Well, at least the knocking implied courteousness (and that the Doctor had grasped this particular human custom was promising), so perhaps this would be quick and painless… The Doctor pushed the screen aside, entered — and tripped over his own feet after taking two steps. He didn't fall — he never seemed to actually fall — but rather continued to stumble towards them, navigating among the winding tables in a way that was at the same time uncoordinated and graceful. (Thankfully there was no instrument of any kind, nor a declaration written on rolled up parchment, not even a score of talking animals. Rory started to think there might be some funny ingredient in the food.)
The Doctor managed to stop fully an appropriate distance from the table. "Look at you, sitting there, eating food," he said, folded his hands behind his back and smiled in a way that was both proud and expectant.
Rory all too clearly understood that he waited for them to voice their opinions on the food and he desperately wanted to say something positive about it, but the only thing he could come up with described what he could actually feel— and he hardly thought even the Doctor would take his food being "warm" as a compliment.
Amy forwent fake compliments entirely and asked, "So, what did you do for all of the three minutes you were gone?"
The Doctor jerkily shrugged one shoulder. "Began a perfectly normal… diagnostic. Nothing to worry about."
Amy smirked. "Needed to take care of the fire?"
The Doctor pursed his lips, waited a beat. "There's no fire."
"You smell like smoke. You smelled like smoke when you came to get me and you still do." She lashed out and poke-tickled him in the side. "Just admit it… you set something on fire!" She accentuated every word with a poke. The Doctor didn't react at all; he looked sturdily sulky.
Rory squirmed in his seat, though. He cleared his throat and beseeched the Doctor with a look.
The Doctor thankfully got the point and kindly but firmly grasped Amy's hand and pushed it away. He made a point of looking at both of them in turn (Rory first). "Anything you need? Anything at all? I'll get it for you, whatever it may be."
Rory and Amy exchanged a look. Should they (dare to) say anything?
"It's chips, right? You want chips with that? They all want chips." The Doctor had a faraway look in his eye, one that Rory had learnt to associate with a harangue of disjointed mumbling.
Rory hasted to prevent it. "Maybe… some salt? A pinch?" Just to make him shut up and leave. Just so he'd go away for a while longer…
"Salt?" The Doctor looked at him as if this was an incredibly dumb request, but after a mere moment of excessive staring, he visibly relented. "All right, if you say so. Rory."
"Thanks," said Rory, with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Doctor." Amy placed her elbows on the table, her chin in her palms, and then she pinned the Doctor with a stare. "Bread."
The Doctor seemed to consider her demand. Then he said, "Salt is more important than bread. Bread is just a side dish."
Amy pouted, just a little. "Really? It's not that you just don't like bread?"
The Doctor didn't answer. He simply spun round and stalked off, quickly. "Right, salt! Amy, don't let your food get cold. Rory… entertain Amy while she eats."
They watched the Doctor leave in unspoken mutual agreement, both poised as if to reach for their utensils at any moment.
As soon as the Doctor had left the room, Amy leant back and languidly folded her arms. "You heard him… entertain me, Ror."
"Entertainment, yes… How?" He decided this would be a bad time to bring up The Kiss that had lost him sleep, despite the oddly soothing humming that permeated his bedroom whenever his thoughts wandered in that direction.
"Well, you've got that impression of your boss, and that thing where your eyes go all wonky."
"Right. Those make me sound incredibly boring."
Amy gave him a soft-eyed look, which looked especially endearing in the candlelight. Then she slid down a bit in her seat.
And she poked him on low on the shin with a toe, and then she poked him a bit higher, and then a bit higher still. He chuckled and flushed (a lot). "I'm pretty sure this is you entertaining me."
"As long as you giggle like that it's mutual…" She placed her foot squarely on his knee.
The folding screen clattered loudly as it was pushed aside again (Rory didn't even know folding screens could clatter). The Doctor stopped just inside the room, the bright orange light in the antechamber silhouetting him. "Looks like I've used all the salt to unclog the rectifying rotors," he shouted. Then he held up something that, in the backlight, looked like a milk bottle. "I found this. It might be salt in here, but it could also be something, uh, a tad poisonous. I'll just give it a quick scan in the medbay…"
"No, really, don't," said Rory, loudly.
"You're right! Popping down to a salt flat would be just as quick. I'll just go and do that…"
"No, really!" Rory shouted this time. Salt flat? he thought. Why not pop down to a shop? Show off.
Amy removed her foot from his knee, sat up straight and shouted, "I want to go to a salt flat!"
"But you're eating!" the Doctor called back.
Rory half-rose from his chair. "Really, Doctor, we don't need salt!"
The Doctor froze for a moment, then carefully put down the container and sauntered over to them. Unusually slowly.
"Salt flats…" Amy keened, folding herself across the table (skilfully without upsetting either her plate or the pair of candles). "They're someplace warm, yeah? Let's go someplace warm!"
The Doctor didn't even look at Amy. He didn't look at Rory either. He stared stonily at the tureen. "Tell me honestly, it's okay," he said, in a voice that was a bit soft, but a bit sharp, too. "You didn't like it."
Rory made a noise.
Amy rolled her eyes and sat up again. "It was really sweet of you, Doctor, but… cooking might not be your thing. You've got a time machine, though, which makes up for… a lot of things. Now to the salt flats!"
The Doctor looked at her, the same stony expression on his face. There were shadows beneath his eyes (though that might have been a trick of the flickering candles). Then, as quick as a flash, he snatched up Amy's fork, dug it into the heftiest part of her food portion, and put it in his mouth.
Rory felt his jaw go slack. Amy's fork… in his mouth…and who did that anyway?
The Doctor made a very odd face and dropped the fork — it landed with a muted squelch in Amy's remaining food. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, and swallowed the bite with some difficulty. Then he straightened, obviously completely taken aback, his eyes just a bit deranged. "It tastes like nothing! This is horrible, it's awful, I'm sorry… How could this have happened, I'm great at making this dish… New mouth, though, can you taste anything?" He pointed at Amy.
She shook her head.
He pointed at Rory. "Anything? At all?"
Rory grimaced and shook his head too.
"I've ruined your meal, I —" Some sort of light came into the Doctor's eyes, pushing the shock away. "Oh, oh, wait, wait… It's getting there… getting there — and here it is!" He spread his arms and grinned hugely. "Must be the flowers delaying the… well, it's not half-bad, given I didn't have the actual ingredients… Wait, no — it's better than half-bad. It's good. I knew it would be good!"
Amy raised an eyebrow. "What are you on about now? Getting there?"
"Oh, your human taste buds. Expect a delay of, ah, nine minutes from the first bite."
"What happens nine minutes after the first bite?" asked Rory, a bit confused (and a little scared).
"The taste shows up."
"The taste. Shows. Up?"
"Yes! See, I knew I couldn't have regressed that much."
"So the taste doesn't show up at first because…" Amy asked, looking definitely sceptical.
"Long story. It's because of the secret ingredient."
"And what's that then?"
"Secret!"
"Is it custard?"
The Doctor smirked.
"Are you kidding?" asked Rory, flapping his hands over his plate. "Food shouldn't have any delays… That's — that's just wrong. You're sure this isn't bad for us?"
"If it had been bad for you, don't you think I would have realised it a long time ago and thrown your plates away… like Frisbees?" He mimicked throwing a Frisbee. "It's not dangerous, just a bit… weird."
"Weird how?"
Obviously trying to distract them, the Doctor reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew (with some difficulty) a napkin wrapped around something bulky. He unfolded the napkin and revealed a dozen pieces immensely burnt toast.
"Ah, great!" said Amy, not very enthusiastically, accepted the napkin and dropped it all carelessly into the breadbasket, onto the napkins that already were stacked there.
"It's bread!" said the Doctor, and looked happy.
Amy looked at him, then at the bread. This would have been a golden opportunity for her to scorn the Doctor a bit, Rory thought, but nothing happened. Instead Amy reached out, took a piece of bread, broke off the least charred corner and popped it into her mouth. She pushed the basket over to Rory.
He chose a slice solely because he was getting really hungry. He wasn't sure he'd dare eat more of the stew, anyway.
The Doctor folded his hands behind his back again, and then he simply stood there.
Rory realised he was waiting for the minutes to tick by. It was just impossible to get rid of him. "So…" he said. "Do you have any idea how long we've been here?"
"Oh, I'd say you should expect to taste something soon."
"That's just what I always want to hear from the chef."
The Doctor glared.
Amy sighed. "While we're waiting, Rory can impersonate his boss-" Then she clasped both hands to her mouth. "I can taste it! I can!"
The Doctor took a step closer to her and leant forward expectantly.
"It's… it's…"
He leant forward even more.
Her eyes grew round. "'S good! It's good, Doctor." She took another bite of food. With the fork he'd used. She didn't even wipe it off, though she had a napkin in her lap. Right next to her hands.
Rory frowned. Was she joking? Was she making it up for some reason known-only-to-Amy?
The Doctor beamed, clasped his hands, and stared at Amy as if she had done something remarkable.
"I can't taste anything," Rory said, "How come she can if we both had the first bite at the same time?"
The Doctor cocked his head. "Rory, your taste buds are just a little slow. Either that or there's a lot of gunk on your tongue."
Had Amy and the Doctor planned this together? Were they tricking him? Was this some kind of initiation to the TARDIS? They had eaten at practically the same second, so shouldn't he taste it too if -
He could taste something. Something sweet, to be precise. And, hold on, something salty (huh), and a little tart… his tongue wanted to curl in on itself in sheer confusion. He had a sudden urge to taste the actual food instead of settling for the echo on his tongue and went for his fork just as Amy had. He took a bite, and this time it was just not a warm lump on his tongue; this time it had taste (it was also stone cold, but who cared?). It was rich, creamy, savoury, spicy (though not overbearingly so, just flavoursome)… There were flavours everywhere. It was good. Good. Really. Who'd known?
The Doctor thrust his face reallyveryclose to Rory's. "You can taste it too."
Rory nodded, a little taken aback. "It's… it's really nice."
The Doctor grinned slowly, in a way that was much too arrogant to be pleasant, and stillRory wanted to smile back at him.
Amy nudged the Doctor's arm and smirked. "So, can we order pudding now?"
to be contined.