HI! Super sorry about the wait but also super busy! College life is hard! Enjoy this chapter! I will list this story as complete now, but I may add the odd little sequel chapters. Or maybe just write a sequel. Meh. Who knows?

Rory was a very easy going bloke, but Dylan Wither had his foot stuck in the toilet. Again. I mean, Rory had never really gotten into the whole Harry Potter franchise, but he could tell this was Rowling's work. Dylan had explained it before—something about trying to get to the Ministry...of Magic? That was probably it. Rory would actually find it rather endearing if Dylan was around nine years old. He wouldn't mind if it only happened once or even twice with Dylan.

But Dylan was seventeen.

Rory sighed as he trudged towards the waiting room. Right now, he could really use a—

"RORY POND!"

The familiar voice echoed down the hallway, and Rory stopped dead in his tracks. That could only be...alright, not quite was he was aiming for—but it would have to do!

Rory dashed to the reception room to see the Doctor madly spinning in circles as another nurse tried in vain to get his attention. "It's alright, Maddy, I'll—no, no, it—" but the Doctor was already dragging him out of the hospital with surprising strength, his fingers latched on Rory's arm. "Doctor!" Rory implored as they were plunged into the freezing drizzle outside, casting a furtive glance back at the confused faces before he was yanked around the corner. "Doctor!" He finally wrenched his arm free and the Doctor spun on a dime to face him. It was only then Rory noticed his paper-white face, colored only by the dark bags punched out underneath his wide, frantic eyes. The Doctor's hair was wind-blown and disheveled and his face had lines that hadn't been there last time Rory had seen him. Imperceptible changes, but all pointed to...

"What the hell is going on?" He gasped, more bewildered than ever.

"I—I'm sorry," stammered the Doctor, and something in Rory's heart clenched. "I just—Rory, this is the most important thing—" his hands fisted in his hair. "And I don't—I didn't—I didn't trust anyone else with this and—"

The cogs in Rory's head grinded to a halt.

The Doctor looked more panicked than Rory had ever seen him. He had aged in some way—and more than just the three months since the last time he'd visited. The beloved bow-tie was askew, his shirt was buttoned unevenly, and his shoes were scuffed and unshined. And...he was wearing a different—darker—coat.

Somehow, Rory's brain skipped over the whys and hows and whens and all the questions that would have tripped him up and left him flat on his metaphorical face any other day. He somehow accepted and understood the only logical conclusion—this wasn't his Doctor. This was...this was a future version. A version from the future. A version from a future where Rory was probably dead and Amy too—

But even that—even that was unimportant right now. The Doctor—Rory's friend—needed him, and he needed him now. Not in the past, not in the future, but right this very moment. So Rory squared his shoulders, steeled himself.

"Doctor," he said firmly, and he stopped mid-rant to stare Rory in the face. "Okay," Rory said evenly. "What do you need me to do?"

The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again. Closed it. Opened it, vaguely resembling a stunned fish. Closed his mouth again.

Opened it.

"I-got-married-to-one-of-my-old-companions-and-now-she's-pregnant-but-she's-also-in-labor."

He closed his mouth. Opened it again. Looked down at his shoes. "And I have no experience with birthing children."

—•—•—

The Doctor loved Rose. Rory could tell in the way he looked at her as if she was his center of gravity. He could tell by the way he gripped her hand as the contractions ripped through her body, the way his fingers ran through her hair, wiped the sweat off her brow. He could tell by the words he murmured in her ear in a soft, flowing language that was the farthest thing from English. Rory saw that the Doctor loved Rose, and he understood why he'd been called here.

Rory didn't ask questions, either. It was obvious that they were both some time in Rory's future. If he was in it at all.

He refused to dwell on why.

After quite a lot of screaming and anxiety, there suddenly was an almost weightless bundle in Rory's arms. A squalling, red-faced, beautiful—

"A boy," Rory said breathlessly, helpless not to stare. He circled around the bed and eased the baby into Rose's arms. "It's—it's a boy." The adoring oh that Rose sighed made it all worth it, as did the mile-wide grin that stretched across her exhausted face. And just by her kneeled the Doctor—a father—all wide green eyes and a pale face. Those eyes glanced up at Rory.

"Thank you," was all he said, incredibly hoarse. "Thank you." Rory just grinned at the two of them as the Doctor pressed his temple to Rose's, both of them staring and smiling at their baby.

"What's—"

"Okyron Arkiterin Xavar," Doctor murmured, eyes soft. He glanced at Rory again. "That's his Gallifreyan name. But his Earth name is—"

"Jack," Rose breathed, before fixing her eyes on Rory with the gentlest smile. "Jackson Rory Tyler."

—•—•—

Rory had thankfully stopped hyperventilating before the Doctor found him in the console room.

"Er, congratulations," Rory stuttered. The Doctor just gave an exhausted smile, so Rory voiced what had been hanging heavy on his chest. "You...you're from the future. Aren't you?"

"Yeah," his old friend said without hesitation. He shot a curious glance Rory's way. "What gave it up? Besides the—" he blinked. "Ah. Never mind."

"Uh, yeah," Rory had to snort. "A random pregnant wife? I mean, I assume you don't just have a couple scattered around space and time, do you?"

"No, no. Rose is..." He got the look again: like he was thinking about Rose like she made the world turn. "Rose is the only one. Besides...y'know, the one I married in an aborted, non-existent future."

When they both laughed, Rory felt the knot in his stomach tighten.

"Am...am I dead? And Amy, too?"

The Doctor didn't answer, but Rory could read his suddenly-aged face well enough. Rory just nodded and looked at his white sneakers for a moment.

"Were we together?"

A tiny, delicate contraption fell to the floor and shattered into a billion intricate fragments as the Doctor whipped around, accidentally sweeping it off the console as he positively gawked at Rory, face shocked.

Rory just quirked an eyebrow. "Don't look so surprised," he chuckled. "If Amy and I were together, then it's okay, Doctor. Really."

"But—but—" The Doctor stumbled over to Rory, grasping him by the shoulders. "That's—that's all that matters to you? What about the life you missed? Your jobs, your programs, your friends and—what about—"

"Haven't you always said that all that stuff doesn't matter?" Rory challenged, unsure of where this serenity of his was stemming from. "Because you're right! I don't need any of that stuff! But what I do need is her. So if Amy and I were together—no matter how it happened, or where or by who—it's okay. I'm serious, Doctor. It's alright."

The Doctor stared at Rory a moment longer. "But..." He muttered softly. Almost a whimper.

The Doctor was the brave one. He was the supernova of endless thoughts and brilliance that Rory could never fathom or acquire. Everyone loved him, everyone admired him. He was the brave one.

But this one time, Rory threw it all to hell and wrapped his friend in a hug.

He pulled back quickly, but it was done. The Doctor better understood.

"Like I said, Doctor," Rory started, but stopped. He thought. Smiled, and clapped the Docyor on the shoulder. "Congratulations." It was a goodbye as well, and they both knew it. Rory started to walk towards the exit, but stopped again. Just one more time. "And...Doctor?"

The Doctor met his eyes. His looked gray against the neon lights.

"If you ever have anymore little ones on the way, feel free to come get me."

The Doctor actually chuckled at that. "Yeah," he said, after a pause. "I...I will, Rory."

"Good."

An awkward silence.

"You...be good." And with that, Rory swung out of the TARDIS before it could get any more uncomfortable.

It was still raining outside. The cold spray peppered his face, and Rory closed his eyes against it. Behind him, he heard the groaning whoosh of the TARDIS as it faded away, and he smiled, his back to it. "Yeah," he agreed to himself. "Be a good doctor." He stole a glance behind him, just catching the TARDIS' faint outline before it was gone.

"The Doctor..." Rory mused quietly, and quite to himself. "With she who comes back." Rose.

Rory blinked. Once, twice. She who comes back. That'd be a good name for a story.

Yeah. He'd tell Amy when he got home. But that would be all he'd tell her.

Who knows? Maybe she'd write a book about it.