Amy kicked her feet against one of the narrow white pillars of Roald Dahl Plass. It was raining, a heavy, no-nonsense Welsh rain that got efficiently through her clothing. Rory took her hand encouragingly. "Only thirteen hours to go," he said encouragingly. "There are lotsof things to do in Cardiff!"
"Name one," she sighed, but he was looking across the plaza to the big hunk of the Wales Millenium Centre, where a big hunk of a man in an antique Airforce coat looked at the pair of them intently, like a dog catching a scent, and started moving through the rain-soaked crowd.
"Er, Amy, my love, this isn't what it's going to look like," he muttered.
When the antique Airforce man reached them, Rory grabbed him by the collar and hauled him in for a big smacker of a kiss.
"It's how they say 'Hello,' where Jack comes from," he explained, without even a bare trace of beruffled flusterment.
"Rory!" said Jack, grinning with his red mouth. "I haven't seen you since Vicky One!" He looked down at Amy, and his grin grew. "You must be Rory's Amy. It is truly a pleasure," he said, dropping a great warm arm across each of their soggy shoulders.
"He's got dimples," said Amy.
"Er, yes he does," said Rory.
"How long have you two been friends?"
"Not long. A couple of decades. During the, uh, Roman thing."
"And you know what they say about Romans," said Jack.
"Not any more," said Rory firmly.
Jack had very warm hands, Amy noticed. And when he laughed at Rory's retort, she could feel it all through his ribcage. And dimples.
"How long are you in town?"
"Thirteen hours. We're refueling. Himself is back with the Tardis. Said they needed some alone time or something."
"Then let me be your tour guide," Jack said, eyes warming. "You know, there are lots of things to do in Cardiff..."