"Rory. Rory. Rory!"
It was all she wanted to say. His name, over and over again. But as she felt his arms wrap around her, the tight muscles, the familiar embrace, she knew that nothing else mattered.
She was home.
Wherever they were, whenever they were, she was home.
The tears were hot on her cheeks as she buried her face in the comfort of his shirt.
"Amy, what's happened?"
His words were urgent. Of course, he didn't understand. One moment in the graveyard, thinking they were safe, the next in this darkness, the cool night air, the lights of the city in the distance, the feel of the environment somehow indefinably different.
She took in sobbing gulps of air, trying to find the words, but so relieved to have found him again that there were none. He was her best friend. The doctor was her Raggedy Man, beloved and important, oh, so important. But Rory was her rock, her certainty, her safe place in the amazing storm that had been their life.
"The angels sent us back in time again." She finally managed to get the words out.
"Back to when?" It was so Rory. He focused on the most important question first. No why, no how, no what.
She pulled away from him and looked around them. They were on a grassy hill, in the middle of a dark night. The light from the moon and the city was unrevealing.
"1938, most likely," she told him.
"1938! But…" He let the words trail off.
"Yes. We're trapped here. The time currents or phases or streams or –"
"Timey-whimey stuff?" he offered.
"Exactly." Her laugh was only slightly tearful. "Neither the doctor nor River will be able to get to us. We're stuck. We'll never be able to go home again."
"Stuck?" He repeated after her, but he didn't sound confused, more…could it be relieved?
"Yes. In 1938. In New York!"
"Huh." He sounded thoughtful.
"Rory, don't you understand? We're trapped!"
"Trapped sounds so bleak," he said. He let his arms, which had been wrapped around her, slide down, and his fingers took hers, folding her hand into his, while he turned and started walking. "Trapped is what happens on a Dalek insane asylum when everything you see wants to kill you. Trapped is being on the TARDIS while it's being controlled by House. Trapped is Apalapucia during quarantine."
Amy fell into step next to him without protest but she couldn't not respond to his words. "Rory, we're never going to see home again."
"London, you mean?"
"No," she protested. "I mean home. I mean our house. Our time, our families, our friends!"
He nodded, but he kept walking.
"Aren't you upset?" She had to ask him, even while a slight shiver of joy passed through her. She didn't understand what he was thinking but her fear was dissipating quickly. After all, no matter what happened next, she was with her best friend.
He grinned at her. "I'm alive."
She blinked at him.
"You're alive," he told her.
"Well, obviously," she snapped.
"We're in a place that's different enough that it won't surprise people if we get things wrong but familiar enough that we should be able to learn our way around quite quickly."
"Are you insane? We're eighty-odd years outside of our own time."
"Um, seventy-odd, I think, love."
She glared at him. Really? He felt the need to criticize her math mistakes? But quickly she calculated in her head, before saying pointedly, "Fine, seventy-five years and a big bloody ocean away from our own time."
"Mm-hmm." His grin was smug enough that she punched him in the arm. But not too hard. After all, she had been quite relieved to see him again.
They'd crested the top of the hill, and he paused. He nodded towards the skyscrapers in the distance. "Look."
She looked. Bright lights. Big buildings. It was nothing like the New York skyline of their time, of course, but that huge skyscraper in the distance, towering over its neighbors, had to be the Empire State Building. Its pinnacle was unmistakable.
"New York. America. Land of opportunity. City of dreams."
She looked out at the glittering lights and frowned. And then she slowly nodded. "This isn't a trap."
His hand clenched hers, tight enough that it almost hurt. "No," he said. "No, it's not."
She looked up at him. "It's a start?"
It wasn't quite a question, but his smile was a definite answer.
A/N: I am highly susceptible to reviews. Once upon a time, I wrote a Eureka story because I just couldn't let the season end there and I didn't stop for about a quarter million words. If you want more, let me know!