Ok. here's the deal. I'm rubbish at writing "adventure" stories. So, I can't really pretend this is going to be about Amy, say, getting kidnapped by the Sycorax when she's 8 months pregnant and Rory and the Doctor waging a war to get her back. I am and ever shall be an emotional writer, angst, humor, my own version of romance and sexy times. Which is why I'm not sure what I can promise what will happen with this story, if anything. Maybe it will just be a series of vignettes rather than a linear tale. I don't know. I'm not sure and why I'm starting this when I'm 40+ years away from finishing Epistolary and when I should be reading Arabian Nights for class, I dunno. But here I am. I just can't let it go. At least not right now. Hear me when I say I have no idea where I'm going with this but, this is what I have so far and rest assured, this really, truly is the last post under "Come And Knock On Our Door". The next one will be a completely different story, a sorta-sequel called "Man About The House".
OK. Rory's Point of View. Very short. Just a teaser. I'm not even sure if this is how I'm going to open up the story, this might come along later but this is where I started writing so this is what you get.
Man About The House: Teaser
Up until that moment I hadn't even known the Doctor could vomit.
He'd landed us rather abruptly. So abruptly in fact I had to grab onto Amy to make sure she didn't tip over which was silly because she was always the one out of the three of us who's as surefooted as a goat. The Doctor and I were much more likely to trip over our own feet. But he didn't trip. He threw a few levers and then in record speed he bounded from the TARDIS console to the door and flinging it open he bent over and seemed to rid himself not just of breakfast but perhaps the last...I don't know...five meals we'd eaten. It was graphically bad and I grimaced as I walked towards him. Amy, poor thing went green and jogged in the opposite direction. For a second I didn't know who to follow, nauseous pregnant wife or puking husband. Amy made the decision for me, waving me away as she hurried towards the loo.
I got to the Doctor just as he was leaning in the doorway of the TARDIS.
He raised a hand at whoever was outside.
"Sorry about that. Lovely wedding, beautiful bride. My apologies about parking a police box in the middle of your aisle and vomiting on your flowers. I'll be going now."
I hastily pulled him back inside, muttered a "Sorry" to the assembled guests, It really did look like a nice wedding, and shut the door.
"Doctor, are you ok?" I asked him, my brow knitted in worry. There was a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead and a few chunks of his hair were stuck to the slickness.
"Mmmm." he said noncommittally as he leaned against the frame. The Doctor closed his eyes and placed a hand over his stomach which I was certain I could still hear making gurgling noises.
"Come sit down." I said putting my arm around him and leading him to the nearest chair. He stopped for one second to input a coordinate so that the TARDIS made her way back to the time vortex and away from the stunned bridal party. He then unceremoniously flopped into the chair.
"No need to coddle me. I'm fine." But he didn't feel very strong in my arms.
"I didn't know you could do that." I said honestly.
"Do what? Vomit? Well I have a stomach, Rory." he said with some irritation. "Where's Amy?"
"Seeing you set her off. You know she's an emetophobe."
The Doctor nodded. Some people couldn't handle blood, Amy flipped out over puke, the sound, the sight, the mere concept and being three months pregnant and battling valiantly through morning sickness didn't help.
"You should go check on our wife."
"She waved me away, I'm checking on you right now. Darling, are you sick." I said crouching down in front of him. I put my hand to his forehead and he raised his eyes to watch me.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"You're right. This is a rubbish way to take a temp." I stood and pressed my lips to his temple.
"If you're trying to kiss me your aim is a bit off, my love. Not to mention you might want to wait until I'd had a moment to brush."
"You're warm." I said frowning.
"You don't even know what I normally run."
"Love, I've had your body pressed to mine enough to know how you should feel. You run cooler than humans, I'd say you're normally about 60 degrees Fahrenheit. But you feel like you may be about mid-70's at the moment. And as I said, you're warm. Time Lord fever. What's going on?"
"Nothing, Rory. Everyone is entitled to get a little space sick."
I put my hand to his cheek and he pressed his face against it making it clear that despite his irritated tone he relished the affection.
"What's wrong?" I persisted. Repeating a question was something he found sound annoying that it often got him to admit the truth.
"Everything is fine."
"What's wrong? You've been pretty subdued lately. You weren't really hungry at dinner. You didn't want to make love last night."
"Don't say dinner and I was tired." He huffed as he folded his arms. "Is our entire marriage built on sex?"
"Ok, one final time and let me warn you, if you lie to me or just dodge the question I'm putting you to bed. So help me God, I will throw you over my shoulder and put you in bed until you either tell me what is wrong or you feel better. Trust me, that's my best offer if you don't want to tell me the truth. And guess what, mate, I'm talking quarantine because you're not going to infect Amy or the baby."
"You think you're capable of quarantining me on my own ship?" He scoffed.
"I do and I think the TARDIS would help."
He looked worried for a moment and I knew I was onto something. I'd felt a sort of unease from the ship or at least I thought I had. An almost imperceptible change in the atmosphere.
"So, last time. Last chance. What. Is. Wrong."
A/N - Cliffhanger! Dun-dun-duuunnnnn! What's wrong with the Doctor?! I have a bit more written but it's not fit for consumption yet.
Ugh...what am I doing? Don't hate me if I never finish this.