“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he calls back in good natured annoyance as Amy moves towards the door with a knowing glance back at her husband. “I don’t know why you take so long to get ready every day. It’s hardly as though you change your wardrobe much… Plaid this, plaid that, plaid, plaid everyday it’s plai-“
“Hey, I like the plaid!”
“Just like you liked the ponytail?” She jabs.
“Oi, you can’t blame Current Me for the hairstyle choices of Dream Future Me.”
“Oh, watch me.” She winks, and turns from him with a little flick of the hips. He watches her hungrily, then turns back to his current task as she exists the room- color choices.
Lying there on the bed was any man’s dream- six freshly-laundered, warm, cozy shirts, in a pattern that almost made him- oh, yes, there it was.
He picked up one at random and buried his nose in it. That smell- ooh, it smelled like home, and like hearing Amy accept his proposal, and like spearmint toothpaste. It was long evenings spent curled up next to a fire with a book and his glasses, feeling intelligent and powerful and the most important man in the world. It smelled like-
“Rory, are you licking that shirt?”
He jumped back in astonishment at the familiar voice.
“I mean, back when I was a young lad I had a bit of a thing for a pair of lacy panty-hose, and many have speculated that I’ve done unspeakable things to a stalk of celery, but really, really, a plaid shirt?”
“Doctor! What have I told you about using your vortex manipulator to show up in Amy and my room like that? Did last week teach you nothing?”
“Oh, well, it did teach me some things, things this regeneration hasn’t… well, I’ve been busy with saving the world and… and I thought maybe I’d get some tips but I didn’t expect to see first hand… I though, wedding night, you’d probably be looking at photographs and…oh… alright, carry on, carry on.”
He spun on the spot and vanished again, but Rory was still on edge. What if Amy came back? She’d told him before they got married that he’d have to drop what she called his “Plaid Habit,” but hadn’t she just left him be with the delightful pieces of clothing just now? Well, however bipolar Ms. Rory Williams was, it simply wasn’t safe.
He’d just have to wait, that was all. That was the nicest thing about fabric- it was simply never impatient.
”Soon, my love” he whispered into the fuzzy carress of the shirt, and ran from the room to see what the Doctor had in store next.
“Hey, I like the plaid!”
“Just like you liked the ponytail?” She jabs.
“Oi, you can’t blame Current Me for the hairstyle choices of Dream Future Me.”
“Oh, watch me.” She winks, and turns from him with a little flick of the hips. He watches her hungrily, then turns back to his current task as she exists the room- color choices.
Lying there on the bed was any man’s dream- six freshly-laundered, warm, cozy shirts, in a pattern that almost made him- oh, yes, there it was.
He picked up one at random and buried his nose in it. That smell- ooh, it smelled like home, and like hearing Amy accept his proposal, and like spearmint toothpaste. It was long evenings spent curled up next to a fire with a book and his glasses, feeling intelligent and powerful and the most important man in the world. It smelled like-
“Rory, are you licking that shirt?”
He jumped back in astonishment at the familiar voice.
“I mean, back when I was a young lad I had a bit of a thing for a pair of lacy panty-hose, and many have speculated that I’ve done unspeakable things to a stalk of celery, but really, really, a plaid shirt?”
“Doctor! What have I told you about using your vortex manipulator to show up in Amy and my room like that? Did last week teach you nothing?”
“Oh, well, it did teach me some things, things this regeneration hasn’t… well, I’ve been busy with saving the world and… and I thought maybe I’d get some tips but I didn’t expect to see first hand… I though, wedding night, you’d probably be looking at photographs and…oh… alright, carry on, carry on.”
He spun on the spot and vanished again, but Rory was still on edge. What if Amy came back? She’d told him before they got married that he’d have to drop what she called his “Plaid Habit,” but hadn’t she just left him be with the delightful pieces of clothing just now? Well, however bipolar Ms. Rory Williams was, it simply wasn’t safe.
He’d just have to wait, that was all. That was the nicest thing about fabric- it was simply never impatient.
”Soon, my love” he whispered into the fuzzy carress of the shirt, and ran from the room to see what the Doctor had in store next.
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