It's A Love Story

He watched them with a kind of paternal concern, wincing at the sight of the cuts and bruises that bloomed upon their skin, almost as rapidly as the guilt resurfaced in his conscience.

Though he kept a respectful distance, he watched over his friends as always; thankful to have them by his side and simultaneously wishing their paths had never crossed.

Amy's hands shook as she tended to her husband's wounds, and though her manner and acerbic words were characteristically impatient, there was a distinct tenderness in her measured movements that held the Doctor transfixed.

Amy and Rory. Rory and Amy.

One would never run without the other, this he knew for certain. It had been demonstrated upon many, many occasions during their travels together; a silent, often unwilling yet unyielding devotion that time and space had literally been unable to conquer.

Wherever Amy Pond ventured in this world or any other, Rory Williams would not be far behind - protecting, guiding, loving.

Waiting.

The Doctor often mused that it was not him that the young Amelia Pond had waited for but the man who now sat before her, comforting her even in his own hour of need. She had spent her young life waiting for her 'Raggedy Man', but the Doctor was almost certain that he had not been the answer to her prayers.

"Stop moving your stupid head, idiot!" she fumed, dabbing gently but unsympathetically at the angry red welts on Rory's skin. He jerked his head as the antiseptic lotion stung the open wound, and his nostrils wrinkled in unchecked disgust.

"A thousand year old Time Lord and there's TCP in the sick-bay," he griped, blinking as Amy daubed the cotton ball against the tip of his nose in a bid to silence him.

"Will you keep still?!" Amy's eyes widened in exasperation and she placed her palm under his jaw to forcibly hold his head in place.

"Sorry, but you know, you hear the words 'Doctor' and 'Time Lord' and assume his deceptively large space-ship will have a better first aid kit than a Ford Mondeo!"

"Shhh!" Amy commanded, liberally soaking another piece of cotton wool to renew her assault.

"Alright, but..."

"Shhh!"

"It's just..."

Receiving a patented and well-rehearsed glare from his wife, Rory shrank back in his seat and allowed her to finish cleaning the gravel encrusted cuts on his jaw without further protest.

Amy watched him closely, her eyes narrowed as she noted the decidedly judgemental expression that was settling over his features. Following his gaze to the plastic tweezers in her hand, Amy paused mid-extraction.

"Stop giving me the 'Nurse Eye'," she arched an eyebrow, the sound of her foot tapping on the ground instantly catching her husband's attention.

"I wasn't. I wouldn't," Rory swallowed hard.

"I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up a few cuts, okay?" she ranted. "And if you hadn't decided to go careening down a slag heap using your chin as a buffer, I wouldn't be picking half of a stupid class B planet out of your stupid face."

Confused as a chuckle escaped his lips, Amy cocked her head and eyed him suspiciously. She hadn't noted any obvious head wounds but she supposed asking the Doctor to let the Tardis give him a thorough once-over couldn't hurt.

Rory cleared his throat and a blush rose up over his cheeks, "Sorry. It's just, you said 'slag'."

Heaving a heavy sigh of impatience, Amy all but lunged at him with the tweezers, her lips pulled into a tight frown as she concentrated on removing the final stray piece of stone.