Fix Fic

(Contains spoilers for The Angels Take Manhattan.)

"For you," said Rory, dropping a parcel into Amy's lap.
  "Ooh, I know what this is," she exclaimed as Rory sorted through the rest of the mail.  She peeled back the brown paper to find an approximation of her daughter's cleavage staring back at her, under the title: Melody Malone. "Author's copy!  So that's another loose end tied away, then.  We can just sit back and enjoy .... everything," she added, gesturing vaguely towards the world outside their window.
  "Mm," Rory grunted non-committally, reading one of the letters.  "Amy, are you happy here?"
  "Wow, random.  I told you, wherever you are, that's where I want to be."
  "Yeah, no, I mean, obviously," he agreed.  "I mean, I am basically fantastic.  But all things being equal - assuming wherever you go, I'd go too - you wouldn't say that you'd rather be here than, say, home?"
  "Don't be daft.  Of course I'd rather be home.  I miss my mum, my little dad - and Brian.  And all our friends.  And there's nothing new on TV.  But there's no point talking about it, we're here for the long haul..."
  "Maybe not," Rory answered, showing her the letter.
  A date, time and map reference.
  The envelope, TARDIS blue.

"That's it, come along, inside!" said the Doctor, ushering Rory and Amy into the TARDIS.  "Well, now, here we all are again - you, me, and the other one, just joking Rory you're my favourite really - just like old times!"  He spun off towards the console.
  "Old times?" Amy asked, dropping her suitcase on the floor.  "How long ago is that for you, then?"
  The Doctor stopped whirling, hesitated.  "About half an hour.  Had to stop off a month ago to post that letter, you wouldn't believe the postal service in this time period I don't know, then straight here for the pick up.  No sense hanging around.  Like now, for instance, where do you want to go-"
  "Ask us how long it's been for us," said Amy.
  "Three years," said the Doctor.
  "Three years," she agreed.
  "You had to publish the book," he explained.  "Reading ahead, you see.  Takes all the fun out of things."
  There was an awkward pause.
  "So, that's settled, then," continued the Doctor, operating the controls to lift the TARDIS into the time vortex.  "Pop your coats on the stand, your old room's right where you left it..."
  "Oh," said Rory, "We're not stopping."  There was another pause, this time filled with the grinding of ancient engines.  The Doctor stared at the controls.  Stared hard.
  "Home," Amy declared.  Slipping her hand into Rory's, for strength.  "You were asking where we want to go.  We want to go home.  No side trips, no detours, no one-last-for-old-time-lord's-sakes.  Just home."
  "But I just got you back," he said to the console.
  "You're not losing us, stupid head," she insisted.  "Now we're out of that time thingummy, you'll be able to visit whenever you want.  And you're more than welcome.  But just ... we're done travelling.  That's all."
  "Well, if that's what you want," he said glumly.
  "More than anything," said Amy.
  "Well, then.  One more stop, though," said the Doctor.  Seeing Amy's glare, he added quickly, "I just have to arrange your gravestone."
  He operated the controls without another word.
  His hearts, TARDIS blue.

The Doctor stayed for a cup of tea, did something to the phones, hoovered the lawn and then declared that he had received an urgent message on his psychic paper from a galaxy under attack from the Terrible Zodin and needed to leave immediately.
  Amy chose not to ask why anyone with a time machine would need to do anything immediately, or how he'd had such a message when she knew for a fact that his psychic paper had been in his jacket pocket, over the back of a chair in the kitchen, at the time.
  As the TARDIS faded away, her husband turned to her and asked: "Do you think he'll be back?"
  "Probably," she replied, "Maybe.  I don't know.  Why, you don't think he'd forget us, do you?"
  "Oh, no.  Well, he might forget us," Rory added thoughtfully, "But not me.  You know, I am his favourite."
  Amelia Williams laughed and punched her husband in the arm as they went back into the house.
  The sky, TARDIS blue.


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