Not Ice Cream, But Sort of Looks Like It
Title: Not Ice Cream, But Sort of Looks Like It
Author: allheadybooks
Pairing: Amy/Rory, Amy/Rory/OMC alluded to
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1975 words
Spoilers: Set post-"Day of the Moon," so spoilers up to that point.
Summary: The cat's not out of the bag, exactly, it's just that he doesn't feel like doing any misdirection at the moment and the Doctor looks confused, and anyway they're on an alien planet eating something unidentified next to a table full of purplish young women wearing leaves as hats, so he takes a deep breath and goes for it.
Notes: written for queer_fest !
It's an ice cream parlor, definitely. Or--no, it has to be an ice cream parlor. No other explanation for the comically tall, round tables, the cotton candy color palette, or the spinny padded stools that the Doctor just cannot stop wiggling in. Rory grins a little, behind his hand, and resists the urge to stick a leg out and stop the Doctor's twisting orbit cold.
"Pistachio?" Amy guesses, licking a spoonful of the lukewarm, vaguely fizzy semi-solid their hosts served them. They've just come from fourteenth century Belgium and a very large feast (coma-inducing; Rory remembers mainly the roasted meat and Amy's 'blend in with the natives' bustier, which was really something else), so luckily no one is particularly hungry.
"Nonsense," the Doctor says, "pistachio is a desert plant, Apsu is a swamp planet. Do your research, Pond."
"Oh ho ho, shut it, big brain." Amy licks the spoonful of close-enough-to-ice-cream again, then hands it to Rory to taste. "And something herby. Mint? Coriander? Readings are unclear."
"Ask an Apsun," the Doctor mutters. He's clearly sulking, and he's been unusually spinsterish about Rory and Amy kissing lately--since they dropped River off at the Stormcage again. There's something there, obviously, beyond the Mr. and Mrs. The Doctor playacting. Hence the trip to the Pleasure Planet of Apsu, which does not seem to be cheering anybody up as far as Rory can tell. Even the TARDIS had landed sluggishly and with a distinctly creaking complaint.
"Doctor," Amy says gravely, "if you sulk any longer I am going to lose it. I'll run away and work in the Space Hotels of Apsu, and it'll be awful and I'll be poor and sexually harassed by those furry people over there with the eight arms."
"What?" Rory says in what is absolutely not a splutter.
"Well," she says, "travel in space he said, travel in time he said, have an adventure he said--but this is like trying to cheer you up when you're having a sulk. And I can only handle one of you, Rory."
"Uh, thanks," he says.
Amy smiles at him, quickly, then stretches her long pale arms across the table, towards the Doctor. "Look," she says, "you miss River."
"I do not," he says. "Patently unprovable."
"You miss your girlfriend," she cries, and it isn't quite crowing but almost.
"I don't," he snaps, but he looks wounded, sad enough that Rory's nurse training kicks in (that's his story and he's sticking to it) and he puts a hand on the cool nape of the Doctor's neck.
"It's all right if you do," Rory says. "I think it's nice."
"Yes," Amy says, pleased, "it's very nice. TARDIS double date, I love it."
Then the Doctor's hand lifts into the air above the table and revolves slightly, index finger extended; it's a thinking gesture.
"Wait a moment," he says. "Wait a moment, wait a moment--Pond, I thought we'd settled this. Yes, yes, and the kissing, all the blasted kissing, and the wedding--I can't believe I didn't realize it earlier!" He smacks his own forehead lightly, then drops his hands flat against the table and leans forward. "You are both very dear to me, truly lovely humans. The loveliest."
"Yes?" Amy says, but it's a question, puzzled. She looks to Rory. He shrugs.
"But I cannot double-pair-bond with you," the Doctor says. "I'm so terribly sorry." He grasps Rory's fingers with one hand and Amy's with the other and smiles his 'we may all die but at least we will have done what we must' smile. At the table behind them, a small furry child giggles wetly, and with gusto.
"Double pair what?" Rory says.
"You know how fond I am of you, both of you," the Doctor says, smiling a misty, far-away smile. His fingers clutch gently at Rory's. "Amelia Pond, my Amy, clever and patient and brave. And Rory--the boy who waited. You have each other. I'm sorry. That's going to have to be enough."
"I'm still confused," Rory says.
"I think he thinks we want to marry him," Amy hisses out of the corner of her mouth. She leaves her baffled smile on, as if the Doctor is a child or a small animal likely to spook.
"Marry him," Rory certainly does not shout, "what does he think we--"
"Doctor," Amy says, very seriously, "just because I sort of jumped your bones that one time doesn't mean I want to marry you. Sorry. And neither does Rory."
The Doctor takes his hands back. He looks slightly affronted, halfway to a pout. His feelings are so clearly bruised that Rory has a sudden attack of sympathy--yes, he's somehow managed to rope a beautiful, smart woman into marrying him, but that's not a magic fix for twenty-one years of low self-esteem--and clears his throat, haltingly.
"Well," Rory says.
He gets two looks for that: from the Doctor, mollified appreciation, strangely uncurious, that big stupid ego of his still charming as usual; and from Amy, a face that he knows (because she's transparent, because they're married, because he's known her since they were this high) means he's surprised her.
"I just mean, speak for yourself," he says, but it comes out sort of weak.
"Just because he's cute in a sort of, skinny alien way--"
He cuts her off: "Look, I'm not saying I don't want to be married to you, or anything. I'm just saying, I could do worse." The Doctor smiles a little at that, so Rory adds, "It's true, you know. You're brave and handsome, and you're always saving me, that's very attractive in its own way."
"This is all because of his stupid arse," Amy says, and takes a sulky bite of her herby faux-sorbet. Then she lifts her head and says, "What?"
Rory sighs. He knows her, he loves her, he married her, and really she's come a long way since she was nine--she's kept this secret for almost six years. And the cat's not out of the bag, exactly, it's just that he doesn't feel like doing any misdirection at the moment and the Doctor looks confused, and anyway they're on an alien planet eating something unidentified next to a table full of purplish young women wearing leaves as hats, so he takes a deep breath and goes for it.
"I said something nice about it," he says. "Your arse." It sounded less stupid in his head.
"Oh really?" the Doctor asks, with a charmed grin. "And what's that?"
"I said," he starts off, then rubs one eyebrow off grain with the backs of his knuckles. "I mean, I said it was--"
"Fit," Amy says helpfully. "Really fit." Then she goes back to eating. There's an aquamarine dollop on her upper lip and Rory feels like kissing it off, so he does. Then he feels silly, like he's reaffirming something unnecessary, and he twirls his stool awkwardly for a moment.
"Yes, yes," the Doctor says, "this body is in remarkable shape compared to some I've had, but," and he leans forward across the table, "I thought your culture had a taboo."
"Got lots of taboos," Amy says. "Which one?"
"Public recognition of nonprocreative sexual bonds and attractions," he says, as if it's obvious. "Though it doesn't seem to be a complete taboo, at least not that I've observed. Or. Well. Jack assures me--"
"Yes, yes, we've got that taboo," Amy says. "That's why Rory here," she nudges him with her sneaker, "doesn't generally say anything about it. Except to you, apparently. He must really fancy you, hm?"
"Now wait a minute," he says, feeling his voice jump shrilly into his vocal chords, "I think if anybody is going to be a bit shocked and outraged here it ought to be me, okay, because I hardly even-- and you--"
"Hush," the Doctor says, absently. "No bickering on the Pleasure Planet."
Amy and Rory one hundred per cent do not pout like they're nine again and Rory's mum has stopped them fighting over who gets to play with the sonic screwdriver (a biro with bits of craft wire on) by putting it on top of the fridge where they can't reach. And the Doctor is looking to them for an explanation.
"Rory's sort of, well--flexible--ish," Amy offers.
"Bisexual," Rory corrects, "when you say it like that it makes me sound like I'm good at yoga or something."
"Hah," Amy says, "you? You'd fall out of lotus pose."
"I don't even know what that is!" he shouts, a bit.
"And you're not," the Doctor says carefully, "in any way attempting to double pair bond with me."
"No," Rory says. "We just talk about blokes sometimes, is all. It's nothing important."
"We did it with a bloke together once," Amy says, apparently deciding that Rory's sexual preferences and history should not be slowly revealed when the time is right to trusted friends by Rory himself but instead used as ammunition when she thinks he might fancy someone else better.
"Amy!" Rory shouts, and it's a real shout this time, sort of strangled and high-pitched. "For the love of God, what do you think you're--"
The Doctor waves his graceful hands between them, palms out, in a gesture that says clearly 'stop, stop, do not say another word.' They fall silent, again like chastened children.
"Thank you," he says in measured tones, "for sharing something so personal with me. But honestly, I would much prefer it if you never, ever said another word to me about your sticky human parts and what you do with them. All right?"
"Yes," Amy and Rory say, as one.
"At least with Jack it was all on the surface," he mutters to his sort-of-sherbet, but at least now he looks like he has an appetite again. "You twenty-first century types--all these taboos and secrets, and then once you start talking you never stop."
"Who's Jack?" Amy asks.
*****
Two weeks later (by the count Rory keeps in his notebook, though he's not sure he's measuring the days right), they're being given a diplomatic tour of a mining base in the Messhtawi system--ostensibly, anyway, though the Doctor keeps touching the minerals and licking his fingers, and also watching everyone's feet very carefully--when one of the guides drops back to speak privately with Rory. And all right, so he'd noticed him already, the guy was human (a plus) and skinny in a nice way and sort of a cross between ginger and blond, not to mention quite fit, so--noticing. But not to the point of cruising, or anything, which is why it's a surprise when the guide leans in close and says, "I've got a room in the company village, not far from here. Bed's big enough for three. Or four if you like."
Rory stops walking in the middle of a step, so the only reason he's not staring, gape-mouthed, is because he needs to look down in order to untangle his feet.
"I don't usually go with women," the guide goes on earnestly, "but your wife is very pretty. I'd be honored, really."
Rory spends a couple of precious, awkward seconds trying to find a way to say "you're lovely and everything, but this isn't really the time, sorry" that won't offend the guide, before he suddenly knows where to look; and he's right, because the Doctor only appears to be inspecting the architecture of the mine walls. When Rory catches his eye, he even grins madly and throws him a thumbs up.
Rory sighs; it comes out fonder than he meant it to. He glances over at Amy for a moment, somehow stylish even in the unisex jumpsuit they've all got to wear in the mines--she's tied a ribbon at the neck and rolled the cuffs, looks like--and then he turns to the guide and says, "Look, you're lovely and everything, but..."
Author: allheadybooks
Pairing: Amy/Rory, Amy/Rory/OMC alluded to
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1975 words
Spoilers: Set post-"Day of the Moon," so spoilers up to that point.
Summary: The cat's not out of the bag, exactly, it's just that he doesn't feel like doing any misdirection at the moment and the Doctor looks confused, and anyway they're on an alien planet eating something unidentified next to a table full of purplish young women wearing leaves as hats, so he takes a deep breath and goes for it.
Notes: written for queer_fest !
It's an ice cream parlor, definitely. Or--no, it has to be an ice cream parlor. No other explanation for the comically tall, round tables, the cotton candy color palette, or the spinny padded stools that the Doctor just cannot stop wiggling in. Rory grins a little, behind his hand, and resists the urge to stick a leg out and stop the Doctor's twisting orbit cold.
"Pistachio?" Amy guesses, licking a spoonful of the lukewarm, vaguely fizzy semi-solid their hosts served them. They've just come from fourteenth century Belgium and a very large feast (coma-inducing; Rory remembers mainly the roasted meat and Amy's 'blend in with the natives' bustier, which was really something else), so luckily no one is particularly hungry.
"Nonsense," the Doctor says, "pistachio is a desert plant, Apsu is a swamp planet. Do your research, Pond."
"Oh ho ho, shut it, big brain." Amy licks the spoonful of close-enough-to-ice-cream again, then hands it to Rory to taste. "And something herby. Mint? Coriander? Readings are unclear."
"Ask an Apsun," the Doctor mutters. He's clearly sulking, and he's been unusually spinsterish about Rory and Amy kissing lately--since they dropped River off at the Stormcage again. There's something there, obviously, beyond the Mr. and Mrs. The Doctor playacting. Hence the trip to the Pleasure Planet of Apsu, which does not seem to be cheering anybody up as far as Rory can tell. Even the TARDIS had landed sluggishly and with a distinctly creaking complaint.
"Doctor," Amy says gravely, "if you sulk any longer I am going to lose it. I'll run away and work in the Space Hotels of Apsu, and it'll be awful and I'll be poor and sexually harassed by those furry people over there with the eight arms."
"What?" Rory says in what is absolutely not a splutter.
"Well," she says, "travel in space he said, travel in time he said, have an adventure he said--but this is like trying to cheer you up when you're having a sulk. And I can only handle one of you, Rory."
"Uh, thanks," he says.
Amy smiles at him, quickly, then stretches her long pale arms across the table, towards the Doctor. "Look," she says, "you miss River."
"I do not," he says. "Patently unprovable."
"You miss your girlfriend," she cries, and it isn't quite crowing but almost.
"I don't," he snaps, but he looks wounded, sad enough that Rory's nurse training kicks in (that's his story and he's sticking to it) and he puts a hand on the cool nape of the Doctor's neck.
"It's all right if you do," Rory says. "I think it's nice."
"Yes," Amy says, pleased, "it's very nice. TARDIS double date, I love it."
Then the Doctor's hand lifts into the air above the table and revolves slightly, index finger extended; it's a thinking gesture.
"Wait a moment," he says. "Wait a moment, wait a moment--Pond, I thought we'd settled this. Yes, yes, and the kissing, all the blasted kissing, and the wedding--I can't believe I didn't realize it earlier!" He smacks his own forehead lightly, then drops his hands flat against the table and leans forward. "You are both very dear to me, truly lovely humans. The loveliest."
"Yes?" Amy says, but it's a question, puzzled. She looks to Rory. He shrugs.
"But I cannot double-pair-bond with you," the Doctor says. "I'm so terribly sorry." He grasps Rory's fingers with one hand and Amy's with the other and smiles his 'we may all die but at least we will have done what we must' smile. At the table behind them, a small furry child giggles wetly, and with gusto.
"Double pair what?" Rory says.
"You know how fond I am of you, both of you," the Doctor says, smiling a misty, far-away smile. His fingers clutch gently at Rory's. "Amelia Pond, my Amy, clever and patient and brave. And Rory--the boy who waited. You have each other. I'm sorry. That's going to have to be enough."
"I'm still confused," Rory says.
"I think he thinks we want to marry him," Amy hisses out of the corner of her mouth. She leaves her baffled smile on, as if the Doctor is a child or a small animal likely to spook.
"Marry him," Rory certainly does not shout, "what does he think we--"
"Doctor," Amy says, very seriously, "just because I sort of jumped your bones that one time doesn't mean I want to marry you. Sorry. And neither does Rory."
The Doctor takes his hands back. He looks slightly affronted, halfway to a pout. His feelings are so clearly bruised that Rory has a sudden attack of sympathy--yes, he's somehow managed to rope a beautiful, smart woman into marrying him, but that's not a magic fix for twenty-one years of low self-esteem--and clears his throat, haltingly.
"Well," Rory says.
He gets two looks for that: from the Doctor, mollified appreciation, strangely uncurious, that big stupid ego of his still charming as usual; and from Amy, a face that he knows (because she's transparent, because they're married, because he's known her since they were this high) means he's surprised her.
"I just mean, speak for yourself," he says, but it comes out sort of weak.
"Just because he's cute in a sort of, skinny alien way--"
He cuts her off: "Look, I'm not saying I don't want to be married to you, or anything. I'm just saying, I could do worse." The Doctor smiles a little at that, so Rory adds, "It's true, you know. You're brave and handsome, and you're always saving me, that's very attractive in its own way."
"This is all because of his stupid arse," Amy says, and takes a sulky bite of her herby faux-sorbet. Then she lifts her head and says, "What?"
Rory sighs. He knows her, he loves her, he married her, and really she's come a long way since she was nine--she's kept this secret for almost six years. And the cat's not out of the bag, exactly, it's just that he doesn't feel like doing any misdirection at the moment and the Doctor looks confused, and anyway they're on an alien planet eating something unidentified next to a table full of purplish young women wearing leaves as hats, so he takes a deep breath and goes for it.
"I said something nice about it," he says. "Your arse." It sounded less stupid in his head.
"Oh really?" the Doctor asks, with a charmed grin. "And what's that?"
"I said," he starts off, then rubs one eyebrow off grain with the backs of his knuckles. "I mean, I said it was--"
"Fit," Amy says helpfully. "Really fit." Then she goes back to eating. There's an aquamarine dollop on her upper lip and Rory feels like kissing it off, so he does. Then he feels silly, like he's reaffirming something unnecessary, and he twirls his stool awkwardly for a moment.
"Yes, yes," the Doctor says, "this body is in remarkable shape compared to some I've had, but," and he leans forward across the table, "I thought your culture had a taboo."
"Got lots of taboos," Amy says. "Which one?"
"Public recognition of nonprocreative sexual bonds and attractions," he says, as if it's obvious. "Though it doesn't seem to be a complete taboo, at least not that I've observed. Or. Well. Jack assures me--"
"Yes, yes, we've got that taboo," Amy says. "That's why Rory here," she nudges him with her sneaker, "doesn't generally say anything about it. Except to you, apparently. He must really fancy you, hm?"
"Now wait a minute," he says, feeling his voice jump shrilly into his vocal chords, "I think if anybody is going to be a bit shocked and outraged here it ought to be me, okay, because I hardly even-- and you--"
"Hush," the Doctor says, absently. "No bickering on the Pleasure Planet."
Amy and Rory one hundred per cent do not pout like they're nine again and Rory's mum has stopped them fighting over who gets to play with the sonic screwdriver (a biro with bits of craft wire on) by putting it on top of the fridge where they can't reach. And the Doctor is looking to them for an explanation.
"Rory's sort of, well--flexible--ish," Amy offers.
"Bisexual," Rory corrects, "when you say it like that it makes me sound like I'm good at yoga or something."
"Hah," Amy says, "you? You'd fall out of lotus pose."
"I don't even know what that is!" he shouts, a bit.
"And you're not," the Doctor says carefully, "in any way attempting to double pair bond with me."
"No," Rory says. "We just talk about blokes sometimes, is all. It's nothing important."
"We did it with a bloke together once," Amy says, apparently deciding that Rory's sexual preferences and history should not be slowly revealed when the time is right to trusted friends by Rory himself but instead used as ammunition when she thinks he might fancy someone else better.
"Amy!" Rory shouts, and it's a real shout this time, sort of strangled and high-pitched. "For the love of God, what do you think you're--"
The Doctor waves his graceful hands between them, palms out, in a gesture that says clearly 'stop, stop, do not say another word.' They fall silent, again like chastened children.
"Thank you," he says in measured tones, "for sharing something so personal with me. But honestly, I would much prefer it if you never, ever said another word to me about your sticky human parts and what you do with them. All right?"
"Yes," Amy and Rory say, as one.
"At least with Jack it was all on the surface," he mutters to his sort-of-sherbet, but at least now he looks like he has an appetite again. "You twenty-first century types--all these taboos and secrets, and then once you start talking you never stop."
"Who's Jack?" Amy asks.
*****
Two weeks later (by the count Rory keeps in his notebook, though he's not sure he's measuring the days right), they're being given a diplomatic tour of a mining base in the Messhtawi system--ostensibly, anyway, though the Doctor keeps touching the minerals and licking his fingers, and also watching everyone's feet very carefully--when one of the guides drops back to speak privately with Rory. And all right, so he'd noticed him already, the guy was human (a plus) and skinny in a nice way and sort of a cross between ginger and blond, not to mention quite fit, so--noticing. But not to the point of cruising, or anything, which is why it's a surprise when the guide leans in close and says, "I've got a room in the company village, not far from here. Bed's big enough for three. Or four if you like."
Rory stops walking in the middle of a step, so the only reason he's not staring, gape-mouthed, is because he needs to look down in order to untangle his feet.
"I don't usually go with women," the guide goes on earnestly, "but your wife is very pretty. I'd be honored, really."
Rory spends a couple of precious, awkward seconds trying to find a way to say "you're lovely and everything, but this isn't really the time, sorry" that won't offend the guide, before he suddenly knows where to look; and he's right, because the Doctor only appears to be inspecting the architecture of the mine walls. When Rory catches his eye, he even grins madly and throws him a thumbs up.
Rory sighs; it comes out fonder than he meant it to. He glances over at Amy for a moment, somehow stylish even in the unisex jumpsuit they've all got to wear in the mines--she's tied a ribbon at the neck and rolled the cuffs, looks like--and then he turns to the guide and says, "Look, you're lovely and everything, but..."