Disclaimer: I own nothing. It belongs to BBC and Steven Moffat.

A/N: Wow! I haven't posted anything here in FOREVER! Fer realz. This is a first for DW, but I've been working on a 10Rose for ages and it's going nowhere, so I decided in anticipating for the new series (this Saturday for those with access to BBCA! I'm so excited!) and the teasers that they've put out about Amy and Rory's deteriorating relationship, an Amy-centric drabble (it also helps me get back in the swing of things). So YAY! And remember, reviews are love.


Glass

by Miranda Panda-chan


Amy's always been a little worried, always feeling a little like she's walking precariously on a glass walkway. One that threatens to crack and break with every step she takes forward. Each and every crack pointing out a fault—people she's hurt, problems she's caused, and lives she's damaged. She knows she has her faults. Knows she has several. Knows that Rory, while not much to look at on an average day, could win over more loyal women than her. She realizes from the get go that he tolerates her affinity for her Raggedy Doctor. Justifications help her sleep at night, but overall, she knows she could try harder to show him how much he means to her—because for all that he is and isn't—he is hers, and he is her world. He is the man she wants to go home to every night, he is the man she wants to wake up to every morning, and he is the one she loves with all of her heart.

However, that isn't to say she doesn't also love the Doctor. Because she does, but in a different way. She loves the Doctor as her best friend, someone that (had not, by any means been there for her when she needed him) she could more often than not rely on. Someone she could share her fears with—specifically her fears of the future.

To share that with a man who could see timelines and the way they weave in and around each other, to have him reassure her that no matter what, even if what he sees is different than what he knows she wants to hear, he'll fix it, he'll make it right, and he has the authority to tell her it'll be alright. That's why she loves and confides in him. He can offer her security like no other. He can offer what she has lacked without realizing it. She never once questioned where Aunt Shannon went all the time, why she was always alone, and why her house was so big for the only two occupants (really, one occupant, Aunt Shannon was only a name on paper and a signature on forms from school). She hadn't known she was alone until he'd pointed it out to her twelve years later, had very bluntly informed her that her life made no sense whatsoever, and had pondered why she was oddly okay with that. She really didn't know. She didn't know if it bothered or not. She'd never thought about it much before—and even if she had, she'd never known anything was wrong. She'd never known what life should be like, just what she'd been living.

Rory was stability. The Doctor was security. And Amy Pond needed both to feel comfortable living in her own skin.

She worries one day that Rory Williams, her husband and childhood friend, will one day leave her for good because of her childish and reckless antics. Because she doesn't know how to live a normal life properly—in order, with people and things and events that all make sense. Doesn't know how to cope in a world that isn't trying to fall apart around her and implode. She suffocates a little thinking about it.

And Rory revels in it. He's never been very adventurous, and while travelling with the Doctor has forced certain changes on him, he doesn't seem to really appreciate it. Travelling with the Doctor has given him the courage and bravery it would take to leave her. She knows this, and there's nothing that she could do if he ever decided to leave her. She'd try and hold on, because he's Rory, and she's Amy, and she needs him.

But Rory Williams is not fond of living his life out of order, does not like knowing that he has a fully grown daughter that he held as a baby for a moment's breath before she was ripped out of his arms and sent to lead a life without her parents. He doesn't like things that don't make sense, he wants what he's always wanted: a house, a wife, a steady job and income, a care, and possibly some kids that they watch grow up and live lives of their own. He can't have that, not now. Not after everything. He has some of it, but he knows any children they have after River Song—they're too scarred to be good parents, and how could anyone possibly explain that yes, you've got an older sister, but she might be younger if you ever meet, or she might be the same age as your mum and me because she's a time traveler, and scary things happened and now she's gone. Not permanently, but if she comes to visit, it's to see her mum, not her dad.

River Song only trusts one man, and that's the Doctor. And Amy knows what that does to Rory on the inside every time he catches them catching up in the garden out back.

Things can't continue this way. Rory boiling inside, the Doctor's sheer force of will pulling them all along and promising impossible promises, and Amy wanting to go back in time to a point when things were simpler from her point of view, and so vastly more complicated to everyone else (probably, she's not sure anyone ever realized how the world had gone so wrong over her lifetime, and if they had, they'd never spoken about it in her hearing range). And she wakes up to realize she's not walking on a glass walkway, the walkway is perfectly solid—it knows where its headed. It's she who has no idea where her own feet are leading her, it is her who is made of glass.

Amy knows this, and she's confided in the Doctor about it and she's sort of not really told Rory about it to try and gain reassurance from them both—that nothing like that would happen. The Doctor has promised her that things would settle out, rearrange themselves, because the universe is fairly independent, and has a way of choosing the best way for everything to play out (whether or not she agrees with that is questionable), and Rory has promised her that won't ever leave her because he loves her and his daughter even if he hardly ever sees her and doesn't really know her. She realizes that both of them are lying to her face, both of them are saying things they want to be true, but have no control over making them so. Not really. The Doctor can't help it if the universe has decided to go pear-shaped around her and Rory can't help it if he suddenly can't take the complete lack of order in their lives, can't handle it more than he loves her. And every lie chips a bit of her away, striking her fragile form—she may look strong, but she is made of glass and glass can only take so many hits before it cracks and shatters.

Which is why Amy Pond Williams is not surprised the morning she awake to a cold side of the bed and a note on the table saying things she'd been fearing since her marriage day. Saying true things that she has no way of denying, but she cries and weeps and begs anyways.

She is not surprised, but she breaks all the same.


A/N: Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!