Fic: All Stories (In The End)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: Amy/Rory
Summary: He watches her grow up in the time it takes to blink.
He never thought he’d see it. Not really. He always thought that they’d got out in a blaze of glory, all flashy lights and the whole shebang. Not like this. Never like this.
This is quiet. They’ve never been quiet, not once in their lives. As babies, they constantly woke their parents. As children, their hollering could be heard clear across the village. As adults, their arguments kept the neighbours awake till all hours, and their making up cause up-roar at the old biddies coffee mornings. No, they’ve never been ones for quiet.
That he went first was a bit of a surprise really. She’s always been the ‘dive in headfirst type’. Mind you, that’s probably why she followed him. She never really stopped to think about the consequences to the sad old man who didn’t really want them to go.
They don’t talk about it.
(Everything has to end sometime)
He watches her grow up in the time it takes to blink. One minute she’s all full of life and the thrill of it, the next she’s collapsed next to him in a sobbing heap looking like the proper adult that she swore she’d never become.
(The real aging comes later. The first wrinkle, the first time they get offered a seat on the bus, the first grey hair found in her tumbling mess of fiery red was a horror to her and a secret delight to him)
They get another house. This one feels more like theirs, really, truly theirs - like they built it from the ground up with their bare hands. They decorate it in a whirlwind weekend, laughing like children again, painting each other with blobs of bright colour.
They think about having kids. Again. They end up adopting a little boy, and love every second of watching him grow up safe and loved. They tell him the best bedtime stories, all about a madman who travels in space and had fantastic adventures.
(I will be a story in your head)
They get jobs. He has to re-take exams, she has to decide on a career, but they manage. They look for positions that will last, that they know they will be there for years to come, and they find themselves remembering that they don’t have to have a plethora of excuses ready at any minute in case they have to run off again.
(Just five minutes. I can have you back in five minutes. I promise)
She becomes a writer. After the medley of jobs she’s worked in her life, she chooses the one thing she’s never really tried her hand at. She’s good at it. She writes him little snippets of poetry and sneaks them into his packed lunch sometimes. They make him smile in the afternoons when he’s just starting to miss her. She gets a book published. They have a party, and invite all the neighbours. They have a party every time she releases another one. The neighbours look forward to the little note card invites they get through the door, and plan what food they are going to bring next.
They take holidays to the coast; spend a few days relaxing on a beach like regular people. See the sights and all the things normal people do. They make plans to go travelling.
(All of time and space; everywhere and anywhere; every star that ever was. Where do you want to start?)
They get accents eventually. Well, he does. She clings fiercely to her roots, insisting that her grandmother would turn in her grave if she ever became anything other than a Scot. Having met her grandmother (once, a very long time ago in the not too distant future), he doesn’t push the issue.
Their son graduates from high school, and decides to become a journalist. He heads off to a college across the country, and they smile through their tears as they wave him off from the front step. He writes to them occasionally, describing his new friends and how his classes are going. The letters get pinned to the fridge with same magnet that they used to display his report cards and artwork from when he was a little boy.
They retire, eventually.
They become grand-parents, and the magnet holds pictures of their son and his wife and their little granddaughter.
They finally get to go travelling. They go around Europe for a while, visiting places that they had photos tacked to the wall of in their first house. The places that they kept trying to make time to visit. They send their son pictures of them outside the Coliseum in Rome, Saint Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow, and the Eiffel Tower in Paris. They are smiling brightly in each one, crow’s feet crinkling their eyes and lighting up their faces with joy.
(They don’t go back to England. Just in case. They watch the news sometimes, looking for the odd happening that might be something more. They don’t let themselves think about it for too long)
They invest wisely after they get back from travelling, a few quid here, a few quid there. They’re careful with their spending, saving most of it to give as a present to their granddaughter on her 18th birthday. They know they could make millions, but after everything that they’ve lived through, they decided rather live out their lives quietly this time around.
No more adventures. Just a happy, normal life.
Full of stories about a wonderful madman and his box.
(Raggedy Man, Goodbye)
Pairing: Amy/Rory
Summary: He watches her grow up in the time it takes to blink.
He never thought he’d see it. Not really. He always thought that they’d got out in a blaze of glory, all flashy lights and the whole shebang. Not like this. Never like this.
This is quiet. They’ve never been quiet, not once in their lives. As babies, they constantly woke their parents. As children, their hollering could be heard clear across the village. As adults, their arguments kept the neighbours awake till all hours, and their making up cause up-roar at the old biddies coffee mornings. No, they’ve never been ones for quiet.
That he went first was a bit of a surprise really. She’s always been the ‘dive in headfirst type’. Mind you, that’s probably why she followed him. She never really stopped to think about the consequences to the sad old man who didn’t really want them to go.
They don’t talk about it.
(Everything has to end sometime)
He watches her grow up in the time it takes to blink. One minute she’s all full of life and the thrill of it, the next she’s collapsed next to him in a sobbing heap looking like the proper adult that she swore she’d never become.
(The real aging comes later. The first wrinkle, the first time they get offered a seat on the bus, the first grey hair found in her tumbling mess of fiery red was a horror to her and a secret delight to him)
They get another house. This one feels more like theirs, really, truly theirs - like they built it from the ground up with their bare hands. They decorate it in a whirlwind weekend, laughing like children again, painting each other with blobs of bright colour.
They think about having kids. Again. They end up adopting a little boy, and love every second of watching him grow up safe and loved. They tell him the best bedtime stories, all about a madman who travels in space and had fantastic adventures.
(I will be a story in your head)
They get jobs. He has to re-take exams, she has to decide on a career, but they manage. They look for positions that will last, that they know they will be there for years to come, and they find themselves remembering that they don’t have to have a plethora of excuses ready at any minute in case they have to run off again.
(Just five minutes. I can have you back in five minutes. I promise)
She becomes a writer. After the medley of jobs she’s worked in her life, she chooses the one thing she’s never really tried her hand at. She’s good at it. She writes him little snippets of poetry and sneaks them into his packed lunch sometimes. They make him smile in the afternoons when he’s just starting to miss her. She gets a book published. They have a party, and invite all the neighbours. They have a party every time she releases another one. The neighbours look forward to the little note card invites they get through the door, and plan what food they are going to bring next.
They take holidays to the coast; spend a few days relaxing on a beach like regular people. See the sights and all the things normal people do. They make plans to go travelling.
(All of time and space; everywhere and anywhere; every star that ever was. Where do you want to start?)
They get accents eventually. Well, he does. She clings fiercely to her roots, insisting that her grandmother would turn in her grave if she ever became anything other than a Scot. Having met her grandmother (once, a very long time ago in the not too distant future), he doesn’t push the issue.
Their son graduates from high school, and decides to become a journalist. He heads off to a college across the country, and they smile through their tears as they wave him off from the front step. He writes to them occasionally, describing his new friends and how his classes are going. The letters get pinned to the fridge with same magnet that they used to display his report cards and artwork from when he was a little boy.
They retire, eventually.
They become grand-parents, and the magnet holds pictures of their son and his wife and their little granddaughter.
They finally get to go travelling. They go around Europe for a while, visiting places that they had photos tacked to the wall of in their first house. The places that they kept trying to make time to visit. They send their son pictures of them outside the Coliseum in Rome, Saint Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow, and the Eiffel Tower in Paris. They are smiling brightly in each one, crow’s feet crinkling their eyes and lighting up their faces with joy.
(They don’t go back to England. Just in case. They watch the news sometimes, looking for the odd happening that might be something more. They don’t let themselves think about it for too long)
They invest wisely after they get back from travelling, a few quid here, a few quid there. They’re careful with their spending, saving most of it to give as a present to their granddaughter on her 18th birthday. They know they could make millions, but after everything that they’ve lived through, they decided rather live out their lives quietly this time around.
No more adventures. Just a happy, normal life.
Full of stories about a wonderful madman and his box.
(Raggedy Man, Goodbye)