I wake up in my bed with the familiar weight of another body next to me. This is normal for me. Rory Williams, the last centurion, in a loving and committed relationship, waking up one morning. The problem is, I've just woken up next to my wife's imaginary friend.
Amy wasn't feeling well last night. I just assumed it was, er, girl problems, or something like that. Amy hasn't quite been the same since the Pandorica. She was so uncomfortable and so irritable and so Scottish, so I drew her a bath in the big tub. After she got out she didn't feel like making the trek through that blasted TARDIS all the way back to our room, so I put her to bed over there. And I went back to my room, just like normal.
That's where it got weird.
I couldn't fall asleep without Amy, so I decided to meet the Doctor for a cup of tea. He was sitting there, old man that he is, hunched over some weird spacey book with those glasses and that stupid bow tie. I plunked myself down in one of those big squashy chairs that he likes so much. We sat there for about twenty minutes, him reading, and me just sitting there. Then I started to make conversation.
"What are you reading?"
"Ah, Rory. When did you get here?" he asked, visibly surprised.
"I've, uh, been here for nearly a half hour," I replied.
"Must have just slipped me by," he exhaled and straightened his bow tie. Sometimes I forget how old he is. "So, Rory, my boy Rory, what's on your mind?"
"Oh, nothing much, just can't sleep," I said. Is it always this awkward?
"Where's Amy?"
"She took a bath in the big tub and went to bed over there."
"Ah," the Doctor expressed. His face lit up suddenly. "Oh, Amy. Good old Amy."
This is so incredibly weird, I thought. I stood up. "Well, um, Doctor." I coughed. "I think I'm done with the, erm, insomnia, and now I am all ready to, uh, somnia. I'll see you tomorrow."
He smiled sadly and stood as well. "Right, then. Goodnight, Rory Pond."
"Rory Williams," I corrected.
He just laughed. Sometimes I forget that I'm older than him.
"Well." I reached out my hand to shake his. He took it firmly with a little chuckle.
"Yeah." His hand was still in mine.
I'm well aware that the Doctor has some personal space issues. I'd gotten used to it at this point. But I'd never enjoyed it until now.
You know those stupid girly books that Amy likes where the naive girl protagonist holds the hand of the romantic interest and she feels like "electricity is shooting up her arm" and all that? Yeah, it's crap. Total crap. It doesn't feel like electricity. It feels like the thing that has always been missing from your hand.
"Well, Doctor, I'd best be off to bed now," I declared too loudly, secretly hoping he wouldn't take his hand away.
"Right. I'd hate to keep the Rory Pond up too late." The corner of his mouth turned upward. I heard his clarion voice in a way I hadn't ever heard before.
I suppose a hug wouldn't be inappropriate, I thought. I leaned in to him, hoping to do that manly-mate-hug-thing I'd seen the boys do all the time but I've never successfully accomplished. He patted me on the back and left one hand on my waist.
"So. Bedtime." If you're going to do something, just do it, Rory, I urged myself.
"Yes. Bedtime. Time for bed. Bedtime! What a wonderful thing, bedtime is," he trailed off.
One time he kissed Amy on the cheek, right? And that wasn't weird. They're just good friends, after all. I felt the warmth of his hand on my waist. Saying a silent prayer, I leaned right forward and aimed for his cheek. Except that he turned his head. And I ended up planting a major kiss right on the Doctor's lips. And the most surprising thing is that I really, really enjoyed it.
"Well. Um. Erm. Right, then," I mumbled. I started to walk away. What just happened?
"Rory," he said when I was nearly out of the room. I turned around. Smirking, his dress shoes click-clacked their way toward me. He didn't say anything, just stood there, his eyes locked with mine. Our faces were less than an inch apart.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
I stepped forward and kissed him as hard as I could. No thinking, just doing. No thinking, just doing. His hands wrapped around my waist and I pulled him ever closer, frantic, desperate to eliminate all the space between us.
No thinking, no thinking, Rory. A few minutes later and the Doctor and I were in my bedroom, Amy's and my bedroom, still doing the kissing thing, pressed up against the door.
"Um, wait," I breathed in between kisses. "Erm, Doctor, I've never really, exactly, well, done this," I gestured vaguely at the two of us, "before...?"
"But you and Amy, right?" He wasn't getting what I meant.
"Well, yes, me and Amy, but, I meant like this, the two of us, um?"
"Oh," he said, clearly still not getting it. Then recognition flashed across his face. "Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Ah. Well, don't worry, Rory, my boy. I have."
This took me by surprise. "Wait, you have?"
"Nine hundred years of life, Rory," he kissed my cheek, "and you think I never got curious?"
That's what happened last night. Me and the Doctor. Amy's Doctor. In Amy's bed. I'll have to tell her, won't I? She'll get mad, I'm sure. Get all Scottish. Oh, Amy. Do I still want to be with her? I love her, I know that much, but am I in love with her? Have I gotten tired of feeling second-best? Can I still travel with them? Have I just made the biggest mistake of my life?
He's asleep next to me, still wearing that god-awful bow tie.