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where the shadows are; Doctor Who, Amy/Rory, G, Spoilers for 7x05
Amy perches on the edge of the bed and begins to roll up a stocking. Rory turns over when she shifts the mattress, mumbling something in his sleep. Amy pauses midway up her leg and lets the stocking catch around her knee. Very carefully, she turns to look over her shoulder at Rory, still buried under the heap of blankets. There’s not much to see but the tufts of his hair poking out at strange angles, even fairer now that he’s started to go grey. That, and the steady rise and fall of the covers. Amy smiles.
It’s strange—everyone who knew them thinks they died, more or less. But Amy worries less than she has in years. Even during the war, she was mostly afraid that something would happen to her, that he would be left here alone. His stone is cut and laid already, years hence. What’s to bother about now?
She shivers, and realizes the autumn chill is creeping through the house and she still hasn’t got on the first of her stockings. Tugging it the rest of the way up, she glances out the window. Great glossy crows are sleeping in the trees, and Amy can hear leaves scuttling in the street below. There’s always something thrilling about mornings like this—eerie and overcast. Suddenly, she’s all impatience. She flicks Rory’s foot through the covers. “Morning, stick-in-the-mud,” she says, fondly and a bit too loud. “Get up! You’re missing all the adventure!”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-10-13 10:23 pm (UTC)where the shadows are; Doctor Who, Amy/Rory, G, Spoilers for 7x05
Amy perches on the edge of the bed and begins to roll up a stocking. Rory turns over when she shifts the mattress, mumbling something in his sleep. Amy pauses midway up her leg and lets the stocking catch around her knee. Very carefully, she turns to look over her shoulder at Rory, still buried under the heap of blankets. There’s not much to see but the tufts of his hair poking out at strange angles, even fairer now that he’s started to go grey. That, and the steady rise and fall of the covers. Amy smiles.
It’s strange—everyone who knew them thinks they died, more or less. But Amy worries less than she has in years. Even during the war, she was mostly afraid that something would happen to her, that he would be left here alone. His stone is cut and laid already, years hence. What’s to bother about now?
She shivers, and realizes the autumn chill is creeping through the house and she still hasn’t got on the first of her stockings. Tugging it the rest of the way up, she glances out the window. Great glossy crows are sleeping in the trees, and Amy can hear leaves scuttling in the street below. There’s always something thrilling about mornings like this—eerie and overcast. Suddenly, she’s all impatience. She flicks Rory’s foot through the covers. “Morning, stick-in-the-mud,” she says, fondly and a bit too loud. “Get up! You’re missing all the adventure!”