Body Language

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Doctor Who

Copyright: BBC

Note: This story contains spoilers for Episode 7.1, "Asylum of the Daleks".

"So – are we back together now?"

The question burst out of Rory as soon as they were alone in their old room on the TARDIS, as if holding it back in the Doctor's presence (and out of respect for the memory of Oswin Oswald) had been a painful, physical effort.

"Of course," said Amy, green eyes wide with the surprise that, after being kissed with such intensity he almost forgot the explosions around him, he still had to ask.

He sighed and shook his head, even as his smile of relief made him look about ten years younger.

"Oh, Amy … how many times do I haves to remind you? I don't speak kiss-o-gram. If you have something to tell me, talk to me! Preferably before going to a lawyer."

She collapsed on the edge of the lower bunk, running her hand over the blanket to avoid looking at him.

"You'd have argued," she said, in that small voice that, for all her twenty-six years, adventures, motherhood and successful modelling career, still made him see her as the lonely little girl he had loved all his life.

"Of course I'd have argued." He sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, feeling the sheer luxury of touching her again after all those months apart. "I'd never give you up without a fight."

She met his eyes directly for the first time, tears clinging to her eyelashes. "Not even if it means your dream will never come true?"

"Which dream?"

"The psychic pollen." She sniffed. "Don't you remember? You dreamed that I was pregnant … we had a nursery with yellow walls … and you got to feed me raw biscuit batter and, and panic when I thought I was in labor … the last thing you said to me was to look after our baby. Even though it wasn't even real." Her tears were coming thick and fast now as she buried her face in her hands. "We … never … had that … with Melody. And now we never will!"

She buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed, letting him rock her back and forth as his own tears streamed silently down his face. He had thought of this, and it did hurt him. The idea that middle-aged, jaded River Song with her arbitrary visits – much as they liked her – was the only biological child he would ever have, was an undeniable loss.

However, one did not work at a hospital, travel with the Doctor, and spend two thousand years guarding the Pandorica without gaining some perspective. Rory had seen – and done – worse than this. It was up to him to convince Amy.

"I don't suppose," he said, once the blanket was scattered with tissues and they had both calmed down enough to talk, "You've ever considered adoption?"

"What?" Amy frowned. "You think … ? But it wouldn't be the same."

"I know what you mean." He thought of dream-Amy's rounded belly, her glowing face, even her Scotch temper under the influence of hormones.

"But look at it this way: how many other Melodys are out there, living in orphanages or foster care without anyone to really care for them? We could make a home for one – or several, even."

"Rory?"

"He or she could sleep in one of the guest rooms – you know, the one that looks over the garden? There's a daycare just a few blocks away, and I could switch to working part-time – "

"Rory – "

"Of course it would take a lot of planning, but we've got time, don't we? One more round on the TARDIS, like the Doctor said, see a few planets – safe planets, mind you – and once we've got time - "

"Rory!"

She grabbed him by the collar, kissed him, and beamed. "Shut up."

It was the first time he'd seen her smiling since … he didn't even know how long. He had forgotten just how breathtaking it was: her green eyes sparkling, even the tear tracks on her cheeks shining like a waterfall in the sun. He could look at her for hours.

Still, it would not do to get their wires crossed again. He cleared his throat, calling on his finest irony to keep that smile on her face.

"Translation, please? Is that 'shut up, we're doing it', 'shut up, we're not doing it', or 'shut up, drop the subject and let's make love for the first time in six months'?"

"We're doing it." She touched his cheek, as cautiously as she had done by the fire, just before finally remembering his name. "You're a genius, Rory Williams."

"I know."

"And the lovemaking idea isn't bad either."

She scrunched her face into a frown of mock thoughtfulness, as if considering a new idea for one of her perfumes, even as he watched her eyes grow dark and soft. Communication notwithstanding, he knew enough of her body language to know she was as eager for this as he was. It was his turn to smile.

"Lock the door, would you please?"

"As you wish."