fic: patient (doctor who, pg-13)
Title: patient
Author:
hoosierbitch
Rating: PG
Pairing: pre-Amy/Doctor/Rory
Spoilers: Through the end of the season finale!
Summary: Rory figures the Doctor is a lot like the TARDIS.
Rory figures the Doctor is a lot like the TARDIS.
He looks normal enough on the outside. A bit out of place, maybe - a police box where there shouldn’t be one, a young man wearing suspenders and bowtie instead of a t-shirt - but not anything anyone’d do more than raise an eyebrow at.
After a few weeks of traipsing around the universe in a magic box, Rory figures that the Doctor’s deceptive in that same cheerfully misleading way. He smiles and ties his shoes and walks and talks and looks just the way they expect him to - but inside he’s full of fiddly bits and redundant systems and pools in libraries. Rory figures there’s a lot more inside the Doctor than there appears to be at first glance.
Er. That didn’t sound as dirty in his head. Just for the record.
And, see, normally, thinking about the Doctor’s insides (or being inside the Doctor’s insides) would never have crossed his mind. Amy’s mind, maybe, because she always did have an intimidatingly large porn collection and an even bigger imagination, but Rory’s always been happy with just Amy, naked, and in his bed (or sometimes in her kiss-o-gram outfits, sometimes not in his bed, once in the kitchen but then he hadn’t been able to make breakfast without bleaching everything first so only just the once).
So, right. Normally, he wouldn’t be thinking about the Doctor, or about what surprises might lie underneath his pale skin or the danger in forgetting that he only looks human. Normally, though, the Doctor’s not kissing him.
“And now we’re even,” Amy says after the Doctor’s taken a step back, nodding a bit too vigorously. Rory hadn’t quite gotten past the surprise and into the kissing-back stage so the Doctor’s lips aren’t swollen, not a darker red, they look the same way they always have only now Rory knows how soft they are - he wraps a hand around the back of the Doctor’s head and pulls him in again. “Okay, now you’re one up on me,” Amy says with a sigh, and then she’s pressing her face in between theirs. Rory’s never been in a three-way kiss before and he’s not sure that faces are really meant to fit quite this way but the Doctor’s tongue flickers out, when they’re all pressed close together, thankfully all with recently brushed teeth - the Doctor’s tongue against his and Amy’s mouths. As though it’s only okay to explore when no one can get left out.
“Right. We’re good then, everybody happy, everybody back to normal,” the Doctor says brightly, pulling away and patting them both heartily on the shoulder. “Now, what are your thoughts on pygmy pachyderms?”
“That’s elephants, right?” Before the Doctor can answer him Amy grabs his face with both hands and pulls him down. She learned a few tricks, from her time as a kiss-o-gram, so Rory just twiddles his thumbs and waits for the Doctor to stop trying to talk. He thinks he hears Amy and indecent and Mastodons so Rory thinks maybe he’s not that into pygmy pachyderms, because he doesn’t really fancy encountering a Mastodon (no matter how miniscule it may be).
“You’re mad, Amy Pond,” the Doctor whispers when she lets him up for air. Only he’s not out of breath and Rory knows he’s got two hearts but what’s he got going on for a respiratory system?
“No, I’m happy,” she says, and she traces a finger over the Doctor’s lips, spit slick and a bit swollen, now, it’s a good look on him.
“And I’m gay,” Rory says, because he’s getting better at including himself in Amy and the Doctor’s private conversations. “Er. Well, some of the time, that is.”
“You humans and your labels,” the Doctor says, backing away non-too-subtly, the long fingers of one pale hand hovering thoughtfully over his bottom lip.
“You doctors and your too-much-clothing,” Amy retorts. “That goes for nurses, too.” She gets to work on the Doctor’s suspenders. Rory wouldn’t mind if she left them on, to be honest, but he’s not going to bring it up now, not when the Doctor looks so absolutely petrified. Rory steps up behind Amy and twines his fingers with hers, pulls her hands down to her sides, gives the Doctor a bit of space.
“Yes, that’s quite enough of the tomfoolery. Very glad you’re here, Mr. Pond,” the Doctor says, fiddling with his bowtie and trying to figure out an exit strategy.
He and Amy’s ring fingers are right next to each other. She wears the ring all the time, now. Seeing it gives him a happy jolt to his stomach. The same jolt that seeing the Doctor without his suit jacket gives him, sudden and immediate and visceral. The Doctor in his socks or undershirt or in the morning before Amy’s hunted him down and brushed his hair, or when he’s staring out at nothing with a terrible look on his face. He gets that jolt, that hit of proprietary joy, whenever he sees either of them in a private moment. He feels privileged.
“Come on, Doctor Pond,” Rory whispers. “Don’t make fun.”
They can both hear the Doctor swallow. “You’re children,” he says, and the hint of threat in his voice makes Rory shiver. “And I am an old, old man.”
“If I’m old enough to save the whole of the universe and all of time,” Amy says, “then I think I’m old enough for a bit of a snog.” Rory doesn’t have any arguments that are anywhere close to that impressive but the Doctor’s not really paying attention to him anyway so he keeps his mouth shut. He’d feel left out if it weren’t for his hand twined with Amy’s and the right side of his bottom lip still tingling a bit from the Doctor’s tongue teasing over it.
“I’m going to leave you,” the Doctor says, the same way he explains about holes in the universe or the proper way to dance the funky chicken. “I’m going to show you magical, beautiful, wonderful things. And then I’m going to leave you behind.”
“We know,” Amy says, even though Rory’s still figuring it over. He figure marriage entitles her to some unprompted plural pronouns, though, so he lets it slide. “So why not add one more magical, impossible thing to that list? Why not show us you?” She’s got a bit of a lascivious tone to her voice but Rory’s pretty sure that’s not why the Doctor flinches. The Doctor’s got the soul of a child and the life of an alien and Rory’d like to see him, too. Amy’s got her pronouns right.
The Doctor’s breath catches in his chest (or at least it seems like it does, Rory’d love to get his hands on an MRI of the Doctor’s body. Or, just, the Doctor’s body. See if he can’t get the Doctor to go a bit breathless all on his own). He’s let Amy do most of the talking because she’s better with words and arguments and just better with the Doctor overall, but when the Doctor seems to be at a loss for words and Amy content to just let him struggle, Rory reaches out with his right hand.
The Doctor feels a lot like Amy. A bit cooler to the touch, maybe, jaw a bit more pronounced. But Rory gets the same rush from it that he always gets from touching Amy. Feels the same way that it had with Amy, back in the beginning, when it had felt like he was soothing a wild animal or touching some priceless piece of art. He'd always felt like someone was about to tell him he wasn't allowed. Boring Rory Williams and the girl be was lucky to get; Rory and Amy and Amy's imaginary friend, not-quite-too-good-to-be-true.
“You’re not going to break us when you leave us,” Rory says. “We really aren’t that fragile.” Amy saved the universe. Rory saved Amy. The Doctor just did it over and over and over again.
The silence drags on awkwardly long, after that. The Doctor’s eyes are comically big. His body so still. And Rory wonders if maybe he’d got it backwards. If maybe it isn’t the Doctor, nine-hundred and seven years old and the last of his kind, who needs protecting instead of them. Maybe they’re the ones who are going to leave someone behind when they get too old or hurt or boring or whatever it is that adds up over the years to determine a companion’s expiration date.
Rory figures the Doctor’s a lot like the TARDIS. Always ready to disappear, leaving behind the seeds of myths and legends and make-believe games in his wake. Amy’s Raggedy Doctor. The smashed shed in her backyard, the scattered dolls on her dressers, Rory’s been living in his shadow for years. He’s loved Amelia Pond since he was nine but never thought she was a fairy tale. Never thought the Doctor was a fairy tale, either. A delusion, maybe, or a wandering homeless man, but not a fairy tale.
The skin of the Doctor’s neck is cool under his palm. Amy’s fingers warm in his. “I think we’re done waiting,” Amy whispers. And the Doctor nods and looks down at the TARDIS’ metal floor and does nothing.
“We’re even,” the Doctor says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “A kiss for a kiss for a kiss. And everything back to normal.”
“No bloody way - ” Amy starts forward but Rory holds her back.
He’s seen the look on the Doctor’s face before. On Amy’s. Back when they were kids, sitting in the wreck of her shed, sock puppets rough on their joined hands. Amy at nine years old had already been resigned to the fact that she’d spend the rest of her life being left behind. Been just as scared as the Doctor looks now, and just as brave.
“I waited two-thousand years for Amy,” Rory says, because it’s true, he did, he relives entire eras in his dreams. “Don’t make us wait that long for you.”
He tugs Amy up the stairs because if she gets to decide about pronouns, she can bloody well back up his dramatic exits.
“What do you wear to meet Mastodons?” she asks, her hand curling in his, familiar and habitual, someday soon he expects he’ll stop being flustered by it.
“A death wish?”
“So dramatic,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s raid the wardrobe and see what the TARDIS has got hidden away."
Rory’s lip still feels a bit numb, a bit new, from the touch of the Doctor’s tongue. He doesn’t expect that the body he’s got now will last more than a few more decades. But the Doctor’s lips had been soft and slick and responsive under his, his hands tentative and curious on Rory’s hips. His whole body had swayed towards Amy when she'd kissed him.
He doesn’t think they’ll have to wait that long.
Reviews are loved and adored!
http://hoosierbitch.dreamwidth.org/31665.html |
comments | Comment at Dreamwidth
Author:
hoosierbitch
Rating: PG
Pairing: pre-Amy/Doctor/Rory
Spoilers: Through the end of the season finale!
Summary: Rory figures the Doctor is a lot like the TARDIS.
Rory figures the Doctor is a lot like the TARDIS.
He looks normal enough on the outside. A bit out of place, maybe - a police box where there shouldn’t be one, a young man wearing suspenders and bowtie instead of a t-shirt - but not anything anyone’d do more than raise an eyebrow at.
After a few weeks of traipsing around the universe in a magic box, Rory figures that the Doctor’s deceptive in that same cheerfully misleading way. He smiles and ties his shoes and walks and talks and looks just the way they expect him to - but inside he’s full of fiddly bits and redundant systems and pools in libraries. Rory figures there’s a lot more inside the Doctor than there appears to be at first glance.
Er. That didn’t sound as dirty in his head. Just for the record.
And, see, normally, thinking about the Doctor’s insides (or being inside the Doctor’s insides) would never have crossed his mind. Amy’s mind, maybe, because she always did have an intimidatingly large porn collection and an even bigger imagination, but Rory’s always been happy with just Amy, naked, and in his bed (or sometimes in her kiss-o-gram outfits, sometimes not in his bed, once in the kitchen but then he hadn’t been able to make breakfast without bleaching everything first so only just the once).
So, right. Normally, he wouldn’t be thinking about the Doctor, or about what surprises might lie underneath his pale skin or the danger in forgetting that he only looks human. Normally, though, the Doctor’s not kissing him.
“And now we’re even,” Amy says after the Doctor’s taken a step back, nodding a bit too vigorously. Rory hadn’t quite gotten past the surprise and into the kissing-back stage so the Doctor’s lips aren’t swollen, not a darker red, they look the same way they always have only now Rory knows how soft they are - he wraps a hand around the back of the Doctor’s head and pulls him in again. “Okay, now you’re one up on me,” Amy says with a sigh, and then she’s pressing her face in between theirs. Rory’s never been in a three-way kiss before and he’s not sure that faces are really meant to fit quite this way but the Doctor’s tongue flickers out, when they’re all pressed close together, thankfully all with recently brushed teeth - the Doctor’s tongue against his and Amy’s mouths. As though it’s only okay to explore when no one can get left out.
“Right. We’re good then, everybody happy, everybody back to normal,” the Doctor says brightly, pulling away and patting them both heartily on the shoulder. “Now, what are your thoughts on pygmy pachyderms?”
“That’s elephants, right?” Before the Doctor can answer him Amy grabs his face with both hands and pulls him down. She learned a few tricks, from her time as a kiss-o-gram, so Rory just twiddles his thumbs and waits for the Doctor to stop trying to talk. He thinks he hears Amy and indecent and Mastodons so Rory thinks maybe he’s not that into pygmy pachyderms, because he doesn’t really fancy encountering a Mastodon (no matter how miniscule it may be).
“You’re mad, Amy Pond,” the Doctor whispers when she lets him up for air. Only he’s not out of breath and Rory knows he’s got two hearts but what’s he got going on for a respiratory system?
“No, I’m happy,” she says, and she traces a finger over the Doctor’s lips, spit slick and a bit swollen, now, it’s a good look on him.
“And I’m gay,” Rory says, because he’s getting better at including himself in Amy and the Doctor’s private conversations. “Er. Well, some of the time, that is.”
“You humans and your labels,” the Doctor says, backing away non-too-subtly, the long fingers of one pale hand hovering thoughtfully over his bottom lip.
“You doctors and your too-much-clothing,” Amy retorts. “That goes for nurses, too.” She gets to work on the Doctor’s suspenders. Rory wouldn’t mind if she left them on, to be honest, but he’s not going to bring it up now, not when the Doctor looks so absolutely petrified. Rory steps up behind Amy and twines his fingers with hers, pulls her hands down to her sides, gives the Doctor a bit of space.
“Yes, that’s quite enough of the tomfoolery. Very glad you’re here, Mr. Pond,” the Doctor says, fiddling with his bowtie and trying to figure out an exit strategy.
He and Amy’s ring fingers are right next to each other. She wears the ring all the time, now. Seeing it gives him a happy jolt to his stomach. The same jolt that seeing the Doctor without his suit jacket gives him, sudden and immediate and visceral. The Doctor in his socks or undershirt or in the morning before Amy’s hunted him down and brushed his hair, or when he’s staring out at nothing with a terrible look on his face. He gets that jolt, that hit of proprietary joy, whenever he sees either of them in a private moment. He feels privileged.
“Come on, Doctor Pond,” Rory whispers. “Don’t make fun.”
They can both hear the Doctor swallow. “You’re children,” he says, and the hint of threat in his voice makes Rory shiver. “And I am an old, old man.”
“If I’m old enough to save the whole of the universe and all of time,” Amy says, “then I think I’m old enough for a bit of a snog.” Rory doesn’t have any arguments that are anywhere close to that impressive but the Doctor’s not really paying attention to him anyway so he keeps his mouth shut. He’d feel left out if it weren’t for his hand twined with Amy’s and the right side of his bottom lip still tingling a bit from the Doctor’s tongue teasing over it.
“I’m going to leave you,” the Doctor says, the same way he explains about holes in the universe or the proper way to dance the funky chicken. “I’m going to show you magical, beautiful, wonderful things. And then I’m going to leave you behind.”
“We know,” Amy says, even though Rory’s still figuring it over. He figure marriage entitles her to some unprompted plural pronouns, though, so he lets it slide. “So why not add one more magical, impossible thing to that list? Why not show us you?” She’s got a bit of a lascivious tone to her voice but Rory’s pretty sure that’s not why the Doctor flinches. The Doctor’s got the soul of a child and the life of an alien and Rory’d like to see him, too. Amy’s got her pronouns right.
The Doctor’s breath catches in his chest (or at least it seems like it does, Rory’d love to get his hands on an MRI of the Doctor’s body. Or, just, the Doctor’s body. See if he can’t get the Doctor to go a bit breathless all on his own). He’s let Amy do most of the talking because she’s better with words and arguments and just better with the Doctor overall, but when the Doctor seems to be at a loss for words and Amy content to just let him struggle, Rory reaches out with his right hand.
The Doctor feels a lot like Amy. A bit cooler to the touch, maybe, jaw a bit more pronounced. But Rory gets the same rush from it that he always gets from touching Amy. Feels the same way that it had with Amy, back in the beginning, when it had felt like he was soothing a wild animal or touching some priceless piece of art. He'd always felt like someone was about to tell him he wasn't allowed. Boring Rory Williams and the girl be was lucky to get; Rory and Amy and Amy's imaginary friend, not-quite-too-good-to-be-true.
“You’re not going to break us when you leave us,” Rory says. “We really aren’t that fragile.” Amy saved the universe. Rory saved Amy. The Doctor just did it over and over and over again.
The silence drags on awkwardly long, after that. The Doctor’s eyes are comically big. His body so still. And Rory wonders if maybe he’d got it backwards. If maybe it isn’t the Doctor, nine-hundred and seven years old and the last of his kind, who needs protecting instead of them. Maybe they’re the ones who are going to leave someone behind when they get too old or hurt or boring or whatever it is that adds up over the years to determine a companion’s expiration date.
Rory figures the Doctor’s a lot like the TARDIS. Always ready to disappear, leaving behind the seeds of myths and legends and make-believe games in his wake. Amy’s Raggedy Doctor. The smashed shed in her backyard, the scattered dolls on her dressers, Rory’s been living in his shadow for years. He’s loved Amelia Pond since he was nine but never thought she was a fairy tale. Never thought the Doctor was a fairy tale, either. A delusion, maybe, or a wandering homeless man, but not a fairy tale.
The skin of the Doctor’s neck is cool under his palm. Amy’s fingers warm in his. “I think we’re done waiting,” Amy whispers. And the Doctor nods and looks down at the TARDIS’ metal floor and does nothing.
“We’re even,” the Doctor says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “A kiss for a kiss for a kiss. And everything back to normal.”
“No bloody way - ” Amy starts forward but Rory holds her back.
He’s seen the look on the Doctor’s face before. On Amy’s. Back when they were kids, sitting in the wreck of her shed, sock puppets rough on their joined hands. Amy at nine years old had already been resigned to the fact that she’d spend the rest of her life being left behind. Been just as scared as the Doctor looks now, and just as brave.
“I waited two-thousand years for Amy,” Rory says, because it’s true, he did, he relives entire eras in his dreams. “Don’t make us wait that long for you.”
He tugs Amy up the stairs because if she gets to decide about pronouns, she can bloody well back up his dramatic exits.
“What do you wear to meet Mastodons?” she asks, her hand curling in his, familiar and habitual, someday soon he expects he’ll stop being flustered by it.
“A death wish?”
“So dramatic,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s raid the wardrobe and see what the TARDIS has got hidden away."
Rory’s lip still feels a bit numb, a bit new, from the touch of the Doctor’s tongue. He doesn’t expect that the body he’s got now will last more than a few more decades. But the Doctor’s lips had been soft and slick and responsive under his, his hands tentative and curious on Rory’s hips. His whole body had swayed towards Amy when she'd kissed him.
He doesn’t think they’ll have to wait that long.
Reviews are loved and adored!
http://hoosierbitch.dreamwidth.org/31665.html |
comments | Comment at Dreamwidth