"Amelia Pond," he says, still looking at the ground, scuffing at the dirt with his feet, his hands sweaty as they clasp together behind his back. "It's pretty. Sounds like something out of a fairy tale."
"No it doesn't!" comes the quick, sharp reply. He jolts slightly as she stamps her foot on the ground. He looks up at her, her fists clenched by her sides, her face hard. It seems to soften slightly, she bites her lip, only for a second. "Call me Amy," she adds. "I prefer it."
He gives her a small smile, nods his head.
"Ok. Amy," he says, trying it out, still smiling at her. Her face brightens up at this. "I like that too."
.
He's always thought Amy was special, even before the Doctor came along and confirmed it; made her believe it, even though he'd told her thousands of times before. The first time he kissed her, he thought she'd tasted like the universe, the supernovas slowly burning on his tongue, planets spinning in his head, specks of light dancing in his eyes.
After that, their first kiss, she does become the whole universe to him, her hair burning like the sun, her eyes the stars. He falls more deeply in love with her, and she
- well, she holds his hand. He won't ever stop loving that.
.
She's lying on the grass, her head spread out around her, green poking in through the red, looking up with him the wide eyes he knows so well ( - amber with little flecks of green and gold, that shine in the light and in her excitement). He pauses for a minute, lets her words sink in.
"You make love sound so simple," he says.
"It is," she says, and for once he doesn't like the certainty in her voice; too certain for fourteen year old. "You either feel it or you don't."
"But -" he starts, only to sigh again. "Emotions don't work like that."
"They do for me," she says simply, shrugging her shoulders. It's his turn to shrug his shoulders now, though for once, he thinks she may not be right.
.
They start of slow, more with a whisper than a bang. But that's the way he likes it.
They're just Rory Williams & Amelia Pond, together.
.
(When he leaves, goes away, she never truly forgets him. It's true.
She has dreams, kisses that taste like history itself, spinning dates, and sleepless nights and warm hands that fit perfectly in hers (and she never quite gets used to the feel of the Doctor's in hers, the slightly cooler skin foreign).
She likes it, she finds, but then he's gone. Like smoke - she can still taste him on her tongue.)
.
For once, is a slow day for them, something they haven't had in awhile, not since the Doctor returned, at least. They're waiting for him, sitting on a seat as Amy swings her legs back and they look up at the stars; swirls of purple and pink and yellow, a sun burning only a light year away.
"I think this is my favourite thing in the world," she says suddenly, still looking up at the sky. He glances at her, looks away again when she doesn't immediately return it. He knows it all by now.
"What?" he asks her. She shrugs her shoulder slightly, and their shoulders brush.
"The stars, the view," she says. "Travelling. I love it all." At this, she smiles at him, he nods.
"Me too," he says. They're silent again, the sky slowly getting darker, lights burning brighter. Their hands brush again, and slowly, unconsciously she starts to draw on his hand, tracing what seems to be the same patterns as the nebulas and stardust. He breathes in, out, again, and whispers,
"I like us too." Her motions stop, and he immediately misses the feeling of it. He hears her take a deep breath.
"Yeah," she breathes out. There's a quick swipe of her thumb of his knuckle.
"Me too."
.
She runs away thrice, each time looking for the Doctor.
He always goes looking for her, manages to find her even though she never leaves a note with more than two words on it. He always does.
The night that he comes back with her, he's with her then as well. Holds her all night, in her backyard as she - they - wait for the Doctor and a blue box. The second time, she kisses him on the cheek. She falls asleep on his shoulder too. He doesn't mind.
.
She wakes up sometimes, gripping in the sheets tightly, digging the nails in and creasing the pure white even more. It's the same each time; scenes of an empty bed, haunting words printed on white paper, an unspoken goodbye.
Him, just gone.
She falls back to sleep again, an arm around her waist.
Always.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.
A/N: First time writing for Amy/Rory. Sorry if it's confusing or anything, I was just trying to get the feel of their relationship right. And, it's late. Anyway, review/PM me if you hated it/loved it/have questions, etc.