Doctor Who belongs to the BBC.
"I had no choice, but you still do. You can ask him to take you back to where you left me, in 1875. You can rewrite this. We can still be together. I can be your Rory again. Or," He paused, eyes watching her, "you can leave me. Again. For him."
She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. She must not cry.
She formed an answer in her head, and turned to him.
But he was gone.
"What do we do?!" She shouted at him.
The Doctor was striding up and down the shiny wooden floors of their penthouse bedroom, tux jacket in a forgotten heap on the floor, bow tie hanging lose around his neck.
"I don't know, Amelia!" He threw back at her, teeth clenched.
"How could you have got the date wrong? I mean, 1875? That's not even a little bit close!"
"Yes, thank you, I am aware of that!" He gesticulated at her wildly. "You didn't notice either!"
She gaped at him in indignation. "ME? I was a little bit preoccupied in case you'd forgotten!"
He stopped pacing, chest heaving, and looked at her, his expression softening. Then he shook his head, his fringe flopping in front of his eyes.
"You're right, I'm sorry." He sat down on a chaise long and rested his head in his hand.
Amy walked over to him and crouched at his feet. He watched her with a trace of wariness in his green eyes. She took one of his hands and looked up into his face.
"You know I've already chosen, don't you?"
He dropped his other hand to cover hers.
"I do now." He sounded profoundly relieved. She smiled at him, that he could still doubt where her heart lay.
"My Doctor." She said tenderly.
His eyes crinkled as he grinned dopily. He raised both hands and cupped her face. "My Amy."
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips softly against hers. She moved hers against his, and she felt his tongue gently brush against her mouth. She opened to him, and the kiss deepened. She slipped her hands up his strong arms to rest on his shoulders, and one of his hands slid up into her fiery curls, his nails gently grazing her scalp. She felt a clenching in the pit of her stomach, and quickly pulled out of the kiss, vision slightly blurred.
"No, come on, we need to sort this out." She told him firmly.
He sighed. "Yes, of course, you're right."
He looked at her for a few long moments, lips parted, and she had to stand up and take a few steps back to stop herself from pulling him back into the kiss. He chuckled.
"I'm just going to stay seated for a little while." He placed his hands strategically in his lap and Amy felt a little heat of pride.
"Stop trying to distract me! I need a coffee, do they do coffee in 1905?"
"It's been available in Europe since the 17th century." She threw him a warning look. She wasn't in the mood for a history lesson.
Looking like a puppy with its tail between its legs, he darted out of the room to ask the butler for coffee. Amy sat down on their huge bed and tried to compose herself.
Now, this is going to be a civilized conversation. I am going to remain calm, and act like a mature responsible adult. We are going to discuss the options available to us and I am not going to raise my voice.
She took a deep breath and looked up to where the Doctor was standing with his hands in his pockets, watching her.
"Now," she put her hands in her lap and entwined her fingers. If he found her act of responsible adult amusing he did not let it show. "What are our options?"
He let out a breath.
"Well, firstly we… you… have to decide whether we are going to go back and get him."
She frowned thoughtfully. "I think we have to. It's our fault he's in the wrong time."
"Then we have to make a decision of when we're going to go and get him. He's made medical history, if we take him out at the wrong time…" The Doctor trailed off, eyebrows furrowed, and began pacing again.
"When did he win his Nobel prize? Was it 1902?"
The Doctor nodded. "And he will be knighted in 1911."
Amy's draw dropped. "Knighted? Really? He'll be Sir Rory?"
"Sir Ronald Ross." The Doctor corrected her with a pedantic finger wag.
Amy was struck with a horrible thought.
"Do you know when he dies?"
The Doctor stopped pacing and looked at her solemnly.
"1932"
Amy clutched her chest. He sat down next to her and rested a warm hand on her knee. He did not say anything. There was nothing to say.
After a while she took a steadying breath and gave him a weak smile.
"I'm OK." He did not smile back. He squeezed her knee and left her side.
"Now, clearly the most important parts of his career are the actual discoveries he made which advanced medicine, namely his work on malaria. If we did pull him out it would have to be in 1902, after his discovery of how malaria is transmitted. I think we can allow him to collect his Nobel Prize, after all his hard work?" He looked to Amy, seeking approval.
"He told me he got married sixteen years ago." She said in a small voice. "What about his family?"
She was not looking at him, so did not see his expression.
"If he wants to return to the 21st century, he will have to leave them here."
Amy felt lost.
"But, 1902, that's only three years ago! He built a life here, we can't just tear him away from that. It has to be at the start or not at all." She raised her head, face set.
"Amy, if we do that he will never make those contributions to medicine. That's a fixed point in time."
"Time can be rewritten, you're always saying that!"
He gazed at her, expression unreadable.
"Please Doctor, I can't leave him here!"
There was a long silence. A breeze came in through the open window, ruffling the curtains, stinging the unshed tears in Amy's eyes. One of the candles flickered and died, causing the Doctor's face to be plunged into shadow. She heard him exhale.
"We can go back to right after we dropped him. I'll explain to him what's at risk, what he will never achieve if he leaves. He can make the decision."
"No," her hands were trembling but her voice was steady, "I'll explain. He needs to hear it from me."
A/N A whole heap of angst is coming people, prepare yourselves. In the meantime - Review!
