WARNING: this story may contain some themes that could be deemed 'adult'. There aren't any bedroom scenes, though- barely any kissing, either. There is lots of blood and gore. Some graphic scenes. Lots of blood. If you're a hypochondriac, beware. If you love disease and Doctor whump, and arguments and illness and romance, and 11th/River and Amy/Rory, then keep reading.

There might be some medical technical terms here that people don't know very well- I'll try to add definitions in italics at the bottom if there's any jargon you don't understand. Ask questions in a review if you get confused. And here you go: Chapter 1

Amy stared out the window. It was a beautiful day, in a dark, powerful, thrilling sort of way. There was a clear storm front coming, an abrupt change from pale blue skies to a furious, roiling black-gray tide. It was moving in slowly, purposefully. There were foggy points visible on the horizon where the rain was thick and heavy, as well as the occasional distant rumble or flash, but where Amelia Pond sat on the window seat, the sun still shone bravely. But Amy wasn't looking out at the storm. She was just staring, looking through it all to something only she could see.

"Look at that. I just shut up all the windows upstairs, and unplugged the computer in case of a surge," Rory said, sitting beside her. She didn't seem to notice. "What's wrong? Oh, God, you're sick, aren't you!" he moaned. "I brought you to that restaurant, and you told me the chicken looked funny, I am so sorry-,"

"No, I'm not sick," Amy interrupted. "Just… thinking."

"About… Him? I don't think he's coming back. It's been ages… almost a year and a half now. No notes, no shout outs from history, no letters or funny little things that he does when he leaves… He's really gone this time," he said gently.

"I know. I just…" she shook her head, unable to express herself and frustrated at that. "I know."

"But he did it for us, remember? He did it to save our lives. We all knew, it was only a matter of time. What he said… about his old companions. We're with the very, very few who are still whole," he reasoned, stroking the back of her hand.

"I know, but that doesn't make me feel any better about it. I know it was for our own good, but I still miss it. All of it, even the near-death experiences. The monsters, and aliens, and mysteries, and the TARDIS, and River, and him…" she trailed off, looking away.

"He's not coming back. We've got to accept it," Rory said boldly, but it was clear that despite his words he, too, didn't want to accept it, couldn't accept it.

"I can't." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm the 'girl who waited'. I waited for him, for twelve years, then two more years. A version of me at the quarantine waited for almost forty years. He might leave, he might promise to not come back, do whatever he can to make a clean break, but I'll always be waiting. The girl who waits," she said bitterly. "I want to stop waiting, thinking about him. I know he's coming back. I know it's in our best interests to live normal lives, on earth, living in a timeline that moves straight and consistent, but I can't help it. I'm still… waiting."

Rory put his arms around her and pulled her into his shoulder, where she burrowed her face gratefully, hugging him back. They remained there, taking comfort in each other's presence, until the first drops of rain fell.

"This looks great! Much better than that restaurant. I'm still shocked we didn't get food poisoning after all," Amy said cheerfully, sitting down to dinner. Rory, thoughtful, loving, eager-to-please Rory, had cooked one of her favorite meals- homemade alfredo pizza with olives, bacon, and jalapenos. "And you even made that thick wheat crust! You're the best," she gushed, kissing him loudly on the cheek. He blushed furiously, but smiled. "You always know exactly how to cheer me up. I only wish I was as good as you."

"Honestly, this," he said, gesturing to her smile and kissing her back, "is all I need to be happy."

"Aww, you," she laughed, ruffling his hair. Amy quickly polished off her first piece, while Rory worked slowly and diligently at his first. He loved how much of an appetite Amy had. Some girls poked at their food and turned up their noses at anything. Amy didn't worry about what she ate. She didn't overindulge, but she ate what she wanted, when she wanted it. He, on the other hand, had the appetite of a bird, eating slowly, and somewhat picky about what he ate. His Roman experience had reduced his pickiness exponentially, but he still didn't eat a lot.

Just as Amy was sitting down after retrieving a third piece, there was a frantic hammering at the door. Amy and Rory looked at each other.

"We have a doorbell, don't we?" Amy asked, not sure why it was significant, but confused nonetheless.

"Yes." The hammering returned, louder.

"Coming, coming!" Amy shouted, tossing her napkin on the table and going to answer.

"Wait!" Rory said, jumping up after her. He grabbed his sword from the coat closet beside the door. Amy raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. "After what we've been through?"

"True. Be ready, then," she said, and threw open the door.

River Song stood on the threshold. This time, she was wearing a mottled lavender dress, a thick black belt emphasizing her hourglass waist, and a pale yellow scarf. Her eyes were wild, one side of her hair flat as though she'd been pressing her hands to her head for an extended amount of time, which by itself was alarming, since she was quite vain and always had time to do her hair and makeup perfect.

"River-!" Rory started happily, lowering his sword.

"Oh, God." Amy covered her mouth with one hand, eyes huge. But she wasn't staring at River's face, or mashed hair. She was staring down, at a place beside River's hip. Rory followed her gaze and let out a small gasp.

"You've got to help me," River begged, holding out her hands. They were stained almost to the elbow with blood, dripping from her fingertips onto the front steps. Amy and Rory were speechless.

"I don't know what to do."

Two don'ts:

I don't own Doctor Who.

I don't post before three reviews.

If you can't think of something to review, then tell me what you love. Tell me what you hate. Any out of character tendencies, or things that don't quite fit. Predictions of what's going to happen are great too. Or just tell me to hurry the heck up.