Together ('Yellow' entry)
Feb. 24th, 2015 06:59 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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who_contestTitle: Together
Genre: Romance/Angst
Word Count: 400
Spoilers for ‘Angels Take Manhatten’ and the additional scene, P.S.
Pairing: Amy/Rory
Warnings: None
Summary: Amelia Williams, after the afterword.
There were flowers on the sill by the window. Their brown-and-yellow heads drooped out of the glass vase that was too small and Amy sat up to fetch another, only to find her feet trapped by blankets. Kicking them off seemed an impossible task. Instead she flexed the hand with the drip in it, relieved to find that the numbness had faded, leaving only a heavy ache behind. Her left hand was being held, and the man responsible for the holding was trying to weep as unobtrusively as possible. “Hello, stranger,” she said, and felt an abrupt pang of guilt when he flinched. “Joke, Rory.”
“Oh, thank god.” He was crying openly now, fingers still wrapped around hers. She thought of another white room on an asteroid billions of worlds away, where he had cradled their daughter and his mouth had tasted of salt. “T-turns out it was a transient ischaemic attack. Sort of a mini-stroke. The doctors want to keep you in overnight, run some tests.”
When had he taken off his armour? There had been a breastplate, and a sword. The question unravelled like ink ribbon being yanked from a typewriter, too swift to catch. The next time she blinked, he was present again; immaculate blue shirt wrinkled about the elbows, tears drying in the beloved creases of his face. “Did you hear me, Amy?”
Sunflowers. That was the name she needed, for the brown-and-yellow on the sill. Sunflowers filling the entirety of Vincent’s courtyard, in the days when grief formed an inexplicable shadow in the corner of her mind’s eye. In thick ridges of oil paint at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where she and Rory had spent their fortieth wedding anniversary and where they had taken Anthony as soon as he was old enough to look without fatigue.
“I phoned him right after the ambulance. He’s on his way.” Funny how Rory could know who she was thinking of – or had she spoken aloud? The gap between thoughts and words kept changing, but the words themselves were all back now, tangible as the face that she had once forgotten – never again, please, never.
When he leant down close to kiss her, she lifted her reborn hand up to his cheek and kept it there, though the effort was like hauling a block of stone.
She said, “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Genre: Romance/Angst
Word Count: 400
Spoilers for ‘Angels Take Manhatten’ and the additional scene, P.S.
Pairing: Amy/Rory
Warnings: None
Summary: Amelia Williams, after the afterword.
There were flowers on the sill by the window. Their brown-and-yellow heads drooped out of the glass vase that was too small and Amy sat up to fetch another, only to find her feet trapped by blankets. Kicking them off seemed an impossible task. Instead she flexed the hand with the drip in it, relieved to find that the numbness had faded, leaving only a heavy ache behind. Her left hand was being held, and the man responsible for the holding was trying to weep as unobtrusively as possible. “Hello, stranger,” she said, and felt an abrupt pang of guilt when he flinched. “Joke, Rory.”
“Oh, thank god.” He was crying openly now, fingers still wrapped around hers. She thought of another white room on an asteroid billions of worlds away, where he had cradled their daughter and his mouth had tasted of salt. “T-turns out it was a transient ischaemic attack. Sort of a mini-stroke. The doctors want to keep you in overnight, run some tests.”
When had he taken off his armour? There had been a breastplate, and a sword. The question unravelled like ink ribbon being yanked from a typewriter, too swift to catch. The next time she blinked, he was present again; immaculate blue shirt wrinkled about the elbows, tears drying in the beloved creases of his face. “Did you hear me, Amy?”
Sunflowers. That was the name she needed, for the brown-and-yellow on the sill. Sunflowers filling the entirety of Vincent’s courtyard, in the days when grief formed an inexplicable shadow in the corner of her mind’s eye. In thick ridges of oil paint at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where she and Rory had spent their fortieth wedding anniversary and where they had taken Anthony as soon as he was old enough to look without fatigue.
“I phoned him right after the ambulance. He’s on his way.” Funny how Rory could know who she was thinking of – or had she spoken aloud? The gap between thoughts and words kept changing, but the words themselves were all back now, tangible as the face that she had once forgotten – never again, please, never.
When he leant down close to kiss her, she lifted her reborn hand up to his cheek and kept it there, though the effort was like hauling a block of stone.
She said, “Everything’s going to be fine.”
(no subject)
Date: 2015-02-24 08:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-02-25 10:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-02-26 05:19 pm (UTC)*HUGS*
n
Date: 2015-02-28 04:06 pm (UTC)Favourite parts:
When had he taken off his armour? There had been a breastplate, and a sword. The question unravelled like ink ribbon being yanked from a typewriter, too swift to catch. The next time she blinked, he was present again; immaculate blue shirt wrinkled about the elbows, tears drying in the beloved creases of his face. “Did you hear me, Amy?”
The gap between thoughts and words kept changing, but the words themselves were all back now, tangible as the face that she had once forgotten – never again, please, never.
♥
(no subject)
Date: 2015-03-07 01:00 am (UTC)