Author's Note: Hi! You are essentially reading what happens in my brain after I watch an episode of Doctor Who. I think this is my first published piece for the Whoniverse. I have others, I'm just to shy to post them.
If you're reading this because it popped up in your author alerts, I promise I'm not stopping on the Grimmauld Fairy Tales series in Harry Potterverse. I just had to get this out of my brain and post something fresh. I'm trying to write three at a time there for that to please everyone plus a side HP project and I'm driving myself crazy. Something will get posted soon, promise. Take a break and read my drabble here! :)
Anyway, please enjoy and let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
As Rory watched the Doctor take his hand and place it on the lock of the TARDIS door, he felt almost as if his stomach was about to come up and out his throat.
His brow furrowed, the bile in his throat swallowed back with difficulty. The sinking realization that his choice means life and death for Amy. Even if it just a version of Amy that won't really exist.
Her pleas, though muffled by the TARDIS door, were clear. Like a knife in his gut.
Wasn't it really moments ago (yet perhaps hours in this time stream) that he'd promised the Now Amy to have her back? They were making plans just then to have her around for Christmas dinners and, impossible as it seemed, yes, he had envisioned having her over once a year to hear about her travels. Explaining it to the family, he hadn't factored it in to the daydream. Yet.
And now, he could daydream all he wanted because it wasn't going to happen. No matter the time stream nor how far the TARDIS took them.
Rory had been aware from nearly the start the danger, the darker, the shadier side of travelling with this man in a blue box. It was always Amy who had fanciful ideas of the Doctor. Who kept him in white robes of the innocent.
But Rory knew. Knew how the man could make hard decisions and just as easily pawn off those decisions on others, make them choose like he was doing to him now.
And every time, a shadow would cast over the Doctor's face, showcasing that darker side of him. It also warned of lies. But Amy almost always chose to turn a blind eye to those moments. Rory saw them all.
Above all else, Rory remembered one of the Doctor's rules quite well.
Rule #1: The Doctor Lies.
And just this once, Rory had hoped, naively, that this heavily shadowed man wasn't lying. Because the technical paradoxical lexicon the Doctor had thrown out in trying to pacify Now Amy had mostly flown past his head, despite their time travelling together. He'd caught bits and pieces, but he'd thrown it out so fast...
So here he was, with his Then Amy, the Amy he was used to. That he loved. Who loved him. In the TARDIS.
Then his Now Amy, on the other side of the worn blue and white door. He could feel the warmth of her hand through the glass of the windows. He loved her, too.
She was Amy. Quintessential Amy. Just aged a bit and eyes open to the reality of the Doctor.
Yet. It was the Doctor who she called for as she banged on the door. She'd thought of the Macarena for pity's sake! Yeah, she was Amy.
Rory's tears slid down and dropped to his hand, sliding off. Almost like a catalyst. His thumb and finger twitching to turn the lock. To let Amy in.
"If you love me, don't let me in."
Even Now Amy, Amy, knew what the logical thing was. Not necessarily the right thing. (Morals had no room in the TARDIS, let alone this bizarre paradox.)
He could feel the Doctor behind him at the console, pretending to not care. Pretending to leave the choice up to him.
It was the only thing Rory could offer this embittered version of his Amy. His love. A simple declaration for most. But he wanted this woman, this lonely woman to know. Knowledge that she deserved and was owed. She was owed a lot of things, especially by the Doctor who had slammed a door in her face and skipped off, refusing to make any decision in the matter afterwards.
He'd had it simple.
But. Rory also knew the Doctor had taken on the heaviest mantle for this sad, moral-less situation. He took on all of the frustration, the anger, the hate. He allowed it all to be piled on himself. And while the choice was really Rory's, the emotions, the final outcome of feeling and tears and heartbreak and relief. Those, good and bad, mostly bad for their sakes, were the Doctor's cross to carry.
"I'm giving her the days. The days with you, the days to come...The days I can't have. Take them, please...I'm giving you my days."
The mantra had repeated in his head as his grip had tightened more and more on the lock. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. So so sorry.
Naturally, it had made it onto his tongue and past his lips.
These two words. Amy's gift to Amy. Acknowledgement and acceptance.
Rory's grip loosened on the silver lock, letting go. And just like that, choices were made.
His breathing was shallow, his face wet with tears. Slowly, Rory turned away from the TARDIS door.
And then there was a chorus of kindness filling the space of the gallery. And it made Rory sick, the bile rushing back up his throat.
The Doctor nudged a waste bin in his direction just in time.
Kindness. This is a kindness.
Behind him, the Doctor took two steps, threw a switch, and then there was only Amy. The one Amy. The sleeping Amy who knew nothing yet of what had happened to her future self. The TARDIS disappeared from the gallery and went back to idling between 1654 and Adipose 3.
Time streams restored, paradoxes eliminated by choice.
Amy slept on. Rory sat nearby, unsure of himself and of what had just happened. When the Doctor sat next to him in what he must have thought was a form of comfort, all he truly wished was that the man would go far, far away.
He knew the answer. But Rory was still going to ask him. He knew the Doctor wouldn't answer him straight. But he always did give the correct answer.
When the first question Amy asks is about Amy, Rory just can't answer her. Not yet. It doesn't escape his eyes the dark shadow that once again takes up residence on the Doctor's face as he walks away. Giving them some time alone.
Once again, giving Rory a fucking choice.
Rory was getting a bit tired of the choices he was having to make thanks to the Doctor. This shadowed man that Rory knew wasn't a hero, nor a villain. A reluctant antihero.
Instead of worrying over the Doctor's intentions, Rory turned back to Amy, his nurturing, caring, nurse's tendencies coming out. Her health assured, he then wondered how the topic of Amy was best approached with his wife.
Was it going to be a kindness to tell her a lie, to take a page from the Doctor's book?
Or would that kindness turn on him? Like the shots of the robots, would it be best like a quick poke?
Rory swallowed, looked Amy in the eye, and let the first words out that pushed past his lips.
A/N: Again, thanks for reading and I appreciate everyone who reviews. They let me know people are actually liking (or disliking) what I write and push me to keep going.