Rory leant against the TARDIS console, drumming his fingers impatiently and tugging at his bow tie. "I don't know how you put up with these things, Doctor," he muttered, "Bow ties. They're so uncomfortable."
"Yes, well, the Victorians didn't think so," the Doctor flicked his watch. "They had the right idea – bow ties. Very cool. Everybody wore them. And we want to look the part," he sucked in and blew out noisily. "How hard can it be to put on a dress? I vividly remember telling her to be quick."
Amy snorted from the top of the TARDIS stairs, and the boys both turned to see her in an emerald green corseted dress with a big skirt, her red, ringleted hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked positively Victorian. "Oh Doctor," she said, "You've obviously never had a proper girlfriend before, have you?"
Rory fumbled for words. Sometimes he just couldn't believe Amy was his, and a lot of the time he thought the fiancée of someone so beautiful should at least be able to speak when she entered a room, but quite honestly the most coherent thought he could come up with was that the TARDIS should land in Victorian England more often if it meant Amy would wear dresses like that.
The Doctor smirked up at her. "Come along, Pond. We're very late." She rolled her eyes and descended the stairs. "You have a time machine, Doctor. You don't know the meaning of the word late."
"Nevertheless, we should be going. I hate getting messages on my psychic paper – it means things are serious. We don't want to keep this one waiting. 'Help me, Doctor,'… I wonder what's the problem." He offered Amy his arm, and Rory watched the two glide towards the TARDIS doors. He kicked himself mentally for not offering Amy his arm first. Great, now people will think she's with the Doctor. As always.
"Come on, slowpoke!" Amy called back to Rory as the Doctor placed his hand on the doorknob, "It's 1838. This is Buckingham Palace. You don't want to miss Queen Victoria's coronation ball!" The TARDIS doors creaked softly as they swung open, and the Doctor and Amy Pond stepped lightly out into a world of chandeliers, corsets and champagne – Victorian England.
The party was already in full swing as Rory entered the palace ballroom. Couples waltzed around the room, spinning and whirling like tops, skirts billowing and boots clicking. The ceiling of the ballroom was as high as a small apartment block, and Rory had to steady himself as he stared up at its massive, gold-corniced expanse. People were accepting hors d'oeuvres and glasses of sparkling champagne from wait staff circulating among small groups of politicians, socialites, lords and ladies politely discussing the weather out of the way of the dance floor. Rory caught snippets of conversation as he wandered through them, hurrying to catch up with the Doctor and Amy - bits of, "Isn't she just beautiful?" and "Oh, but she is so young." He turned to stare up at the podium and saw the newly crowned Queen Victoria seated on her throne, gazing happily over the busyness. She was only young. And she is very beautiful, Rory thought to himself.
Turning away from the podium, he saw that Amy and the Doctor, still arm in arm, had already found themselves a place in one of the small circles of socialisers. Everybody was already laughing at some joke made by the Doctor, and Amy was looking at him with that smile of hers that was the reason for Rory's life. Rory felt a pang of jealousy in his heart. That smile – those red lips, those sparkling eyes - was why he first fell in love with her. It was a special smile. A smile of love. He hated that more and more often now he'd caught her sharing it with the Doctor. And there she was, doing it again. He huffed under his breath and turned away, aiming for a row of empty chairs against the wall. The other two seemed happy enough without him. Surely they could find the person who sent the message by themselves. He would wait in the corner until the night was over and they wanted him. He didn't mind. He was used to this. Of course he didn't mind, really.
I never mind, really, he frowned to himself. He folded his hands together and began to wait.
The guests at the ball were, in Amy's eyes, properly boring. They were obviously all there because it was their job to be there, and they didn't seem to realise it was an incredible, one-of-a-kind occasion celebrating a legendary queen. From what they were laughing about, they all seemed to think Victoria was too young and too stupid to be their monarch. She was just a girl in their eyes. As a citizen of the future, all Amy could do was stare up at Victoria on her podium and see a strong, powerful, gracious Queen that would revolutionise Britain. And make her fail high school history. But Amy tried not to think about that.
But the Doctor insisted that they talk to the dull guests. They needed to find out who has sent the message to the psychic paper, and the only way they could do that was by working the room and talking to every person. Amy pulled her gaze away from the Queen and back to reality in time to catch the end of the Doctor's joke – "but he was actually Welsh!" - and smile at him. The three elegant women surrounding them tinkled with laughter and their husbands guffawed.
"So tell us, Doctor – what do you do?"
The Doctor flashed his psychic paper. "Private Detective Smith. I've been notified of an unusual situation in the area and I'm just here to keep an eye on things. On behalf of Her Majesty, of course."
One of the men raised his eyebrows. "Something to do with all those murders?"
"Pardon me?" interjected Amy.
"Where have you been living, girl? People have been dying left right and centre – somebody's been ripping hearts out."
"Ripping hearts out?"
"Nobody knows how, but bodies have been found across the city. All missing their hearts."
The Doctor frowned. "Please excuse us." He nodded. "Ladies, gentlemen."
He pulled Amy away by the elbow. "Come on. We really have to find this person, right now. When there's a killer on the loose and somebody is sending for help at the same time… we can't take any chances."
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and began slowly scanning the room with it. "Uhm – Doctor?" Amy asked, "What're you looking for?"
"I'm checking to see if there's anybody here who's abnormally afraid." Amy rolled her eyes. "Please, Doctor, your sonic screwdriver can't pick up emotions. It's just a machine." The Doctor raised his eyebrows at her. "You don't know the half of what my screwdriver can do, Pond." He sighed. "It's strange – everybody here seems perfectly normal. Nobody seems even remotely nervous. And nobody seems to have the technology on them to contact me via the psychic paper. But the TARDIS said the message was coming from here, from this very room. How can that be?"
"Doctor, people are staring. Put that thing away." Amy smiled at a handsome young waiter and took the glass of champagne he was offering. "Relax. I'm sure we'll find them. This is the world's poshest party! Have a drink, for goodness' sake."
The Doctor ignored her and continued to scan the room, making her groan and gulp at her drink. This is going to be one loooong night, she thought.
Rory fumed. He'd been sitting by himself for at least twenty minutes. Amy would never have forgotten about him if they'd been at a regular party, back at home, without the Doctor. She would have come up to him and insisted that he ask her to dance. They would have danced, they would have laughed, they would have kissed, they would have gone home together…
But this wasn't a regular party and they weren't back at home, and the Doctor was there, which meant Amy had forgotten him, and he was alone. The weird third wheel. And he had to wear this stupid bow tie. It was choking him.
He was so lost in his own musings that he jumped when a slight young woman plopped herself into the seat next to him. "It's not all bad, you know," she said.
"Sorry?"
"Your girl. Flirting with that man over there. You're obviously very jealous of him, and so you should be. But look on the bright side – she's giving you the freedom to do your own flirting! Have a bit of fun rather than sitting in the corner and sulking!"
Rory stared. "Um, I'm sorry – who are you?"
She had long blonde hair pulled up into a bun, a half-sneer on her face, a twinkle in her eye, a little waist and – Rory couldn't help but notice – a fairly substantial pair of boobs. "Oh, sorry, sweetheart. I forget sometimes that people don't notice me as much as I notice them. I'm Mary." She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Like the Virgin."
Rory's breath caught in his throat. "Um, hi." He decided that he liked Mary. Silence hung in the air as he searched for something not-stupid to say.
"Well, are you going to make this difficult or am I going to have to force it out of you?" She smiled. "Tell me your name, Mister Mute!"
"Oh – yeah – sorry – I'm Rory. Rory Williams."
"Well then, Rory Williams. Shall we have a dance? You can tell me all about why you're jealous of that man over there with your fiancée. It's good to get things like that off your chest." She jumped up and Rory gaped up at her, still a little taken aback at her abruptness.
Mary laughed. "Come on! Are you going to open up to me? She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Or will I have to rip your heart out to get you to do it?"
Rory smiled and let her pull him into the whirl of the dance floor.
Reviews would be so lovely. It's my first fan fiction, I need all the help I can get! Thank you for reading!
