Warnings: Slight Spoilers for 7.05, Introspection, Character Study, Fluff
A/N: Written for who_contest's Prompt: Beauty comprised of overly thinky ramblings, too much speculation and *GASP* FLUFF. Wandery-blithery within (youse has been warned), as per usual, but there are a few things in here not usual, so I'll let it go at that. This one wrote itself (after it got done telling me to quit trying to 'help') and I must say, Amy and Rory have done it again! Though I have no idea where this came from, much less its adherence to the prompt (but that is typical, so *handwaves*). As always, mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/blithery and unbeta'd.
Disclaimer(s): I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!
"I will say this," Amy hummed from beside him. "The sunsets are better. More colorful and less…"
"Smoggy?" Rory supplied with a tilt of his head, grin curled in the corners of his mouth as she thought-frowned her way through the idea. "Diluted? Muted?"
"No…hectic." Amy finally said. "Though good on you with the adjectives there."
"I've been working on it," Rory nodded, voice thoughtful, but with that crooked Rory-smile still lingering on the stretch of his lips. "My wife's a writer."
"Is she?" Amy mocked, snatching his jam toast from his fingers and inhaling it in two bites. "Wonder what she would say, you hanging out with strange gingers on benches at sunset."
"Knowing her, she would likely punch me in the arm and – hey!" He complained, rubbing at the sore spot on his bicep.
"Moron," Amy said fondly, taking the opportunity to snatch his cooling tea from where he had sat it, draining it in one gulp.
"Yeah, she'd say that," Rory grumbled, not really upset, but more because that's how they were. "How was the tea?"
"Could've used a tad more sugar and less milk," Amy retorted in the guise of being helpful.
"A tad…a tad more – you know, it's hardly tea when you're done with it," Rory groused.
"How fitting, we're hardly watching the sunset right now." Amy laughed, not making any sense, but not needing to either. She slipped her fingers through his, squeezing slightly and being rewarded with another crooked Rory-smile, his eyes lighting up in that way they had that sent shivers racing under her skin, the feeling of freedom and joy surging through her soul. It had been a hard few months, but they were getting better at the slow path. Finding their way.
Rory was leading the charge on this one – and showing that flawless ability to adapt, to make it better as he always had for her. As he had been doing since he had fallen from the sky and made her life bright again.
"Lovely dusk," Rory mused contentedly, breaking the slow wash of comfortable quiet that was Amy and Rory, Rory and Amy (brand new yet still the same). "What do you think?"
"I don't know," Amy said playfully, though softer now, as if she could break the warm wrap of themselves. "Why don't you ask your wife?"
"Maybe I will," Rory chuckled. "She's usually ready to tell me what she thinks at any given time."
"Ooo, pushy," Amy said in that mocking playful tone, giving his fingers another squeeze. Rory grinned his grin of mischief and knocked her shoulder gently, his happiness enough to light her world for the next thousand years.
"Nah, she's just perfect," he said simply, pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her, teacup at their feet long forgotten. "She's my Amy."
"A lucky woman, indeed," Amy mused, tucking her head under his chin as night fell around them, content to be on the slow path with the man she called home.