DISCLAIMER: I do not own
A/N: A huge thanks goes to all the wonderful people out there who have been reading this story so far and of course to my beta and co-writer Jesa463
Rory couldn't sleep, though weighed down with fatigue, his mind simply wouldn't let him. His slowly-crumbling excuse of a mind was overflowing with thoughts. His life was flashing in front of his eyes and he wasn't happy with what he saw. His tiny life in Leadworth was nothing compared to the mass size and scale of the universe. All those planets, stars and galaxies that he had seen on his travels with The Doctor made him feel so insignificant and unimportant. He hadn't had much ambition in his life, even after The Doctor placed him and Amy back in Leadworth. He remembered his biggest dream being that of becoming a small Leadworth nurse and growing old with Amy. Now that small dream had disintegrated into nothing. He wasn't going to grow old with Amy, and he's not quite sure if it would feel right going back to Leadworth just for a job. He could become a nurse elsewhere, though somehow that wouldn't feel right either. The only reason he became a nurse was due to the fact that Amy seemed to love medical men. Once upon a time, she made him dress up as the raggedy Doctor. She had placed him in an over-sized shirt that they had stolen from his dad. A small trace of a smile flickered across his features as he remembered the days where he and Amy were happy. That Scottish accent of hers was beautiful and commanding. He fell for that voice of hers from the moment she came up to him and said 'hello'.
However his smile soon began to falter as his mind resumed to the present. He was, once again, lying down on the medical bay cot in the TARDIS. He was quite literally feeling a million miles from his old life in Leadworth. His injuries were still vast and a fiery-hot pain was constantly burning under his aching muscles. Though he wasn't about to bother The Doctor about it. Rory knew that even by sneaking on-board the TARDIS he had caused only hassle for the Timelord. Not only had he gotten under The Doctor's feet but he had also hurt him, immensely so. Rory felt a sharp shudder jolt down his spine at the sheer memory of The Doctor screaming. When those blood-boiling sounds had reached his ears, he knew he should have stopped. He hadn't. His finger kept tugging at his hair until The Doctor was wailing on the ground, mumbling a line of incoherent words, madness blazing in his deep green eyes. Rory lifted his hand to his face and swallowed down hard. He can still imagine The Doctor's blood coming away on his fingers.
The Doctor should have gotten angry, should have kicked him out of the TARDIS at the first chance he had, but he hadn't. Instead he had done something quite shocking. He had kissed him. Though technically Rory was the one who had started the whole kissing business. However his kiss was fueled by anger and a tiny spark of something within him that that caused him to have a weird sense of attraction to the alien. On the other hand, The Doctor's kiss was the complete opposite. It had been soft, tender and filled with such care that Rory's heart almost imploded. Even now, his heart felt as though it was barely able to beat out its usual rhythm. That kiss was a sign of The Doctor begging for forgiveness, but forgiveness was something Rory was finding hard to find for the 1,000-year-old alien that had cost him everything
As Rory lay stranded on the medical cot, he began mulling over the complicated feelings stirring up within him towards The Doctor. At the same time of feeling an immense anger that was burning at his very core, he can feel other emotions too, weaker ones, but were far more consistent. He felt guilty, he felt sorrow, he felt the happiness he had felt when traveling the stars with him, and he felt a deep gut-wrenching connection. That connection was probably due to the fact of The Doctor being similar to him. Similar given the fact that he also had nothing left. The Doctor had told enough stories of Gallifrey for Rory to know just how much he had lost. Though as The Doctor pointed out, there was a big difference between the two of them. Rory didn't have to go through it alone. He had The Doctor. That is if he chose to stay on-board the TARDIS.
He let out a deep, frustration-filled sigh. He was frustrated with himself because the idea of staying on the TARDIS with The Doctor rather than going back home was becoming more and more appealing. It would be a fresh start of sorts, a fresh start but on familiar grounds. He would have The Doctor to confide in and as company. If he went back to Earth then what would he have? The answer was a simple and dismal nothing. He would be alone, and Rory hated being alone.
Fed up of having nothing to do but think, and thinking was becoming increasingly more painful to do, Rory shifted himself from the bed and stood on his own two feet. He felt stronger than before despite his array of fresh bruises from falling down the stairs, but he still felt fragile, as though he would just simply blow away if he came across a breeze. Luckily in the TARDIS there's no breezes. In fact it's quite stuffy. The TARDIS had always been that way though : A stuffy, bitter- cold, seemingly-never-ending maze of corridors and rooms. Though something about that had always seemed a little appealing to Rory. Despite the TARDIS's large size it was snug, and cozy, and felt like home. He supposed in a way, from the amount of time he spent on the TARDIS, it was a second home.
Rory walked down the winding golden corridors, unsure of where he was going. His stomach gave off a small but surprisingly-loud rumble. When had he last eaten? Rory frowned for a moment, realizing he can't even remember when that was or what he had eaten. He found himself wishing for the TARDIS kitchen. It was always stocked with plenty of food. It didn't come as much of a shock when, only moments after wishing for the kitchen, it quite literally popped out of nowhere. The Doctor had told him a long time ago that the TARDIS was psychic and therefore can read minds, "Thanking you." Rory mumbled under his breath gratefully before walking into the kitchen.
It was a large open space, and was probably the most human-orientated room. In other words it was normal, and held no dangerous and frightening alien objects within it, at least not to Rory's knowledge anyway. A huge glass table occupied the centre of the room. Usually The Doctor steered clear of the kitchen, only ever popping in for an occasional bowl of custard with fish fingers, or an odd jammy dodger here and there. Currently though he was sat on the tall matching glass chairs behind the table, holding a cup of strong black coffee, closed eyes, panic-tainted features, cross-legged, and ever-so-slightly slumped. To a normal observer it would have looked like he was just simply in a state of deep concentration, but Rory was no normal observer. He noticed things. Things such as the way The Doctor's breathing was slightly slower than normal, and the way there was no movement under his eyelids was a sure sign of one thing. The Doctor was asleep.
Rory blinked and shook his head. The Doctor never slept. Perhaps he had been wrong in his conclusion. However not even a second later a loud snore escaped from the floppy-haired man. Rory moved forwards and took the dangerously-close-to-tipping cup from The Doctor's hands. The cup of coffee was stone-cold, meaning The Doctor must have been asleep for quite a while. He indeed looked like he needed it, from the purple circles lining the underbelly of his eyes. It was concerning to say the least. Rory placed the cup down on the glass table and watched, just simply watched. Despite his sleeping state the other man was anything but peaceful. He looked like he was being tortured slowly and painfully. It made Rory wonder what it felt like to be the last of your kind. It must hurt a billion more times than the hurt and grief Rory's feeling from Amy's lack of presence in his life. It made Rory's guilt from causing The Doctor more pain double.
Suddenly The Doctor started to mumble in his sleep, and his expression twisted and contorted in pain. He was still sleeping but dreaming, or rather having a nightmare. Rory studied his behavior closely. He could catch gasps of "No, don't.", "I can't." and "I'm sorry." It was pitiful to watch him. Even in his sleep, he was still suffering the torment of his guilty mind. It was heartbreaking. Rory wanted to comfort him, but he didn't want the man to wake. He slowly reached out and stroked the side of The Doctor's face lightly, making unintentional hushing noises. The sleeping Timelord whimpered at the man's touch, and a tear rolled from the corner of his eye.
Then The Doctor's eyes started to flicker open and Rory quickly retrieved his hand. His eyes were still clouded by the pain and sorrow that bled through his crumpled features. It took them a moment to register their surroundings. Once they saw Rory, they were confused and embarrassed. "What are you doing here? How long have you been sitting there?" The Doctor slurred, his tongue still heavy with fatigue.
"I got hungry and the TARDIS brought me here. I just got here." Rory answered truthfully.
"What did you see?" The Doctor asked, looking awkwardly at his hands.
"You were having a nightmare and talking in your sleep." Rory replied softly.
"I'm sorry if I worried you." he said, bowing his head in shame.
"It's alright. I understand." Rory soothed.
"I didn't want to fall asleep, it just happened." he explained, then added as an afterthought, "I never meant for you to see me like this." It was heartbreaking to see him like this. The Doctor had always been the strong one, and now he was as emotionally wrecked as Rory himself was.
"It's okay." Rory said and put a consoling hand on The Doctor's wrist. "Sometimes you need to-" He was immediately interrupted by The Doctor.
"No it's not. You're right. I destroy lives. It's all I'm good at." The Doctor choked on sobs rising in his throat. "I destroyed your life. How can that be okay?" he asked angrily.
Rory looked straight at The Doctor, "Because you are also right. I don't have to go through it alone, and neither do you."
"But why do you care? I thought you hated me. After ... " he struggled to find the right words. "After what I did to you. After what you did to hurt me."
Rory sighed in regret as the memory flooded back again. "I'm sorry about that. I don't hate you. I hate what you do, what you did. But you're still my friend. I still care about you." he said sincerely, adding with increased emotion, "A lot." His words hit home with a solid impact. Rory really did care for The Doctor, and to see him so pained and distraught was really quite distressing.
The ancient alien rose to his feet, looking troubled, and extremely agitated, "I just wanted company." He sniffled a little, "I was lonely. It's wrong of me, taking humans into my whirlwind of a life, but it seems I can't stop myself. I try to tell myself to stop – I try Rory – I really do." The Doctor's chest was heaving heavily now. His whole body was quivering.
Rory exhaled and did something that not even he could have anticipated doing. He hugged The Doctor. The Doctor at first was a frozen mass in his arms but it didn't take long for him to melt into the embrace. Hugging The Doctor wasn't as awkward as Roy had initially imagined. It was warm, and though it should have felt wrong to be hugging someone as masculine as The Doctor whereas his hugs were usually aimed at Amy, it didn't, it felt surprisingly right. The Doctor was a surprisingly-good hugger. For a long moment in time the two men stood there, breathing in each other. There was a brief moment where Rory couldn't stop looking at The Doctor's perfectly carved lips. It seemed they should have belonged to an angel, not to the overly clumsy 1,000-and-something-year-old alien. Rory wondered why he couldn't stop staring, and then he realized that he was feeling a little flushed. He hadn't felt like this before, not even with Amy. It was a mixture of hot lust and nervousness. He licked his lips and edged closer. Green eyes pooled into his soul. The Doctor, though a naive being, seemed completely aware of what was going on in their situation. He too looked flushed, his cheeks were red, and a small bead of sweat hung on a thin thread on his forehead.
"Rory, what are we doing?" His voice was cracked, on the verge of breaking.
"Like I said: I care for you a lot." Rory cupped a hand under The Doctor's chin.
"Rory – I – you don't want this." The Doctor stuttered.
To tell the truth, Rory isn't sure of what he wants. He isn't sure of anything any more. He's never been one to act on an impulse, but for this one time, he's going to. The Doctor began mumbling under his breath like an idiot. Rory isn't quite sure what he's saying, but it's something about the first two kisses being wrong, and the fact that Rory shouldn't kindle a third. No, kissing The Doctor, it felt right, it made everything slip away.
Rory sealed off The Doctor's rambles with a hot, confusion-filled kiss.
This shouldn't be happening, this shouldn't be what he needs, but he does need it. Because when you've been burnt by The Doctor, only the man himself will be able to heal you.
Please leave a review x