(no subject)
7. I TOOK THIS IN PARIS
River is unimpressed.
“The Rorymobile." She says, and her tone speaks a thousand words. "Do you call your spaceship the Doctormobile?”
“No, never the Doctormobile. Maybe I should start though, if you think it sounds good?” River laughs.
“Never when I’m around. Now tell me another one quickly while you’ve got a flow going - tell me about another nice thing Rory did. Rory always does nice things.”
The Doctor smiles.
“Amy told me the perfect one - the time when Rory took her to Paris.”
Six months after they started being properly in a relationship Rory comes home from work to find Amy sitting on the doorstep, immersed in a book. He pauses before she notices him, leaning on the gate to watch her read. A little frown puckers her forehead as she focuses on the words and a strand of hair has fallen out of the loose plait lying over her shoulder.
Suddenly she sighs and looks up, blinking dazedly as though coming out of a trance.
“Hey,” she smiles. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.” Putting out a hand, Rory helps her to her feet and kisses her on the cheek before digging out his keys.
“I was enjoying the view. What are you on now?” he asks, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of the front cover.
“Anna Karenin, and it’s wonderful.” She enthuses, showing him. “I don’t like much of the Russian classics but this one is brilliant. It’s about this woman who…” she trails off, possibly noticing how Rory is glancing through his post and probably not entirely listening. “You don’t care.”
He looks up.
“Oh, Amy, I’m sorry. Tell me, I am interested.” She laughs.
“No, you’re really not. It’s okay, I’ll tell Jeff about it later.” Rory frowns for a moment but then his face clears.
“Since Jeff came out that’s somehow less upsetting.” He says, reaching out to pull her into an embrace.
“Anyway.” Amy says, wriggling free of his grip. He lets her go reluctantly. “That’s not what I came to talk about. I’ve had a brilliant idea.”
Rory raises an eyebrow. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Amy to have brilliant ideas and be generally wonderful, but the last time she turned up outside his door with a ‘brilliant’ idea they’d spent three hours in the pouring rain trying to sneak into Glastonbury Festival (which, as Rory pointed out at the time, wasn’t exactly a ten minute nip down the road - the petrol bill had been horrendous) and had only narrowly avoided being arrested for trespass.
“Don’t look at me like that, this idea is brilliant! We’re going to go to Paris.” She beams at him.
“What? When? How?”
“I think you missed ‘who’ and ‘where’” she says mildly, “We’re going this summer. For my birthday. Because you said you wanted to give me something special. Well. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. So you can take me for my birthday and we can sit in the grass by the Eiffel Tower and go to Paris restaurants and eat morning croissant and walk along the Seine and…”
“Amy, aren’t those the lyrics to Our Last Summer?” She blushes, but only slightly.
“And? The point is it’ll be romantic. You’re always going on about how you want more romance in our lives.”
“Amy…” Rory pauses, not sure how honest to be. But Amy’s never shied from frank discussion so he takes the plunge. “Amy, you know I’d do anything to make you happy. But Paris - I’m in nursing school earning absolutely no money. I love you, but I don’t think I can afford it.”
Her face falls, but she pushes the smile back regardless.
“That’s okay. I understand. But one day - can we go one day?”
He pulls her towards him and this time she lets his arms go around her.
“Yes. I promise. One day, I will take you to Paris.”
*
Amy phones him two days after her birthday to say she’s working late.
“Do you have to? I’ve hardly seen you all week.”
“It’s a really good job Rory, I’d be crazy to turn- oh, the agency’s calling now. Can I phone you back?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“No, it’s fine. Just…come over when you finish okay?”
“I might be really late, it’s a stag party.” Rory pretends he didn’t hear the last part.
“Come anyway. I want to see you.”
“If you’re sure. Okay, got to go. Love you!”
The words warm him, as they do every time she throws them out without warning. He prefers it that way, for her to be casual in her feelings for him in a way that still means something. After all, he’s got enough intensity of affection for the both of them.
“Love you too. See you later.”
*
She is late, very late. Rory’s fallen asleep on the sofa by the time she taps softly on the front door. Yawning, he stumbles to the front door, trying to look like he was awake the whole time.
Of course she’s not fooled for a moment.
“Why didn’t you go to bed you muppet?” She says, kissing him absently on the cheek as she comes in, tugging loose pins from her hair. He shuts the door, trying valiantly to ignore the lipstick smears around her mouth.
“I wanted to see you. I’m not tired, not really.” Amy smiles, then yawns.
“You might not be but I’m shattered. Can we go straight to bed?” Her mouth stretches into another yawn. “Mm, and can you carry me?”
Rory grins and scoops her into his arms. She’s as light as ever, though much leggier than she used to be.
“Actually, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Her eyes light up.
“A surprise? What is it?”
“You’ll see. It’s upstairs.”
*
He sets her down outside his bedroom door and she frowns at him in confusion.
“What’s going on Rory?” He smiles the quiet smile of someone who is immensely pleased with themselves but doesn’t want to boast.
“Go in and see.” Giving him a wondering look, she pushes the door open. And gasps.
Rory’s bedroom, usually so spectacularly bare and upsettingly tidy, is transformed.
The back wall is covered with a massive print of the Eiffel Tower and when Amy turns she sees the door is emblazoned with the Arc de Triomphe. He’s covered almost all of the dingy blue carpet with green crepe paper, leaving one sinuous strip running through it. Helpfully there’s a little Post-It note stuck in the middle - it reads ‘La Seine’.
There’s a blanket, streaked with red white and blue, flung over his bed and hanging from the ceiling are origami birds: swans and seagulls and, interestingly, cranes. The desk has been cleared; folders and pens replaced with a Louvre-shaped paperweight, a card emblazoned with can-can dancers and what she recognises as her own battered copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
“Oh Rory…” she whispers. He steps quietly up behind her to rest his head on her shoulder.
“I couldn’t take you to Paris so I thought, well, maybe I could bring Paris to you.” Amy bites her lip, not quite able to believe it. “Do you like it?” There’s a familiar anxious tone in his voice, and she turns to pull him into a reassuring hug.
“I love it. It’s amazing. Thank you, thank you so much.”
“I’ve got cheese and wine downstairs, if you want them. And, and there are croissants for breakfast because, well. Croissants.” Amy laughs.
“I can’t believe you did all this, it must have taken all night.” He shrugs.
“It took a while, yeah. But you’re worth it.”
“Rory Williams, I’m going to have to drag you over to that bed and do all manner of unspeakable things to you to thank you for this.”
She does. And as Rory comments, when they wake up the next morning wrapped in each other, it’s all very French.
Part Eight - I Have A Lot Of Clothes
River is unimpressed.
“The Rorymobile." She says, and her tone speaks a thousand words. "Do you call your spaceship the Doctormobile?”
“No, never the Doctormobile. Maybe I should start though, if you think it sounds good?” River laughs.
“Never when I’m around. Now tell me another one quickly while you’ve got a flow going - tell me about another nice thing Rory did. Rory always does nice things.”
The Doctor smiles.
“Amy told me the perfect one - the time when Rory took her to Paris.”
Six months after they started being properly in a relationship Rory comes home from work to find Amy sitting on the doorstep, immersed in a book. He pauses before she notices him, leaning on the gate to watch her read. A little frown puckers her forehead as she focuses on the words and a strand of hair has fallen out of the loose plait lying over her shoulder.
Suddenly she sighs and looks up, blinking dazedly as though coming out of a trance.
“Hey,” she smiles. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.” Putting out a hand, Rory helps her to her feet and kisses her on the cheek before digging out his keys.
“I was enjoying the view. What are you on now?” he asks, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of the front cover.
“Anna Karenin, and it’s wonderful.” She enthuses, showing him. “I don’t like much of the Russian classics but this one is brilliant. It’s about this woman who…” she trails off, possibly noticing how Rory is glancing through his post and probably not entirely listening. “You don’t care.”
He looks up.
“Oh, Amy, I’m sorry. Tell me, I am interested.” She laughs.
“No, you’re really not. It’s okay, I’ll tell Jeff about it later.” Rory frowns for a moment but then his face clears.
“Since Jeff came out that’s somehow less upsetting.” He says, reaching out to pull her into an embrace.
“Anyway.” Amy says, wriggling free of his grip. He lets her go reluctantly. “That’s not what I came to talk about. I’ve had a brilliant idea.”
Rory raises an eyebrow. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Amy to have brilliant ideas and be generally wonderful, but the last time she turned up outside his door with a ‘brilliant’ idea they’d spent three hours in the pouring rain trying to sneak into Glastonbury Festival (which, as Rory pointed out at the time, wasn’t exactly a ten minute nip down the road - the petrol bill had been horrendous) and had only narrowly avoided being arrested for trespass.
“Don’t look at me like that, this idea is brilliant! We’re going to go to Paris.” She beams at him.
“What? When? How?”
“I think you missed ‘who’ and ‘where’” she says mildly, “We’re going this summer. For my birthday. Because you said you wanted to give me something special. Well. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. So you can take me for my birthday and we can sit in the grass by the Eiffel Tower and go to Paris restaurants and eat morning croissant and walk along the Seine and…”
“Amy, aren’t those the lyrics to Our Last Summer?” She blushes, but only slightly.
“And? The point is it’ll be romantic. You’re always going on about how you want more romance in our lives.”
“Amy…” Rory pauses, not sure how honest to be. But Amy’s never shied from frank discussion so he takes the plunge. “Amy, you know I’d do anything to make you happy. But Paris - I’m in nursing school earning absolutely no money. I love you, but I don’t think I can afford it.”
Her face falls, but she pushes the smile back regardless.
“That’s okay. I understand. But one day - can we go one day?”
He pulls her towards him and this time she lets his arms go around her.
“Yes. I promise. One day, I will take you to Paris.”
*
Amy phones him two days after her birthday to say she’s working late.
“Do you have to? I’ve hardly seen you all week.”
“It’s a really good job Rory, I’d be crazy to turn- oh, the agency’s calling now. Can I phone you back?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“No, it’s fine. Just…come over when you finish okay?”
“I might be really late, it’s a stag party.” Rory pretends he didn’t hear the last part.
“Come anyway. I want to see you.”
“If you’re sure. Okay, got to go. Love you!”
The words warm him, as they do every time she throws them out without warning. He prefers it that way, for her to be casual in her feelings for him in a way that still means something. After all, he’s got enough intensity of affection for the both of them.
“Love you too. See you later.”
*
She is late, very late. Rory’s fallen asleep on the sofa by the time she taps softly on the front door. Yawning, he stumbles to the front door, trying to look like he was awake the whole time.
Of course she’s not fooled for a moment.
“Why didn’t you go to bed you muppet?” She says, kissing him absently on the cheek as she comes in, tugging loose pins from her hair. He shuts the door, trying valiantly to ignore the lipstick smears around her mouth.
“I wanted to see you. I’m not tired, not really.” Amy smiles, then yawns.
“You might not be but I’m shattered. Can we go straight to bed?” Her mouth stretches into another yawn. “Mm, and can you carry me?”
Rory grins and scoops her into his arms. She’s as light as ever, though much leggier than she used to be.
“Actually, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Her eyes light up.
“A surprise? What is it?”
“You’ll see. It’s upstairs.”
*
He sets her down outside his bedroom door and she frowns at him in confusion.
“What’s going on Rory?” He smiles the quiet smile of someone who is immensely pleased with themselves but doesn’t want to boast.
“Go in and see.” Giving him a wondering look, she pushes the door open. And gasps.
Rory’s bedroom, usually so spectacularly bare and upsettingly tidy, is transformed.
The back wall is covered with a massive print of the Eiffel Tower and when Amy turns she sees the door is emblazoned with the Arc de Triomphe. He’s covered almost all of the dingy blue carpet with green crepe paper, leaving one sinuous strip running through it. Helpfully there’s a little Post-It note stuck in the middle - it reads ‘La Seine’.
There’s a blanket, streaked with red white and blue, flung over his bed and hanging from the ceiling are origami birds: swans and seagulls and, interestingly, cranes. The desk has been cleared; folders and pens replaced with a Louvre-shaped paperweight, a card emblazoned with can-can dancers and what she recognises as her own battered copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
“Oh Rory…” she whispers. He steps quietly up behind her to rest his head on her shoulder.
“I couldn’t take you to Paris so I thought, well, maybe I could bring Paris to you.” Amy bites her lip, not quite able to believe it. “Do you like it?” There’s a familiar anxious tone in his voice, and she turns to pull him into a reassuring hug.
“I love it. It’s amazing. Thank you, thank you so much.”
“I’ve got cheese and wine downstairs, if you want them. And, and there are croissants for breakfast because, well. Croissants.” Amy laughs.
“I can’t believe you did all this, it must have taken all night.” He shrugs.
“It took a while, yeah. But you’re worth it.”
“Rory Williams, I’m going to have to drag you over to that bed and do all manner of unspeakable things to you to thank you for this.”
She does. And as Rory comments, when they wake up the next morning wrapped in each other, it’s all very French.
Part Eight - I Have A Lot Of Clothes