Amongst the Stars
he burns at the centre of time
Rory’s not even sure where they are; he thinks they’re somewhere in the middle of space, floating aimlessly amongst the stars, anchored to nothing but the pull of gravity from the supernova burning out in front of them. They were in the vortex, before, hurtling through everywhere and nowhere, and now they’re not. Now they’re standing at the open door of the TARDIS, Amy’s hands linking the three of them together as they gaze into the depths of a fierce, dying star.
Part of him wants to ask, has to ask, has to know exactly where (and when) they are. But another part of him knows that to speak would shatter this moment, this tiny fragile moment he shouldn’t be able to understand, but does. The part of him which is raggedy doctors and two thousand years and the childlike belief in the utter limitlessness of existence understands perfectly, and it quiets the parts of him that don’t. He watches the Doctor’s face, watches the shadows dance in the corners of his eyes and in the quirk of his lips, and he understands.
Rory turns his head back to the supernova. They’ll leave before it dies, they always do. The Doctor will laugh and smile and say so, Ponds, where to now? and he will take them wherever they wish in his magic blue box because he is nothing if not a showman, serving every whim of his delighted audience.
But Rory knows, he understands now. This is what the Doctor lives for, the tiny pockets of peace nestled within the chaos of the universe, where they can do nothing but watch and wait and float amongst the stars.
Part of him wants to ask, has to ask, has to know exactly where (and when) they are. But another part of him knows that to speak would shatter this moment, this tiny fragile moment he shouldn’t be able to understand, but does. The part of him which is raggedy doctors and two thousand years and the childlike belief in the utter limitlessness of existence understands perfectly, and it quiets the parts of him that don’t. He watches the Doctor’s face, watches the shadows dance in the corners of his eyes and in the quirk of his lips, and he understands.
Rory turns his head back to the supernova. They’ll leave before it dies, they always do. The Doctor will laugh and smile and say so, Ponds, where to now? and he will take them wherever they wish in his magic blue box because he is nothing if not a showman, serving every whim of his delighted audience.
But Rory knows, he understands now. This is what the Doctor lives for, the tiny pockets of peace nestled within the chaos of the universe, where they can do nothing but watch and wait and float amongst the stars.