"Doctor," Amy said, her chin resting on his shoulder as she watched him fiddle with the device between his hands. "We have a phonebox that can travel in time and space."
"Very good, Amy," the Doctor mumbled, turning the sonic screwdriver upside down and trying to unscrew a bit of the bottom. "You're finally starting to pay attention."
"What I mean is, why do we have to take a plane when we have the TARDIS? We can just… Fly the TARDIS back to London, can't we? It'll take about five minutes."
"Because he likes to do things the hard way," Rory grunted, looking out the window of the airport at the planes leaving. "The really hard way. Doctor, out of all the planes out there, you chose the smallest tin bucket you could find. It's like asking for trouble."
"No, Rory," the Doctor said, straightening up and pulling away from Amy. He strode across to the young man, and tapped him on the chest with the business end of the sonic screwdriver. "I don't like doing things the hard way, I like doing things the Doctor way, and the Doctor way is this: the distress signal I picked up brought us here. I've scanned each and every plane I could see from this window, and my screwdriver picked up a particular one, and that is the one we'll be flying in."
"Oh," Rory said, frowning down at the sonic screwdriver. He pushed it away from himself with one finger. The Doctor insisted that it couldn't kill, injure, or maim, but he still didn't want it pointing his way. "Well, what did you do with the TARDIS?"
"I sent her to London," the Doctor said. "Programmed her to leave as soon as she was empty. She'll be waiting for us when we land in Heathrow."
"Right. Well, we don't want to be late," Rory said. The Doctor grumbled and went back to trying to pull apart the sonic.
"What are you doing?" Amy asked, frowning and stepping around him to see.
"I'm trying," the Doctor said, "to get at the concealment setting. It'll turn off the sonic and make it just a screwdriver. Well, sort of a screwdriver. A tube, then. Can't have security taking it away, that could be disastrous."
"It has a concealment setting?" Amy asked, raising her brows. She had never seen him use it before.
"My old one did," the Doctor replied, flipping the instrument in one hand. "When I say old. I mean my old old old old one did, if you're counting. This one... Doesn't seem to. Use it or lose it, I suppose. Ah well. Psychic paper will do the trick." He whipped the thin wallet from his pocket, and flipped it open, flashing it at Amy and Rory, before spinning around and heading for security.
The airport was busy this time of morning. People rushed this way and that, trying desperately to make their flights on time, to purchase tickets, exchange tickets, check baggage, and to pick up their baggage before someone else did.
Standing in the security line, Rory began to struggle out of his shoes, standing one-legged and prying open the laces over the top of his right foot. "Americans," he murmured, setting both shoes in a plastic bin, and setting his wallet and watch in a separate one alongside it. He turned to Amy, shrugging out of his jacket. "The paranoia just radiates from this place. If River were here, she'd say-"
"Don't," Amy warned, frowning at her husband. He caught her eyes, and held them for a moment, until the man on the other side of the metal detector cleared his throat. Rory stepped through, and allowed himself to be patted down, staring at the ceiling. The man let him pass, and he gathered his things as a woman moved in to pat down Amy as well. It didn't seem as if they would have any trouble, and Amy was just slipping into her boots when the Doctor set off the metal detector.
"Please empty your pockets, sir," the man sighed, sending the Doctor back through. The Doctor reached into his pockets, but paused. He could empty his pockets. But that might mean revealing their extraordinary properties, and he wasn't quite prepared to do that for a simple TSA agent. He chuckled, and pulled out the thin, flat wallet that held the psychic paper, stepping back through the metal detector and setting it off again.
"There must have been a misunderstanding," he laughed, offering the paper to the guard. "I don't need to empty my pockets, do I? I'm some important figure, you're supposed to let me bypass security."
"What the hell is this?" The man grunted in reply. The Doctor leaned over to see, and his eyes widened.
"Ah," he said, frowning. "Yes. Err… You see. I didn't mean to give you- may I have that back, please?" He tried to snatch it away, but the TSA agent held it out of his reach. Outside of the Doctor's stretching grasp, Amy and Rory could see that it wasn't the psychic paper at all, but a rather revealing picture of River Song, leaning up against the TARDIS console, holding a gun. There was a press of lipstick to the bottom corner.
The TSA agent took a closer look, and noticed the gun. He looked back at the Doctor. "Is this a threat, sir?" He asked. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."
"No! No, it's not a threat, it's the exact opposite of a threat, it's… Er, Amy, Rory, help me, it's- it's a gift! Where I come from, it's customary to give gifts to angry airport security!" the Doctor cried, making one last grab for the photo.
"You're attempting to BRIBE me?" The man bellowed, and he threw the little wallet onto the scanner belt. The Doctor lunged, but the TSA agent caught him around the middle with one broad shoulder, taking the desperate Time Lord to the floor.
"Help!" The Doctor wheezed, from beneath about two hundred and fifty pounds of security, while two others ran over to assist. He stretched out an arm to Amy, who just stared down at him.
"I think I'm going to let them arrest you," she said, one eyebrow raised high, her expression stoic, she looked to Rory, who was staring at the leather wallet, facedown on the scanner belt. He seemed to be trembling, a high color in his face, his hands tightened into fists.
"So help me," he said, quietly, so only Amy could hear. "When we get back to the TARDIS, we are going to find Melody, and they are both grounded."