Amy fell through the doors of the TARDIS, but shot straight back outside. She saw The Doctor lying on his back, groaning. She crawled over to him on her hands and knees, trying to make sure he was alright, but trying not to get shot. In the mood she was in, she valued The Doctor's safety above her own. She could hear now that the bike had stopped, and there was some kind of argument in the distance. She couldn't tell what was going on though. Her head was spinning like the TARDIS had before.
She reached The Doctor who was lying on his left side, but there was blood running down the left side of his face. She could see a deep gash in the corner of his face, with a bloodstain on the floor as well. She realised quickly that he must've hit his head, and knocked himself unconscious. She tried to wake him by gently rocking his shoulder and calling his name, much like when a mother wakes her child, but it was no use. She rolled him over onto his back, but still he did not wake. There was something strangely serene about his sleeping face, the stillness and safety of it, like he was wrapped up in a little stress-free bubble of security. But she was aroused by it too. In that moment, for the first time, she forgot Rory. She only wanted The Doctor. She wanted to settle down with him somewhere, travel sometimes but wake up each morning and see his face, just as it was in this moment, without a fear of danger or destruction. She wanted to mix the mundane, everyday life of Earth with the most extraordinary man she'd ever met. But she knew it could never happen. She had to choose. Ordinary or Super. Settle or Explore. Rory or The Doctor.
"Doctor," She called, lower than a whisper as the argument the other side of the TARDIS continued, "Doctor, wake up!" But he did not respond. He did not react. He stayed in his own world, and he could've been a million miles away from Amy based on how she felt. And then she could resist the temptation no longer. She resumed her daydream about her and The Doctor, and began acting how she would wake him up. She bent forward, brushed his hair behind his ear, and put her right hand on his left cheek. His skin felt cold, deathly cold, and for an instant she felt scared that he was gone. But he was still breathing, and he was still with her. She traced the lines of his dry lips with her index finger, before lowering her head, slowly, anxiously, and pressed her lips against his. She thought of how she had wanted to do this in the TARDIS, but he hadn't let her, and how he could do nothing about it now.
As soon as she thought of this, she felt guilty, and the blood rushed to her face. But she could not stop. This moment, however surreal and inequitable it was, her kiss was tenacious. She could not stop. She had been waiting for this longer than she cared to remember, and now the moment had come she hated in as much as she had longed for it. But she could not stop. Then The Doctor opened his eyes. Then she stopped.
His reaction was surprise as she slowly lifted her head, feeling like a naughty child who'd said a forbidden word, ready to be scolded and humiliated. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder, as it tried to drop down to his face, for one last touch of his soft skin. Then he spoke.
"What? Erm, why?" He whispered, not wholly sure of where he was, trying to be polite but demanding. He fought to keep his eyes open, a battle he was struggling to win.
"You, um, fell and banged your head," She said coolly, whispered in an innocent, childish manner, "and so I tried to wake you, but... I thought you needed the kiss of life." The words barely came out; her throat felt like it was tightening, wrapping itself firmly in a coil of nerves, embarrassment and anxiety. His eyebrows rose in a confused, disbelieving way. The edges of his lips curled downwards towards his chin and his nose wrinkled a little as he tried to smell where they were. Then she heard the footsteps, and turned swiftly on her heels. A woman ran over, smiling, an instantly friendly face that restored the warmth of the Earth on this cold, cold day.
"Are you ok?" She said in an American accent, which surprised Amy, "I'm sorry, they can't have heard you because of the bike. They were asking 'Have you been bitten?" and since you didn't answer, they thought the worst. Have you been bitten?" She said it all too quickly, The Doctor didn't comprehend a word, but Amy understood it all. Her head was spinning.
"What do you mean, have we been bitten?" She asked breathlessly, the moment between her and The Doctor destroyed, and she knew it would never be revisited. She felt a sense of loss, but relief as the tightness in her throat loosened. She could breath. She could speak. She could cry.