Doctor Who: Always
Title: Always
Author: arliddian
Rating: PG
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairing: Amy/Rory
Summary: After the events on Apalapucia, Amy and Rory talk about the nature of their lives and their relationship.
Word Count: 867
Author's Note: Prompt - Couch. I wrote this right after I watched The Girl Who Waited. The episode had Rory/Amy written all over it, and it was amazing!
Warnings: Spoilers for 6x10 (The Girl Who Waited).
Disclaimer: Don't own it; don't sue me.
They lie on their bed in the TARDIS, both staring up at the ceiling.
"You awake?" Amy asks, turning on her side and snuggling closer to Rory's chest.
"Yeah," he replies, shifting to accommodate her, his arm wrapping around her and pulling her in.
"You okay?" The question is hesitant and her eyes are questioning, concerned, as they peer up at him.
He pauses before answering "Yeah," and it's the pause that tells her that he's lying.
"You're thinking about her, aren't you." There's no need to ask, really. She knows her husband.
"Yeah," he says again, and his arm tightens around her. "It's... she wasn't you. But she was. And she died, and now... she never existed."
Amy places a hand on his chest, over his heart. "You saved me," she says quietly.
"But I didn't," he responds, voice thick with sudden emotion. "I mean - I did, but I had to leave you behind to do it."
"But you saved me," she reiterates, stronger this time, the hand on his chest now moving in slow, soothing circles.
"Thirty-six years, all by yourself." He's pensive and she can tell he hasn't yet been able to let go of alternate-future-her's lined and careworn face. "You grew old without me."
"No. I didn't." She pushes herself up on her elbow and fixes him with a piercing gaze. "Look at me, Rory. I'm here, now. Right here." She takes his hand and places it on her cheek. "You saved me, just like you always do. And we get to grow old together."
Finally, he smiles. It's small and still a little sad, but it's there, and she leans down and kisses that smile. Rory's hand cups the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he kisses back, long and deep and full of love.
When they part, she lays back down, head on his shoulder and hand over his heart. They are silent for a long time, and she has almost drifted off when he speaks again.
"You know, I've always had this sort of... picture, in my head. Of us. What I'd like our life to be like."
"I hope we don't look fat," is her sleepy response.
"No." His fingers glide lazily up and down her bare arm. "It's just you and me, sitting on a couch in our own place, watching TV. You know those time-lapse bits in movies? It's like that, watching us grow old together on the couch. White hair and wrinkles and everything, being domestic and living our life out."
"Mmm. Sounds nice," she says, snuggling closer and tangling up her legs with his. Without opening her eyes, she pictures the image he described, and smiles. "I think you'll be a good-looking old man."
"And I know you'll be a good-looking old woman." Rory's voice is light, and she hopes it means that he will soon be able to move past everything that happened to them that day. There's another brief silence, and she begins to fall asleep again.
"Amy?"
"Hmmm?"
"Do you..." he trails off and she hears him sigh.
Forcing her eyes open again, she tilts her head up and peers at his face. "What?" she asks, suddenly feeling concerned again. He's hesitant and it makes her nervous.
"I just... Do you think we're ever going to have that? Just living our lives out together, like normal people?"
At this, she blinks and pushes up on her elbow again, hand finding his, but he keeps going before she has a chance to respond. "Don't get me wrong, I love all of this, the travelling and everything - well, most of the time," he adds, words tumbling out in a rush, "- but sometimes... it seems like every other day we're running for our lives, or one of us is dying, or dead. And Melody... it's all over the place, our lives."
At the sound of their daughter's name, Amy purses her lips and squeezes his hand. He turns his head to face her.
"I don't mind that our lives aren't normal," he tells her sincerely, earnestly searching her eyes. "I just... I like the idea. Us on the couch, growing old together. Something simple and straightforward."
There's a sad, almost wistful smile on her face as she lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I don't know, Rory. I don't know if we'll get that." She sinks back down onto his shoulder, detouring to softly kiss his cheek. "But I do know that however long our lives are, in whatever order, however mad the situation we're in... We'll be together. It's still gonna be you and me. Always."
Rory reaches over and tilts up her chin. She meets his eyes and smiles, because when he looks at her like that, she can see how much he loves her, and she hopes that he can see how much she loves him.
They kiss again, long and lingering. As Amy draws back, she whispers, "I love you."
"I love you too," he whispers back. "Always."
They hold each other as they fall asleep, pressed heart-to-heart with legs tangled together, a physical embodiment of their two lives entwined into one.
Fin
Author: arliddian
Rating: PG
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairing: Amy/Rory
Summary: After the events on Apalapucia, Amy and Rory talk about the nature of their lives and their relationship.
Word Count: 867
Author's Note: Prompt - Couch. I wrote this right after I watched The Girl Who Waited. The episode had Rory/Amy written all over it, and it was amazing!
Warnings: Spoilers for 6x10 (The Girl Who Waited).
Disclaimer: Don't own it; don't sue me.
They lie on their bed in the TARDIS, both staring up at the ceiling.
"You awake?" Amy asks, turning on her side and snuggling closer to Rory's chest.
"Yeah," he replies, shifting to accommodate her, his arm wrapping around her and pulling her in.
"You okay?" The question is hesitant and her eyes are questioning, concerned, as they peer up at him.
He pauses before answering "Yeah," and it's the pause that tells her that he's lying.
"You're thinking about her, aren't you." There's no need to ask, really. She knows her husband.
"Yeah," he says again, and his arm tightens around her. "It's... she wasn't you. But she was. And she died, and now... she never existed."
Amy places a hand on his chest, over his heart. "You saved me," she says quietly.
"But I didn't," he responds, voice thick with sudden emotion. "I mean - I did, but I had to leave you behind to do it."
"But you saved me," she reiterates, stronger this time, the hand on his chest now moving in slow, soothing circles.
"Thirty-six years, all by yourself." He's pensive and she can tell he hasn't yet been able to let go of alternate-future-her's lined and careworn face. "You grew old without me."
"No. I didn't." She pushes herself up on her elbow and fixes him with a piercing gaze. "Look at me, Rory. I'm here, now. Right here." She takes his hand and places it on her cheek. "You saved me, just like you always do. And we get to grow old together."
Finally, he smiles. It's small and still a little sad, but it's there, and she leans down and kisses that smile. Rory's hand cups the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he kisses back, long and deep and full of love.
When they part, she lays back down, head on his shoulder and hand over his heart. They are silent for a long time, and she has almost drifted off when he speaks again.
"You know, I've always had this sort of... picture, in my head. Of us. What I'd like our life to be like."
"I hope we don't look fat," is her sleepy response.
"No." His fingers glide lazily up and down her bare arm. "It's just you and me, sitting on a couch in our own place, watching TV. You know those time-lapse bits in movies? It's like that, watching us grow old together on the couch. White hair and wrinkles and everything, being domestic and living our life out."
"Mmm. Sounds nice," she says, snuggling closer and tangling up her legs with his. Without opening her eyes, she pictures the image he described, and smiles. "I think you'll be a good-looking old man."
"And I know you'll be a good-looking old woman." Rory's voice is light, and she hopes it means that he will soon be able to move past everything that happened to them that day. There's another brief silence, and she begins to fall asleep again.
"Amy?"
"Hmmm?"
"Do you..." he trails off and she hears him sigh.
Forcing her eyes open again, she tilts her head up and peers at his face. "What?" she asks, suddenly feeling concerned again. He's hesitant and it makes her nervous.
"I just... Do you think we're ever going to have that? Just living our lives out together, like normal people?"
At this, she blinks and pushes up on her elbow again, hand finding his, but he keeps going before she has a chance to respond. "Don't get me wrong, I love all of this, the travelling and everything - well, most of the time," he adds, words tumbling out in a rush, "- but sometimes... it seems like every other day we're running for our lives, or one of us is dying, or dead. And Melody... it's all over the place, our lives."
At the sound of their daughter's name, Amy purses her lips and squeezes his hand. He turns his head to face her.
"I don't mind that our lives aren't normal," he tells her sincerely, earnestly searching her eyes. "I just... I like the idea. Us on the couch, growing old together. Something simple and straightforward."
There's a sad, almost wistful smile on her face as she lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I don't know, Rory. I don't know if we'll get that." She sinks back down onto his shoulder, detouring to softly kiss his cheek. "But I do know that however long our lives are, in whatever order, however mad the situation we're in... We'll be together. It's still gonna be you and me. Always."
Rory reaches over and tilts up her chin. She meets his eyes and smiles, because when he looks at her like that, she can see how much he loves her, and she hopes that he can see how much she loves him.
They kiss again, long and lingering. As Amy draws back, she whispers, "I love you."
"I love you too," he whispers back. "Always."
They hold each other as they fall asleep, pressed heart-to-heart with legs tangled together, a physical embodiment of their two lives entwined into one.
Fin