Amy decides to make herself presentable before going to meet her future sister-wife

Amelia Pond continued drying her red mane in the bathroom after the Doctor decided to give her space to take her time while he took care of other things.

She smirked in the mirror as she contemplated how her life had been changed forever after the events of the morning. A minuscule part of her considered that she should have been terrified, or at least outraged, that the Doctor had used his psychic powers to control her mind and desires. But instead, all she felt was an overwhelming sense of love, trust, belonging and eager anticipation.

She had always known that she was attracted to the Doctor, but the intensity of her feelings had grown exponentially since he had begun his mission to rebuild the Time Lords. She knew that he had technically manipulated her desire to want to be with him and bear his children. But knowing didn't matter nearly enough to make her care about such artificial trivialities. She wanted this, wanted him, more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life. By far. And that was good enough for her.

She was more than willing to let him use his psychic powers, to bend her to his will, if it meant she could be a part of his grand plan. A plan that, if successful, would allow her to help him bring back his beloved Time Lords. And maybe, just maybe, it would help him heal the wounds that still lingered from the Last Great Time War that had claimed their home planet.

Amy sighed softly, her hands stilling in her hair as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She could still feel the faint remnants of his touch on her skin, the passion and love etched inside her pussy lips like a phantom jolt of pleasure. She smiled, her heart swelling with emotion.

She was Amelia Pond, first companion to the Eleventh incarnation of the legendary Time Lord known as the Doctor, and soon, mother to his children. She was part of something bigger, something more important than she could have ever imagined, and this brought her an immense sense of satisfaction.

Amy placed her hair dryer on the counter and turned to leave the bathroom, her mind on the Doctor and the task ahead. She stepped out into the corridor, wrapped in a soft towel that tickled her skin. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding with anticipation as she entered her room. She couldn't wait to meet Martha Jones, to see if she felt the same way Amy did about the Doctor's new mission.

Not that it remotely mattered if she initially didn't, of course. After all, that could be easily rectified with the Doctor's immense psychic might. Amy smiled at the thought of her beloved mind-controlling Martha so that she could more easily experience the same heights of joy that she herself had been reveling in all day. It truly painted her fantasies with a pleasant mental picture.

But for now, Amy decided she should dress first. After all, even though she had promised to share her Doctor with Martha, she still wanted to look her best when she met her future sister-wife. And so, she chose an outfit that would surely make the Doctor drool...and ideally his former companion as well.

So, she soon donned a short, pleated skirt—dark, charcoal gray— under her red-wine colored overcoat and then grabbed her go-to leather jacket, well-worn and reliably cool. She tugged her hair into place as she examined her reflection.

“Alright, Pond,” she muttered to herself, “I am not exactly sure as to what is the best dress code to aim for when you are planning to meet a woman you have never seen before that will soon be mind-controlled into joining your beloved's harem and be eager to share him with you, but I guess I look suitably hot enough for the occasion. Besides, we will probably both be naked before too long once we are back in the TARDIS anyway so I suppose it doesn't matter much."

And with that, Amy made her way back to the console room, ready to face the Doctor's new project with a smile and an open heart. But that’s when she heard it.

The sound of a TARDIS door hissing shut and a low click as the Time Lord made gears settle into place within the lock.

Her brow furrowed as she picked up her pace. “Doctor?” she called.

Silence.

With a light sigh, she leaned against the walls of the corridor. “Guess he’s off playing secret squirrel again,” she murmured. “Probably nicking something or swapping socks with Emperor Hadrian. Then again, knowing the Doctor, it would be just like him to accidentally crash into his era like an unexpected catapult shot, and that this somehow becomes the historical turning point in the decision that led that emperor to plan that famous wall to divide England from my original Scottish homeland. Yeah...good thing we are in modern Rome instead,” she realized.

Still, the way he’d steered them so specifically to a quiet corner of Rome in 2010, only to let her stay behind as she dressed while he dashed off on his own—that wasn’t typical. He usually loved dragging her into the thick of it. She considered following, but figured that he probably wouldn't take too long if he wasn't bringing her along.

Amy wandered back toward the console room and paced in circles around the time rotor, waiting.

A minute passed. Then another. She tapped her nails on the edge of the console and glanced up at the glowing panels that surrounded her like stained glass in a cathedral built by space wizards.

“Come on, Doctor...you said five minutes," Amelia muttered. "I know that the last time you asked me to wait that long, it took you 12 years, but I was hoping for a miracle.”

She plopped down on the padded bench off to the side of the console room, crossed her legs, and huffed dramatically. Then an idea struck her all of a sudden.

“Oi, TARDIS,” she said, tilting her head upward like she was talking to the rafters, “you wouldn't happen to have a picture of Martha Jones, would you? You know, the other one who traveled with him. Before me. Not the one with the blonde hair—another one. Doctor mentioned her once or twice but never showed me a photo.”

There was a soft chime—more felt than heard—and a low hum as one of the wall panels shimmered to life, reshaping into a smooth monitor. Static flickered across it before sharpening into an image.

Amy leaned forward, curious.

The woman in the photo stood poised in the TARDIS’s corridor, dark brown eyes warm and intelligent, framed by flawless skin the shade of polished mahogany. Her hair, perfectly pulled back, gave her an air of effortless confidence. But what caught Amy’s attention most was the white coat Martha wore, open over a plum-purple top. She looked composed. Professional. Brilliant, even.

“Wow,” Amy murmured. “She’s gorgeous.”

She tilted her head and studied the coat more closely, then let out a surprised chuckle.

“Wait—is that a lab coat? She’s an actual Doctor Doctor?” Amy snorted softly, resting her chin on her hand. “You’ve got a type, don’t you, Raggedy Man?”

She looked back at the image, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“No wonder he never shuts up about her when he’s being all nostalgic and weird. She probably saved his arse more times than I’ve got pairs of tights.”

It pleased Amy to find out that there wasn’t a trace of jealousy in her heart as she said these words—just curiosity, maybe even a tinge of admiration. Whoever this Martha Jones had been, she clearly hadn’t just tagged along for the ride. She’d stood on her own. Worked, healed, maybe even commanded a few times.

Amy smiled fondly. “Bet she’s brilliant in a crisis. Wouldn’t mind having someone like her around, especially when the weird starts dripping from the walls. And if she’s half as clever as she looks, maybe we could swap a few stories. It might be nice having someone who actually gets it—all the madness, the wonder, the running.”

The image on the screen gently faded, and the TARDIS pulsed softly—almost like she was agreeing.

Amy leaned back with a satisfied grin. “Thanks, old girl.”

A few minutes later, she heard the doors again—opening and closing swiftly. The Doctor reappeared, striding in like he hadn’t just vanished.

“Get what you needed?” she asked, raising a single, suspicious eyebrow.

He gave her one of his most infuriatingly innocent grins from the central console. “Just a little something I wanted to prepare,” he said, spinning a dial on the console. “It's rude to show up unannounced to someone's home without a gift, after all, especially if you intend to change their life forever with that visit. But I am ready now so, off we go.”

Amy folded her arms. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

He winked as he pulled one lever after another. “Not yet.”

And just like that, the central column surged into motion, the wheezing, grinding noise filling the room once more as time bent around them.

Amy shook her head, snorting. “Be sure you are precise with your coordinates, Doctor. I do not want to be popping in on an alien world full of terrifying living statues again.”

The Doctor leaned over the console with theatrical indignation. “That was one time.”

“One time too many,” Amy insisted. "Weeping Angels are hard to forget.

But then her words faded into echoes as the TARDIS rumbled around them, and she grinned again, looking forward to meeting her future sister-wife.

A/N: This concludes the end of the introduction arc that I named Series One: A Time-altering Wish. We will be back soon with the beginning of Series Two: The First Seeds of New Gallifrey, where we will start the companion-harem expansion plans with Martha Jones. Remember to share your thoughts if you have any particular characters or historical figures you would like to be recruited sooner rather than later, and I will see what I can do.

Until then, happy reading, and see you all in the Series Two Premiere chapter.