her eyes to illustrate what she meant.

“I’ll have to try that sometime.”

“From the way he talks about you, it’s sure to work.”

Rose gasped excitedly. “He still remembers me, then?”

Clara nodded. “Sometimes it’s hard to get him to stop. It’s been a thousand years, but he never forgets.”

The two sat in silence, Rose toying with her empty mug and Clara sipping the rest of hers.

“Maybe I can get him to finally take me to Barcelona.” Rose broke in, backtracking. “With the eyes, I mean.”

“Spain?” inquired Clara. “Don’t you see Earth enough already?”

“No, no, the planet. He says the dogs there have no noses.”

“Really?” Clara asked.

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence passed, Clara tapping her chin in thought. And then an idea struck her.

“You know what?” Clara enthused, leaping from her chair. “Let’s go now.”

“You serious?”

“Oh yes,” she assured her. “Between the two of us, we can probably get the TARDIS to work.”

“Alright,” Rose said, getting to her feet slowly, “but won’t he notice?”

“Mine’s busy pretending he’s not asleep, and yours is off doing his own thing. Come on, let’s have our own adventure.”

Clara extended a hand and Rose took it. They raced to the TARDIS control room together.

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Harry wanting to dance with Sarah at a UNIT Christmas Dance but being too nervous to ask her for a dance.

There she stood. It wasn’t far. Herbrown hair tumbled down neatly, framing her beautiful face, smilingand laughing as the Doctor made a complete fool of himself on thedance floor. She looked like a princess, or a queen, or a goddess,some untouchable being above his station and totallyincomprehensible. Harry frowned, irritated with himself. How could hehave ever convinced himself this was a good idea?

The invisible barrier between them grewin strength as he became overwhelmed by apprehension. He just knewit. She would obviously say no. Why bother trying? But a small cornerof his brain fought the tide of fear, pressing him onward. He haddecided to ask her to dance, and that was exactly what he was goingto do. Or at least, what he would do, once his legs would actuallyrespond to his mental efforts to make them move.

With great effort, he slowly shuffledhis feet, moving inch by inch across the floor towards Sarah.Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, she wasn’t looking his way,and so she didn’t see his pitiful struggle to batter through the wallof his own worries. He stumbled along the way, fighting with himselfover whether to go through with his own plan. But eventually, hebegan to grow near, gasping for breath to feed his frightened body.

Those loud, rasping breaths didn’t gounheard. Sarah turned to face him, beaming, and exclaimed, “Harry!I was wondering where you’d got to!”

Harry’s tongue moved in his mouth, andhis lips opened and closed wordlessly for a few moments. After agreat internal struggle, however, he managed a “hello, old girl.”

Unfortunately, Sarah seemed less thanpleased with his choice of words. “Old girl? Do you want meto spit in your eye?”

Blood pounded in Harry’s ears. He’dmiscalculated, totally and completely. She was angry at him, sheprobably hated him, this had all been a terrible idea from the start.Coolly and logically, Harry decided the wisest course of action wasto run like hell. He proceeded to do so, but forgot to take intoaccount the nearby wall.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Sarahasked, standing over him, a distinctly worried tone in her voice.

Blinking, trying to clear away thethrobbing and buzzing of his head, Harry looked up at her. “It’sfine, I’ll just walk it off,” he assured her, though thoroughlyfailing to convince her, or even himself.

“I’ve got a better idea,” she toldhim, hoisting him back to his feet. “Why don’t you dance it off?”

“Well, I don’t have anyone—”Harry began.

Sarah laughed, cutting him off. “Withme, you twit,” she said, pulling him towards the dance floor beforehe could reply.

Harry smiled, glad but deeply confused.Why are people so complicated?He wondered to himself as they began to dance.

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Rory got in an accident and becomes blind as a result, Amy helps them both adjust (pre-Manhattan AU).

Rory wakes up in the hospital(he can tell by the sounds, as well as the all too familiar smell), but for a moment he doesn’t even realize he’s woken up, because everything is black. Then he realizes it’s just because there’s a bandage over his eyes, and he is filled with temporary relief. “Amy?” he says tentatively.

“I’m here,” her voice says immediately, and he feels her gentle hand reaching down to touch his, but something’s wrong. Her voice is shaking.

“Amy, why did they cover my eyes?” he asks, dread in his stomach. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he hears a sniffle. 

“It’s going to be fine, Rory. You’re going to be okay, and it’s all going to be fine. Promise.”

He’s blind. He’s blind and the doctors say there’s nothing he can do but all he can think is, I’ll never be a nurse again, I’ll never see Amy’s face. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Amy never lets him collapse into himself. She reads to him, every night. Novels, medical journals, magazines, whatever he wants to hear about. During the day he starts to learn braille, but they keep up the tradition even when he can read the dots faster than she can read to him, because it means so much. 

She organizes the kitchen properly, instead of leaving it the way they always have, haphazard and everything taking ten minutes of good searching to find. Then she explains the organization system to him in great detail, so he can memorize it and find each type of cereal on his own when she’s at work. 

She does her research, but she also asks him before she buys anything, to make sure he thinks it’ll help. He’s resistant to the white cane at first, but she eventually helps him overcome that by reminding him that it means he can threaten to hit people that bother him. He wouldn’t do that, of course, but hearing her say it makes him laugh so hard it doesn’t seem as bad. 

She’s his eyes, as often as he needs her to be. She gives him space to heal, support however she can, and the kick in the pants when he needs it. 

“I couldn’t do this without you, you know,” he says to her one day, almost a year after the accident.

“I couldn’t do any of it without you, stupid face,” she says lightly, but she kisses his cheek, and even though he can’t see her face, he knows the expression on it by heart.

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Liz or Jo going to a UNIT costume party dressed as sexy Brigadier for a joke

Lizand Jo approached the party together, both dressed in the same tighttrousers and bristling fake mustaches, slipping down on their lips.The costumes had been Jo’s idea, as had been bringing Liz in thefirst place. She’d heard so much about the legendary Liz Shaw, andit seemed only right that she should come along. As for Liz, the merenotion of taking the Mickey out of the Brigadier was enough toconvince her to agree to come along. And so the two sexy Brigadiersstrolled towards the entrance, talking and laughing the whole way.

“Hello,Liz!” exclaimed a genial Benton, standing at the doorway.

“Hello,Benton,” Liz replied coolly, smiling all the same. Try as shemight, she couldn’t keep pretending she didn’t miss the lot ofstubborn, chauvinistic, and yet somehow endearing soldiers she’d leftbehind. “Nice skirt you have there.”

Bentonfrowned at Liz and Jo’s giggles. However, in his bright grass skirtand coconut bra, he couldn’t quite pull off the disapproving look,instead turning out quite comical. “I lost a bet,” he confessed,refusing to give any more details.

Jocouldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Aren’t you going to say hello tome, too, Benton?” she piped in.

“Ms.Grant?” asked Benton, surprised. “No, that can’t be you. Are yousure you’re not a twin or something?”

“Whynot?” asked Jo.

“Becauseyou walked in about ten minutes ago, dressed in that exact costume.”

Lizand Jo exchanged glances. “Come on!” Liz told her, grabbing herhand and dragging her in. Inside, soldiers in ridiculous costumesdanced wildly, frolicking about in a mad cacophony of color. TheDoctor whirled past dressed in some form of ceremonial robe,billowing behind him. Yates twirled by later, leading a rathernervous-looking young soldier around the floor. And at the eye of thestorm of color stood the Brigadier, resolutely still in uniform,remaining still among all the swirling motion. His mustache twitchedwith disapproval as Liz and Jo rushed past, clearly not impressedwith the choice of attire.

Andon the periphery, in the shadows, stood the person they sought. The-not-Jo-Grant smoked a squat, fat cigar, their eyessweeping the dance floor. As Liz and Jo approached, they looked up.The-not-Jo-Grant turned to flee, but Liz took them down with onehigh-heeled shoe, and Jo held them against the floor.

“It’sa mask!” exclaimed Jo, looking at her prisoner’s neck. She peeledit away to reveal a familiar bearded face underneath theJo-as-the-sexy-Brigadier costume.

Itwas the Master, as always. He smiled, ready to begin his habitual process of empty threats and over-sharing of the details of his evil plans, but before he could get a wordout, Jo clobbered him into unconsciousness.

“That’sfor hypnotizing me,” she muttered, getting back up to her feet.“Now then, Liz, shall we dance?”

“Thatseems like an excellent idea,” the scientist replied. The two leftthe unconscious Time Lord where he lay and walked off towards thejolly, colorful party.

“Did you see the Brigadier’s face when he saw us?” whispered Jo to Liz, giggling.

“Oh, he was furious,” Liz replied happily, very satisfied with her decision to come along.

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Evelyn tries to give Clara a lesson in baking.

“Have you added the eggs, dear?” Evelyn asked, bustling about the TARDIS kitchen, whisk in hand. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Clara replied, thoughtlessly, fidgeting with the cookbook and flipping through the pictures. She paused for a moment, thinking. “Oh wait, um, no, actually. I forgot. Sorry.”

“Well add them, then!” Evelyn exclaimed, storming over with cocoa powder.

Clara carefully held the eggs over side of the bowl, cracking them just the way Evelyn had showed her too. She squealed with surprise when they cracked neatly, entering the bowl with no mess and no bits of eggshell.

Evelyn added in the cocoa powder, as well as a whole host of ingredients Clara couldn’t remember the names for. She then showed her how to whisk it all together, guiding her arm for a minute to help her get the feel for it.

“Alright, then,” Evelyn said, rinsing off her hands once they had finished. “That should make for the perfect chocolate cake!”

“You mean it’s actually going to work?” Clara exclaimed.

“Of course, of course. I’ve never failed a chocolate cake yet!” Evelyn assured her as they put the cake in the oven, ready to go.

The minutes passed quickly as Evelyn and Clara talked, sharing their own adventures through time and space.

“So you have the other grumpy one, then?” Clara asked her.

“Oh, he’s all bark and no bite,” Evelyn replied. “He’s really quite soft underneath it all.”

Clara smiled knowingly. “Mine’s the same. He doesn’t show it well, but he really does care.”

The oven timer beeped, and the two returned to the kitchen together, ready to have some of their wonderful cake. Their Doctors, of course, were already there, waiting hungrily for a taste.

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The Doctor tries to convince K9 to play fetch.

On the lush, grassy plains of the faraway world, the Doctor and K9 were at odds.

“Come on, K9, it will be fun!” insisted the Doctor, scarf flapping in the soft breeze.

“Negative, Master,” replied K9.

“Oh, don’t say that!” the Doctor scoffed. “You love it!”

“The last time the Mistress convinced me to, my system was compromised by sea water,” K9 reminded him.

“Oh, it was only a little explosion. Don’t be scared.”

“Fear is irrational, Master.”

The Doctor stooped down, patting his dog on the head. “It’s okay. There’s no water here.” 

K9 fell silent, whirring as he processed the information. “Affirmative, Master.”

“Good boy!” the Doctor explained. “So will you fetch the ball now?”

“Affirmative.” K9 said reluctantly.

“Good boy, good boy!”

“Praise is not necessary, Master,” K9 told him, wagging his tail.

“Alright, then, K9!” the Doctor exclaimed, pulling a ball from the depths of his pockets. “Fetch!”

He threw the ball high into the air, sailing off into the distance. K9 eagerly shot off in pursuit, chasing it down the grassy slope. The ball rolled away, faster and faster, towards a grove of trees, surrounding a small pond. The ball rolled into the pond with a small splash.

“Oh, no.” whispered the Doctor. “K9!”

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Imagine Twelve and Clara accidentally ending up in a pet store that has a lot of puppies and kittens.

The grating, wheezing groan of the TARDIS faded as the ship rematerialized at last. Clara grinned, excited. She never got tired of this.

“So where are we, Doctor?” she asked enthusiastically.

“Rome, 171 CE,” the Doctor told her proudly. “The reign of–” 

“–Marcus Aurelius!” broke in Clara, running over to hug him. “So you do listen to me!”

“Always,” replied the Doctor, awkwardly squirming free. “Shall we go?” 

“Of course!” Clara squeezed his hand, pulling him out into… a pet store.

The Doctor stopped. “Oh. This can’t be right.”

“Not Rome, then.” Clara playfully punched him in the arm.

“Unless this store has been transplanted back in time by some outside force and ended up in Rome? No.”

Clara frowned. “Does that happen, then?”

“Sometimes.”

Clara glanced about the store. Fish glubbed, birds sang, and in the corner, best of all: puppies and kittens.

“Oh, well. This will do!” Clara exclaimed, dragging the Doctor over to look.

Mere minutes later, Clara sat on the floor, petting a puffy charcoal gray kitten, while a scruffy golden puppy climbed on her knee. Next to her sat the Doctor, glancing upward at the fat brown kitten sat on his head. Clara couldn’t help but laugh at his expression, resembling the little puppies that crawled around her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get back in the TARDIS?” asked the Doctor, attempting cautiously to pet the feline on his head without making it lose its balance.

Clara reached out to a little gray husky, scratching it behind the ears. It yawned, its little mouth stretching open. “No. Shush. This is perfect.”

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Amy and Rory during the healing process of their marriage post-Asylum of the Daleks

They’re making more of an effort lately to do things together outside of the home, to make sure they’re talking about everything, and to make sure everything is okay. Rory is more likely to mention what happened casually in passing, whereas Amy never brings it up at all. He thinks she probably feels guilty, so he doesn’t press her, but he also doesn’t want there to be awkwardness in their relationship. It’s hard, but they’re trying.

They go out on dates more than they used to. Amy loves dancing, and Rory puts up with it. They go out to dinner when they can afford it, which is easier now since Amy is employed more often. Sometimes she visits him at work, just to say hello, or meet him for lunch. It’s nice, for both of them. But they avoid the touchy subjects for a while, much to Amy’s relief. She wants to avoid them as long as possible, and Rory wants her to be the one to bring them up. And eventually she does, over dinner in their little home.

“So,” she says, “I guess we should talk about what happened.”

“Really? You think?” Rory says, a little sarcastically, but not meanly.

“I panicked,” she says quietly. “I panicked and I didn’t tell you and I lashed out at you because I felt like I wasn’t good enough anymore. I’m really sorry.”

“I know,” Rory says. “I know. But you have to keep me in the loop from now on, okay? I know you think I want kids, or that I deserve them, but that’s not a problem, Amy. We have River. I know it’s complicated and everything, but she’s still our daughter and we love her. And if we want more kids there’s adoption and surrogacy and options for us, alright? But that’s not the point right now. The point is we’re married–still–and that means we’re on the same team here. We’re in this together.”

Amy nods, but doesn’t say anything for a while. They sit in silence for a moment, and it isn’t perfect yet, but it’s getting better.

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Imagine the Doctor doing something amazing and (like he promised) naming it after Gretchen Allison Carlisle.

The Doctor lead the colonists out of the worn gray shelter, blinking in the shining golden light of the sun. The world, once dusty and barren, was now lush and beautiful, teeming with exotic, colorful, chaotic new life. Puffy red birds with azure wings flitted about madly, singing strange new melodies; fat, speckled bovines grazed upon the lush emerald fields; chirping, chattering, fluffy pink bipeds, scaled tall, red-barked trees. The kaleidoscopic view made for an overwhelming change from the metal world that had dominated the colonists lives for generations, and they were brought to tears at the sights of life.

“It’s paradise!” declared the colony leader, hugging his dark-coated Time Lord savior. “How did you do it?”

The gray-haired alien wriggled free of the embrace, dusting himself off. “Oh, it was easy,” he answered, watching a seven-legged insect graze on a fallen leaf, “just fixed up the damage the Daleks did to your terraforming system.” he paused, leaning in conspiratorially. “And, between you and me, I made a few improvements. Shh.”

“It’s amazing!” the man exclaimed, glancing about with glee at his beautiful new home. “How can thank you?”

Amazing, the Doctor thought. That reminded him. There was something he was forgetting. Something vitally important.

“Gretchen Alison Carlisle!” the Doctor blurted, slapping his forehead.

The colony leader shook his head. “What?” he asked.

“Gretchen Alison Carlisle,” the Doctor repeated. “That’s how you can repay me. This world, this paradise. Your new haven from the Dalek fleets. Or, as you put it, this ‘amazing’ place. Call it Gretchen Alison Carlisle.”

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Imagine Amy tickling the 11th doctor <3

The Doctor writhed on the TARDIS floor, screaming. On top of him, laughing maniacally, the feisty ginger scot wormed her fingers into his armpits, tickling her friend mercilessly.

“Stop! Stop!” he screamed between laughs, trying in vain to wriggle away.

“Never!” declared Amy defiantly, blowing a raspberry on his stomach.

“Argh!” the Time Lord exclaimed, falling limp against the cool metal as the tickling overwhelmed him. “I surrender! I surrender!”

Amy got up, proud of her handiwork. “So you admit it, then, Doctor,” she said, “Time Lords are ticklish, too.”

The Doctor slowly found his feet, dusting himself off and straightening his bow tie. “We are not!” he protested, “I just wasn’t ready!”

Amy advanced on him slowly, an evil smirk crossing her pretty pale face. “Are you ready now, then?” she asked him.

The Doctor turned to run, and Amy pursued him. Through the corridors the two friends dashed, past the library, the swimming pool, the secondary control room, and many more, stranger things. Hallway after hallway zipped by, the laughter of both trailing behind.

Finally, panting, the Doctor rounded a bend, rushing for the nearest door. He frantically pressed at the switch, desperate to get away, glancing behind him in paranoid fear of the ticking beginning again. He couldn’t see his redheaded friend, at least not yet, but he could hear her footsteps and her laughter growing closer. “You can’t escape, Doctor!” Amy yelled, and at the moment, he very much felt that was true. This door was his last chance to get away.

Unfortunately, the door had other ideas. A whirring sound echoed through the halls as it faded away, leaving a blank white wall where it had once stood. “Oh, no,” the Doctor called out to his ship, “not you, too, old girl!” The whirring echoed through again in response, louder and longer this time. The laughter of the TARDIS.

Amelia Pond rounded the bend at last, advancing on the terrified Time Lord. His screams could be heard throughout the TARDIS, reverberating through the halls of the ship, underscored by the laughter of all three.

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Imagine Missy meeting up with Susan and Romana on a Galifrey.

Romana strolled into the conference room, her robes billowing out as she approached the large, metal table. The grandiose room seemed at odds with its only other occupant, a young woman sitting in one of the many seats. Romana glanced at her questioningly, but the woman only shrugged, gesturing to the seat beside her. They sat in silence, the two women’s breaths echoing through the large chamber.

Romana tapped her foot a few times, impatient. With so many presidential duties to be done, she had no time for nonsense like this. And yet the summons had said they were urgent, and, more importantly, concerned the Doctor. Despite the many centuries that had passed since she had left him, she couldn’t help but worry for his safety.

Romana glanced back up, away from her feet and towards the table, and was surprised to see yet another woman pouring tea for them both. “Hello!” the woman exclaimed, passing Romana a cup. “I’m Missy! Glad you could make it!”

The youngest woman couldn’t keep her silence any longer. “Is grandfather all right?” she asked worriedly.

“Well, Romana, Susan, that’s what I’ve come here to ask you!” Missy replied, pulling out a binder full of pictures of a gray-haired, heavy-eyebrowed man.

“Explain, please,” requested Romana, uncertain yet curious.

“Well, now, girls,” Missy said, sipping her tea, “I figured I’d get all of us together, us three most, ahem, important women in his life to discuss this exciting turn of events!”

“What events?” Susan demanded, leaning in towards Missy in apprehension.

“Why, the Doctor’s new body, of course!” Missy proclaimed, as though it were the most obvious thing in the cosmos. “Now, I quite like his accent, but dear me, those eyebrows!”

A few silent moments passed, any semblance of tension evaporating away. Romana wordlessly got out of her chair and walked out of the room, Susan following close behind. Missy, however, just stayed where she was, laughing to herself as she poured out another cup of tea.

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Imagine Amy and Rory once River dropped them home after A Good Man Goes to War.

The house seemed emptier than before they’d left.  What was once homey now seemed to have empty halls and too many bedrooms.  As River dropped the pair of them off and wished them luck, Amy could barely look at her as she disappeared into the time vortex.  She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t want her daughter to see her tears.

Rory put his arm around her and lead her into the lounge, where she sat down and he searched for any DVD, something to keep their mind off of the hell they’d been through the last few days.  The stress of Amy’s capture and the loss of their daughter was wearing on him, but as much as he wanted to break he knew Amy was hurting more, and he needed to be there for her.  When he finally found something, barely registering the title, he put it in the player and turned on the television.  

Amy just stared blankly at the screen as he came to sit down next to her, seeing the colors and the light of the television blur together in her eyes.  She was barely blinking, sound going into her ears but not processing in her mind.  All she could think about was her daughter, her baby, somewhere out there, and people were hurting her.  What kind of mother was she that she couldn’t recognize her child from a flesh copy?  She deserved to lose that baby.

And Rory, he’d always wanted children.  He’d been so happy to be a father, and now they’d lost their chance to do it right.  She wanted to keep herself together, to not completely shatter under the weight of what happened that day, but the pressure on her chest was too much and collapsed.  Tears streamed down her face in ugly sobs, and Rory pulled her in close to him.  She buried her face in his shirt and cried, wishing her baby would come back to her, or that she’d wake up and this was a horrible nightmare.  That she was back on the TARDIS having adventures with the Doctor, and her child was safe and he wasn’t going to die, and everything made sense.

Rory felt the tears prick his eyes as well, but he cried more quietly to let his wife have her moment.  He held her close to him, using his free hand to wipe the tears from his eyes as he said, “I can’t promise that it’ll be okay, but I promise we’ll get through it.  The Doctor’s looking for her, and I know he won’t stop until he finds her.  We’ll get through this like we do everything, together.”