paradisalost | - thirty-seventh year waiting -

Entry tags:

rory williams

- thirty-seventh year waiting -

[dictated]

[alone on a bed in the medbay on Eleven's TARDIS, Rory Williams wakes up from a week-long sleep. He feels extremely disoriented and doesn't really remember collapsing in the castle lobby--there's so many new memories to process this time around, two thousand years' worth and then some--and he's got a pounding headache. But both of these are minor concerns when, upon regaining consciousness, the first thing he realizes is that he has a heartbeat. A pulse. And he's breathing. Not because he can, but because he has to. Which can only mean one thing:

He's gone home. And he's come back human again.

The realization hits him like a sucker punch to the chest and he makes to bolt upright into a sit, grabbing frantically at his right hand to check for the hinge--except his head throbs like it's been hit with a sledgehammer and a wave of nausea crashes over him. He sinks back onto his bed with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing in pain. Okay, maybe the headache's not such a minor concern after all.

Swallowing to wet his dry throat, he croaks out:]

Amy? ... Doctor? Wha ...?

((open like an open thing! Rory's back from a trip home and has been canon-bumped up through Series 6, Episode 7: A Good Man Goes To War. He's no longer an Auton (buh-bye plasticness and handy gun in his hand!) and brings with him a metric fuckton of new emotional baggage courtesy of the Doctor and River Song))

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[Amy collects her crutches and follows him, wondering if she ought to just ditch the stalling and broach the subject, ANY subject, because she feels like she's doing something wrong by trying to get them settled and somewhat comfortable. And she hates that feeling.

But she gets herself sat up on the bed in continued silence, propping her pillows up against the headboard and carefully swinging her bad leg into place]

[Rory waits until Amy's completely settled before bringing her tea around to her, and waits until he's sure she won't spill it before letting her be. He wants to say something (anything) too, but when he'd been lying quietly on the bed his thoughts had gone back to Melody, and he's afraid if he speaks now it'll open the floodgates again. So he quietly gets settled on his side of the bed, pillows propped up like hers are; but when he picks up his tea mug he just sort of--looks at it, like he's not quite sure what to do with it]

[Amy gives him a sympathetic sort of smile]

You're supposed to drink it, silly.

[she gets a sheepish, somewhat embarrassed smile back]

I know. It's just--[looks at the mug again]--I think I still half-expect to choke on it.

[which she expected; she also expects he'll accidentally half-starve himself a few times before he gets back into the habit of eating again]

It's okay. Just--take your time. So you don't choke.

[he nods and, looking like he's summoning up come courage, carefully sips at it. It's--strange, feeling the liquid slide down his throat to settle in his stomach. And BOY is it strong, but it tastes wonderful. He has to fight a sudden urge to chug it.

After a few sips he looks over at Amy and nods at her ankle]

Have you had that looked at since I--I left? How much longer until you're not on crutches?

[she shakes her head no as she swallows a sip of her own tea]

No... I spent all week in the TARDIS.

[Rory frowns minutely but doesn't admonish her for it. Instead he purses his lips thoughtfully before saying]

Two weeks is a good time for a checkup anyway. [pause; looks askance at her] Is it giving you much trouble?

[she's totally not abashed anyway. After swallowing another mouthful of tea]

Besides being a major pain in the arse? Not really. Sometimes it hurts a little bit.

[he nods, and this time takes a healthy swig instead of a delicate sip. The tea scalds its way down his throat and he coughs a little in surprise before continuing]

Stress fractures'll do that.

[what even is this conversation? It's so--banal. It makes Rory feel like he's itching just beneath the surface of his skin. But ... at least they're talking. That's something]

You've still got a couple more weeks though, unless the Doctor or the clinic has something that can speed up the healing process.

[Banal is right. It's not helping the nearly-tangible blanket of unreality that's fallen over Amy at all]

I feel like that would be--cheating. It's just a broken ankle, not something massive.

I just--I know how much you hate being--[he gestures vaguely at her leg]--helpless. Well, you're not helpless, but ... you know what I mean.

[he takes another sip of his tea so he'll stop talking, then sighs and leans his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes and rubbing his fingers over his forehead]

[and she does. When he leans back against the headboard, Amy puts her tea down on her nightstand and reaches to touch his shoulder]

Are you okay? Really.

[he replies without opening his eyes or moving his hand]

Yeah ... I will be. I think. [a long sigh; his nose scrunches] So many memories ...

[that makes her frown. Somehow, she doesn't think he's only talking about all the new memories he gained as a human--but back home, he had never given her the slightest indication that he remembered any of his two thousand years spent guarding her in the Pandorica. She slides her hand further up his shoulder]

They'll sort themselves out.

[he still doesn't open his eyes or move his hand--he's still rubbing at the bridge of his nose--but he leans very, very slightly into her touch]

Hope so. [a pause before he amends] ... They will.

[because they are already--all those memories of being a Roman, and his time spent guarding the Pandorica, had already slammed themselves behind doors back home. It's just the suddenness of gaining all those memories *here* that's got him suffering from a minor migraine. After a long moment he drops his hand away from his face, but *still* doesn't pick his head up, or open his eyes]

What about you?

[the frown doesn't ease up]

What about me?

[now he's frowning back--finally rolling his head to squint at her in confusion, his forehead still faintly creased with pain. He thought it should've been obvious]

Are you--okay?

[she glances down, her hand still on his shoulder, and it's a long moment before she finally replies]

No.

[it was a stupid question. Obviously. But he'd asked anyway, because she'd asked him, and it felt like the done thing to do--ask in return. He stays still through her silence, and a bit longer afterward, quietly looking at her--watching her. His painfully real heart is withering inside his chest.

Then he reaches up to carefully take her hand on his shoulder between his own, and hold it to his chest]

I'm sorry.

[Amy looks up at him then, uncharacteristically subdued; she can feel his heart beating somewhere beneath her hand, and it feels *real*. Which is sort of ridiculous, because his heartbeat hadn't felt fake before, but... she'd known it was a process. Something he could turn on and off]

What for?

[he just ... LOOKS at her. She really has to ask?!]

For--for telling you ... what I did. I shouldn't have, it just--just made it worse for you.

[excuse you, she was thinking more along the lines of him apologizing for whatever imagined failures of his led to her being kidnapped and their baby taken away. She shakes her head slightly]

I don't want you to keep secrets from me.

[he looks stricken, unconsciously clutching her hand tighter; his face is beginning to turn blotchy again]

But ... some things ...some things, they--they're better left alone. [a little guiltily, he reminds himself that he didn't tell her everything] And you have enough to be getting on with, you--you didn't need the rest of it--

[she tries to squeeze her fingers around what she can grasp of his hands surrounding hers, hoping to reassure]

And nothing, stupid. We're in this together. Remember?

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