Meanwhile, Meg had been lounging around on the sofa in her apartment. She had spent some time cleaning up for herself, not for her guest, and now read through some book or another. The windows were thrown wide open, letting in the warm incoming fall air. She sighed, turned the page of her book, and then found herself no longer reading.
Turning her head, she closed her dark eyes and shifted in place. Meg had purposefully told Rory to show up whenever he wanted so she wouldn't expect it. She didn't want to be nervously frittering around for him. She had no idea why she would do such a thing but something in her gut said she might just break down and clean like a maniac.
The door came knocking and she put the book away with a flick of her hand, it flopping onto the sofa cushion. Here we go. Moving across the room, Meg got the door and looked up the few inches into her not-son's face. Was he technically her son, even if he was from another time or place, they were the same DNA? So complicated...