the meek shall inherit - doctor/rose, rory williams
He finds the specter rolling over the winding TARDIS halls one night after the Doctor took him and Amy to the first tri-galactic Olympics, the fireworks that spanned the heavens with their fantastical reds and greens and blues and colors that, according to the Doctor, his human mind can’t even comprehend-but there she is, lighting up the dark interior of the kitchen as she silently fusses over a mug left out on the counter; it appears to Rory as though she is attempting to pick it up and move it to the sink, but her strong, slim fingers slip through the handle uselessly.
“Let me,” he murmurs to the ghost of a blonde girl wrapped in a dressing gown and reaches through her to clean up the mess.
She glances at a point over his shoulder and frowns as the Doctor steps up from behind him, anguish barely cloaked by shadows and what Rory assumes must be years of practice.
“Oh, Rory. You would be the one.”
“Let me,” he murmurs to the ghost of a blonde girl wrapped in a dressing gown and reaches through her to clean up the mess.
She glances at a point over his shoulder and frowns as the Doctor steps up from behind him, anguish barely cloaked by shadows and what Rory assumes must be years of practice.
“Oh, Rory. You would be the one.”