the evening, lingered upon; Doctor Who; Amy/Rory; 306 words; G
“Come on, Rory,” Amy says, catching his hand and dragging him down a murky alley. He hadn’t realized how cold he was till now, his fingers aching as they thaw against hers. The damp air makes his chest pull tight, and it has the tang of burning wood in the distance. His eyes smart.
“Amy, where are we going?” The wisps of his breath mingle with the fog and the smoke. Rory is momentarily diverted, recalling childhood aspirations to walk inside a cloud: his single fantasy to ever meet Amelia Pond’s exacting standards for adventure. Then his boots flood with icy water, and he finds he has stepped directly into an enormous puddle.
Amy sighs. “Well, we were going to see a haunted train yard,” she says, offering her other hand and stepping neatly away from the splash. “But now you’ve wet your socks, and if I take you somewhere scary I bet you’ll get a chill.”
Rory scowls. “Oh, thanks. I’m glad you think I’m still five.” He kicks one foot halfheartedly, feeling the water squelch.
“Honestly, Rory, I’m only teasing.” Amy rolls her eyes. She takes his arm and leans in to peck him on the cheek. “It is getting cold, though. What do you say we go home and find something spooky on the telly instead?”
“Or we could, just, you know. Forget about the spooky.”
Amy raises her eyebrows. “Rory, you’re driving an awfully hard bargain for someone with water in his boots. Well. Let it never be said I was an ungenerous partner. Something spooky, yes, but I’ll make the tea, and—” she smiles imperiously and taps her chin. “And I’ll sit on your feet to warm them.”
Rory can’t help but laugh, condensation ghosting in the dark. “You should have said, love. For that, I'll watch anything you like."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-10-08 09:25 pm (UTC)“Come on, Rory,” Amy says, catching his hand and dragging him down a murky alley. He hadn’t realized how cold he was till now, his fingers aching as they thaw against hers. The damp air makes his chest pull tight, and it has the tang of burning wood in the distance. His eyes smart.
“Amy, where are we going?” The wisps of his breath mingle with the fog and the smoke. Rory is momentarily diverted, recalling childhood aspirations to walk inside a cloud: his single fantasy to ever meet Amelia Pond’s exacting standards for adventure. Then his boots flood with icy water, and he finds he has stepped directly into an enormous puddle.
Amy sighs. “Well, we were going to see a haunted train yard,” she says, offering her other hand and stepping neatly away from the splash. “But now you’ve wet your socks, and if I take you somewhere scary I bet you’ll get a chill.”
Rory scowls. “Oh, thanks. I’m glad you think I’m still five.” He kicks one foot halfheartedly, feeling the water squelch.
“Honestly, Rory, I’m only teasing.” Amy rolls her eyes. She takes his arm and leans in to peck him on the cheek. “It is getting cold, though. What do you say we go home and find something spooky on the telly instead?”
“Or we could, just, you know. Forget about the spooky.”
Amy raises her eyebrows. “Rory, you’re driving an awfully hard bargain for someone with water in his boots. Well. Let it never be said I was an ungenerous partner. Something spooky, yes, but I’ll make the tea, and—” she smiles imperiously and taps her chin. “And I’ll sit on your feet to warm them.”
Rory can’t help but laugh, condensation ghosting in the dark. “You should have said, love. For that, I'll watch anything you like."