A/N Very OOC for the Doctor to be this way, I know. I wanted to write a whumpy bromance between our Time Lord and our Centurion, though. :) Apologies for the dialect. I try, I really do.
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah. You know the drill.
MAJOR 'A GOOD MAN GOES TO WAR SPOILERS'! You have been warned.
"I love you."
And then Idris was gone, her body dissipated in a golden mist. The Doctor felt her inside of his mind once again. Desperately trying to comfort her Thief, the TARDIS reclaimed her box.
The Doctor swallowed painfully, straightening his bow-tie. Turned back to the console. Ignored his companions. Mr. and Mrs. Pond stood there for a moment longer, before deciding it was best to give him some space. Silently, they found their room. Sexy must have been in a good mood, being home and all, as their room was behind the first door that they saw. Amy collapsed into bed right away, without even taking the time to change.
Much as he wanted to to join her, Rory couldn't fall asleep. Exhaustion weighed on his brain like a kilogram of bricks, and yet Rory's body couldn't bring itself to rest. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as he stared at the ceiling from his bed. Oddly enough, his thoughts kept traveling back to the Doctor.
The Doctor really should try to get some rest...What am I thinking? He's a grown man! After a brief battle, the nurse in him won. Grateful that the bunk beads were gone, Rory swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded into the corridor.
The main control room was just beyond a door at the end of the hall—it seemed that the bedroom hadn't moved. Surprised, and even slightly suspicious, Mr. Pond made his way into the control room. Initially, it appeared empty.
The sound of strained breaths and shaky whimpers—Crying? No, of course not, Rory quickly dismissed the thought—drifted through the floor.
No more than two metres in front of Rory under the floor was the Doctor's hammock that he used for tinkering. Under the hammock, curled into a ball, was the Doctor. As Rory jogged lightly down the stairs, he could hear that the Time Lord had been the source of the whimpers.
"Oh, Doctor," Rory murmured as he crouched next to his friend. He wrapped his arms around the Doctor's slender, shaking frame and gently kissed the top of his head.
If anything, Rory expected the Time Lord to pull away, to go back to his work with a look that said something to the effect of: Me? Emotional? Silly Roman! Needless to say, he was surprised when the Doctor allowed Rory to hold him. Rory began to rock gently back and forth as the Doctor allowed his anguish to spill onto Rory's shoulder. It reminded him of the way a parent might cradle a child. The same way that (though unbeknownst to himself at the time) he would later hold a very young River Song. All the while, Rory made efforts to soothe the distressed Time Lord.
"Shhh," he muttered in the Doctor's ear. "It's alright. It's okay. I'm right here. Shhhh. I'm not going anywhere." Rory's mind flashed back to a few hours previous:
"He'll be fine," Rory dismissed Amy's concerns. "He's a Time Lord!"
"That's just what they're called," she retorted. She poked her head back out of the TARDIS. "It doesn't mean he actually knows what he's doing."
Oh, he's an alien alright, Rory thought to himself as he held the sobbing Doctor. He'd missed something, though. He may have had alien DNA, but his heart—err, hearts—were definitely human.
…
After what seemed like a long time, the cries subsided. A lifetime of silence stretched ahead of them, until—
"I stole her, you know."
Rory jumped slightly at the muffled voice. "What's that?"
"The TARDIS." A sniffle. "I stole her. From a museum."
Rory snorted. "That wouldn't be noticeable at all. Floating away with a big, blue box."
"She wasn't a box then," he mumbled. "She's a clever one—disguised herself as a painting. The Type 40 TARDIS..."
"Doctor—,"
"I know, I know. She's not actually dead. It's just..." The Doctor trailed off, shrugging helplessly. Against his will, he started to cry again. Rory just stroked his hair and began to rock him once again, until blissful, sleepy darkness claimed them both.
…
Amy found them that way under the console, awkwardly wrapped around each other. Hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. A small smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Typical Amy.
"Should I worry?"
The evident teasing in her voice relaxed both of them a bit. Even so, the Doctor and the nurse pulled away from each other without a word. The previous night would never be mentioned again except for once, the following evening after Amy had gone to bed:
"You should be getting off to bed, Ponds," the Doctor commanded absently. It started as a quiet day, and ended with the trio making a mad dash to the TARDIS. The Doctor had unknowingly tampered with—and nearly shut down—the defenses of Volant. Rory grimaced—his backside still hurt from where a blaster grazed him.
Amy, too tired to argue, was already halfway down the corridor. Rory lingered for a moment, however.
"Rory!" The Doctor clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. "Anything troubling you? Hey, I think I have just the thing! Ever heard of Barcelona? The planet, not the city. Dogs with no noses!" He continued to babble, flicking switches and pushing buttons.
"Doctor..."
"Ask me how they smell. Go on, ask!" He called enthusiastically from the other side of the console.
"Doctor—,"
"Terrible!" He clapped his hands together and laughed as if it were the funniest thing he'd heard in his nine hundred years.
"DOCTOR!" Rory yelled, losing all patience. The Time Lord immediately silenced.
"I'm sorry, Rory. I'm listening." His ancient eyes softened slightly.
"If you...yanno...I don't know, maybe need someone to talk to..." Rory trailed off, clearly embarrassed. The Doctor smiled and patted him on the back once more.
"Get some rest. Dress for warm weather tomorrow!" Rory smiled weakly and turned to leave.
"Oh—and Rory? Thank you."