[he rolls his eyes, barely, affectionately]

Besides that. That was the obvious reason, anyway.

[he makes as if to protest but stops that way, his open mouth stretching into a grin that's halfway between embarrassed and amused, and looks up at the sky, his jaw working while he decides what to say. He looks at her after a moment and his mouth is shut now, his lips pressed firmly together, but the effect is totally ruined because he's very obviously still smiling, and his shoulders are shaking lightly]

Well--

[he breathes out a laugh]

--I was just going to say I really quite fancied you, but if you want to put it that way--

[and then he stops, because he's spluttering around the edges now, trying not to laugh]

[he bumps his shoulders against hers right back]

You wouldn't have! You'd have laughed at me, teased me maybe, and never let me live it down. I know you. [waggles his eyebrows] You'd have made me work for it, too.

[he snorts, somewhat bashfully, and looks away though he's still grinning]

No you didn't. You were too busy eyeing up--I don't know--Tommy down the road.

[but after a beat he leans back toward her, wrapping both arms around her shoulders in a sort of sideways hug, and looks back at his headstone with a sigh]

[he considers this for a moment while focusing on the contrast between the chill autumn air and the warmth of Amy in his arms, the smell of her hair and that something which is indefinably her]

I ... don't know.

I mean--I guess you could look at it as just a stone. A stone with my name on, but it's just a stone, so it doesn't mean anything at all. Except ... [and here his mouth twists a little] Except I know I'm actually dead.

[a sigh; he's not sure how to properly articulate how he feels]

[he smiles a bit wanly, a small chuckle escaping his throat]

I'm Rory, the physical impossibility.

[it's even harder for him to accept, because even though he knows he's plastic he--feels alive, in most of the ways that count. As long as he keeps up the simulated breathing and heartbeat, he can almost forget he's not alive. But the longer he stays in Paradisa, the more it almost begins to feel like whatever happens at home doesn't matter. Because they're here, making this life, and it's sort of useless agonizing over what happens at home when they have no hope of influencing or changing it.

After a pause, he kisses her temple]

But I'm not dead here.

[it's a good thing she is, because he wouldn't be, not fully, not yet; he keeps up the simulations not only for Amy's sake for the illusion of humanity, but also for his own sanity. He feels less manufactured and fake when he can feel his own pulse and when he yawns after coming out of his resting state.

They sit there in companionable silence for a few minutes more before Rory gently squeezes the arm about her shoulder and turn his face toward hers, saying lightly]

Are you about done here? Because I think I am.

[he frowns faintly before it clicks, and then he huffs a small laugh]

Yep, that's it.

[he gets to his feet, brushing dirt and leaves from his jeans and wincing as he tugs at the seat of them, then holds out a hand to help her up]

Plus there was a rock digging into my arse ... it's a bit distracting.

[he waves off both her thwap and her suggestion, pulling his jacket tighter around him]

It wouldn't have helped much ... just made a lumpy pillow.

[takes a deep breath and lets it out, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and looking around them]

So what now?

[mutters darkly at nothing]

I bloody well hope so.

[because he's a bit tired of looking like a voodoo freak show and doing a double-take every time he sees his own reflection. After a beat he bites his lip and shrugs a little]

Sounds good to me. I don't think there's much left out here to do anyway.