Make A Deal (1/1)
Title: Make A Deal
Rating: FRT
Characters/Pairings: Amy/Rory
Words: ~1500
Spoilers: DW 5x12, 5x13 (series finale)
Warnings: all associated with the ending and opening of those episodes
Summary: He wished, hoped and prayed with everything he was worth, to every deity and every idol he'd ever heard about, even if they'd been just a ghost of a whisper.
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, though I do love 'em =]
A/N: This is a song-inspired!fic for aranellaurelote
Prompt: 'Running Up That Hill' by Placebo
I really hope you like it! I had a fair bit of fun writing these two, but as I've not done them before, I hope Rory's not too OoC - hope you like it hun! If anyone wants to posted this to any Doctor Who comms for me, I'd be very happy, as I'm not a part of any and I don't read DW fanfic much.
*
MAKE A DEAL
Rory stared in disbelief. Amy, his Amy - wonderful, vibrant, gorgeous Amy - was dead. The look in her eyes as realisation struck, a final tear welling up and sliding across her skin as her body refused to take that last breath. Had he had one in this stupid, murderous plastic body, his heart would have shattered.
No, no, no, no.... his mind chanted a constant litany as he shook her gently, desperate for her to snap out of the horrible trick. She'd done it before, just after he proposed. She'd lain crooked on the kitchen floor, hair spun out in disarray, limbs limb and flung out in awkward positions. His heart really had stopped then. He'd just got in from work and was hanging up his jacket when he saw the pale foot against the terracotta tiles.
He'd run from the front door, leaping over a fallen pile of books and into the kitchen, mouth open and eyes wide as he saw her expression slack, her chest not moving beneath the t-shirt she wore. He'd dropped to his knees, hands coming to fold over his mouth, trying to contain the sobs that threatened and unable to hold back the tears that were making his vision swim. He'd known that he should be calling an ambulance, doing mouth-to-mouth, getting some sort of help, but he'd been paralysed by the thought of Amy not being there any more.
He'd stretched a hand out to pick up one of hers and just before his fingers fell, her hand had shot up and gripped his, pulling him down to the floor with her. For the briefest of moments, Rory wondered whether he was being dragged to the afterlife, but the sound of her laughter filling the room and surrounding him made it clear that he'd just been the victim of her twisted sense of humour.
As soon as that realisation had dawned on him, his anger had boiled up. Without a second thought, he twisted himself deftly out of her grip and staggered to his feet, furiously scrubbing at his eyes.
“That wasn't funny!” He snapped finally, glaring down at her. Amy sat up, head cocked to one side with her hair falling across her shoulder. She reached out a hand and ran it down the back of his leg, but he stepped away.
“Come on, Rory, it was just a joke.” He gritted his jaw and she rolled her eyes, hoisting herself to her feet and leaning back against the counter behind her. “It's called a sense of humour, you know? You must've left yours at work.”
“That wasn't a joke. Don't you understand?” Rory rounded on her, years' worth of fears and anxieties rising in him. How many times had he come home from work to find the house empty? How many times had he searched through each and every room when that happened? How much of his life had he spent keeping his paranoia over her safety in check? “How would you feel, if you came home one day to find me crumpled in a pile at the bottom of the stairs? Would that just be a laugh for you or would you feel like your world had been torn away?”
Amy stared at him at that, silent and solemn. All the mirth had left her and she had the good grace to feel guilty about her actions - he could see that clearly in her face. “Rory, I-”
“No, Amy, you don't get it! If you're not in the house when I get home and there isn't a note, I can't even take my shoes off before I've checked every room to make sure that,” He gestured violently at the floor, “hasn't happened for real.”
“I promise I'll leave a note next time.” She said gently, stepping closer to him and winding her arms around his waist. Reluctantly, Rory found himself holding her tightly in return, something inside him settling as she rested her head against his shoulder.
He closed his eyes tightly and tried to take in the way her hair smelled and the way her body fit against his. He tried to burn the tiny details into his head for the hundredth time. Sometimes, he thought about that Doctor of hers and what would happen if he turned up again to whisk her away. Would she leap to his side and vanish off into space and time? Would she want him to follow? Or would it be just her and the Doctor, running through adventure after adventure. As if sensing his thoughts, she pulled back slightly and gripped his hands, bringing one of hers up to their faces, pointedly making him look at the engagement ring.
“I said I'd marry you and I'll be damned if I go anywhere before then.” She grinned at him then, her brilliant, addictive grin, and kissed him hard. Rory couldn't help but smile and pull her closer.
But there was no laughter this time though. There was no joke, no sudden clutch at his hand. There was no anger on his part or chagrin on hers. It was real.
He shifted her in his arms, to rest across his legs and he wished, hoped and prayed with everything he was worth, to every deity and every idol he'd ever heard about, even if they'd been just a ghost of a whisper. He bent down and pressed a shaking, fearful kiss to her lips. He raised his head slowly, trying to strike a bargain with God, making a deal to trade their places.
“It should be me... It should be me, not you. If I wasn't here, you'd still be alive and the Doctor would be about to save the world.” Rory swallowed hard against the tears that seemed to well without prompting. He felt far too hollow and was concentrating far too hard on his useless prayers. “If there was some way that I could take your place - any way at all - I'd do it, you know that. I would've done the same thing from the moment I met you all that time ago.”
Only silence replied to him and he bowed his head, shoulders shaking slightly as he asked silently for the impossible. It had already happened once; he'd come back to life, so why couldn't she? Why couldn't someone bring her back to him? Death would be worth it, just to see her smile one more, to hear her laughter and know that she would live on and carry on running. Hand in hand with her Doctor, she'd run across the universe and never have to look back.
The silence roared in his ears and pressed against his eyes and his skin, trying to seeped into his body and strangle him. He felt a rush of panic in his chest, battling with the soggy, nauseating feeling of swallowed tears and was suddenly desperate for something normal.
“So,” he started, trying to be conversational, trying to feign some semblance of sanity, “the universe ended - you missed that. 102 AD.” He couldn't stop his eyes from wandering back to her still, expressionless face, but it only took a moment for the pain to lance through him again. “I suppose this means you and I never get born at all... Twice in my case.”
He paused for too long and memories of Amy laughing unashamedly at something ridiculous he'd done or said flooded him. A bitter smile tugged at his face and he shifted her a little more, looking into her face, willing for something to change, for her to scrunch her face up and crack an eye open to check he was going along with the whole charade. Nothing.
“You would've laughed at that.” Tears brimmed in his eyes again and he couldn't help but bring a hand to her face, not flinching from the way her skin was beginning to cool. Again, nothing. “Please laugh.”
A breeze was picking up and playing with her hair, marring her face. He brushed it back and looked away again. “The Doctor said the universe was huge and ridiculous, and sometimes there were miracles... I could do with a ridiculous miracle about now...”
He stared at the patch of grass in front of him, heart hollow and aching from the dead weight in his arms and the lack of body heat against him. A mantra ran through his head, words jumbled up and meaningless but the intent still the same. Anything, anything to take her place, anything for her to live. Anything...
A crackled of electricity jolted him sharply from his reverie and by the time he looked up, the Doctor was standing there in a fez with a mop under his arm, looking... well, looking ridiculous.
*
Fin x. - concrit is much appriciated =]
Rating: FRT
Characters/Pairings: Amy/Rory
Words: ~1500
Spoilers: DW 5x12, 5x13 (series finale)
Warnings: all associated with the ending and opening of those episodes
Summary: He wished, hoped and prayed with everything he was worth, to every deity and every idol he'd ever heard about, even if they'd been just a ghost of a whisper.
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, though I do love 'em =]
A/N: This is a song-inspired!fic for aranellaurelote
Prompt: 'Running Up That Hill' by Placebo
I really hope you like it! I had a fair bit of fun writing these two, but as I've not done them before, I hope Rory's not too OoC - hope you like it hun! If anyone wants to posted this to any Doctor Who comms for me, I'd be very happy, as I'm not a part of any and I don't read DW fanfic much.
*
MAKE A DEAL
Rory stared in disbelief. Amy, his Amy - wonderful, vibrant, gorgeous Amy - was dead. The look in her eyes as realisation struck, a final tear welling up and sliding across her skin as her body refused to take that last breath. Had he had one in this stupid, murderous plastic body, his heart would have shattered.
No, no, no, no.... his mind chanted a constant litany as he shook her gently, desperate for her to snap out of the horrible trick. She'd done it before, just after he proposed. She'd lain crooked on the kitchen floor, hair spun out in disarray, limbs limb and flung out in awkward positions. His heart really had stopped then. He'd just got in from work and was hanging up his jacket when he saw the pale foot against the terracotta tiles.
He'd run from the front door, leaping over a fallen pile of books and into the kitchen, mouth open and eyes wide as he saw her expression slack, her chest not moving beneath the t-shirt she wore. He'd dropped to his knees, hands coming to fold over his mouth, trying to contain the sobs that threatened and unable to hold back the tears that were making his vision swim. He'd known that he should be calling an ambulance, doing mouth-to-mouth, getting some sort of help, but he'd been paralysed by the thought of Amy not being there any more.
He'd stretched a hand out to pick up one of hers and just before his fingers fell, her hand had shot up and gripped his, pulling him down to the floor with her. For the briefest of moments, Rory wondered whether he was being dragged to the afterlife, but the sound of her laughter filling the room and surrounding him made it clear that he'd just been the victim of her twisted sense of humour.
As soon as that realisation had dawned on him, his anger had boiled up. Without a second thought, he twisted himself deftly out of her grip and staggered to his feet, furiously scrubbing at his eyes.
“That wasn't funny!” He snapped finally, glaring down at her. Amy sat up, head cocked to one side with her hair falling across her shoulder. She reached out a hand and ran it down the back of his leg, but he stepped away.
“Come on, Rory, it was just a joke.” He gritted his jaw and she rolled her eyes, hoisting herself to her feet and leaning back against the counter behind her. “It's called a sense of humour, you know? You must've left yours at work.”
“That wasn't a joke. Don't you understand?” Rory rounded on her, years' worth of fears and anxieties rising in him. How many times had he come home from work to find the house empty? How many times had he searched through each and every room when that happened? How much of his life had he spent keeping his paranoia over her safety in check? “How would you feel, if you came home one day to find me crumpled in a pile at the bottom of the stairs? Would that just be a laugh for you or would you feel like your world had been torn away?”
Amy stared at him at that, silent and solemn. All the mirth had left her and she had the good grace to feel guilty about her actions - he could see that clearly in her face. “Rory, I-”
“No, Amy, you don't get it! If you're not in the house when I get home and there isn't a note, I can't even take my shoes off before I've checked every room to make sure that,” He gestured violently at the floor, “hasn't happened for real.”
“I promise I'll leave a note next time.” She said gently, stepping closer to him and winding her arms around his waist. Reluctantly, Rory found himself holding her tightly in return, something inside him settling as she rested her head against his shoulder.
He closed his eyes tightly and tried to take in the way her hair smelled and the way her body fit against his. He tried to burn the tiny details into his head for the hundredth time. Sometimes, he thought about that Doctor of hers and what would happen if he turned up again to whisk her away. Would she leap to his side and vanish off into space and time? Would she want him to follow? Or would it be just her and the Doctor, running through adventure after adventure. As if sensing his thoughts, she pulled back slightly and gripped his hands, bringing one of hers up to their faces, pointedly making him look at the engagement ring.
“I said I'd marry you and I'll be damned if I go anywhere before then.” She grinned at him then, her brilliant, addictive grin, and kissed him hard. Rory couldn't help but smile and pull her closer.
But there was no laughter this time though. There was no joke, no sudden clutch at his hand. There was no anger on his part or chagrin on hers. It was real.
He shifted her in his arms, to rest across his legs and he wished, hoped and prayed with everything he was worth, to every deity and every idol he'd ever heard about, even if they'd been just a ghost of a whisper. He bent down and pressed a shaking, fearful kiss to her lips. He raised his head slowly, trying to strike a bargain with God, making a deal to trade their places.
“It should be me... It should be me, not you. If I wasn't here, you'd still be alive and the Doctor would be about to save the world.” Rory swallowed hard against the tears that seemed to well without prompting. He felt far too hollow and was concentrating far too hard on his useless prayers. “If there was some way that I could take your place - any way at all - I'd do it, you know that. I would've done the same thing from the moment I met you all that time ago.”
Only silence replied to him and he bowed his head, shoulders shaking slightly as he asked silently for the impossible. It had already happened once; he'd come back to life, so why couldn't she? Why couldn't someone bring her back to him? Death would be worth it, just to see her smile one more, to hear her laughter and know that she would live on and carry on running. Hand in hand with her Doctor, she'd run across the universe and never have to look back.
The silence roared in his ears and pressed against his eyes and his skin, trying to seeped into his body and strangle him. He felt a rush of panic in his chest, battling with the soggy, nauseating feeling of swallowed tears and was suddenly desperate for something normal.
“So,” he started, trying to be conversational, trying to feign some semblance of sanity, “the universe ended - you missed that. 102 AD.” He couldn't stop his eyes from wandering back to her still, expressionless face, but it only took a moment for the pain to lance through him again. “I suppose this means you and I never get born at all... Twice in my case.”
He paused for too long and memories of Amy laughing unashamedly at something ridiculous he'd done or said flooded him. A bitter smile tugged at his face and he shifted her a little more, looking into her face, willing for something to change, for her to scrunch her face up and crack an eye open to check he was going along with the whole charade. Nothing.
“You would've laughed at that.” Tears brimmed in his eyes again and he couldn't help but bring a hand to her face, not flinching from the way her skin was beginning to cool. Again, nothing. “Please laugh.”
A breeze was picking up and playing with her hair, marring her face. He brushed it back and looked away again. “The Doctor said the universe was huge and ridiculous, and sometimes there were miracles... I could do with a ridiculous miracle about now...”
He stared at the patch of grass in front of him, heart hollow and aching from the dead weight in his arms and the lack of body heat against him. A mantra ran through his head, words jumbled up and meaningless but the intent still the same. Anything, anything to take her place, anything for her to live. Anything...
A crackled of electricity jolted him sharply from his reverie and by the time he looked up, the Doctor was standing there in a fez with a mop under his arm, looking... well, looking ridiculous.
*
Fin x. - concrit is much appriciated =]