fic: bail and a phone call
Title: Bail and a Phone Call
Characters and/or Pairings: Amy/Rory, Officer Daniel Edwards
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Just borrowing from the Moff and the Beeb
Summary: Leadworth does not have a prison. But Amy Pond will find a way to end up in one, anyway.
Author's Notes: Written as a dwsanta Christmas present for oobiemcruby; I hope you enjoyed it! Many thanks to professor_spork for the beta and the advice.
Leadworth does not have a prison. This is partly because Leadworth does not have crime, which in turn is wholly because Leadworth does not have criminals. Leadworth has elderly couples who just want peace, parents who just want their children to behave, and children who just want more television channels. When Leadworth has would-be rebellious teenagers, it reveals to them what it has always known about itself: it is all but impossible to rebel in Leadworth. (They had gotten excited earlier this year; all that alien business had seemed promising. What a bust that turned out to be. They went back to telly.)
Leadworth employs two police officers, in case of visitors or exceptionally creative teenagers. It is one of these fine gentlemen - Officer Daniel Edwards - who comes across Amelia Jessica Pond one November night. She is perched cross-legged on the sidewalk outside of the old Cooper house, dressed in what she calls her policewoman uniform and what Mrs. Edwards calls the “bobby trollop outfit.” Officer Edwards considers walking right by; that would be easiest. Amy had been an exceptionally creative teenager. But instead he slows his steps, shoving his hands in his pockets and saying a quick prayer as he approaches.
“Good evening, Miss Pond,” he says hesitantly.
Amy squints up to see him by the dim moonlight, then rolls her eyes. “Hi, Danny boy.” She jerks her head around to face the old blue house again. Her hair, tied in a loose ball at the nape of her neck, bobbles dangerously. “Bye, Danny boy.”
“Officer Edwards,” he corrects her mechanically.
She snorts. “Bye, Officer Edwards.”
The slur in her voice is almost imperceptible, but Officer Edwards - he winces at the thought - knows Amy too well. “Have you been drinking this evening, Miss Pond?”
“It’s been a few years since you could scare me with those words, Danny boy,” Amy replies tersely. “Doesn’t anyone know I’m not a child anymore?”
Officer Edwards thinks better of reminding Amy that it’s only children who whine about being thought of as children. “What I mean to say, Miss Pond, is - are you currently intoxicated?”
Amy snorts again, then tilts her head to look up at him. “If that was the case, I could just arrest myself when I was finished sitting here, couldn’t I?” She winks and tips her hat at him, but doesn’t bother to pick it up when it slips from her head. “So your services are really not needed. Good night.”
She draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Officer Edwards is about to let her be - just this once - when Amy’s shoulders suddenly hunch. He thinks for an instant that she might be crying, but when he looks closer he sees that it’s not just her shoulders that are shaking, but the whole of her thin frame.
“Amelia,” he says gently, suddenly aware of the late autumn air and of her not having a jacket, “you must be frozen. Don’t you think you should be getting home?”
“Don’t call me that,” she says quietly, subconsciously. Then she scrambles to her feet, wobbling slightly either because of the heels or the alcohol. “And don’t give me…that,” she adds, jabbing a finger through the air in his direction. “I don’t need that. I don’t need you to look after me. I hate when people do that.” She pulls out her cell phone and glares down at it, squinting it into focus.
Officer Edwards clears his throat. “All right, Amy. Calm down.”
“See?” Amy marches falteringly toward him, clutching the phone in one hand and pointing fiercely with the other. “That’s what I mean. I don’t need that. I hate when people do that to me. I hate…” She trails off, staring down at her phone again. Then she turns on her heel and hurls the phone at the Cooper house, cringing only slightly as the sound of shattering glass fills the night. Then she breathes what sounds like a sigh of relief and starts to stumble away down the road. “Good night, Danny boy.”
Officer Edwards freezes for a moment, staring dumbfounded at the broken window in the old blue house. “Amy!” he shouts when he registers what’s just happened. He runs to catch up with her, grabbing her elbow when she tries to pick up her own pace. “No, Amy, absolutely not. I can overlook a few drinks too many, but I cannot let you deface public property and just walk away. You’re going to have to come with me.”
“De-what public what?” Amy tries to pull her elbow free. “It’s just the Cooper house, Danny. No one cares!”
“People care! The Cooper house is a town landmark!”
“The Cooper house is a dump. Let go. I’m going home, see, just like you said.”
Officer Edwards sighs and tightens his grip on her elbow. “It’s too late for that, Miss Pond. You’re going to have to come with me.”
“You don’t even have any handcuffs,” Amy points out, raising a defiant eyebrow.
He reaches around with his free hand and pulls the handcuffs out of her back pocket.
“Hey! That’s not fair!” Amy squirms halfheartedly in protest. “This is ridiculous. No one cares about the stupid old house. Besides, where are we going?”
***
“This is not funny,” Amy whines through the door. “You can’t keep me here overnight. I don’t think this is legal.”
“Of course it is,” Officer Edwards replies, locking the door from the other side. “Defacing public property is a crime. You can stay overnight in jail for less than this, Miss Pond.”
Amy scoffs at that. “This isn’t a jail cell! This is your basement.”
“And as such, I don’t see why you’re complaining so much.” Officer Edwards raps on the door twice and then makes his way to the kitchen, where an unhappy Mrs. Edwards is waiting with dinner and questions about what that unbalanced Pond girl is doing here.
Left alone, Amy struggles with the doorknob for several minutes. Then she clods down and back up the basement stairs a few times, taking care to make as much noise as she can with her shoes. Then she gets bored and turns on the small television. Then she gets more bored and turns the volume up as loud as it will go.
Predictably, Officer Edwards returns to the locked door at that point. “My wife is complaining of the noise,” he calls through the door.
“Can I post bail?” Amy yells up the stairs.
There is a moment of stunned silence, and Amy smirks to herself. “Beg your pardon?” Officer Edwards replies at length.
Amy pounds up the stairs to talk to him through the door. “Am I allowed to post bail, or do I have to find a ‘get out of basement free’ card?”
“Er.” Amy can picture Edwards on the other side of the door, scratching at his bald spot and narrowing his eyes in contemplation. “Bail. Yes, I suppose so.”
“Then can I get a phone call?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, Danny boy.” Amy bites her lip; she’s pushing her luck, she knows, but this is her only chance of getting out tonight. “This is standard prison treatment. Bail and a phone call.”
He sighs. “Yes. Fine. Bail and a phone call. Will you be needing to borrow a phone, since yours is…missing?”
Amy twists her hands together. “Please.”
He lets her out, ignores her exaggerated gasps of breath, and points down the hall to the phone. “Make it quick, Miss Pond.”
Amy stands staring at the phone with her arms crossed over her chest for a full three minutes before she picks up the phone. She takes her time dialing. She holds her breath while the line rings once. Twice.
“Hello?”
She exhales in a rush. “Rory!”
“Amy?”
“Aw, you recognize my voice even when you don’t recognize my number. Sweet.”
“Amy, where are you?”
“I’ve been detained. I need your help, Williams. I’ve had a run-in with the law.”
“Amy.” His voice is heavy. “Where are you, really?”
Her grip tightens on the phone. “Like I said. I’ve been detained.”
“…what, seriously?”
She sighs, idly stomping her foot. “I’m at Danny boy’s house. Edwards. On West Main. Will you just come get me?”
She hangs up without waiting for a response and then stands there, still stomping her foot, until Officer Edwards comes to find her. “Your shoes are not quiet, Miss Pond,” he says, bemused.
Amy stops stomping abruptly. “What’s for dinner?”
He stares at her. “For my dinner?”
“Standard prison treatment,” she says, tossing her hair defiantly. “I want my meal.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t stop her from following him back to the kitchen. “One more for dinner, dear,” he tells his wife, who glares openly as Amy sits down.
“Lovely house,” Amy says with a forced smile, which Mrs. Edwards does not return. “Dinner smells good,” Amy tries again, and Mrs. Edwards sniffs. “Your clothes are lovely,” Amy says sarcastically, “your hair looks nice, your floors are comfortable to walk on…”
“Amy,” Officer Edwards warns, shaking his head as he sets a plate in front of her.
She rolls her eyes, but the doorbell cuts off her reply.
“That was fast,” Edwards mutters, moving to answer the door. “I didn’t think Sharon lived so close.”
“Oh,” Amy says, leaning back in her chair to watch him open the door, “I should’ve said, that’s not-”
“Sharon!” Officer Edwards says cheerfully, swinging the door open.
“Rory,” the boy in the doorway replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and trying to look around Edwards into the house.
“Rory?” Officer Edwards turns to Amy, frowning. “You didn’t call your aunt?”
“Er…no?” Amy leaves her plate untouched and scoots past Edwards to stand beside Rory. “I called Rory. Rory Williams. He’s my…he’s my Rory.” She slips an arm around him, ignoring the way he cringes away slightly. “So how much is the bail?”
Rory twists to stare down at her. “Bail?” He gapes at Officer Edwards. “Amy, are you seriously being detained?”
“I told you I was,” she mutters, staring at the ground.
Officer Edwards clears his throat. “No bail. There might be a fine later, we’ll have to check the damage to the Cooper house…well. Nice to meet you, Mr. Williams. Miss Pond…try to stay out of trouble.” He gives her what he hopes is a stern look before closing the door on the two of them.
Rory is still staring at her. “Amy, what happened?”
She slips her hand into his and shakes her head. “Let’s not talk about it. Okay?”
He gives her his jacket and they walk in silence most of the way back to the Williams’ house. A block away, Rory stops and tugs her to a stop with him. “No,” he says loudly, “not okay. Let’s do talk about it. Amy, what happened?”
She shrugs, not looking at him. “I threw something through a window of some old house. It’s not a big deal.”
“Something. A rock?”
“My phone, actually.”
“Amy.” He closes his eyes and a pained expression crosses his face. “You threw your phone at an old house. Why?”
“I was…” She shrugs again and kicks at the pavement. “I was drunk.”
“You were drunk? At work? You never drink on the job.” He grips her forearms and lowers his face to search hers. “Amy, did they make you drink? I told you I didn’t trust-”
“No!” She cuts him off, shaking her head violently. “No, they didn’t make me drink. The party was boring, I had a few drinks, I left early. I wasn’t that drunk.”
He examines her face. “Really?”
She nods. “He’s not so bad. Andrew. Not as bad as you made out. He just…likes kissing.” She blushes but tries not to let him see. “He was nice. Tipped well.”
Rory clenches his fist and the knuckles on his right hand crack. “Okay.” He nods, determining not to say anything else about Andrew and the party. “So if you weren’t really drunk,” he goes on, “then why did you throw the phone?”
“Because I hate that house,” she answers weakly.
He shakes his head. “Why really?”
“Because I hate that house,” she repeats, insistent. “Because it’s…blue.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Because it’s blue.”
“Blue.” She nods. “And…old.”
“Blue and old.” He narrows his eyes at her, disbelieving. Then, suddenly, his eyes widen. “Oh. Blue and old. Like…like the box. Amy, is this about the D-”
“No!” She shakes her head rapidly, grabbing his hand, not wanting to have this fight again. “No, it doesn’t have anything to do with…the box. It doesn’t.”
He squints at her. “Are you lying?”
“No. Well…yes. Sort of. But not about the box.”
Rory knows how this works; he’ll never get the information unless he happens to guess correctly. “Are you…mad at me?” he tries. “About Andrew?”
She shakes her head again. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Then…” He frowns, at a loss. “Was it a…bad party?”
She drops his hand to twist hers together, and doesn’t answer right away. “I wasn’t planning to drink,” she says finally.
He opens his mouth to ask what changed her mind, then closes it again as the implication of her words dawns on him. “Son of a bitch,” he breathes through clenched teeth.
She blinks at the words. “Rory…”
He steps closer to her and frames her face with his hands. “Amy, are you okay? Did he-”
“He didn’t do anything,” she insists, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “He gave me a few drinks and I didn’t like that so I left.”
“And that’s the truth?” he asks, searching her face.
She nods. “I left and went for a walk and stopped at the Cooper house. And then had a lovely chat with Danny boy. I’m glad you met him, by the way; isn’t he lovely?”
“Amy.” He catches her hand in his and they start walking again. “Why didn’t you call me?”
She pulls her hand free. “Because you’d stopped calling me.”
He stops again, now at the end of his driveway. “I called you all day long.”
“Except for when you stopped.”
“I stopped,” he says sharply, “because when you finally answered my call it was to yell at me that if I didn’t stop calling you were going to break up with me.”
She picks at a fingernail, frowning. “But I wanted you to call me then.”
“What do you want from me, Amy?” The tone in his voice scares her but she doesn’t look up. “You don’t want me to call, you don’t want me to not call. You don’t want me around, you don’t want me not around. You don’t want to introduce me as your boyfriend to your cop friend, but you want me to pay your bail. Is there something I’m not getting? Is there some secret balance and I just have to keep guessing until I figure it out?”
“I don’t know what the balance is,” she replies quietly.
He walks up the driveway in silence, constantly glancing back at her, waiting for her to follow him or to say something else. She does neither. “Good night, Amy,” he says at the door.
“Rory,” she calls just before the door shuts. “Rory, can I…can I come in?”
He opens the door again, slowly. “It’s late, you know.”
She nods. “I meant for the night. Can I stay here tonight?”
He frowns. “Amy-”
“Aunt Sharon isn’t home,” she rushes on, “she’s gone this week, and I don’t…I’d rather not be there alone.”
He considers for a moment. “If I let you in,” he says finally, “are you going to stop being mad at me?”
Amy gulps down the guilty feeling clawing its way up her throat. “Rory, I’m not-”
“Of course you can come in.” He opens the door wide for her to step inside, and pulls her into him after the door shuts behind her. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers against her ear. “I’m sorry I stopped calling.”
She leans against his shoulder for a while, eyes open, breathing him in. “You know,” she says, tilting her head to look at him, “if you pay my window fine, you won’t have to buy me a Christmas present.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay your fine if you want me to, but I’m also going to buy you a Christmas present.”
She nods and tucks her head back under his chin. “I know.”
Characters and/or Pairings: Amy/Rory, Officer Daniel Edwards
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Just borrowing from the Moff and the Beeb
Summary: Leadworth does not have a prison. But Amy Pond will find a way to end up in one, anyway.
Author's Notes: Written as a dwsanta Christmas present for oobiemcruby; I hope you enjoyed it! Many thanks to professor_spork for the beta and the advice.
Leadworth does not have a prison. This is partly because Leadworth does not have crime, which in turn is wholly because Leadworth does not have criminals. Leadworth has elderly couples who just want peace, parents who just want their children to behave, and children who just want more television channels. When Leadworth has would-be rebellious teenagers, it reveals to them what it has always known about itself: it is all but impossible to rebel in Leadworth. (They had gotten excited earlier this year; all that alien business had seemed promising. What a bust that turned out to be. They went back to telly.)
Leadworth employs two police officers, in case of visitors or exceptionally creative teenagers. It is one of these fine gentlemen - Officer Daniel Edwards - who comes across Amelia Jessica Pond one November night. She is perched cross-legged on the sidewalk outside of the old Cooper house, dressed in what she calls her policewoman uniform and what Mrs. Edwards calls the “bobby trollop outfit.” Officer Edwards considers walking right by; that would be easiest. Amy had been an exceptionally creative teenager. But instead he slows his steps, shoving his hands in his pockets and saying a quick prayer as he approaches.
“Good evening, Miss Pond,” he says hesitantly.
Amy squints up to see him by the dim moonlight, then rolls her eyes. “Hi, Danny boy.” She jerks her head around to face the old blue house again. Her hair, tied in a loose ball at the nape of her neck, bobbles dangerously. “Bye, Danny boy.”
“Officer Edwards,” he corrects her mechanically.
She snorts. “Bye, Officer Edwards.”
The slur in her voice is almost imperceptible, but Officer Edwards - he winces at the thought - knows Amy too well. “Have you been drinking this evening, Miss Pond?”
“It’s been a few years since you could scare me with those words, Danny boy,” Amy replies tersely. “Doesn’t anyone know I’m not a child anymore?”
Officer Edwards thinks better of reminding Amy that it’s only children who whine about being thought of as children. “What I mean to say, Miss Pond, is - are you currently intoxicated?”
Amy snorts again, then tilts her head to look up at him. “If that was the case, I could just arrest myself when I was finished sitting here, couldn’t I?” She winks and tips her hat at him, but doesn’t bother to pick it up when it slips from her head. “So your services are really not needed. Good night.”
She draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Officer Edwards is about to let her be - just this once - when Amy’s shoulders suddenly hunch. He thinks for an instant that she might be crying, but when he looks closer he sees that it’s not just her shoulders that are shaking, but the whole of her thin frame.
“Amelia,” he says gently, suddenly aware of the late autumn air and of her not having a jacket, “you must be frozen. Don’t you think you should be getting home?”
“Don’t call me that,” she says quietly, subconsciously. Then she scrambles to her feet, wobbling slightly either because of the heels or the alcohol. “And don’t give me…that,” she adds, jabbing a finger through the air in his direction. “I don’t need that. I don’t need you to look after me. I hate when people do that.” She pulls out her cell phone and glares down at it, squinting it into focus.
Officer Edwards clears his throat. “All right, Amy. Calm down.”
“See?” Amy marches falteringly toward him, clutching the phone in one hand and pointing fiercely with the other. “That’s what I mean. I don’t need that. I hate when people do that to me. I hate…” She trails off, staring down at her phone again. Then she turns on her heel and hurls the phone at the Cooper house, cringing only slightly as the sound of shattering glass fills the night. Then she breathes what sounds like a sigh of relief and starts to stumble away down the road. “Good night, Danny boy.”
Officer Edwards freezes for a moment, staring dumbfounded at the broken window in the old blue house. “Amy!” he shouts when he registers what’s just happened. He runs to catch up with her, grabbing her elbow when she tries to pick up her own pace. “No, Amy, absolutely not. I can overlook a few drinks too many, but I cannot let you deface public property and just walk away. You’re going to have to come with me.”
“De-what public what?” Amy tries to pull her elbow free. “It’s just the Cooper house, Danny. No one cares!”
“People care! The Cooper house is a town landmark!”
“The Cooper house is a dump. Let go. I’m going home, see, just like you said.”
Officer Edwards sighs and tightens his grip on her elbow. “It’s too late for that, Miss Pond. You’re going to have to come with me.”
“You don’t even have any handcuffs,” Amy points out, raising a defiant eyebrow.
He reaches around with his free hand and pulls the handcuffs out of her back pocket.
“Hey! That’s not fair!” Amy squirms halfheartedly in protest. “This is ridiculous. No one cares about the stupid old house. Besides, where are we going?”
***
“This is not funny,” Amy whines through the door. “You can’t keep me here overnight. I don’t think this is legal.”
“Of course it is,” Officer Edwards replies, locking the door from the other side. “Defacing public property is a crime. You can stay overnight in jail for less than this, Miss Pond.”
Amy scoffs at that. “This isn’t a jail cell! This is your basement.”
“And as such, I don’t see why you’re complaining so much.” Officer Edwards raps on the door twice and then makes his way to the kitchen, where an unhappy Mrs. Edwards is waiting with dinner and questions about what that unbalanced Pond girl is doing here.
Left alone, Amy struggles with the doorknob for several minutes. Then she clods down and back up the basement stairs a few times, taking care to make as much noise as she can with her shoes. Then she gets bored and turns on the small television. Then she gets more bored and turns the volume up as loud as it will go.
Predictably, Officer Edwards returns to the locked door at that point. “My wife is complaining of the noise,” he calls through the door.
“Can I post bail?” Amy yells up the stairs.
There is a moment of stunned silence, and Amy smirks to herself. “Beg your pardon?” Officer Edwards replies at length.
Amy pounds up the stairs to talk to him through the door. “Am I allowed to post bail, or do I have to find a ‘get out of basement free’ card?”
“Er.” Amy can picture Edwards on the other side of the door, scratching at his bald spot and narrowing his eyes in contemplation. “Bail. Yes, I suppose so.”
“Then can I get a phone call?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, Danny boy.” Amy bites her lip; she’s pushing her luck, she knows, but this is her only chance of getting out tonight. “This is standard prison treatment. Bail and a phone call.”
He sighs. “Yes. Fine. Bail and a phone call. Will you be needing to borrow a phone, since yours is…missing?”
Amy twists her hands together. “Please.”
He lets her out, ignores her exaggerated gasps of breath, and points down the hall to the phone. “Make it quick, Miss Pond.”
Amy stands staring at the phone with her arms crossed over her chest for a full three minutes before she picks up the phone. She takes her time dialing. She holds her breath while the line rings once. Twice.
“Hello?”
She exhales in a rush. “Rory!”
“Amy?”
“Aw, you recognize my voice even when you don’t recognize my number. Sweet.”
“Amy, where are you?”
“I’ve been detained. I need your help, Williams. I’ve had a run-in with the law.”
“Amy.” His voice is heavy. “Where are you, really?”
Her grip tightens on the phone. “Like I said. I’ve been detained.”
“…what, seriously?”
She sighs, idly stomping her foot. “I’m at Danny boy’s house. Edwards. On West Main. Will you just come get me?”
She hangs up without waiting for a response and then stands there, still stomping her foot, until Officer Edwards comes to find her. “Your shoes are not quiet, Miss Pond,” he says, bemused.
Amy stops stomping abruptly. “What’s for dinner?”
He stares at her. “For my dinner?”
“Standard prison treatment,” she says, tossing her hair defiantly. “I want my meal.”
He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t stop her from following him back to the kitchen. “One more for dinner, dear,” he tells his wife, who glares openly as Amy sits down.
“Lovely house,” Amy says with a forced smile, which Mrs. Edwards does not return. “Dinner smells good,” Amy tries again, and Mrs. Edwards sniffs. “Your clothes are lovely,” Amy says sarcastically, “your hair looks nice, your floors are comfortable to walk on…”
“Amy,” Officer Edwards warns, shaking his head as he sets a plate in front of her.
She rolls her eyes, but the doorbell cuts off her reply.
“That was fast,” Edwards mutters, moving to answer the door. “I didn’t think Sharon lived so close.”
“Oh,” Amy says, leaning back in her chair to watch him open the door, “I should’ve said, that’s not-”
“Sharon!” Officer Edwards says cheerfully, swinging the door open.
“Rory,” the boy in the doorway replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and trying to look around Edwards into the house.
“Rory?” Officer Edwards turns to Amy, frowning. “You didn’t call your aunt?”
“Er…no?” Amy leaves her plate untouched and scoots past Edwards to stand beside Rory. “I called Rory. Rory Williams. He’s my…he’s my Rory.” She slips an arm around him, ignoring the way he cringes away slightly. “So how much is the bail?”
Rory twists to stare down at her. “Bail?” He gapes at Officer Edwards. “Amy, are you seriously being detained?”
“I told you I was,” she mutters, staring at the ground.
Officer Edwards clears his throat. “No bail. There might be a fine later, we’ll have to check the damage to the Cooper house…well. Nice to meet you, Mr. Williams. Miss Pond…try to stay out of trouble.” He gives her what he hopes is a stern look before closing the door on the two of them.
Rory is still staring at her. “Amy, what happened?”
She slips her hand into his and shakes her head. “Let’s not talk about it. Okay?”
He gives her his jacket and they walk in silence most of the way back to the Williams’ house. A block away, Rory stops and tugs her to a stop with him. “No,” he says loudly, “not okay. Let’s do talk about it. Amy, what happened?”
She shrugs, not looking at him. “I threw something through a window of some old house. It’s not a big deal.”
“Something. A rock?”
“My phone, actually.”
“Amy.” He closes his eyes and a pained expression crosses his face. “You threw your phone at an old house. Why?”
“I was…” She shrugs again and kicks at the pavement. “I was drunk.”
“You were drunk? At work? You never drink on the job.” He grips her forearms and lowers his face to search hers. “Amy, did they make you drink? I told you I didn’t trust-”
“No!” She cuts him off, shaking her head violently. “No, they didn’t make me drink. The party was boring, I had a few drinks, I left early. I wasn’t that drunk.”
He examines her face. “Really?”
She nods. “He’s not so bad. Andrew. Not as bad as you made out. He just…likes kissing.” She blushes but tries not to let him see. “He was nice. Tipped well.”
Rory clenches his fist and the knuckles on his right hand crack. “Okay.” He nods, determining not to say anything else about Andrew and the party. “So if you weren’t really drunk,” he goes on, “then why did you throw the phone?”
“Because I hate that house,” she answers weakly.
He shakes his head. “Why really?”
“Because I hate that house,” she repeats, insistent. “Because it’s…blue.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Because it’s blue.”
“Blue.” She nods. “And…old.”
“Blue and old.” He narrows his eyes at her, disbelieving. Then, suddenly, his eyes widen. “Oh. Blue and old. Like…like the box. Amy, is this about the D-”
“No!” She shakes her head rapidly, grabbing his hand, not wanting to have this fight again. “No, it doesn’t have anything to do with…the box. It doesn’t.”
He squints at her. “Are you lying?”
“No. Well…yes. Sort of. But not about the box.”
Rory knows how this works; he’ll never get the information unless he happens to guess correctly. “Are you…mad at me?” he tries. “About Andrew?”
She shakes her head again. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Then…” He frowns, at a loss. “Was it a…bad party?”
She drops his hand to twist hers together, and doesn’t answer right away. “I wasn’t planning to drink,” she says finally.
He opens his mouth to ask what changed her mind, then closes it again as the implication of her words dawns on him. “Son of a bitch,” he breathes through clenched teeth.
She blinks at the words. “Rory…”
He steps closer to her and frames her face with his hands. “Amy, are you okay? Did he-”
“He didn’t do anything,” she insists, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “He gave me a few drinks and I didn’t like that so I left.”
“And that’s the truth?” he asks, searching her face.
She nods. “I left and went for a walk and stopped at the Cooper house. And then had a lovely chat with Danny boy. I’m glad you met him, by the way; isn’t he lovely?”
“Amy.” He catches her hand in his and they start walking again. “Why didn’t you call me?”
She pulls her hand free. “Because you’d stopped calling me.”
He stops again, now at the end of his driveway. “I called you all day long.”
“Except for when you stopped.”
“I stopped,” he says sharply, “because when you finally answered my call it was to yell at me that if I didn’t stop calling you were going to break up with me.”
She picks at a fingernail, frowning. “But I wanted you to call me then.”
“What do you want from me, Amy?” The tone in his voice scares her but she doesn’t look up. “You don’t want me to call, you don’t want me to not call. You don’t want me around, you don’t want me not around. You don’t want to introduce me as your boyfriend to your cop friend, but you want me to pay your bail. Is there something I’m not getting? Is there some secret balance and I just have to keep guessing until I figure it out?”
“I don’t know what the balance is,” she replies quietly.
He walks up the driveway in silence, constantly glancing back at her, waiting for her to follow him or to say something else. She does neither. “Good night, Amy,” he says at the door.
“Rory,” she calls just before the door shuts. “Rory, can I…can I come in?”
He opens the door again, slowly. “It’s late, you know.”
She nods. “I meant for the night. Can I stay here tonight?”
He frowns. “Amy-”
“Aunt Sharon isn’t home,” she rushes on, “she’s gone this week, and I don’t…I’d rather not be there alone.”
He considers for a moment. “If I let you in,” he says finally, “are you going to stop being mad at me?”
Amy gulps down the guilty feeling clawing its way up her throat. “Rory, I’m not-”
“Of course you can come in.” He opens the door wide for her to step inside, and pulls her into him after the door shuts behind her. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers against her ear. “I’m sorry I stopped calling.”
She leans against his shoulder for a while, eyes open, breathing him in. “You know,” she says, tilting her head to look at him, “if you pay my window fine, you won’t have to buy me a Christmas present.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay your fine if you want me to, but I’m also going to buy you a Christmas present.”
She nods and tucks her head back under his chin. “I know.”