If Amy hadn't witnessed the act of the Doctor cooking just a couple hours before, she might have worried that wild animals had got in and ransacked the kitchen. Food was everywhere: half chopped veggies piled next to a cutting board, a bottle with olive oil dripping down its sides on the cooker, a frozen pizza doctored with extra ingredients thawing on a baking sheet, and over the whole of the kitchen, just a light dusting of flour. For a moment, it looked as if this might just be the last straw for Karen. Amy and Rory prepared themselves for an explosion.
Instead, she sighed; "Well, the pizza can go in the oven, that should still be Ok. Rory, if you would finish chopping up these veggies, we'll make a salad. And Amy, grab a bottle of wine from the rack over there and start it breathing." As an afterthought, she added, "Oh, and feel free to grab one for you and Rory as well." The humorous glint in Karen's eye did a lot to ease the tension, and in no time, the three were sat down at the kitchen table enjoying their meal.
In the middle of the feast, Karen raised her half-empty wine glass to her face in contemplation. "You know what? Wine is magic! Today I've been confronted with time travel, parallel worlds, rips in time and space, double versions of my sister and my fiancé having it off, and a bowtie and tweed-clad alien who makes a hell of a Pizza Marguerite, as well as a hell of a mess of my kitchen…" The reminder of the state of her kitchen seemed as if it would derail her for a moment, but she soon remembered where her speech was going. "But you know what? S'fine! It's all fine. Just a little bit of vino makes everything O K."
Rory hid a smile behind his own raised wine glass. Karen was most definitely more than a little sozzled. Not that she didn't have every right to be, of course: as she said, it was a lot to take in in one day. It was the first opportunity they'd had since meeting her to relax a little, and Rory was taking the opportunity to compare and contrast his childhood sweetheart with her newfound "sister". There were a lot of similarities there in addition to the red hair and freckles: the same confidant, authoritative demeanor; the same incredible ability to adapt to new situations; even the effect of red wine on their twin pale complexions. Rory gave Amy a fond look as he noticed the same flush that had overtaken Karen's visage start to creep into Amy's cheeks.
Amy returned the look with a wink, and Karen paused, a sad smile settling on her face. "Oh, oh I'm sorry…" Rory began.
"No!" Karen quickly interrupted. "No, there's no reason for you to be sorry; you come from another world, one that has nothing to do with me. You're in love with Amy! I accept that. I just wish I knew where my Rory was…"
It looked as if she might fall silent once again. Amy couldn't bear to see the woman brooding and moody. "So," she began, trying to sound cheerful and not forced, "how did you and Rory, your Rory, end up together?"
Karen smiled. "Wow! It's not often I get to tell this story. I've known Rory for so long, just about everyone knows our history. Well, he used to play with Amelia and me when we were kids. I suppose he was more Amy's friend than he was mine—the two of them used to have their own little world. Rory was the only one to go along with my sister's mad games of make believe."
Amy nodded and smiled: it was exactly the same in her world. All of the other kids would be off playing football, or kiss chase, or riding bikes, and Amy and Rory would be out in Amy's back garden, or down the cellar, or in her bedroom, playing "Amelia and the Doctor" yet again.
Karen went on, "It was our last year of school that Rory and I really started getting close. Amy started dating boys and had less time for Rory, but he still kept coming 'round the house. I'd make him a cup of tea, and we'd talk. It's amazing how you can know someone your whole life and not really know that much about him. It turned out he and I had a lot in common: we loved classic rock and quiz shows and detective novels, and we both wanted to go to nursing school. He talked about taking care of his mother when she was drinking, and I talked about taking care of Amy after our parents died. He confessed that he kept coming around the house because he wanted to see me, and I confessed that I always put on lip gloss before he came over, and we kissed for the very first time, out in the back garden, leaning against the shed. We've been together ever since."
No one knew quite what to say when she had finished her narrative. Of course, Amy and Rory knew that the people Karen was talking about weren't them; not the real them, anyway: these people existed in another world, and what did that world mean to Amy and Rory as they sat here in this strange, familiar kitchen?
Karen could read the unease on her companions' faces. "Well, I think I've had enough wine and enough talk of alternate universes for one evening. I'm going to try to get some rest. Amy, if you want, you can have your…er, my Amy's room to sleep in."
"That's Ok!" Amy was quick to protest. "Rory and I will make do in one of the other rooms. Don't worry about us, though: we know our way around."
"Of course you do. Good night, then." Karen left the wrecked kitchen, and in a moment her footsteps could be heard mounting the stairs to the first floor.
Amy looked around at the remains of their meal. She stood and began clearing their plates, carrying them to the sink, and searching for a clean rag to start mopping up the mess on the counters. "Well, I never was one for housekeeping, but I reckon the two of us could make a dent in the job. Watcha think, Rory?"
A quick answer was not forthcoming. Rory was sitting in some kind of reverie, frowning and chewing on his lip. After a pause, he looked up from the spot on the table he'd been fixating on and met Amy's eyes. "Why are we together?" he asked simply.
Amy was taken aback. "As if you need to ask! After all we've been through together! You're the only one who's always been there for me."
Instead of satisfying him, her answer only seemed to deepen the blackness of his mood. "Exactly," he said sadly.
"What do you mean 'exactly'?" Amy's confusion bordered on anger. "You're my best friend and I love you! Since when is that not enough?"
"Maybe it was never enough!" Rory's voice was becoming more animated as he spoke. "Think about it, Amy: what if there had been someone else, anyone else? After your parents died, I mean: what if you'd had someone to care for you and look after you? Someone besides your stupid, selfish aunt; someone who genuinely cared for you; what then? You would have never needed me."
Amy couldn't think of anything to say right away. Answering his question meant re-writing her own history: of course she'd needed him, of course there was no one else…his love and acceptance of her from the time they were kids was a touchstone in her life. When the world was unreliable, and filled with dying parents, uncaring relatives, and madmen in blue boxes who turned one's world upside down and then left, there was one thing, one person only, who had proved themselves reliable to Amy's exacting standards: Rory. Trying to imagine not needing Rory meant un-imagining Amy's entire life.
Rory mistook Amy's silence for confirmation of his worst fears. He was about to storm out of the room when she caught his arm.
"Wait!" The voice that stopped him was desperate. When he looked in her eyes they were shiny with tears, as rare on Amy as teeth on a hen. Her hands were gripping his arms as if afraid he might disappear if she didn't hold on. "I can't imagine a world where I never needed you, and I don't want to; that's the important thing: I don't want to!"
A more eloquent woman might have gone on, but Rory knew how difficult even a speech as small as this one was for Amy. This was the girl he'd dated steadily for more than a year before she would call him her boyfriend. It had been almost three before she whispered, "I love you" in his ear, and that was only because she was slightly tipsy and thought he was asleep. It was still 50/50 odds whether she'd let him hold her hand in public. For Amy Pond, admitting that she needed someone, and that she didn't mind that she needed them, was like reading a love poem out on the evening news would be for anyone else.
As Rory often did when trying to understand Amy, he took a deep breath, and felt the fear and anger slide through him and into the floor. He raised a hand to her face and smiled as the anxiety left her eyes. With his thumb, he caught the single tear that had escaped the iron grip of her lashes. Before he could kiss away the wet trail left over her cheek, he saw her expression change; determination entered her eyes.
"Now I have a question of my own," she said. "If I'd had an older sister…"
Rory's bark of laughter stopped her finishing the question. "Never in a million worlds," was his quick reply. Finally he pressed his lips to hers, and they let the tension dissipate as they melted into each other arms.
They ended up making a bed on the floor of the lounge, out of some spare blankets and pillows Amy found in a cedar chest. They made love together on the floor and then fell asleep in each other's arms: but not before Amy took the engagement photo of Karen and Rory and turned it to the wall.
Just before dawn, Rory woke to find Amy rigid and unresponsive in his arms, eyes staring and breath shallow; this time, for just a second, Rory felt a sliding, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.