Misguided Saviour

Summary: This is the hardest thing Amy has ever done. Amy/Rory one-shot set before The Asylum of the Daleks.
Author's Note: I really tried to write some happy reaction!fic after watching 7.01, but this is what happened instead.
Disclaimer: Don't own it; don't sue me.

Once they finally settle back into everyday life on Earth, with jobs and human friends and fortnightly visits to the in-laws, Amy and Rory decide, without really discussing it, to try to have another baby. They had never talked much about kids in the past, but it had always been understood between them, a shared dream, though more distant for Amy than for Rory.

Two months pass without success. Amy quietly takes herself off to the doctor for a fertility test. She waits for the verdict and despite herself cannot get rid of the seed of nervous, anxious hope buried deep within her chest. She just wants something that is Normal, for beautiful, kind, patient Rory, who has always ridden along with her in their mad life without complaint. For Rory, who used to ask if they could play house instead of Raggedy Doctor when they were kids in Leadworth so he could be a dad instead of an alien. For Rory, who can't quite keep the sadness out of his eyes whenever their grown-up daughter drops by for a mysterious visit with the ease and familiarity of a good friend instead of a close family member.

And if Amy's honest, she wants a little bit of Normal for herself. They have been through so much. So much has been given to them and taken away. Surely this one small thing will not be taken from them too?

After her doctor reveals the news, Amy begins to see babies everywhere. She goes to work and her hair stylist excitedly announces that she is pregnant. She turns on the television and an advert for disposable nappies is playing. River comes around for a cup of tea, and Amy can only think about baby Melody and all the time their family has lost that will never, ever come back again.

She doesn't tell Rory, doesn't say anything about it, but she knows that he knows something is wrong. She dismisses his concerns and blames her volatile emotions on tiredness from overwork, the Doctor's infrequent nighttime visits, and the weirdness of having the Ood hang around their house, but she notices him being extra tender with her, extra gentle. He doesn't push her and doesn't say anything when he finds her half-full bottle of pre-natal vitamins in the bin.

Instead, he just carries on being so Rory, making dinner and doing the dishes when she knows it was her turn, not complaining when she changes the channel in the middle of a programme. One evening she comes home from work to find a beautiful vase of flowers on the kitchen counter with a note simply saying I love you. Always, R.

His patient, unwavering love breaks her heart.

They visit friends in Leadworth one afternoon, a slightly older couple and their sweet four-year-old daughter. The little girl takes a shine to Rory straight away. After lunch, she clambers into his lap with a storybook, pleading for a reading of Cinderella.

Rory gives a brief, embarrassed chuckle, and the girl's parents smile indulgently. Unable to resist the charms of a four-year-old pig-tailed little girl, Rory clears his throat and begins to read, silly voices and all, and soon he loses himself in entertaining his new friend, never minding the adults also seated at the table.

As Amy watches him, she feels her chest constrict and a lump rise in her throat. She glances at her friends, who are holding hands under the table, laughing at their daughter's insistent questions and Rory's wordy answers. Their eyes shine with love for each other and their daughter: an achingly beautiful, perfect family.

She can never give him this.

On the drive home, she pretends to be asleep so that her silence will not concern her husband. Behind closed eyelids, she can't stop replaying every moment when Rory mentioned wanting kids, every time they'd played house and he'd cradled her dolls with the tenderness of a new father, every time he had taken care of Mels with (now ironic) fatherly concern. She remembers the tears in his eyes when he held ganger-Melody in his arms for the first time, the tenderness in his gaze as that tiny fist clutched his finger. She tries hard to stop, but then images of the children they will never have begin to swim before her eyes - a girl with her hair, a boy with his nose...

A tear slips down her cheek, and she discreetly brushes it away. She is thankful that Rory doesn't notice.

In bed that night, Amy lies awake and watches Rory's sleeping form, the room filled with the sound of his quiet snores. She imagines what he would say if she told him, properly told him, out loud and in the open.

He will tell her that it will be okay, that it doesn't matter if they can't conceive naturally, that they'll find another way. But she knows that with their lifestyle, with their alien friend and prodigal daughter popping in and out like their house was the refilling station for the TARDIS, IVF and adoption will be expensive, risky ventures.

He will tell her that he loves her anyway, that it doesn't matter to him if she can't have children, that he will stay with her until death do they part, because that's what he promised and Rory Williams always keeps his promises because he loves her.

She knows he will stay. But at what cost? He has always wanted a family. And she can never give him that. She couldn't even give him a proper family when she did get pregnant - just a couple of hours with a baby that wasn't even real. He will stay, and they will be childless, and over time, no matter what he says, he will grow to resent her. He will resent her for the life he will miss out on, a life with someone else who can love him and give him children and make him happy.

She can never be enough for him now, but he will ignore that and chain himself to her regardless.

Tears in her eyes, Amy gently reaches out to touch Rory's cheek, soft and tender. He twitches, but doesn't wake up. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, forcing back the lump in her throat. There is nothing in the world that she loves more than Rory. All she wants is for him to be happy. She has to save him. She has to rescue him from herself.

Rory gave up two thousand years for her. Amy will give up all of their days for him.

She allows herself to become sharp and hard-edged. She snaps at him for the smallest things, picks fights over nothing, moves away from his embrace. She is cruel and callous.

Rory doesn't understand, and at first he reacts like a wounded puppy. The sight of that hurt, confused expression distorting his face makes her want to cry, but she remains resolute and immovable. She is hurting him to save him.

She pushes him away, and pushes him until he breaks down and screams back at her, flinging hurtful words that cut her like poisoned darts. It takes a surprisingly short time to break him, break them, and it makes her wonder what weight he has been carrying and keeping from her, what secrets he keeps locked away in his own mind.

She pretends she is made of steel, even as she is crumbling inside. Her heart is empty and full of love all at the same time as he storms out in anger and she slams the door behind him.

And later, when the sight of the stuffed suitcase in the hall threatens to crush her in a mess of tears on the bathroom floor, she clenches her jaw, squeezes her eyes shut, and silently repeats over and over again, I am saving him.

It is the hardest thing she has ever done.

Fin