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eleventyfest2013-09-07 07:42 pm
eleventymod) wrote in eleventyfest2013-09-07 07:42 pm
Fic: Down for Repairs, for a_phoenixdragon
Title: Down for Repairs
By: ljgeoff
Recipient:a_phoenixdragon
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Ship(s): Amy/Rory, 11th Doctor
Summary: Some days are quiet. Too quiet.
Content Notes: none
“Time Lords get migraines?” Rory peered into the Doctor’s pale face, watched his lips press into a thin line and his right hand flutter up like a broken bird to shield his eyes.
“Lights down,” the Doctor croaked. The TARDIS complied, sending the control room into soothing dusk. “It’s not a migraine. It’s … a lot like a migraine.”
“Right, to bed with you then.” Rory kept his voice down. “Is there a med I can get for you?”
The Doctor shook his head and winced. “No. I … need to do some repairs. Lie down and, ah, crawl inside my head. Call it meditation.”
Behind him, Amy added, “If it helps.”
Rory sighed. “Let us help you. You’re obviously in a lot of pain.”
The man looked like utter shite. He shook his head, winced and wheeled about like a heron caught in syrup. Rory managed to get his shoulder under a waving arm while Amy caught up on the other side. They staggered together into the corridor where a door opened invitingly.
The room inside was dark but the dim light from the corridor was enough to navigate to the bed. The Doctor sprawled there, limp and soundless. Rory lifted his legs up and he and Amy undid the laces and eased boots off long, slender feet.
“I was going to bring a cuppa,” he whispered to Amy, “but he’s already out.” He bent over, lay one hand on the Doctor’s forehead and another on his chest. “Meditation my arse.”
“And a lovely arse it is, too,” Amy supplied.
“Ta, well, he seems alright.” Rory laid a hand on the Doctor’s forehead. “Chilly, but that’s normal for him, and heart rate is,” Rory stilled for a moment and looked at his watch, “a bit slow for him, but within limits. I think.”
Amy bent and feathered her fingers through the Doctor’s hair, smoothing it out of his face. “He saved my life.”
Rory laid his hand on the tautness of her bent back and, as she stood, trailed up to the nape of her neck, guiding her face up to his. “I know. I saw it. I’ve never seen anyone move like that.” It was … like he was on fast forward.” He kissed her temple and she tipped her face up, meeting his lips. “I could never have done that.”
A frown flitted across Amy’s lips and then she wrinkled her nose. “Well, then, Rory Williams,” sotto voice but fierce, “I guess you’ll have to make it up by doing something for me that the Doctor can’t.”
Rory grinned. “Make a decent cuppa?”
Amy turned and, reaching behind to grab Rory’s hand, marched him out of the Doctor’s room. “I was thinking of your more physical skill set.”
Rory tugged and Amy spun into him. He bent down and nuzzled her neck. “You wanna do that thing?”
“Night before last?” Amy sent him a look through lowered lashes. “That was amazing.” She took a step back, “But I think,” she turned away suddenly shot forward, “you have to catch me first!”
Rory let out a shout of surprise and took off after her. “Always with the running,” he huffed.
They spent the next day lounging. By the pool, in the library, even in the door of the TARDIS as it spun lazily through the moons of a lovely blue gas giant. They had sex until they were both comfortably sore and languid. They ate all the biscuits in the cupboard.
Rory stood over the Doctor, uncertain. It had been thirty-six hours. Breathing, heart rate, blood pressure and temperature were all slightly depressed but within limits.
Amy leaned against him and threaded her fingers through his. “Are you worried?”
Rory shook his head but frowned. “Not really. It’s like he’s put himself into a coma, and if that, well whatever it was that he did that let him move like that…”
“It’s like he’s pulled a muscle or something,” Amy mused.
“Well,” Rory sniffed, “except it was his brain.”
Amy leaned into him and buried her face in his shoulder. “Bloody hell.”
“Oh, hey.” Rory pressed his cheek against her temple. “It wasn’t your fault. And I’m sure he’ll be ok. We just have to wait a bit.”
They slept in the next morning and after checking the Doctor, who slept on, they discovered milk, eggs and flour on the counter next to the teapot. “Oh, ho!” Amy crowed. “Pancakes!”
After breakfast, Rory went into the infirmary. He’d never really had a chance to poke around without the Doctor flitting about. Now he looked through every single cupboard, picking things up, puzzling them out and putting them carefully back exactly as he’d found them. Amy watched him for about ten minutes before sighing and wandering off. He found her in the Doctor’s room, reading from a tattered paperback.
“Anything?” Rory asked, tilting his head to the bed.
Amy flipped the book onto the side table. “It was a dark and stormy night. Other than that, no.”
“Come on,” Rory took her hand and tugged her up. “Come on, let’s … I dunno. Let him sleep.”
Amy stood but held back. “It’s just,” she met Rory’s eyes and then looked away. “What if he never wakes up?”
Rory sighed. “We’d both be very, very sad. And then,” he looked around the room, “you and me stuck here in the TARDIS?” He shrugged. “Could be worse.” Her hair was a dull red flame in the darkened room. “I’d be with you.”
She flowed into his arms and he held her tight.
The next day they found a dance studio. One wall was mirrored with a barre. Across from the mirrored wall were high, arching windows looking out onto a wooded mountainside. Rory could smell the pines and something like an eagle was soaring up among the clouds. Could they walk off, then? Make a life out there?
“Rory! Look at this.”
Tucked into a corner of the room was a stand holding several fine blades. A 12th century Persian shamshir, a German longsword that might have graced the hand of a 16th century Landsknecht, an epee, a katana and a Roman gladius.
The gladius slid into his hand like the palm of a lost love. Rory shuddered and dropped it back into the stand.
Amy didn’t notice. She spun toward him with the katana, her grip loose and clumsy. “What’s this?”
“A very sharp piece of steel that’s meant to maim and kill,” Rory snapped. “I’d rather you didn’t point it at me.”
Amy lowered the sword. “Oh. I’m… Rory, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …”
Rory reached and took the blade from Amy’s hand. “It’s just, well, here -- hold it like this.”
“You know how to use this?” She was curious and tamping it down. They didn’t talk much about it. Rory didn’t.
“Yeah, well, I met a guy. He was really good and taught me a few things.”
Amy’s eyes lit up. “Show me.”
Rory looked at the blade in Amy’s hand. “Alright. Sure.” Another blade hung in the stand. He lifted it and walked to the mirrored wall. “See if you can follow me.”
After a shower that turned into something much nicer, they grabbed a blanket and a few sandwiches and headed to the garden. It was always late afternoon in the garden, drowsily warm with white, fluffy clouds passing overhead. Amy was reading the same tattered paperback. Rory watched the clouds and watched Amy and fell asleep like that.
“Well then, and here you are! All cozy!”
Rory shot up onto an elbow and managed to slip on it, almost landing on his nose. Amy let out an undignified Meep, book flying, and bounced up to grab the Doctor in a fierce hug.
He hugged her back. “Yes, well, there’s that then. All rested now, are we?” His nose twitched. “Is that sandwiches? It’s just that there aren’t any biscuits left.”
Rory smiled and stretched out on the blanket. “Guess we’ll have to go out, then.”
By: ljgeoff
Recipient:a_phoenixdragon
Rating: PG
Character(s)/Ship(s): Amy/Rory, 11th Doctor
Summary: Some days are quiet. Too quiet.
Content Notes: none
“Time Lords get migraines?” Rory peered into the Doctor’s pale face, watched his lips press into a thin line and his right hand flutter up like a broken bird to shield his eyes.
“Lights down,” the Doctor croaked. The TARDIS complied, sending the control room into soothing dusk. “It’s not a migraine. It’s … a lot like a migraine.”
“Right, to bed with you then.” Rory kept his voice down. “Is there a med I can get for you?”
The Doctor shook his head and winced. “No. I … need to do some repairs. Lie down and, ah, crawl inside my head. Call it meditation.”
Behind him, Amy added, “If it helps.”
Rory sighed. “Let us help you. You’re obviously in a lot of pain.”
The man looked like utter shite. He shook his head, winced and wheeled about like a heron caught in syrup. Rory managed to get his shoulder under a waving arm while Amy caught up on the other side. They staggered together into the corridor where a door opened invitingly.
The room inside was dark but the dim light from the corridor was enough to navigate to the bed. The Doctor sprawled there, limp and soundless. Rory lifted his legs up and he and Amy undid the laces and eased boots off long, slender feet.
“I was going to bring a cuppa,” he whispered to Amy, “but he’s already out.” He bent over, lay one hand on the Doctor’s forehead and another on his chest. “Meditation my arse.”
“And a lovely arse it is, too,” Amy supplied.
“Ta, well, he seems alright.” Rory laid a hand on the Doctor’s forehead. “Chilly, but that’s normal for him, and heart rate is,” Rory stilled for a moment and looked at his watch, “a bit slow for him, but within limits. I think.”
Amy bent and feathered her fingers through the Doctor’s hair, smoothing it out of his face. “He saved my life.”
Rory laid his hand on the tautness of her bent back and, as she stood, trailed up to the nape of her neck, guiding her face up to his. “I know. I saw it. I’ve never seen anyone move like that.” It was … like he was on fast forward.” He kissed her temple and she tipped her face up, meeting his lips. “I could never have done that.”
A frown flitted across Amy’s lips and then she wrinkled her nose. “Well, then, Rory Williams,” sotto voice but fierce, “I guess you’ll have to make it up by doing something for me that the Doctor can’t.”
Rory grinned. “Make a decent cuppa?”
Amy turned and, reaching behind to grab Rory’s hand, marched him out of the Doctor’s room. “I was thinking of your more physical skill set.”
Rory tugged and Amy spun into him. He bent down and nuzzled her neck. “You wanna do that thing?”
“Night before last?” Amy sent him a look through lowered lashes. “That was amazing.” She took a step back, “But I think,” she turned away suddenly shot forward, “you have to catch me first!”
Rory let out a shout of surprise and took off after her. “Always with the running,” he huffed.
They spent the next day lounging. By the pool, in the library, even in the door of the TARDIS as it spun lazily through the moons of a lovely blue gas giant. They had sex until they were both comfortably sore and languid. They ate all the biscuits in the cupboard.
Rory stood over the Doctor, uncertain. It had been thirty-six hours. Breathing, heart rate, blood pressure and temperature were all slightly depressed but within limits.
Amy leaned against him and threaded her fingers through his. “Are you worried?”
Rory shook his head but frowned. “Not really. It’s like he’s put himself into a coma, and if that, well whatever it was that he did that let him move like that…”
“It’s like he’s pulled a muscle or something,” Amy mused.
“Well,” Rory sniffed, “except it was his brain.”
Amy leaned into him and buried her face in his shoulder. “Bloody hell.”
“Oh, hey.” Rory pressed his cheek against her temple. “It wasn’t your fault. And I’m sure he’ll be ok. We just have to wait a bit.”
They slept in the next morning and after checking the Doctor, who slept on, they discovered milk, eggs and flour on the counter next to the teapot. “Oh, ho!” Amy crowed. “Pancakes!”
After breakfast, Rory went into the infirmary. He’d never really had a chance to poke around without the Doctor flitting about. Now he looked through every single cupboard, picking things up, puzzling them out and putting them carefully back exactly as he’d found them. Amy watched him for about ten minutes before sighing and wandering off. He found her in the Doctor’s room, reading from a tattered paperback.
“Anything?” Rory asked, tilting his head to the bed.
Amy flipped the book onto the side table. “It was a dark and stormy night. Other than that, no.”
“Come on,” Rory took her hand and tugged her up. “Come on, let’s … I dunno. Let him sleep.”
Amy stood but held back. “It’s just,” she met Rory’s eyes and then looked away. “What if he never wakes up?”
Rory sighed. “We’d both be very, very sad. And then,” he looked around the room, “you and me stuck here in the TARDIS?” He shrugged. “Could be worse.” Her hair was a dull red flame in the darkened room. “I’d be with you.”
She flowed into his arms and he held her tight.
The next day they found a dance studio. One wall was mirrored with a barre. Across from the mirrored wall were high, arching windows looking out onto a wooded mountainside. Rory could smell the pines and something like an eagle was soaring up among the clouds. Could they walk off, then? Make a life out there?
“Rory! Look at this.”
Tucked into a corner of the room was a stand holding several fine blades. A 12th century Persian shamshir, a German longsword that might have graced the hand of a 16th century Landsknecht, an epee, a katana and a Roman gladius.
The gladius slid into his hand like the palm of a lost love. Rory shuddered and dropped it back into the stand.
Amy didn’t notice. She spun toward him with the katana, her grip loose and clumsy. “What’s this?”
“A very sharp piece of steel that’s meant to maim and kill,” Rory snapped. “I’d rather you didn’t point it at me.”
Amy lowered the sword. “Oh. I’m… Rory, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …”
Rory reached and took the blade from Amy’s hand. “It’s just, well, here -- hold it like this.”
“You know how to use this?” She was curious and tamping it down. They didn’t talk much about it. Rory didn’t.
“Yeah, well, I met a guy. He was really good and taught me a few things.”
Amy’s eyes lit up. “Show me.”
Rory looked at the blade in Amy’s hand. “Alright. Sure.” Another blade hung in the stand. He lifted it and walked to the mirrored wall. “See if you can follow me.”
After a shower that turned into something much nicer, they grabbed a blanket and a few sandwiches and headed to the garden. It was always late afternoon in the garden, drowsily warm with white, fluffy clouds passing overhead. Amy was reading the same tattered paperback. Rory watched the clouds and watched Amy and fell asleep like that.
“Well then, and here you are! All cozy!”
Rory shot up onto an elbow and managed to slip on it, almost landing on his nose. Amy let out an undignified Meep, book flying, and bounced up to grab the Doctor in a fierce hug.
He hugged her back. “Yes, well, there’s that then. All rested now, are we?” His nose twitched. “Is that sandwiches? It’s just that there aren’t any biscuits left.”
Rory smiled and stretched out on the blanket. “Guess we’ll have to go out, then.”