Disclaimer: I obviously do not own any of these characters...everything here is borrowed with love. ;)

18.

Rip sat in the arch of the Waverider's entryway, turning his hat over in his hands. Now that the danger had passed he had time to think. Everything that had happened since that morning…it felt like a lifetime ago.

There was that feeling again. The feeling of being old. Older than he could remember being. Another life, Sara had said. Another wife.

The Doctor and Amy had explained it to him. And it made sense, in a strange way. It explained the dreams and the feeling of loss that had accompanied him since he was a child, why he couldn't remember his earlier childhood, and why his memories had seemed to start when he was seven years old. And it certainly explained why the angels had been after him in the first place.

The problem wasn't that he didn't believe their story to be true. The problem was that he couldn't remember it for himself. The problem was the girl, Amy. The way she looked at him…it was like the universe came to a stop and nothing else mattered in the whole of time and space.

Rip sighed. He used to look at someone like that. His wife, Miranda. The loss of her still clung to his heart like a dead weight, dragging him down into despair. And their son…

Outside, a steady rain fell. Rip heard soft footsteps approaching, and he didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"I asked to be alone," he said. He meant to come across as irritated, but instead he just sounded tired.

"I know," Amy replied, "Sorry. It's just…you were always there for me whenever I felt lost, or alone, and now…"

"Now I wear this face but I can't be your salvation," Rip finished. "I get it." He brushed the dust off his hat. "Sorry I can't be who you need me to be."

"At least you don't think I'm nuts," Amy said, "You could have turned up some completely normal bloke, so that's something." She sighed. "And yeah, it sucks, but…" Here her voice softened to almost a whisper. "At least I found you."

There was silence for a long minute, and then Amy spoke up again.

"Come with us," she said, "Just for a little while, see if the memories come back. Maybe being back in the TARDIS will help."

The rain pattered outside, the drops pinging against the sharp metal of the ship as he considered her offer.

"I don't know if I can be him," Rip admitted, "Even if I did remember, I've been through a lot. Too much. I won't be the same man, either way."

"I don't care," Amy insisted, "You may not remember this, but I forgot you too once. You got sort of…erased from time. I kept on going, never really knowing why but…there was this feeling like something wasn't right with the world. Like I was missing something, only I couldn't remember what it was. Do you know what I mean?" she asked.

"Yes," Rip said, looking down at his hands, "Yes, I know what you mean." It was how he felt about Miranda, and Jonah. Precious life ripped away far too soon. Rip looked at Amy, his eyes sad. She stared back at him, her green eyes piercing. His pulse quickened at the look she was giving him, like he was the only man left on the planet.

Amy leaned forward suddenly and kissed him. Something stirred deep within in him, a feeling he couldn't quite place. He broke the kiss and leaned back, breathing heavily.

"What?" Amy asked, "What is it?"

"I…I don't know…" Rip said, letting out a shaky breath. "There was…something…a feeling. But it's gone now."

"Well then," Amy said, her voice silky and hushed, "Let's see if we can't get it back."

She kissed him again, harder this time, pressing her lips into his with the force of a wildfire. Rip gasped and responded to her touch. Then guilt rose its ugly head and growled in his gut. He tried to push it down with reason.

'She's gone,' Rip thought to himself, feeling criminal as another woman's lips captured his again. Miranda was dead, but here was a woman who clearly loved him…and she was alive. In his mind he felt the memory of his dead wife linger with the cold stare of disapproval.

"Wait, hold on—" Rip broke away, breathing heavily. He scooted away from her, holding his hands up between them. "I'm sorry, you're very… nice and all, but I just—it's a little too much for me right now."

"No, it's…it's fine," Amy said, looking away. She sniffed, and it was clear she was trying very hard not to give in to the tears.

"I'm sorry," Rip apologized again, "Nothing feels real. It feels like I'm seeing things from underwater, like everything is…distorted somehow and I can't tell which way is up. My wife…Miranda," he looked at her apologetically, "I'm sorry, but it feels like I'm betraying her memory if I remember who I used to be to you."

Amy nodded to show she understood and gazed at him sadly, her bright green eyes glimmering with emotion. He reached out a hand to touch her face. She closed them and leaned into it, the tears spilling over. He wiped one away with his thumb.

Outside, the rain was beginning to stop. The desert air picked up a peculiar scent, one that had always stirred a strange feeling within him.

Rip leaned closer to her and took a slow breath in through his nose.

"That's funny," he murmured, "It smells like you."

"What does?" Amy asked, slowly opening her eyes.

"Petrichor," Rip answered, his hand resting against this stranger's cheek.

Amy blinked.

"What did you say?" she rasped.

"It's this word I've had stuck in my head since I was a kid," Rip said. "Petrichor, it's a Greek word meaning 'the smell of dust after rain'. I don't know where I picked it up."

"I know what it is," Amy said. Her hands lifted to grasp the one holding her face. "It's our word."

Amy leaned in closer to him, clutching his hand.

"Rory Williams," she said, her voice trembling, "I know you are in there." She held a hand to his face, fingers playing with the short scruff of hair on his cheek. "Come back to me like you promised. Because I know you did. I know you didn't let the angels take you without fighting back. The Last Centurion wouldn't go out without a fight."

"What—" Rip started to ask, but she silenced him with another kiss. Gentle this time, almost delicate, but sincere, and questioning. It was as if she were attempting to pull his soul out through his mouth.

A white light erupted behind his eyes and then the memories began to burst into his mind. He pulled away with a sharp intake of breath, holding a hand to his head. Images flashed across the inside of his eyelids like a movie in fast-forward—a little girl with red hair, a blue box, a raggedy man and an eyeball for a spaceship. A large black cube glowing with a strange green light and a smiling woman with curly blonde hair. A triceratops chasing a golf ball. All of this and more flashed in sequence through his mind. It was all there, every forgotten detail. The life that almost wasn't, then never was—then wasn't again. The life of another man, another him.

His eyes flickered open.

"Amy?" he murmured, and there was a depth to her name that hadn't been there before. He looked at her with eyes that saw her clearly for the first time in a very, very long time.

And then he was kissing her again, ferocious, the tears streaming down both their faces and making a mess but neither of them cared because it was real, and that made it worth it.

"Amy, oh Amy, I'm so sorry," he said, holding her face in his hands and pressing his forehead to hers. He kissed her again, slowly. "God I missed you," he said, "I don't remember missing you, but I must have. Sorry, I'm back now."

"Rory?" Amy asked tentatively, pulling back and blinking away the tears.

"Hello you," he replied.

Amy laughed out loud and flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. She cried into his shoulder, the sobs wracking her strong figure. But they weren't tears of sorrow this time, they were the tears of relief, of returning home.

Author's Notes:

18.1: Rory's back! In case it wasn't clear, the gift the angels refer to is the rain…which sparks the memory of scent, which can be a powerful stimulus for memory retrieval. That's what causes Rip/Rory to remember. Well, that and I suppose making out with Amy helps too. XD