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“You suck!” Amy crows, launching herself bodily into Rory’s space and tackling him off the sofa. “You absolutely suck, I hate you’re stupid face!”
To his credit, Rory only flails a little, narrowly avoiding braining himself on the coffee table and catching her before she knocks over all the breakfast dishes. He gets two fingers into the soft flesh around her waist and she wails, torn between fending him off and beating him around the head with the cushion clutched in her fist. He takes her moment of hesitation as his chance to get the upper hand and pins her bodily to the floor, wrists caught up in one hand so he can tickle her mercilessly and without obstruction. Her laughter is all but deafening, echoing through the house and out of the open windows, becoming part of the summer and the sunshine like they’re one and the same.
He softens, caught up in the way her hair shines and glistens in the sunlight streaming down on them, and she’s on him in a flash. Her long arms and legs are no match for him, but he’s not going down without a fight, trying to dislodge her enough to roll her off. Only problem is, she fights dirty, and he’s too terrified of actually hurting her to do much more than half-heartedly nudge her in the direction of the spilled sofa pillows.
Then there’s a whooshing, wheezing sound, and they both freeze. A slow grin spreads across her face, and he clamps a hand over his eyes. He can’t help mirroring her smile, though, and she leaps off him and yanks him up hard enough to dislocate something important.
“Come on!” Amy dashes out the front door, and Rory distantly hopes she looks both ways before crossing the road. Casting his eyes around their home, he shoves the pillows back on the sofa and closes and locks all the windows. The dishes are a lost cause and go straight into the dustbin. The last time they’d been dropped off - an hour after you left, I swear! - they’d had to call in pest control. He ties off the sack and hauls it out to the wheelie bin, which he leaves on the side of the street, then goes back inside and checks everything else is most definitely closed and most definitely locked.
The conspicuous blue box is parked in the middle of the field opposite, door ajar, and Rory sees his wife dart back outside and beckon him impatiently.
“Come on, Stupid Face!” She yells across the road, and as much as he’d like to saunter across the street, all cool and suave with his hands in his pockets, he can’t pretend he’s not utterly caught up in her enthusiasm and he breaks into a run instead.
“Rory!” The Doctor grins when they burst inside together, both of his arms flying up into the air. “What took you so long?!”
Rory just pulls the door closed behind them and follows Amy up the steps towards the console. He curls an arm around her waist and she leans into him, vibrating with excitement, and this, this right here, this is what keeps him coming back. He’d follow her to the end of the earth, just to see that look in her eyes.
“Where to?”