When Rory's back with them, Amy hugs him for a long time. The Doctor hovers over them until she grabs his hand and tugs him down to the floor, and they make an awkward but happy cuddle pile. The Doctor's all elbows, as ever, but he ruffles Rory's hair and squeezes Amy's shoulder and nestles in quite happily. Rory purrs a bit in response to all the affection, though he's still coughing slightly, and trembling against Amy.
She clings onto both of them. Her boys, her best friends; she spends so much time worrying about them, but right now they're both here with her, and they're both safe. She breathes them in, and then pauses.
"Oh, god," she says. "We all stink."
"I don't think pirates are known for their fragrant aroma," Rory says, laughing.
Amy helps Rory get to his feet.
"Yes yes, go off and clean yourselves up," the Doctor says. "I'll put the kettle on, maybe rummage up some biscuits."
"Ooh, no need to push the boat out!" Amy pauses. "Er, pun not intended. We'll be going now."
The Doctor twirls a hand and goes up to the console, humming as he starts adjusting the TARDIS's controls.
"I think he wants some alone time with her," Rory whispers in Amy's ear as they head upstairs, and she giggles.
Their bedroom is decked out in warm evening colours when they get back. The TARDIS likes to play with mood lightning for them - mostly, she's pretty good, but there was that one time that some old crooner music started playing while they were having sex, and it made Amy laugh so hard that she fell off the bed, bruised her hip, and spent the next hour holding an ice pack to it while Rory made fun of her.
Amy shrugs her pirate coat off her shoulders with reluctance - it is seriously cool and she's going to wear it all the time now - but it is covered in alien snot and she should probably deal with that. She heads over to the laundry basket, which is, of course, bigger on the inside, and also fully automated. Everything comes back clean and dry, although not necessarily in any kind of timely manner (just last week Amy found a pair of socks neatly folded at the end of her bed that she hadn't seen in months). And sometimes everything smells of toast a bit.
When she's done with that, she hangs her hat up in their wardrobe, which is gradually gathering more and more fantastic outfits from across time and space. She's looking forward to wearing some of them again a bit more recreationally, and wants to get Rory back in his Sixties suit as soon as possible.
Rory's standing at the bathroom doorway, looking a bit lost.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Mm," he says, distracted. "I don't think I really want to go in the shower tonight, though."
Amy nods, and walks over to hold his hand. "Bath's no good either, then."
He shakes his head. "Sorry. I'm sure I'll get over it, but --"
"Shut up," she says gently, and hugs him. "It's fine."
He buries his face in her neck. "It was horrible," he says in a small voice. "I was so scared."
"So was I. I was terrified I was going to lose you again."
"That's the thing, though." Rory pulls away a little so that he can rest his forehead against hers. "You always find me again. I always come back."
She nods, because she needs to hear that and the fact that he knows it is part of why she loves him.
"Come on, let's clean you up," is all she says. "With minimal water involved, I promise."
Their bathroom is almost absurdly ornate - all gleaming brass taps and carved wooden furnishings dotted about the enormous room. Amy loves it, and Rory does too even as he tsks quietly about how all the features come from different historical periods because he's a bit like a walking encyclopaedia these days.
She turns on the taps at the sink and sits him down while she goes to fetch a dressing gown and clean pyjama bottoms. When she gets back, Rory's shifting a little uncomfortably and watching the water pour out of the taps, so she switches them off.
"Don't get used to this kind of service," she says, dipping a flannel into the water.
"Yeah, sponge baths are more my scene, really." Rory smiles up at her, and she dabs the tip of his nose. "Thanks."
She crouches down and starts rubbing the cloth over his shoulders, warm suds dripping down his back and her arms. The alien doctor must have cleaned him up when she took him, but he's cold to the touch and the smell of the sea lingers in his hair and on his skin. She can feel some of the tension leave him as she touches him, and she's grateful for the chance for both of them to ground themselves in the here now, away from might-have-beens and yet-to-comes.
She lingers at his pulse points, the gloriously immediate reminders that he's okay, and when she's finished cleaning every inch of him, her breathing's easier and she's not scared any more.
"Thank you," he says again, and this time when he hugs her, his skin feels warm.
They drink tea and eat biscuits down in the kitchen with the Doctor, who also provides little sandwiches carefully cut in a variety of geometric patterns. He tells them stories about other pirate crews he's met, good and bad and some of them with six arms, and Amy's pretty sure he's making half of them up. Still, it's cosy in here, the sandwiches are delicious, and the three of them are laughing, and it feels like home.
'Home' is a word that scares her, and she's still not sure that she knows what it means. But it's something to do with the corner of the Doctor's smile, the press of Rory's hand in hers under the table, and the gentle sound of the TARDIS engines.
Later, when she's lying in bed and half asleep, she supposes that home is where she feels safe. Her arm's flung over Rory's chest, gently rising and falling, and it's reassurance and comfort after everything that's happened. She drifts off to sleep, soothed by the sounds of him breathing: in and out, in and out.