Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who—that would be the BBC. I'm just borrowing the characters and their universe to play with.

A very Happy Birthday to the best Companion a Time Lord could ask for, Wordy (nut-tree)! She has some lovely writing on her page; I deeply encourage you all to cast an eye. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this!

Doctor Who: Crop Circles

Though he couldn't put a finger on it, when Rory woke up that morning, he had a sneaking, inexplicable suspicion it was going to be one of those days.

He found Amy in the kitchen, angrily pacing about with her mobile in hand, dialling furiously. The sight immediately made him apprehensive, because an angry Amy with a phone in hand was never a good sign. Actually, it didn't matter what she had in hand. If she was angry enough, it usually ended up being thrown against a wall at some point.

"What's the matter?" Rory asked, trying to appear pacifying as he walked over to pull the whistling kettle off the stove.

Amy muttered a few things into the mouthpiece before shutting it a minute later and taking a breath to calm herself. "That daft Time Lord is late."

Rory handed her an apple in passing her on his way to the cupboard. She accepted it with a kiss on his cheek, and Rory was silently thankful. If it came down to it, his wife would probably regret damaging a fruit beyond repair less than she would her mobile. "He didn't exactly give us a time frame," Rory reminded her. "And, if he had, I doubt it would have been in proper, intelligible English, anyway."

There was a loud huff from behind him as he fetched a teabag. "Well, the least he could do is pick up his bloody phone for once." She yelled the words at the phone as though it was to blame.

Rory tried to say the right thing. "I'm sure he's trying, Amy."

She sighed. As he poured the hot water into the teapot, he noticed her shoulders drop, her entire body deflating. He dropped in a teabag and left it to sit, worry crossing his face as he made his way over to Amy. A change in attitude that abrupt usually meant there was something going on buried much deeper than he could see.

"I just . . . can't stand not knowing," she confessed. Rory frowned further, placing his hands on her shoulder in an effort to soothe her. "It's been weeks, Rory. We haven't heard anything from him yet. Even when he disappeared last time, he left us clues. What if he isn't leaving any because he's hasn't got any? What if . . ."

Rory stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. It had been a deliberate effort on both their parts to mention their lost child as little as possible since settling back home after the battle of Demon's Run, if only to prevent them from descending into . . . well, situations like this. They trusted the Doctor to bring her back safe and sound, but Rory admitted that he had been fretting just as much as Amy probably was. It wasn't easy not knowing where, or if, your loved ones were when all of Time and Space was in the question.

"He hasn't found her yet," Amy mumbled into the crook of his neck, her lips brushing the skin there. "What if he never does, Rory? She could be gone. She might not remember us, she might . . . I don't even want to think about it."

"Then don't," Rory whispered. He stroked her hair. "We'll go into town today, yeah? Go for a walk, have a picnic, do some shopping . . . All right?"

Amy drew back, wiping her eyes with her hands to dispel the evidence of tears. "Yeah. Good plan. Thank you." There was a slight pause in which neither of them moved. "I just . . . I wish there was a way to find him."

"I know," he sympathized, grabbing her hands and squeezing once. He knew, because he'd been feeling the same way. Perhaps that had been why he'd felt odd this morning—he knew that there would be a slight breaking point to come. After two thousand years, he might have developed the occasional useful instinct or two. Unfortunately, that same instinct was now telling him that the Doctor was not on his way and would not be for quite some time. The worst case scenario, of course, was that he never would appear, leaving them to fill in the blanks themselves. Rory didn't want to let himself consider that. He just wanted the Doctor to show up.

Sure, the Doctor was rarely punctual, always lying, always making up his own rules. But he was a Time Lord, emphasis on time. And when it concerned the child of his two Companions, then Rory just hoped he would be intelligent enough to figure out when keeping them waiting would not be a particularly bright idea.

His mind was quickly made up.

He kissed Amy quickly on the lips before letting go of her hands. With his wife watching curiously from the kitchen, he strode purposefully into the hall and picked up his keys, his jacket and an old map of Leadworth that was happily sitting right on the banister. He took the items back into the kitchen, awkwardly trying to shove his arms into the jacket without dropping anything. He very nearly managed, but just lost hold of the keys as he pulled his second arm through. Amy, bless, was immediately there to pick them up and hand them to him with a smile that he was powerless to return.

"What's this about, then?" she asked. "I know my way around my own town, Rory. You do, too."

"That's not why I brought the map," he said, unfolding it to its full size. His eyes scanned the paper, and he could feel Amy huddled up behind him, trying to discern what he was doing. Finally, Rory's eyes landed on the large, empty expanse of land he'd been searching for, and he set the map down on the table with a small "Aha!"

He began looking for a marker, catching Amy's deeply confused gaze as he did. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for a marker," he replied, dashing from drawer to drawer and foraging through each one for a suitable writing utensil.

He caught Amy shaking her head. "You keep them in the tin behind the flowerpot, Rory."

"No, I don't," he retorted, distinctly remembering placing them in one of the drawers.

There was an exasperated sigh from behind him. "Yes, you do," Amy insisted in her know-it-all voice she'd possessed since they were kids.

"Amy, I'm positive, I don't—" He turned around only to come face to face with a gorgeous ginger woman with a tin of markers extended in her hand. He glanced at the shelf with the flowers, noting that the pot had been displaced. Well. "Right, thanks." Cheeks flushing at Amy's triumphant giggling, he plucked a marker from the tin and took it over to the map. Rory was gradually coming to the realization that Amy was always right, no matter the day, time or situation.

His wife was again standing right behind him. "Seriously, what are you doing? What's this got to do with finding the Doctor? And why are you defacing our good map?"

Rory spoke and scribbled on the paper at the same time. "You remember that neglected field just off Hensley Creek Avenue? The one where we used to play hide-and-seek with Mels when we were kids?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

He finished scribbling the word on the page in the area he'd just told her of, picking up the map and putting it right in front of her face so she could observe what he'd done. He hoped she would figure out his plan.

She did. Her head popped out from the side of the map, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You can't be serious."

"Can be, and I am," he replied. He fished his keys from his pocket with one hand and grabbed Amy's with the other, the map held by Amy. The pot of hot tea was all but forgotten. "You want to find the Doctor? Let's go find the Doctor. I'm driving." Amy didn't protest.

Before he knew it, his fairly normal, domestic morning got thrown for a loop, and everything took off in a whirlwind of time travel and proposals and bananas. He punched Hitler, shortly before escorting him into the cupboard. His best friend was his daughter was River Song. He was trapped inside a robotic replica of Amy. The Doctor was dying. Again.

And yeah, it was one of those days.

Thank you for reading, and Happy Birthday, nut-tree! Please review if you find the time.

~Fishyicon