Fic: Rory Who
[A/N: I'm pretty sure that the writer behind quitehomoerotic got this story in my head. She and I also had a great conversation about Rory and rooms that I reproduced, in part, in this story. It's just some processing, I suppose. I'm not too sure I like how it ends, but I think I like what it says. Spoilers for "Cold Blood" if you're watching on the American schedule.]
For a little while, the Doctor follows Amy around like a lost puppy.
He's not the one who's lost, of course, but she doesn't know that. And there are too many questions, waiting inside the TARDIS, that she won't even know to ask.
"Doctor," she turns on her heel and looks at him. They're two paces from her bedroom, which used to be the bedroom she shared with Rory. He remembers that discussion, like he remembers every discussion.
Like he remembers everything.
The Doctor was wandering down the hall, ostensibly on his way to do Something Somewhere, but in reality just trying to be nosy. It was Rory's first night on the TARDIS, and, well. The Doctor was, after all, a student of human behavior.
Rory was standing outside the closed door of Amy's bedroom, staring at the door.
"It's a door, Rory." The Doctor came to a quick stop behind him, causing Rory to jump and let out a little sound similar to a mouse's squeak. "You just turn the knob, like so, and push."
And the Doctor did, opening the door into Amy's room, where Amy was standing with her arms crossed over her chest.
"What are you boys doing?"
"I'm showing Rory how to use the door," the Doctor announced cheerily. "I think he'd forgotten."
"I had not." Rory flashed an annoyed glance at eh Doctor before giving Amy a sad look. "I just wasn't sure that you wanted me to... with... you know."
The Doctor's cheery smile grew to a wide grin. Amy rolled her eyes at him and grabbed Rory by the sweatshirt, pulling him into the room. She winked once at the Doctor and then closed the door behind them with a click.
"Doctor?"
"Hm?" The Doctor raises his eyebrows and looks at Amy like she'd just interrupted a very very unimportant thought that he absolutely wanted her to interrupt. In other words, he was trying to look casual.
"Why are you following me around?"
"Am I?" He spins in the hallway, fingers moving quickly against nothing in particular. "Oh, is this the hallway with your room? Are you going to sleep? Am I keeping you up, Pond? Couldn't have that."
Amy narrows her eyes. "Have you got a crush on me, Doctor? You only have to say. I'll invite you in."
"What?" The Doctor is a normally pale person, but he turns three shades whiter. That is absolutely not at all why he's there. "No. Nope. No crushes, no invitations needed, I'm just walking down the hall, like one does, and it happens to be the same hall that -"
But Amy has already rolled her eyes, opened her door, and walked into her room. The Doctor makes a move to cut in front of her, but she's standing quite firmly in the doorway. For a small woman, she's rather immovable. "You know, Doctor, I prefer the bow ties." She picks up a sweatshirt and waves it around. "Did you do a secret Time Lord mind thing? To make me forget you were here and had your way with me?"
"What?"
"You said that already."
The Doctor shakes his head. "Humans. Why is the first thing you think about sex? Why do you think that's my shirt, and not some - " He stumbles over the idea of what to say. "Bloke you picked up one night and can't bother to remember now."
It hurts saying that.
Amy looks at the shirt and then back at the Doctor, both annoyed and confused. "There are way too many men's shirts here for it to be a one night thing. What aren't you telling me?"
He wants to say: Oh so many things. You should remember, Amy Pond. Remember that gorgeous, daft, silly man you loved. Why don't you? Why won't you?.
But instead he says: "You've been experimenting with twenty-first century notions of gender roles."
Amy snorts. "Fine. Don't tell me. I'll just go on assuming you've seduced me and refuse to let me remember because you were bad at it."
The Doctor laughs. "Is that supposed to appeal to some sort of machismo that makes me insist I'm really good at it, it being sex, and come clean about having it - still sex - with you?"
"No? Yes." Amy lets an exasperated breath out. "Go away."
"Right. If you need anything - "
"Why would I need anything?" She leans in again, peering up into his face. "Tell me what you're hiding."
He wonders, not for the first time, how his companions always end up knowing him so well. Or not at all. Or both. "Nothing," he answers quietly, and they both know it's a lie. But he's the only one who knows the shape of the lie, and that's what matters right now.
She shoves him out and closes the door behind her. The Doctor stands for a minute, listening as she picks up and moves clothes - Rory's clothes - and puts them somewhere.
Somewhere else.
Out of sight, out of mind. Out of time, out of mind. Out of everything, everywhen, everywhere.
Shoulders slumped, the Doctor sighs and goes back to the console room. There's a small red box sitting on the console, waiting for a man who's never existed to give its contents back to a girl that won't ever remember him. He runs his fingers over its curves and corners as he falls back into his chair.
"There are days," he murmurs, but he doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't want to. Instead he tucks the box into his pocket and stares at the Time Rotor, wondering a thousand-thousand things and asking a million questions.
None of the answers make him feel any better. "It was my fault," he whispers sadly. He closes his eyes. The afterimage of a crooked smile laughs at him in the darkness, and the Doctor doesn't know how to make it stop.
For a little while, the Doctor follows Amy around like a lost puppy.
He's not the one who's lost, of course, but she doesn't know that. And there are too many questions, waiting inside the TARDIS, that she won't even know to ask.
"Doctor," she turns on her heel and looks at him. They're two paces from her bedroom, which used to be the bedroom she shared with Rory. He remembers that discussion, like he remembers every discussion.
Like he remembers everything.
The Doctor was wandering down the hall, ostensibly on his way to do Something Somewhere, but in reality just trying to be nosy. It was Rory's first night on the TARDIS, and, well. The Doctor was, after all, a student of human behavior.
Rory was standing outside the closed door of Amy's bedroom, staring at the door.
"It's a door, Rory." The Doctor came to a quick stop behind him, causing Rory to jump and let out a little sound similar to a mouse's squeak. "You just turn the knob, like so, and push."
And the Doctor did, opening the door into Amy's room, where Amy was standing with her arms crossed over her chest.
"What are you boys doing?"
"I'm showing Rory how to use the door," the Doctor announced cheerily. "I think he'd forgotten."
"I had not." Rory flashed an annoyed glance at eh Doctor before giving Amy a sad look. "I just wasn't sure that you wanted me to... with... you know."
The Doctor's cheery smile grew to a wide grin. Amy rolled her eyes at him and grabbed Rory by the sweatshirt, pulling him into the room. She winked once at the Doctor and then closed the door behind them with a click.
"Doctor?"
"Hm?" The Doctor raises his eyebrows and looks at Amy like she'd just interrupted a very very unimportant thought that he absolutely wanted her to interrupt. In other words, he was trying to look casual.
"Why are you following me around?"
"Am I?" He spins in the hallway, fingers moving quickly against nothing in particular. "Oh, is this the hallway with your room? Are you going to sleep? Am I keeping you up, Pond? Couldn't have that."
Amy narrows her eyes. "Have you got a crush on me, Doctor? You only have to say. I'll invite you in."
"What?" The Doctor is a normally pale person, but he turns three shades whiter. That is absolutely not at all why he's there. "No. Nope. No crushes, no invitations needed, I'm just walking down the hall, like one does, and it happens to be the same hall that -"
But Amy has already rolled her eyes, opened her door, and walked into her room. The Doctor makes a move to cut in front of her, but she's standing quite firmly in the doorway. For a small woman, she's rather immovable. "You know, Doctor, I prefer the bow ties." She picks up a sweatshirt and waves it around. "Did you do a secret Time Lord mind thing? To make me forget you were here and had your way with me?"
"What?"
"You said that already."
The Doctor shakes his head. "Humans. Why is the first thing you think about sex? Why do you think that's my shirt, and not some - " He stumbles over the idea of what to say. "Bloke you picked up one night and can't bother to remember now."
It hurts saying that.
Amy looks at the shirt and then back at the Doctor, both annoyed and confused. "There are way too many men's shirts here for it to be a one night thing. What aren't you telling me?"
He wants to say: Oh so many things. You should remember, Amy Pond. Remember that gorgeous, daft, silly man you loved. Why don't you? Why won't you?.
But instead he says: "You've been experimenting with twenty-first century notions of gender roles."
Amy snorts. "Fine. Don't tell me. I'll just go on assuming you've seduced me and refuse to let me remember because you were bad at it."
The Doctor laughs. "Is that supposed to appeal to some sort of machismo that makes me insist I'm really good at it, it being sex, and come clean about having it - still sex - with you?"
"No? Yes." Amy lets an exasperated breath out. "Go away."
"Right. If you need anything - "
"Why would I need anything?" She leans in again, peering up into his face. "Tell me what you're hiding."
He wonders, not for the first time, how his companions always end up knowing him so well. Or not at all. Or both. "Nothing," he answers quietly, and they both know it's a lie. But he's the only one who knows the shape of the lie, and that's what matters right now.
She shoves him out and closes the door behind her. The Doctor stands for a minute, listening as she picks up and moves clothes - Rory's clothes - and puts them somewhere.
Somewhere else.
Out of sight, out of mind. Out of time, out of mind. Out of everything, everywhen, everywhere.
Shoulders slumped, the Doctor sighs and goes back to the console room. There's a small red box sitting on the console, waiting for a man who's never existed to give its contents back to a girl that won't ever remember him. He runs his fingers over its curves and corners as he falls back into his chair.
"There are days," he murmurs, but he doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't want to. Instead he tucks the box into his pocket and stares at the Time Rotor, wondering a thousand-thousand things and asking a million questions.
None of the answers make him feel any better. "It was my fault," he whispers sadly. He closes his eyes. The afterimage of a crooked smile laughs at him in the darkness, and the Doctor doesn't know how to make it stop.