AN: I feel like I've been away for ages, school stuff... but catching up on some chapter updates today made me remember how much I missed the ole FanFiction lark!

I have to admit part of the reason I disappeared was I was incredibly shaken by Elisabeth Sladen's death - more so than was probably reasonable for someone I didn't know personally - I still don't quite believe it. Then I wanted to write a tribute fic, but just couldn't. (It'll come.) I need to break myself back into this world now school's out though, so I dug this up. It's not great, but it's something! Enjoy some Amy and Rory!


-oops-

Hot angry tears burn behind her eyelids, threatening to set her whole face on fire. She races up the stairs to her bedroom and throws herself on to the desk chair. She's more humiliated than anything else, wants to scream it from her very soul that this is not fair, that no-one understands, that no-one ever will.

Deep breaths. The burning retreats somewhat, she can think a little clearer. Straightening up, she grabs her jacket from its hook and sets off.

Leadworth is quiet, on a chilly autumn day all the more so. There are very few people on the streets, none at all on the narrow lane which leads to the park, and the vast sycamore tree that's become her favourite place.

Up there, between the branches, she allows herself one tear, but just one, because any more would just be childish. Inwardly she scolds herself for getting so upset. They were just teasing. Since when did she care what other people thought? And Dr. Copper was only trying to help, after all...

The sound of their laughter floods her ears, drowns out her self-assurances. The irritatingly calm, ever-so-approachable voice, "Amelia, darling. Don't you think eleven is a little old to want an imaginary friend?"

Imaginary. The ridiculous thing was that she had never been imaginative, and even if she had been, no-one could have dreamed up someone as funny and brilliant and fairytale as him. Friend. Huh. Friends keep their promises.

She supposes she can allow herself one more, because there's no-one there to see her crying. All right, two more, then, but this is coming out of next time's quota.

"Amy?"

She freezes. The voice is Rory's, of course it is. He always comes to find her eventually. Hastily she wipes her face dry and hopes her eyes aren't too red.

"Amy, are you okay? I'm coming up."

There's some scuffling as he begins to clamber up, then a thump and a muffled "Oof. Ouch."

Despite herself, she lets out a giggle. "Careful, clumsy. I'm coming down."

He's landed in a heap at the bottom of the tree, all gangly arms and legs and awkwardness. Grinning up at her, "Hello."

She helps him up. "Hi. Did you have a nice trip?"

"I didn't trip, the branch was...yeah, I'll send you a postcard next time."

She laughs. He bites his lip, "I heard them laughing at you."

Sighs. "So did I. Don't bother yourself, Rory. I don't care."

"Liar. You were crying."

Fierce blush. "Was not. I don't cry."

He shakes his head. "Right."

And then - afterwards, he asks himself why he did it and he simply can't fathom - he leans forward and kisses her. Just on the cheek, mind, but still. You don't just go around kissing people, not your best friend anyway.

"I don't know why I did that, really, um..." he falters, hands flailing wildly until finally drooping down by his sides. "Sorry."

"Oh, not your fault. Could happen to anybody. In fact" - she kisses him back - "there. Oops. Sorry."


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