[ For timeforamy ; chivalric code ]

[mmkaternater]

There aren't a lot of perks in facing your imminent demise come sunrise, but the Doctor has managed to grab on to a few. Perk One: If they know that tonight could very well be your last night on earth, they're going to put you up in very posh lodgings. (Of course, in 14th century England, this roughly equates to a mite-free mattress and not having to share your chamber pot with three other people, but all's fair in love and Medieval diplomacy.) Perk Two: If you are allowed to choose the contents of your last meal and you ask for fish custard, the people who are guarding you are going to give you a very strange look but will not, for the most part, object to you saying that you want to pop down to the bin to make it yourself. Which is when you manage to lose them in the castle's maze of twisting, windy stone corridors.

Actually, this perk might be better than the one about the chamber pot.

Given the volume of the shouting coming from far distant hallways, the Doctor figures he has about fifteen minutes before his dine-and-dash tactic is discovered. 'Plenty of time to find Amy and see that this whole "upon the morning" business is sorted before anyone gets hurt. Specifically, the Doctor himself.

The hallways are like highways, clogged with people and very irritated guards, so the Doctor has taken the overpass. Actually, he's taken the ledge outside one of the castle windows, scooting along the narrow cropping of stone, fingers dug into the mortar. He pokes his head into a window, only to get a chorus of high-pitched screams in return --

"Sorry, ladies! I'll be on my way. Sorry for the intrusion. Lovely bathrobes, by the way!"

-- before he edges along the wall to the next set of windows.

On the massive, four-poster bed in one of the rooms, the Doctor sees a pair of black leggings and a leather jacket. Amy. He grips the window frame and leans in, tapping his knuckle against the leaded glass.

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[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy moves her hand to catch his as it drops and winds her fingers roughly through his. "No. I don't want to go home. I'm not going to just leave you -" her voice hitches somewhere in the middle, "and they need help. Right now I never want to see Leadworth again."

She means it. Amy doesn't want to go back to where home used to be. Not now.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"I've taken care of it," the Doctor says. He reaches out from underneath her hand and toggles a switch. The TARDIS gears grind to life with a sigh that, to the Doctor's ears, sounds more tired than usual. He skips a glance to Amy's profile. "We'll go somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away. Where there isn't any --"

he hesitates; drags a thumb across his brow and leaves a pink line in his wake

"-- where it will be better," he finishes. A smile that's for her benefit.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy meets his eyes and wonders if it's true. She wonders, for a wild moment, if he can do what he has promised. Can they go somewhere and have everything be all right?

Or as all right as it can be. Because Rory is dead.

"Where?" Her voice is fragile, so is her hand against his wrist.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Anywhere, he thinks. Anywhere is better than here.

"Where do you want to go?"

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere with -"

Somewhere with you.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

Somewhere beautiful, in this universe, does nothing to narrow it down. The Doctor's mind is a lexicon of places and times, all arranged according to how absolutely stunning he thinks it might be to potential assistants. (The Doctor does, after all, like to show off.)

"I know just the place."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Let's go."

Amy wants to go far away, to someplace beautiful. She wants to be away with the Doctor - with her imaginary friend - and just...

...just what? Forget about Rory? No, that isn't what she wants at all. Amy will never forget Rory again. But hurting like this is harder than breathing.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor gives her a brief nod, then slides his spider fingers out from underneath her own. The console is piping hot and alive. The TARDIS wants to get out of here as much as Amy does, it seems, and then the Doctor remembers that the time machine is part of him as well.

That's right, says the twisted voice, time to do what you do best, Time Lord: run.

He pushes those thoughts deep, deep down and assembles himself at the foot of the console, pumping the air brake with his foot to disengage it, thumping coordinates into the autotype machine. He's taking them someplace far. Beyond the places where, he hopes, memory can catch them.

A brief, uncomfortable look toward her face.

"You should lie down a bit. I'll wake you when we arrive." His smile flickers. "I promise."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy shakes her head, though she twitches a bit of a smile at the corner of her lips. He's trying to make her feel better, and she knows it. But she's afraid that if she does lay down, he'll take the TARDIS somewhere - maybe even back to her home town - and leave her there. Disappear into the night with nothing but stardust in his wake and just be...gone. Despite what's happened, Amy can't lose him, too.

"I'm okay."

She's not, and she knows that he knows she isn't. But she's not going to shut her eyes until she's certain he won't leave her.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"Amy." He gives her one of those 'worse-than-everybody's-aunt' looks, but there's not much strength behind it. Truth be told, the Doctor's tired, too. Time Lords are designed to go on little sleep and little food, but there's a breaking point to every Time Lord, and the Doctor is fairly certain he's reached his.

His mouth flattens. A smile that doesn't have a light. He reaches over and pulls a bit of straw from her hair. "No," he says, "I don't think you are. Look at you: you've got straw in your hair."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, I do." She touches her fingers to her hair, too, then brings her eyes to his. There's fatigue in her face, she can't hide it and she can't pretend it isn't there. She's human, and the best she can do is keep her eyes forward now. Because as much as she's missing him, wanting him to be alive, Rory is dead. And she can't bring him back.

"And you've got dirt on your face." Amy brings her hand to his cheek, nudging the smudge away.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor turns up his chin. "Do you think it makes me look manly? 'Bit of dirt."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Oh, very." Amy nudges her eyebrows a bit higher. "It's attractive."

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

His smile is sad. There are so many things that he wishes he could go back and change. Fix. He wants to make it so that he was only five minutes late instead of twelve years; he wants to bring back Rory, and see to it that Amy has a proper chance to love him; he wants to erase the Daleks, the Homo reptilia, the crack in her wall (most of all, the crack in her wall) and all of the terrible things that flash in her nightmares (which he can hear sometimes, though he tries not to listen too closely).

"Oh," he repeats, "attractive." A little kindling underneath that smile. "I like that."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"I do, too."

Time can't be re-written. She knows that now, being with him has taught her this. And she's never wanted to before now. But all she can do is keep on going forward with what she has now. She can't bring Rory back, and it's breaking her heart that she can't.

And she just doesn't want to lose the Doctor, too.

Amy lays her hand against his cheek once more.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The dress (covered with mud and bits of the good old English countryside) makes her green eyes that much greener. Her skin is very pale, but her crying has scrubbed her cheeks to a fair shade of pink. The Doctor reaches up to take her hand. "I'm sorry, Amy. I'm so sorry."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"I know." Amy folds her fingers through his, and it's an awkward angle but she doesn't care. It feels good, like that. His skin against hers, and the little tremor through his hand. "I know you are. But it isn't your fault, you shouldn't be sorry. You didn't kill Rory."

She doesn't blame him. Not for this.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

"But I brought you both here," he says. "If I hadn't..."

If you hadn't, the voice chimes in, you would have done the exact same to someone else. That's your trouble, Doctor -- you don't know when to stop. Even when it hurts people.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy lifts her hands so she can lay her palms against either side of his face.

"You didn't kill Rory." There are still tears in her eyes, but she won't let him take the blame for this.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor, obviously, thinks otherwise. He might not have had his finger on the trigger, but his whole concept of adventuring and skipping about the universe like some sort of mad god often puts people into these positions. And the Doctor must, invariably, shoulder the consequences.

"Yes, but --" he begins to protest. Stalls. 'Threads a bit of her ginger hair between his fingers and says, in a lower voice. "I'm supposed to be comforting you, you know. Not the other way 'round."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

"Yes, well." Amy tilts her head and nudges forward a bit, laying her forehead against his. It's something he would do for her in a time like this and maybe it's meant to make him laugh, or to actually comfort a bit further. Either way, their eyes are very, very close.

"Who's to say I don't need comforted?"

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor puts his hands on her shoulders. Good, strong Amy Pond, bearer of so many terrible, immemorable things. Slowly, he draws her in for a hug. I'll make this right, the gesture says. I promise.

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

Amy turns her face against his throat and shuts her eyes, holding on as best she can to the memories of good things - of good, brilliant things, of which Rory is part - and it helps. A little and for now, but it helps.

She tilts her head a bit, touching her lips to his pulse. Maybe it's unthinking, or maybe not.

[goodwithtime.livejournal.com]

The Doctor cradles the crown of her head in his palm, all of her bright hair spilling down over his arms and into his collar. She smells like the home fires of Kent; of the sea and the good whole earth, and everything that grounds the Doctor to the little blue-and-green planet.

He pulls back and places his lips to the center of her forehead. 'Rubs with his thumb a bit of the dirt that his mouth leaves behind.

"Come on," he says quietly, "I want to take you somewhere."

[timeforamy.livejournal.com]

He wants to make it right. Amy realizes this the same way she knows it will never be possible. No matter what happens Rory will always be dead and her heart will still hurt for his absence. But that doesn't mean he won't try and it doesn't mean she doesn't want to stay with him.

"Where?" Her voice is a whisper.