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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[windows opened and drapes fluffed, Rory turns back around to face Amy and just sort of ... stalls. Literally. He's hovering awkwardly by the window, hands frozen in mid-wring, and watches Amy putter about the kitchenette for a full minute before he realizes he's failing in his husband duties]

Um--do you--do you want any help ...?

[she glances over at him, and then ends up... not looking away. It's so *weird*, seeing him with an actual flush of life to his skin after all the time he spent as plastic, and it makes her heart constrict]

No, you go--lie down.

[he squirms beneath her gaze; after several seconds he looks down, checking himself over for an unsightly stain on his clothes or anything that would cause her to stare like that]

... You're staring.

[she gives him a somewhat wan, almost sad-looking smile]

You're alive.

[and she turns back to open the tea tin]

[which means she's too late to see his jaw drop and his cheeks flush. That's going to take some getting used to as well: feeling the rushes of heat beneath his skin from the blood flowing in his veins. He reaches up to touch his cheeks, almost confused by how warm they feel, then looks back at Amy. He's stricken. She spoke as if him no longer being plastic is a ... bad thing]

I was alive before--

[she winces to herself, and for a moment considers getting her crutches to go over to him, then decides to stay where she is, looking down at the open tin]

I know, it's just--it's been a long time since I've seen you with a really pink face.

[Rory still can't help but feel as though he's insulted Amy somehow by becoming human again, which is ridiculous because why should she be upset? She doesn't have to eat or drink alone anymore, he can fall asleep next to her again. He doesn't have a bloody GUN in his hand anymore.

But she isn't looking at him, she's very firmly keeping her back to him, and that means she's unhappy. He thinks it's something in addition to the obvious; something to do with him. It sinks his mood even further]

I--uh, well--I ...

[what can he say to that? 'I'm sorry'? He waffles a bit more before taking another step toward her]

Erm--you're sure you don't want help?

[Amy relents, because it doesn't look like he's going to hop up on the bed]

You can get us some mugs.

[he doesn't reply; just quietly goes to do so. His movements are still a bit sluggish and too careful and his forehead is permanently knit in faint wrinkles of pain, but he refuses to sit and be waited on, especially when Amy's on crutches. (He's never been good at that anyway.) He glances aside at her as he's getting the mugs out of the cabinet, and--god, he feels so awkward. And tired. And upset. Maybe it's because he's actually gotten a bit used to a more emotionally-available Amy that he's hurt that she's avoiding him now.

He sets the mugs down on the counter as quietly as he can and, after a pause, gets out the sugar too, and a spoon, and adds their preferred amounts of sugar to each mug. When that's put away and he's got the cream waiting to be added he turns to Amy and hovers uncertainly for a moment before reaching out to lightly touch her shoulder]

[she isn't deliberately avoiding him, just... being awkward. And sort of stalling. She knows they're going to come back to the topic of their lost daughter, and she doesn't know how to handle it.

When he touches her shoulder, she sighs and, after a moment, awkwardly turns around to wrap her arms about his waist and lean into a hug]

[his arms go carefully around her in turn, still uncertain. It's the sigh that did it; it makes him think she's reluctant to be near him.

He accepts her weight though, tucking her head against his shoulder and leaning his cheek on her hair, closing his eyes. They stay that way for a minute before he gently disengages from her and, after an unsure pause, kisses her forehead]

I'm just going to ... [points both index fingers at the bed] ... Yeah.

[and off he slinks, sort of like a wounded puppy]

[and Amy... lets him slink. She's very well aware that they're both radiating awkwardness like it's going out of style, but she also thinks that he DOES need to lie down, and she's determined to get some tea in both of them. So she stays in the kitchenette until the kettle starts whistling and gets their tea finished, making it extra strong]

[meanwhile, Rory has stretched himself out flat on top of the covers, ankles crossed and eyes closed hand massaging his temples. If there's one thing he misses so far about being plastic, it was the lack of headaches (of pain in general really). He can practically hear the air in the room rushing past his eardrums.

Either that, or it's the uncomfortable silence pressing down on them. The quiet sounds of tea-making is somewhat comforting, but the silence from Amy--from the both of them--is thick and oppressing. Rory imagines it's solid enough to cut with a knife]

[she really, really wants to just let him lie there, but she doesn't think his tea would survive her shuffling over to the bed on her crutches. It was different, with the cup of water in the TARDIS medbay. So she calls over to him, quietly]

Tea's ready, lug-a-bed.

[there's a muffled groan of acknowledgment from the bed, but Rory doesn't immediately get up; it's a full half a minute before he moves to swing his legs off the bed. As he approaches there's a heavier slump to his shoulders and his eyes are faintly red-rimmed again. Amy gets the tiniest of grateful smiles and another hesitant touch to the small of her back for her efforts]

Thanks, love.

[he pauses like maybe he wants to kiss her cheek but doesn't, and instead picks up both their mugs and, after a short deliberation, decides to head back for the bed instead of the sofa]

[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.

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