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Rory had picked up a number of handy skills working at Royal Leadworth. Some of them were surprisingly transferrable to traveling with the Doctor. He had a very high threshold of disgust, much higher than Amy's, though he was careful not to point that out. He was also excellent at providing a voice of reason in the midst of insanity; this was especially handy, as the Doctor reacted to danger like an over-excited puppy to his favorite toy. Amy wasn't much better.
He also knew about a thousand ways to tell if someone was in pain. He'd treated a lot of patients at Royal Leadworth, and some of them would've rather died than admit they were suffering. After awhile he'd got so he just knew.
Like he just knew right now.
It'd been a good day out with no running for once, just mad amounts of food and wine on New New (New New) Italy. After dinner the Doctor had gone off for a bit, leaving Rory and Amy to explore on their own. He was good about that, giving them their space, and Rory appreciated it. Things were a lot better since the wedding, though Rory didn't fool himself that getting married was what had made the difference. It was weird to have two totally different sets of memories: one set where Amy only loved him when she was about to lose him, and one set where she loved him all the time and had done since they were twelve. When he thought about it - which wasn't often - he was simply grateful to be where he was.
They ate tiramisu at an open air cafe and took a gondola ride along one of the canals in New Venice. The water was pink with the setting sun; Amy leaned her head on his shoulder and they shared a bottle of wine. The stones of the buildings were blue and orange, but otherwise it was remarkably like Old Venice, only with fewer space vampires. Which was ironic, Rory thought, since they actually were in space.
They'd arrived back at the TARDIS with a couple minutes to spare, because the weather had turned very Venetian and neither of them were dressed for it. Amy went off to the kitchen to put the wine and cheese they'd bought in the fridge, and Rory hopped up on the captain's seat to wait for the Doctor.
He'd been sitting there for a minute or two when a faint creak from below made him peer down through the glass floor, where he saw the Doctor sitting quietly in the hammock he used for repairwork on the underside of the console.
This was the first sign that something was wrong. The Doctor never sat still, ever. Rory blinked twice to make sure he was seeing things right, and then scrambled down below. "Doctor?" he said.
The Doctor raised his head, twitched his nose, and came alive. "Rory!" he said, jumping to his feet. "You're back!"
"Yeah, for a couple minutes now. Are you -"
"Brilliant," the Doctor said, bounding up the stairs to the console. He paused at the time for half a second and swayed, dangerously. Rory found himself wondering just how much Time Lords weighed and if he'd have to cushion this one's fall. Then the Doctor steadied himself and strode to the console, just as if nothing had happened. But that was sign number two. "I was thinking we might hang about in the vortex for a few hours," he said, tossing levers and turning the hot and cold knobs and doing something complicated with the zigzag-whatever. Rory braced himself as they dematerialized.
"Any particular reason?" Rory asked.
"No, no, just good to have a break every once in awhile, wouldn't you say? Besides, I didn't think I'd get much argument from you." He winked at Rory as he raced around to the other side of the console.
"Where're we going?" Amy asked, skipping down the stairs.
"Nowhere for now," the Doctor said, as the ship shuddered to a halt at last. Rory finally dared to let go of the safety rail. "But later we should go someplace where I can buy a fez."
Amy groaned. "Doctor, really. A fez and a bowtie? Together?"
"Yes, of course, why not? All right, then, off you go, you two, enjoy yourselves!" The Doctor made a shooing motion towards the staircase into the rest of the TARDIS. "I've important repairs to make, don't need you two mucking up the works!"
"All right, all right," Amy said with a roll of her eyes. "No need to be subtle, Doctor. C'mon, Rory. We wouldn't want to be underfoot, now, would we?"
"Guess not," Rory said, and let himself be pulled along up the staircase.
"I swear, he is such an alien sometimes," Amy grumbled as they reached their room at the top. "You ever get the feeling when he kicks us out that it's because he wants to be alone with the TARDIS?"
Rory had, in fact, got that feeling on occasion, and that was something else he didn't think too much about if he could help it. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, as vaguely as possible. "Look, I'll be right back - I forgot something in the console room."
Amy shrugged. "Okay." She put a hand on the back of his neck and hauled him close for a kiss. "Don't be too long or I might start without you." Then she whirled inside their room with a grin and shut the door.
Rory really, really hoped he was wrong about this.
The console room was empty. Rory checked the hammock and a couple other nooks and crannies he knew of, but there was no sign of the Doctor, unconscious or otherwise. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room, frowning, until he suddenly noticed a door he'd never seen before on the other side of the console. It looked like the door to his and Amy's bedroom, except there was an elaborate symbol emblazoned on it, almost like Celtic knotwork.
"Huh," he said.
There wasn't anywhere else the Doctor could have gone that Rory could see. He edged around the console, eyeing the door and half-expecting it to disappear. But it was still there once he stood in front of it. He knocked.
No reply. He knocked again, a little harder this time. "Doctor?" he said loudly.
Still nothing, but the door slid open about two inches. Rory decided to take it as an invitation. He pushed it open a bit more. "Doctor?" he said again. This time, there was a faint groan. Rory put his head round to peer inside.
It was a bedroom, very dim and cool. There was a massive bookcase, stuffed floor to ceiling with all sorts of things, some of them books and some of them very much not, taking up one whole wall. There was another door, which probably led into a loo. And there was a bed, on top of which there was a fully-clothed Doctor, curled on his side with his eyes shut. It didn't take a nurse of Rory's caliber to see that everything about him said in pain go away.
Rory shoved the door open the rest of the way. "Doctor," he said, rushing over, "Doctor, can you hear me?"
"Yes, yes," the Doctor said, batting Rory's hands away, "of course I can hear you, you're bloody shouting. For the love of time, can't the two of you entertain yourselves for a couple of hours?" He turned his face away. "Please, just shut the door on your way out."
"And leave you like this?" Rory crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at the Doctor. "I don't think so. Or did you forget what I do for a living?"
The Doctor looked up at him, wincing as though it hurt to keep his eyes open. "Oh."
"Yeah, exactly," Rory said. He seated himself on the edge of the bed and took the Doctor's wrist in his fingers. "So no, I won't just shut the door on my way out. That," Rory added, eyebrows shooting up, "is the strangest pulse beat I've ever felt."
"Binary vascular system," the Doctor said, closing his eyes. "It's nothing, Rory, really."
"Oh? What is it, then?"
The Doctor sighed and rolled onto his back. He tugged the collar of his shirt aside to show Rory a very small puncture wound. "I was in the market," he said, letting the collar fall back into place, "and someone hit me with something. Don't know what. Or why. Doesn't matter, I guess. I was able to get back here safely. Normally I can metabolize this sort of thing right out of my system."
"But not this time."
"No," the Doctor said with a sigh. "Look, Rory, I appreciate the concern, but all I really want is to be left alone in a dark room for six hours."
Rory looked at him. Then he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Walk to the loo and back."
The Doctor opened his eyes. "What?"
Rory shrugged. "If you can walk to the loo and back in a reasonable amount of time without falling over, I'll leave you alone. Otherwise you're stuck with me. You're ill. I'm a nurse. I'm constitutionally incapable of leaving you on your own like this."
The Doctor groaned and sat up. Or tried to. He got about halfway there and stopped, bracing himself with his arms and breathing deeply. "I hate you."
Rory stood up to give him some room. "You're not the first to say that."
"I bet." The Doctor managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but that was as far as he got before he had to stop and breathe again. Rory watched him for half a second before lunging for the conveniently placed plastic bin by the bed.
Yet another skill he'd picked up at Royal Leadworth: he was a champion at recognizing when someone was about to throw up.
He got there just in time to hold the Doctor's head while he sicked up his very expensive dinner. Rory hesitated and finally decided it was probably all right to rub the Doctor's back, just a little.
When it was over, the Doctor simply sat there with his eyes shut, slumping weakly against Rory and looking as though he'd been wrung out like a wet dishrag. "Still want to try for the loo?" Rory asked. The Doctor shook his head, mute for once. "Can you stay upright long enough for me to get you some water?" He nodded.
The Doctor had managed to open his eyes by the time Rory returned with a glass of water and the clean plastic bin. "Rinse and spit," Rory told him. "Then drink the rest if you can."
The Doctor rinsed and spat as instructed. Then he sat staring at the glass of water. "Sorry," he finally said, "I can't."
"It's all right," Rory said, taking it from him to set on the nightstand. "Let's get you undressed and into bed."
"Uh," the Doctor said, flinching away.
"You can't sleep in your clothes," Rory said firmly.
"No, I just - I can do it. Really. Besides," he added with a deep breath, "Amy's about to come down the stairs and I'd rather you intercepted her."
Rory frowned. "I don't hear -"
"Rory?" Amy called.
"- anything," Rory finished, raising his eyebrows. "All right," he said, standing. "Is there anything else you need? Painkillers?"
The Doctor shook his head, very slowly and carefully. "I don't know what they gave me. Can't risk it. Rory, please," he added, at the sound of Amy coming down the stairs.
"Okay, okay," Rory sighed. "Just - be sensible, would you? I know it doesn't come naturally, but just this once, for the next five minutes, I'd appreciate it." The Doctor huffed, but Rory couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a laugh or a snort of exasperation.
He caught up with Amy just as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "There you are," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, and drawing Rory's attention, probably not incidentally, to the fact that her shirt was buttoned-up wrong. It hadn't been earlier. "What's taking so long?"
"Sorry," Rory said, taking Amy's hands in his, "really, really sorry." So very sorry. "It's just, I noticed the Doctor acting funny earlier."
Amy frowned. "He always acts funny."
"Funnier than usual. Different funny. I was worried about him, so I came back to down to make sure he was all right." Amy raised her eyebrows. Rory grimaced. "He got injected with some sort of nasty drug on New New Italy, and it's made him sick. He'll be all right," he assured her hastily when her eyes widened, "but I can't leave him right now. Sorry," he added, just for good measure.
Amy stood looking at him for a long moment, face inscrutable. Rory resisted the urge to squirm. Then she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I love you," she said.
"Uh, thanks," Rory said, puzzled but definitely pleased. "I love you, too."
She stepped back. "What do you need me to do?"
"Oh," he said, more surprised than he probably should have been, "uh, well, I was going to go to the kitchen to see if there was anything to settle his stomach. He said he can't take any painkillers, but I think some ginger tea would be okay."
Amy nodded. "I can do ginger tea."
"Thanks. His room's just there." He gestured toward the half-concealed door.
"Hey," Amy said, reaching out and snagging him as he turned to go. She pulled him back around and kissed him again, longer and much more thoroughly this time. Then she let him go without a word. He watched her take the stairs two at a time and wondered, as he often did, if he would ever stop being bewildered by Amy Pond. He hoped not.
He found the Doctor half-undressed, which, all things considered, was better than Rory had expected. He'd managed to shed jacket, bow-tie, shirt, braces, and boots, leaving him in his undershirt and trousers. He looked up at Rory. "I seem to have got stuck. Trousers are tricky. Tricky, tricky trousers."
Rory managed not to smile. "I see that. Lie back." The Doctor collapsed back with a groan, and didn't even protest when Rory undid his trousers and instructed him to lift his hips so he could pull them off. Rory blinked, startled to find black boxers with neon green bowties all over them. He wished his sense of professionalism didn't preclude asking about a patient's pants. "How are you feeling? Still nauseated?" he asked instead, tugging the covers out from underneath the Doctor.
"Yeah," the Doctor said, rolling onto his side to help. "Bit better, though."
"Good," Rory said, tucking the duvet over him. He laid a hand over the Doctor's forehead, but he ran so cold normally that Rory wasn't sure he'd have recognized a fever if the Doctor had one. He didn't seem to be sweating or chilled, at least. "Amy's making some ginger tea. That should help."
"I really just need rest," the Doctor said, peering out from beneath his mop of brown hair.
"Tea first. Nurse's orders. After that we'll leave you in peace to sleep it off."
"Nurses don't give orders, doctors do," the Doctor grumbled, shifting restlessly beneath the covers.
Rory laughed quietly. "Don't know what hospitals you've been in. Nurses do give orders, especially to stubborn patients."
"Hmph." The Doctor scowled like petulant child. "How'd you end up a nurse, anyway? Thought you wanted to be a doctor. Why aren't you?"
Rory shrugged and sat beside him on the edge of the bed again. "I didn't do as well as I should've on my chemistry A-level. I applied a few places and didn't get in. And now, I don't know. Amy and I are married. Going back to university doesn't seem very responsible."
The Doctor frowned. "Well, those are rubbish reasons. If it's money you're worried about, you're a time traveler. Loads of ways to make enough to support both of you while you're in school."
Rory blinked. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. But my A-levels -"
The Doctor waved a hand vaguely. "I can help you there. Dr. Rory Williams," he said, closing his eyes. "You should think about it."
"I will. Thanks," Rory said, oddly touched. "But I dunno. I'm a good nurse, too. And I like this bit."
The Doctor slitted his eyes open. "What bit?"
"The . . . personal bit, I guess." Rory shrugged. "Doctors see their patients a couple times a day on rounds. I like talking to people, taking their mind off their pain. Helping them feel better, even if it's just with little things."
The Doctor smiled faintly. "You're good at it."
Rory ducked his head, and was relieved when Amy appeared at the door with a tray. "Ginger tea with extra ginge," she announced. Then she stopped, staring at the Doctor. "Wow, you look like shit. You look worse than the night I met you."
"Sorry," Rory said to the Doctor. "Should've warned you about Amy's bedside manner. It's a bit like being fussed over by a bulldozer."
"Oi! Who made the tea?"
The Doctor smiled and held his hands out. "Give it here, Pond."
Rory helped him sit up, propping him up against pillows. "All right?" he asked, wondering if they were going to have a repeat of earlier. The Doctor nodded. Rory watched carefully, but his hand was steady enough when he raised the cup to his lips.
"Brilliant," he sighed, sinking back. "Thank you."
"So, what?" Amy said, plunking crosslegged down on the end of the Doctor's bed. Rory winced. "Someone tried to poison you - was this a last-of-the-Time-Lords thing or a wrong-place-wrong-time thing?"
The Doctor sighed, stretching his legs out. "Wrong-place-wrong-time, I think. It was probably a Fraxian slaver - completely illegal on New New Italy, but what do slavers care? They used the wrong poison for a Time Lord. Instead of incapacitating me, I was able to escape and get back here before the symptoms hit."
"Yeah, and then," Amy said, straightening up, "and this is the part I don't understand, so feel free to explain it, Doctor, you lied to us. You're lucky Rory has mad nursing skills, because I didn't notice anything." Her voice went a bit funny there at the end, Rory noticed - not quite a crack, but close. She wasn't looking at either of them.
The Doctor must've noticed, too, because he reached for her hand. "Meant for you not to notice. And I'd've been fine. Uncomfortable, perhaps -"
Rory snorted.
"- but fine. Eventually."
Amy kicked him gently in the shin with her foot. "And if one of us did that?"
The Doctor managed a ghost of his usual glare. "That's different."
Amy gave him another kick, harder this time, if Rory wasn't mistaken, and returned the Doctor's glare ten-fold. "No, it's not. Shut up," she added, before the Doctor could say anything. "Rory and I made vows to each other. One of them was in sickness and in health."
"I'm not married to either of you."
That won him the official Amy Pond Death Glare. Rory resisted the urge to inch back, even if her ire wasn't directed at him. "I said shut up. I know you're not. But that vow means he and I don't abandon each other if one of us gets ill. And here on the TARDIS - we're not married to you, but at the same time we sort of are."
"Uh," Rory said, eyebrows shooting up, "we are?"
Amy rolled her eyes. "Yes. We take care of each other. We don't just abandon each other when things get rough. And that means you don't lie, and send us off to shag, while you quietly collapse in a corner." She kicked the Doctor again, hard enough to jostle his tea this time.
The Doctor winced. "Ow! Okay, okay, it won't happen again."
"Amy," Rory said, "I have to insist you stop kicking my patient."
"And now that he's promised, I will." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "Feel better, Doctor," she said, dropping a kiss on his forehead. "Rory, I'll be upstairs." She swept out - like a queen, Rory thought ruefully, who has successfully wrangled her peasants.
The Doctor looked at him. "You ever wonder what you've got yourself into?"
"Every day," Rory said with a sigh. "And then she kisses me and I remember I'm luckiest man alive." The Doctor laughed softly and tipped the last of his tea down his throat. "Better?" he asked.
"Much," the Doctor said, sliding down under the covers. "I'll sleep for a few hours and probably wake with a vicious hangover, but by then I should be able to safely take a painkiller."
"Anything in particular?"
"The TARDIS will leave something out," the Doctor said, already sounding sleepy. "No aspirin. Very bad, aspirin. Anaphylactically bad."
Rory stared. "Right, when you're better we're having a talk, and you're making a list of all the things that might kill you, plus all the ways you're physiologically different from a human. Since I might very well be the one treating your unconscious self someday."
"'Kay," the Doctor yawned, already half asleep. Rory turned to go. "Rory," he said suddenly, reaching out to catch his wrist. Rory looked down at him, startled. "Just - wanted to say thank you."
Rory felt his ears turn red. "It wasn't anything."
"It was," the Doctor said. He let go of Rory's wrist and curled up on his side, hugging his pillow. "And think about the other."
"I will," Rory said. And he would, he thought, as he nudged the Doctor's door shut. It was nice to know the option was there if he wanted it, after so many years of thinking it was out of reach and always would be. He could be a good doctor. On the other hand . . . he was a damn good nurse. He had mad skills.
Rory smiled and went to find a painkiller to leave on the Doctor's nightstand.
Fin.