A/N:Title shamelessly stolen from Rudyard Kipling. Many thanks to GrumpyJenn for a lightning fast beta!

Keep calm. Just keep calm. Nothing bad can be happening if you just stay very, very calm.

Sometimes, Rory wanted to tell the voices in his head to sod off. Today was definitely one of those days.

The Doctor was possibly dead. He looked dead, lying at Rory's feet. Amy was screaming, and River was desperately shooting at the retreating figure of the Apollo astronaut as it descended below the surface of the lake, and all Rory felt as if he was somewhere else, watching people who looked like the people he loved but couldn't possibly be real.

The rushing sound of blood pumping through his veins threatened to overwhelm his senses, and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out. Then, dimly, he realized that River had stopped firing and that an elderly man he'd never seen before was standing next to him.

"That is most certainly the Doctor," the stranger said, "And he is most certainly dead."

"What happened to your hand?" River asked gently from the driver's seat as she steered the Doctor's car back onto the highway.

For his part, Rory was holding Amy in the backseat. She hadn't said a word or really looked at either of them except in a glazed, unfocused way since they'd left the beach. His right arm was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and he had to crane his neck to see what River was talking about. His knuckles were unexpectedly raw and bleeding.

"It must have happened when I was launching the boat," he said softly, flexing his hand. "They don't hurt—I'm probably in shock."

"We'll find antiseptic back at the diner," River said, her eyes back on the road.

The car went silent, and Rory felt Amy begin to shake with new sobs. Desperate for distraction, he asked the only question he could think of. "Why are we going back there?"

"We need to regroup. We need to figure out what just happened and why." Her voice shook as she met Rory's eye in the rearview mirror, and suddenly Rory was reminded that River wasn't just a fellow traveling companion of the Doctor's—he was fairly certain she was in love with him.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively.

"No. Not really," she replied, and Rory could see her grip tighten on the wheel. He felt certain that her fingernails must be digging into her palms, and hoped they wouldn't both be in need of bandaging by the time they got to their destination. Then again, the parts that actually hurt couldn't exactly be healed with the application of some antibiotic ointment and gauze.

"I'm so sorry," he said, unable to think of anything more comforting to tell her.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Two months later, Rory found himself in the TARDIS's wardrobe room with instructions from Canton to "Find something less… you. Think black suit." He could hear River sliding hangers one level down, chuckling to herself. "Oh, he is going to love this," she said out loud, though Rory was fairly certain that the "he" she was referring to wasn't within earshot.

"Find something, River?" he called out, more to make sure she knew he could hear her than out of genuine interest.

"You could say that," she replied, and Rory went back to perusing the rack full of black suits. Really, for a man who appeared to wear the same thing every single day, the Doctor owned an embarrassing amount of clothing, and very little of it appeared to be his size. "Any luck yet?"

"I don't know—how wide should the lapels be?"

"Narrow," she answered in a slightly muffled voice, and he realized with some embarrassment that she was in the process of changing. "Need help?"

"No, thanks, got it covered!" he hoped his voice sounded less strangled to her ears than it had to his. He seized the first suit he could reach and quickly dodged behind a screen as he heard the sound of heels tapping up the stairs. "Just need a minute here!"

River laughed again, closer this time, and even though Rory knew she couldn't see him, he blushed.

Trousers, jacket, and white Oxford sorted, Rory realized he needed a tie. Canton was wearing a tie, and he was fairly certain that he was supposed to look like Canton. He stepped out from behind the screen only to find River waiting, a black necktie in her hand. "Thought you would probably need this," she said, offering it to him.

"Thanks, don't wear these very often." Rory turned to face one of the mirrors dotting the room, hands fumbling with the slipknot. "Funny-my dad wore a tie to work every day when I was growing up. Amy made me steal them when we were kids so we could play Raggedy Doctor-the bowtie apparently came after he met her for the first time. I always thought I'd wear them too, when I became a dad. Guess it's a good thing I'm not one, since I'm pretty sure I don't even own a tie."

"You've got scars on your knuckles," River observed from behind him, watching as he attempted to tie the knot. "Here, let me help."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, from Utah." Rory turned around, and River quickly fixed the mess he had made of things. She didn't meet his eye as she worked, focusing intently on the fabric even though he suspected she could have done this blindfolded. "Where did you learn to do that?" She looked up then, but couldn't see anything behind her eyes except careful neutrality. It was a mask she'd clearly spent a long time cultivating, he realized.

"Here and there," she smirked, but the expression didn't quite meet her eyes. "Didn't you use the dermal regenerator?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"Didn't have time," he explained with a shrug. "It's all right—they'll fade before the year's up."

River adjusted the knot at his collar and laid a hand over her work, straightening the silk. "Scars do that, don't they?"

Suddenly Rory was acutely aware that they weren't talking about his hand. Say something, the voice in the back of his head urged. "Sometimes. The deep ones tend to stick around, though."

She nodded, and her hand stilled. "Everything fades eventually."

He wondered if she was succeeding in convincing herself, or if her words sounded as hollow to her ears as they did in his. "It's okay if something stays, though, you know? We all have scars we never lose, even if others can't see them."

River looked at him then, and for a moment he saw the same hollow vulnerability in her eyes that he'd first witnessed back in a hot car driving through the Utah desert. Then she looked away, took a step back, and gestured at her dress. "TARDIS blue. What do you think?"

He laughed to break the tension. "He'll love it. Um, I should probably get back. Canton's going to wonder what we're doing in here for so long."

She smiled again, and began pulling her hair into a chignon. "Give me ten minutes. Oh, and Rory?" He turned, "Thank you."