june, year one, ii.
It's 11.45 on a Friday night when she calls him. He answers the phone on the second ring and notices that her accent sounds far more prominent than usual. He quickly concludes that her Scottishness must rear its head after a few drinks.
"Come out," she's saying, pleading with him.
"I don't know, I have a lot of papers to mark -"
"Please, Raggedy Man," she whines, and his defences are crumbling because she hasn't called him Raggedy Man since that first night at her house, it's always been boring old John, and he thinks he likes the sound of this nickname, special to the two of them, more than he should.
"Amelia, I have a lot of work to do -"
She scoffs. "Work, schmork. Come out, come dance with me! It'll be fun. You like fun."
"I do like fun." He registers that his left hand is already reaching for his jacket, and quickly pulls it back. "But I'm busy."
"Too busy for your Amelia Pond?"
Oh, damn it.
There's a moment of silence, and then someone yells in the background of her call and he sighs, "Fine. Where are you?"
"Yay!" she shrieks, high-pitched and bubbling over with excitement. "We're going to have so much fun, Raggedy Man, just you wait!"
He shakes his head, smiling fondly, and opens up his wardrobe as she tells him the name of the club. "Give me twenty minutes."
The last thing she says before hanging up is, "I can't wait!"
{*}
He gets ready with impressive speed and slicks his hair back in the rear-view mirror of his car before joining the distressingly long queue to get into the bar Amelia's at. It's located inside what used to be a post office, in the 18th century, and he's admiring the impressive brickwork façade to keep himself entertained when he hears her voice.
"Raggedy Man!" And then, in an entirely different tone, "Not-so-Raggedy Man."
She's stumbling past the bouncers and down the line towards him, all ginger hair and white legs so prominently on display under that short white dress, gaining the attention of everyone there. There's a pass-out stamp on the back of her left hand, a dark circle of ink over a smattering on her freckles, and he beams at her.
"Hello, Amelia."
"What are you wearing?" she asks in pure disbelief.
She's close enough now to touch him, but she's slightly unsteady in her bright red heels and so when she reaches for his lapel she kind of falls into him instead.
"It's a tux," he says, as if this explains everything. His hands are gripping her arms, keeping her from falling completely onto him.
"It's ridiculous."
Well that hurts a bit. He'd looked up the place before he left, found that it was a bit fancy and decided that if he was going to go out he might as well put some effort in.
"Oh. Well, I can go, if you'd -"
She leans forward and whispers, breath warm against his ear, "It's so ridiculous it's kind of hot."
A red hot blush spreads across his cheeks from the point where her lips brush his skin. "What?" he splutters.
She merely winks at him and steals his top hat, popping it atop her ginger curls and smirking devilishly, before clasping his hand and leading him back up to the imposing bouncers.
"Hi Jeff," she says to one who fills out the tight uniform very well. "He's with me."
"This is him?" Jeff says, pointing at him but looking at her. "This is that doctor you've been -"
"Teacher, actually," he can't help but interject.
She slaps his arm, lightly, fondly, almost territorially, and says to both him and Jeff, "Shut up."
Jeff lifts the velvet rope and lets them through, and as they descend the stairs they're hit by a wall of sound and flashing lights.
She has to put her lips right against his ear in order to be heard over the music, so he can feel her sounding out the words. "Thanks for coming!"
"I'll always come when you call," he says, overwhelmed by how soft and nice and right her cheek feels pressed against his own.
She pulls back to blink at him, and as much as a part of him wishes she was too drunk to really comprehend that, he can see in her eyes that it slipped through the alcoholic barrier into a rational part of her mind. Her cherry red lips part, as though she's about to say something very serious indeed, and –
"Amy!" There's a man, bounding up the stairs to meet them, lean with blonde hair and a nose that's out of proportion to the rest of his face.
"Rory," she says breathlessly, and he wishes he knew if it were what he'd said or this new man's arrival that's taken her breath away.
"Oh, my god," Rory's saying, reaction not so different to Jeff's, "It's you."
He raises an eyebrow at her, wondering just how many people she's told about him.
"Shut up," she grumbles. "This is Rory, he's a – friend."
Rory glances at her and awkwardly laughs, and he has a sinking feeling he knows what he's going to say next – but then Rory surprises him by starting back down the stairs, waving for them to follow. "Come on, I've got us a good seat for the band."
She holds his hand on the way down, presumably for help balancing in her heels, and she doesn't let go until they're squeezed in next to each other in a booth on the side of the lounge area, which is a lot quieter and darker than the dance room glimpsed on the other side of the stairs.
They sit there with Rory for hours, drinking round after round, and he listens with rapt attention as Rory tells him embarrassing stories from her childhood and she throws her head forward dramatically, covering her face with her hands and spilling her curtain of hair over the table top. He finds himself quite enjoying Rory's company, mixed in with good music and nice mocktails {he leaves the cocktails to her, and she drinks more than enough to make up his share} and so when she gets up to go to the loo he feels comfortable enough to ask the question that's been bugging him since he got here.
"So has Amelia been talking about me?"
Rory laughs heartily. "Won't shut up about you."
"Oh." He feels something like pride bubbling inside his chest.
"You should hear her. Prattling on about how you 'fell out the sky' and how her life was so boring before," Rory tells him, and he takes another sip of his drink just to give his hands something to do.
"Is that – I mean, well, were you two – are you two…?" he can't bring himself to finish the question, and he's so grateful that Rory isn't so drunk he misses the point.
"Nah," he shakes his head, slightly downcast. "Nah, we tried that, back in high school. I proposed to her, did you know that?"
He nearly inhales his curly straw. "What?"
"Yeah. She wasn't ready though." Rory shakes his head as if clearing it of bad memories. "I don't think I was either, though, really. We were a bit too young and I was a bit too madly in love. We're friends now, though… Still. We've been friends since we were kids and I'm glad we still are."
He's overcome by the sudden urge to hug Rory, and so he does. He slides across the booth and embraces the other man, who stiffens immediately, totally unprepared for the contact.
He only breaks away when she announces her return with a loud, mock-annoyed, "Oi! None of that while I'm gone, thank you very much."
He grins up at her, standing there with her hands on her hips and his top hat still on her head, and she beams back. "Let's dance."
Rory sighs and looks at his watch. "It's late, Amy, I really should get going -"
"Rory, don't be a party pooper," she whines, reaching for his hands and missing completely, having to splay them on the table top instead to stop herself from falling over.
"Sorry, but I've got to be at the hospital tomorrow. You know, saving lives and all that -"
She laughs and when he stands up she kisses his cheek with a fondness so tender it almost hurts to watch.
"Besides, I think you're in good care here," Rory says, grasping his hand and pulling him into a manly hug, with a pat on the back and no face-to-face contact at all.
They watch him go, and then she turns and demands, "Dance with me."
He takes her hand and tells her, "I only came for the dancing."
{*}
He really does like dancing. They dance normally, close together but not quite properly touching, sort of bopping along to the beat and occasionally throwing their hands in the air when the song calls for it.
And then the band is replaced by a DJ, and the crowd surges and pushes them together, so that his leg is in between hers and he can feel every movement of her hips, grinding against him, and she loops her hands around the back of his neck and looks at him with a feral glint in her eyes. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, doesn't know where he can put them on her body that won't set off a chain reaction, and so they wave around his head awkwardly for a bit. He tries to put them on her shoulders at one point, but they move to her neck and then to cup her face and then he only just recovers himself in time to pull back from what was very nearly a disaster. She looks up at him with hurt confusion, but she doesn't move away. If anything she moves closer, and he panics that he's unintentionally given her a challenge.
Just when he thinks he's going to have to leave, that he can't stand it any more, the DJ is replaced by a pre-recorded, pre-set playlist, and the crowd thins out enough for him to get some space between them, calm himself down, and really dance. Without the heat of her pressed so close against him he relaxes, and suddenly he finds himself being the most ridiculous he's been in years. He flings his arms around in the air, waving them above his head and bending his knees, and she flops back and forward as she laughs and attempts to imitate him. She does a poor job of it, but she looks pretty adorable as she tries, so he can forgive her.
"What is that?" she asks as he shimmies towards her, arms waving above his head. "You're terrible!"
But she still dances with him, on and on and on until there's no one on the dance floor but the two of them, and the lights are no longer dimmed and the typical dance music has been replaced by a ballad.
She's leaning on him, arms around his neck and head resting on his shoulder, and his hands are around her waist, holding her long-discarded heels, and he likes this so much more than the type of huggy-dancing they were doing earlier. Just holding her, feeling her heart beat, smelling her hair, knowing that she's here in his arms and safe, young and safe and happy to just be with him.
They stay like that until the music stops, until their arching feet don't allow them to dance anymore, until they're just standing there, holding each other.
The staff eventually kick them out and when they emerge outside it's into a world lit by the perfect blue of pre-dawn. His car is parked two blocks away, the closest spot he could find when he arrived, but with the lack of traffic now it's visible sitting on its own beside the curb.
"Walk me home," she demands, and he realises that her house is only a block away, in the opposite direction to his car.
Perhaps that's how she's on a first-name basis with the bouncer.
She leans on him for half the block, until he becomes so concerned she's going to fall and hurt herself he scoops her up into his arms and carries her bridal style the rest of the way. It would be almost romantic, he thinks, if she wasn't passed out. As she loses consciousness her head flops back and exposes the perfect, pale skin of her neck, and her arms hang uselessly by her sides.
He eventually, somehow, manages to get them inside her house, and he gently lays her down on her bed. He pulls the covers up over her and stoops to plant a kiss on her forehead before turning to go, planning to walk back to his car or maybe even sleep on her couch, because what if she feels hung over when she wakes up and needs someone to cook her breakfast –
She reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist, and stops dead.
"Dontgo," she mumbles, the words blurring into each other with sleep. Her eyes aren't even open. "Stay."
He waits for her grip to relax, waits for her to fall back asleep and let him go. But it doesn't happen. Instead, she tugs him towards her, and he loses any defences he may have had.
"Alright," he says, and she smiles.
He slips his shoes and jacket off and climbs into the other side of the bed, making a deliberate decision to stay on top of the covers. She shuffles back, pressing herself against him through the layers between them, and snuggles under his arm.
He falls asleep like that, holding her, and he wonders if he's ever going to be able to sleep in an empty bed again.
a.n. thank you so much for all the hits/favourites/follows/reviews, you guys are the best and i love you all.