Amy’s scan is clear, and so is his–they’re both scraped and bruised and feeling rather the worse for wear, but nothing’s broken. His arm is badly sprained, but considering what they’ve been through, it’s a lucky thing.
Amy seems to love playing field medic, and he files this away as something else he owes to Rory. She’s a firecracker, that girl, but she can be surprisingly gentle. She cups his head with a long-fingered hand, and as she tapes the gauze to his temple, he notices her nails are broken. But she won’t hear of him trying to help her.
“Sit still, you! You just fell off a cliff! What are you gonna do, kiss my bruises and make them better?” She rolls her eyes, then pats his arm affectionately.
Which would be a nice gesture, if it weren’t that he’d just sprained it. He grits his teeth and tries not to imagine what a pitiful figure he cuts.
Amy’s full of tough love, the kind that punches you in the shoulder to remind you that she cares. She makes him drink tea that’s too sweet, then drags him to his room and insists he put on his pajamas, right then and there.
Any other day, he’d bluster and protest and generally fumble around, but he can’t manage it after last night. He unbuttons his trousers and doesn’t bother to mention that she doesn’t bother to turn around.
He doesn’t know he’s fallen asleep until a knock at the door pulls him out of a dream. He wakes up slowly, feeling each and every bone in his arm, from the throbbing in his shoulder down through his elbow to the bruised small bones of his hand.
Amy’s standing in the doorway in her white nightdress, clutching her quilt around her. “Doctor?” Her voice is unexpectedly timid. He waves her in and he can see her smile in the dark. She kneels and rests her chin on the mattress, watching him across the empty side of the bed.
“You owe me this,” she says slowly. “You’re hurt, and I’m scared, and after the angels you pushed me away and–”
“All right, Amy, all right,” he soothes, nodding. “You can sleep here tonight.”
She crawls under the covers beside him. His fingers are numb, but he knows she’s holding his hand. He’s sure it’s breaking all sorts of boundaries to let her do this, but he’s never cared much for such things. Besides, his head hurts far too much for him to bother feeling guilty.
In the morning, he’ll have his bounce back, and she’ll be fronting just as well as him. But ever after, even when (and oh, thank goodness) Rory returns, she’s never afraid to reach out for his hand.