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frenchy_chicksTitle: Always on my Mind
Rating: FRT
Characters: Rory Williams, Amy Pond, The Doctor (11th)
Summary: She had been as perfect as the last day he'd seen her.
Word count: 567
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish they were, but they're not.
Author's notes: Potential spoiler for The Angels Take Manhattan
The sheets were itchy. After over thirty years lying in this bed, he still hadn’t gotten used to the way the sheets made his skin crawl. Maybe that was part of their plan – he was certain they didn’t want him to be comfortable… where was the fun in that?
With each passing day, it was getting harder for him to stay awake. Lying here for as long as he had, with nothing to look at but the ceiling and the bland view from his bedroom window. He’d lost track of exactly how long he had been here. Long enough for the fight to leave him, for his skin to grow whiter with greater and greater liver spots. He knew it would be any day now – he could feel it in his bones. It was strange how humans had the ability to know when their time was almost up.
The front door opened and he tried to sit up in bed to see who was in his apartment. He couldn’t see who it was, but he knew it wouldn’t be them. They wouldn’t have come into his room, not yet. He knew when they would come into his room, knew it would only be a matter of time, now.
“Who’s there?” He croaked.
He could hear mumbling, but his ears had failed him long ago, along with almost everything else. He couldn’t tell for certain who was in his room, but he could guess. He had known his time was almost up, but he had thought he’d had more of it. He wasn’t ready… his eyes widened when he saw her and a feeling of calm washed over him. She was beautiful, as beautiful as the last day he had seen her. Her hair, her gorgeous hair. He wanted to see her face, feel her skin on his just once more.
“Amy… Amy…” he called.
Finally, the attention of those in his room turned towards him, and Amy walked closer, confusion clouding her face. “Amy,” he smiled. He had missed her, oh how he had missed her.
Amy sat on the bed beside him and took his hand. He was so happy to see her beautiful face again. He had forgotten just how much he loved her. He wanted to tell her, tell her how much she meant to him, but he found himself stuck, only able to repeat her name over and over… the aphasia had taken away his ability to talk properly long ago.
As she held his hand, Rory started to feel himself drifting away. He wasn’t going to sleep, not this time. This was it. He remembered now – Amy had been with the old man in the bed when he had passed away. At the time, he couldn’t believe that it had been him, an older version of him, who had been in that bed. The Doctor had explained to him that he had lived (and subsequently died) in that bed. He explained further that the Angels had put him there, had intended on using him as an endless source of food. But none of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was Amy, his sweet, strong Amy.
“Amy,” he breathed, smiling.
Amy looked away briefly and he squeezed her hand. He wanted to see her eyes, he wanted that to be the last thing he saw. His Amy. Always his Amy. He took in one final breath, and sighed happily.
END
Rating: FRT
Characters: Rory Williams, Amy Pond, The Doctor (11th)
Summary: She had been as perfect as the last day he'd seen her.
Word count: 567
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish they were, but they're not.
Author's notes: Potential spoiler for The Angels Take Manhattan
The sheets were itchy. After over thirty years lying in this bed, he still hadn’t gotten used to the way the sheets made his skin crawl. Maybe that was part of their plan – he was certain they didn’t want him to be comfortable… where was the fun in that?
With each passing day, it was getting harder for him to stay awake. Lying here for as long as he had, with nothing to look at but the ceiling and the bland view from his bedroom window. He’d lost track of exactly how long he had been here. Long enough for the fight to leave him, for his skin to grow whiter with greater and greater liver spots. He knew it would be any day now – he could feel it in his bones. It was strange how humans had the ability to know when their time was almost up.
The front door opened and he tried to sit up in bed to see who was in his apartment. He couldn’t see who it was, but he knew it wouldn’t be them. They wouldn’t have come into his room, not yet. He knew when they would come into his room, knew it would only be a matter of time, now.
“Who’s there?” He croaked.
He could hear mumbling, but his ears had failed him long ago, along with almost everything else. He couldn’t tell for certain who was in his room, but he could guess. He had known his time was almost up, but he had thought he’d had more of it. He wasn’t ready… his eyes widened when he saw her and a feeling of calm washed over him. She was beautiful, as beautiful as the last day he had seen her. Her hair, her gorgeous hair. He wanted to see her face, feel her skin on his just once more.
“Amy… Amy…” he called.
Finally, the attention of those in his room turned towards him, and Amy walked closer, confusion clouding her face. “Amy,” he smiled. He had missed her, oh how he had missed her.
Amy sat on the bed beside him and took his hand. He was so happy to see her beautiful face again. He had forgotten just how much he loved her. He wanted to tell her, tell her how much she meant to him, but he found himself stuck, only able to repeat her name over and over… the aphasia had taken away his ability to talk properly long ago.
As she held his hand, Rory started to feel himself drifting away. He wasn’t going to sleep, not this time. This was it. He remembered now – Amy had been with the old man in the bed when he had passed away. At the time, he couldn’t believe that it had been him, an older version of him, who had been in that bed. The Doctor had explained to him that he had lived (and subsequently died) in that bed. He explained further that the Angels had put him there, had intended on using him as an endless source of food. But none of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was Amy, his sweet, strong Amy.
“Amy,” he breathed, smiling.
Amy looked away briefly and he squeezed her hand. He wanted to see her eyes, he wanted that to be the last thing he saw. His Amy. Always his Amy. He took in one final breath, and sighed happily.
END