Phillipa. His ears managed to pick that name out of the Italian accents, so Rory had slightly more forewarning than the red-haired woman now staring up at him. But no amount of warning could help his eloquence now. She was grubby, coated in perspiration and as far as he was concerned, utterly entrancing. Pippa.

Rory wanted nothing so much as to scoop his-- yes, his instincts still said his --believer girl into his arms, but his uncertainty held him back. Anxiously he searched for some reaction behind the shock in her blue eyes, some indication of how she felt about seeing him after nearly six months. Nor had he ever been so self-conscious in front of an audience as he was now, awkwardly aware of the group of grinning men watching them with open curiosity.

"Pippa ..." He had to swallow before continuing. "I came. I hope that's all right."