So when I sat down to write this, I decided it was going to be funny. HAAAHAHAHHAAAAA no. Anyway, don't own Doctor Who, yadda yadda yadda. Rating's for language (three instances of "fuck" (well, now that makes four, doesn't it?))

I stand outside the door, listening to you breathing.

Actually, I can't hear you breathing. The sound of the machinery(no, the TARDIS is alive isn't she? But it sounds like machinery...) is too loud. But I like to think I can … not really sure why, though.

I shouldn't be here. I know I shouldn't. But for some, inexplicable reason, I want to. I want you.

No, no, wait … what?

Do I want you?

More importantly, do you want me? If you don't, and I go in, you have the authority to kick me off this ship. And I'll go. It might be easier, actually, not seeing you every freaking day.

Woah. Did I just think that? That's almost an admission … which would be completely untrue, because I'm married, and I don't think of guys that way.

Right?

Well why am I here then?

But I do have to make a decision. I can't just stand here. Go in or walk away? What do I do?

What would Spock do?

He'd probably walk away. Suffer in silence and all. It would be only logical. So I start to walk away, but … no. Fuck that! I'm not Spock, I'm not logical! I'm human, I'm Rory, I'm impulsive, I'm …

What would Kirk do? There, that's better!

Well he'd probably just waltz right in there and fuck you senseless.

I can't do that either. I'm not Kirk, I'm not bold, I'm Rory, I'm a fucking nurse, I'm …

But it doesn't matter. Because it's you who makes the decision.

"Rory!" you call out to me. "Are you gonna come in or am I gonna have to come get you?"

I tentatively walk in. You don't look up from your buttons and levers on your beloved console. If I didn't know better, I'd say you hadn't noticed me.

My pace never changes as I approach you. You still don't acknowledge me until I stand beside you, watching you carefully. You stop moving.

"Are you going to kiss me?"

My mouth goes dry for a moment. Of course you knew I would do this. You know everything.

"You kissed my wife."

Uncharacteristically, you say nothing, still not looking at me.

"You kissed my daughter."

To which you merely grunt.

"Aren't you missing a Pond?"

Now you look at me. You're not smiling … at least, your mouth is still. Somehow I get the sense that you are, though. Smiling, that is, though you don't look it. Your expression is so alien. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I think you're like Amy and me.

But you're so much more, aren't you?

"I guess I am."

Your voice is so quiet. You shout, sometimes, at your enemies and it's frightening, the power of it. But sometimes, when you lower your voice … it's like poison.

Or a drug.

"So, Rory," you say, taking a single step towards me. We're really much too close now, but I don't back off. "Are you going to kiss me?"

I blink, hesitating only a moment.

"I guess I am."

Never listen to your inner Spock. Captain Kirk is the man.