A/N This one is a break from all the main action once more, this time for Amy and Rory. It's also a bit shorter of a chapter than usual.
Thanks to Lucyndareads, Yellow-Spider, and mudkipz
Disclaimer I don't own the Avengers/Doctor Who/Supernatural/Sherlock or any associated characters, events, etc.
CHAPTER X. Sunlight
"Don't tell me you forgot the orange juice again," Amy groaned, peering into the deep recesses of the refrigerator with a scowl on her tired face. "Every single time, I swear…"
"Hm?" There was a faint rustle from the bedroom, just a door down the hallway. "What'd I do now?"
"The orange juice?" she repeated more loudly, rising back up to her full height and swinging shut the fridge's door. "I've only been asking for it for the past fortnight, you realize."
"If you want it so bad, get some yourself," was the slurred response.
"Bit more snarky than usual in the morning, aren't you?" Laughing lightly, she set the empty glass she'd been holding on the counter and pranced back into the bedroom, hopping onto the side of the bed where Rory was just blinking open his sleep-weighted eyes. The wide, soft mattress bounced underneath her weight, and he groaned in protest, raising a hand over his face to block out the pale streams of sunlight filtering in under the wide window's aqua blue curtain.
"Come on, it's almost nine," she half-scolded, lifting a hand to brush a few tangled ginger strands of hair off of her forehead. "You know that sleeping in makes you crabby."
"Nine isn't that late," he protested weakly, turning on his side and reaching out to pull a pillow over his head. She lunged forward and grabbed hold of it first, tossing it onto the floor and doubling over with another fit of giggles as he whined in protest.
"Well, aren't you just right cheery this morning?"
"It's a good morning," she explained simply, springing up and hurrying over to the window. She thrust the curtain aside in a quick motion, revealing a picturesque view of their small but cozy garden. Green grass, glittering with dew in the morning light, lined the yard, with bright-hued flowers poking up out of the earth. The sky was clear, promising pleasant weather, with only a few fluffy clouds lining the golden horizon.
"Glad you think so… I could stand to sleep a bit more." Rory's voice cut through her inexplicably excited haze, and she whipped around again, hands poised on her hips.
"You can't just sleep your life away, you know."
"Coming from the woman who nearly took my eye out when I tried to wake her up early last week. What's up with you?"
"I told you, nothing's up with me." She deliberated for a moment, rocking on her heels as he finally straightened up, blinking against the light. "We should do something today, though. Go somewhere. We haven't really gone anywhere since we moved in here, you know? Just… sat around like some old married couple."
"We are a married couple," Rory pointed out tiredly, reaching for the robe draped over the nearest bedpost. "And don't you think we've had our fill of… going places, all in all?"
For the first time, her features slipped into a serious frown. Things always seemed to grow tenser when one of them brought up the Doctor, however indirect the reference may be. There wasn't any particular reason for such, but she suspected it might have something to do with the fact that she absolutely missed their life in the TARDIS. She missed the running and the aliens, the danger and the excitement, the seemingly endless expanses of time and space open for them to access whenever they wanted… and he, well, he didn't. Rory had never wanted to be the Doctor's companion. It wasn't that he minded when he did become such, but it was only really because Amy was there, and it was common knowledge that he'd go to the ends of the universe and back for her. But without Amy, the pull of the galaxies didn't tempt him.
This, on the other hand—this was the life he'd always wanted, with the perfect house, the perfect car, the perfect wife. There was a future for them, children, maybe—he tried not to think about Melody, having no idea what to consider her at this point. She may be his daughter, but he'd never raised her, knew her only as the Doctor's wife… and that was the problem, really; she was too connected to the Doctor. She was already an adult, if looked at from the right angle, and the last time that they'd seen her was when she'd come to deliver the news of the Doctor himself, of his survival. A good sort of final note, that had been, in Rory's opinion, at least. He was alive, he was alright, his life would go on, and so would theirs.
Amy, on the other hand, seemed much clingier about the whole thing. She didn't want to let their old life go, even as Rory tried to convince her how much better things were this way. And so it was that they tended to avoid the topic altogether, so the typical calm flow of their relationship wouldn't be caught up in uneasy, disagreeable knots.
With this common interest in mind, she managed to shake off his words, shrugging and adjusting the waist sash of her fluffy, cream-colored bathrobe. "Well, we should at least get out of the house, in any case. It's gorgeous outside."
"Yeah, alright," he agreed, pulling on his own robe and stretching, his jaws parting in a long yawn. "We can walk down to the grocery, if you want, get some of that orange juice…"
"I don't just mean walking to the store, Rory," she reprimanded, rolling her eyes fondly. "I mean we should really get out, have—I don't know, a picnic or something."
"A picnic," he repeated, then chuckled, shrugged. "Alright, breakfast or lunch?"
"Breakfast," she decided, already beaming at the prospect. "Or brunch, whatever. It'll be perfect—I can get that old basket out of the closet, the big wicker one, and I'm sure we've got a quilt around here somewhere… it can be a date!"
"A date for the married couple. Nice," Rory snorted. He sounded rather pleased by the idea himself, though, and didn't object as he paced to the other side of the room and opened the closet door, his eyes running up and down the assortment of clothes inside. "M'just gonna shower first, okay?"
"Right, I'll get some food together," she agreed as he grabbed a shirt and pair of trousers and swung them over his shoulder. "Don't take up all the hot water this time, I might want to take one after you."
"I'm not the one who takes up all the hot water!" he objected over his shoulder, traipsing from the room. She shook her head with amusement, her lips curling up slightly as she stared out after him. A door banged, and, moments later, the hiss of shower water filled the quiet little house. Amy lingered for another couple of seconds before stepping into the hall and approaching the linen closet next to the bathroom. Tucked deep into the back were a number of blankets, and, after sifting through them for a short while, she managed to locate a thick quilt, patterned in friendly squares of pastel yellow, blue, orange, and green. Perfect. She fetched a large basket from the top shelf and brought them both to the kitchen, setting them on the granite countertop and turning back to the fridge, ideas for food to pack running through her mind.
At first, she didn't hear the doorbell ring over the rush of Rory's shower.
Humming to herself, she opened a cupboard and ran her fingers over the boxes of crackers and pasta inside, selecting a bag of corn crisps and placing them next to the basket and quilt.
Again, the doorbell rang, but the sound was drowned in the white noise of the water.
Watermelon would be nice, she reflected, peeking inside the refrigerator and wincing at the blast of cool air. Naturally, they didn't have any watermelon, but there would probably be some at the grocery store, as Rory had suggested—along with the greatly desired orange juice. Perhaps they could stop by there, first of all. Or maybe she could, while he was showering—it was only a block away, after all. She'd have to get dressed first, though. Oh, well—her own bathing could happen this evening; her hair was practically still damp from the previous night, she reflected, running a hand through it. Certainly clean.
This time, the bell was loud, unnaturally magnified to such a piercing volume that she yelped and stumbled backwards, slamming shut the refrigerator. "Hell," she choked, pressing on her throbbing ears. It took several seconds to realize what the noise had been, and then she was at the door, throwing it open and opening her mouth to deliver a ferocious, well-placed insult.
To her utter shock, standing there was none other than the Doctor.
He looked a little more tired than she remembered, his hair a bit more stringy and his face more hollow, but it was still him, still her Doctor, and the familiar grin was tilting his lips, his eyes sparkling at the sight of her. His hand was poised above the doorbell, sonic screwdriver clutched between his fingers—presumably used moments before to magnify the volume, she realized.
"Hello, there, Pond," he greeted her, sounding a bit embarrassed.
She stared blankly for several seconds, then managed to pull herself together, blinking and turning away. All plans for the day had been wiped cleanly from her mind. "…Why are you here?" she asked finally, her voice coming out much softer than she'd intended. "Please—please don't say that we're in danger or anything," she added, still not meeting his eyes, "because… we're happy, we… we don't need to be pulled into anything, not right now."
"Then I suppose I'm sorry, because that's exactly what's wrong. You're in extreme danger, Amy—probably deeper danger than you've been all your life."
She took a deep, long breath, a slight headache pulsating deep inside her skull. As the exhalation drifted away from her lips, she raised her head again, staring straight into the Doctor's wide pupils. "Are there aliens?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible to either of them.
His chin dipped. "Oh, there are aliens."
Their faces split into grins at the exact same time, and she laughed helplessly, springing herself into his surprised but welcoming arms and throwing her own around his neck, pulling him into a deep, warm hug. "I'm glad you're back," she whispered in his ear, like a schoolgirl telling a secret, and his only response was to tighten his clutch on her, clinging as though she was the most precious thing in the world.
Finally, when they'd hugged the breath out of one another, she stepped back, her cheeks aching from how hard she was grinning. The perfect day had just become a thousand times better—even if they were in danger. Especially if they were in danger.
She'd missed danger.
"You probably ought to come in," she decided, glancing over her shoulder. "I have a feeling you've got a lot of explaining to do."
Exactly three minutes later, they were situated at the kitchen table, with twin glasses of pink lemonade. Rory was still in the shower—apparently he had chosen to disregard Amy's instruction not to use up all the hot water—but he'd probably be out at any moment.
"So," she murmured, twirling her straw, "why are you here?"
"An… old enemy of mine is back," he offered slowly, taking a sip of lemonade and looking rather delighted at the taste. "You haven't heard of him, but my past companions have dealt with him—the Master, that's what he's called. He's… another Time Lord."
"But you're the last of the Time Lords," Amy thought aloud, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.
"I'm supposed to be. He was stuck in the Time War with the rest of them last time I finished dealing with him, but now… he's back, he's managed to get himself some allies—a human, another alien, and… er… the Devil. All a bit… bloodthirsty, if you will. Insane."
"The Devil," Amy repeated, her voice calm but her eyes shaded with sarcasm.
"…Right," he agreed, taking another, longer gulp of his drink. "I… wouldn't have expected it, either, but yes. Satan, Lucifer… he's real, and he's allied with the Master, as well as the other two. Jim Moriarty and Loki, they call themselves."
"Loki?" she repeated. "If you're going to tell me that the Norse god—"
"More or less," he said, his voice far too cheery. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped slightly, her lips parted in disbelief.
"What—how is that… a demon is one thing, but…"
"Fallen angel, technically. It's all… well, fairly mad business, but there are also superheroes, an angel, and a human genius involved. Luckily, they're on our side."
The shower took that exact moment to turn off, increasing the stunned silence that filled the air. The Doctor had never been all that good at explaining things, Amy reflected numbly, but this was just ridiculous. Devils, angels, Time Lords, gods, superheroes—she blinked once, hard, as if trying to break the barrier of a dream, but her surroundings guaranteed that she was firmly planted in reality.
"I'll admit that I imagined you coming back quite a few times, Doctor," she finally managed to mutter, "but they always made a lot more sense than this."
"Sense is overrated," he responded seriously, just as Rory strode in, his hair spiky and dripping and a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Hi there, other Pond," the Doctor greeted, his lips finding the lemonade straw and taking a long drink as he twitched his fingers in a wave.
Rory stared openly, his eyes flickering back and forth between the Doctor and Amy as his mouth stuttered, trying to find words. "I… you… Doctor? You're back?" His voice was weak, unbelieving.
"We're being hunted by a human psychopath, another living Time Lord, the Norse god of mischief, and Satan," Amy shot towards him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he flinched just a bit harder with every enemy named. "Apparently there's a gang of superheroes and an angel backing us up, though, so I'd imagine we're good."
It seemed as though Rory's face couldn't decide whether to go white or green, and settled for a sickly sort of in-between shade. He gripped the edge of the countertop as though seeking to anchor himself in reality, shaking his head slowly.
"This… what?"
"You'd best put some clothes on, Rory," the Doctor advised, sliding his empty glass across the table and rising to his feet. "We've got to leave as soon as possible. Amy, anything you need to pack, pull it together."
"Where are we going?" she asked, unable to keep herself from letting her internal eagerness seep into her voice.
"New York," the Doctor answered in an astonishingly matter-of-fact voice. "Most of our new friends are American, but astonishingly intelligent for being such. There is a reason why I usually choose British companions, you know…"
Amy couldn't suppress a giggle. "Are we going in the TARDIS?"
"We're going in the TARDIS."
It was official.
This was the best day of Amy Pond's life.