Remembering Rory

Amy's just poking around the console of the TARDIS, getting a closer look at all the hidden workings while The Doctor's rambling on about something clever and scientific, when she finds it.

It's just a box, made of red velvet and roughly ring-sized. And it's horribly familiar, though Amy's certain she's never seen it before. Curious, she picks it up and slips the catch, peering in at the contents.

Sure enough, it's a ring. A silver, diamond ring. Her gaze flicks to The Doctor – was he going to propose? Surely not – then back to the ring. Something's urging her to try it on, some instinct which tells her it would fit perfectly on her ring finger.

And it does. It slides easily over her knuckle and rests comfortably at the base of her finger. She gazes at it, frowning, wondering why on earth this feels so right when all of a sudden she keels over, clutching the console, moaning in agony.

The Doctor's at her side in an instant, frantically demanding to know what's wrong, but she barely even registers his presence. Her mind is being bombarded by images both painfully familiar and maddeningly unfamiliar, filled with the brown-haired, gangly man who haunts her dreams.

When the images finally cease, Amy's body goes limp and she slithers to the ground, curled up into herself in a protective ball. The Doctor squats down to her level, a deep line between his virtually non-existent eyebrows, straining his ears to make out the single word she's whimpering over and over again.

“Rory.”

And suddenly he knows. Without a word, he wraps his arms around the shaking woman and pulls her as close to him as he possibly can.

“Oh, Amy,” he sighs. “Amelia Pond.” He kisses her forehead lightly, stroking her hair like a parent comforting a nightmare-ridden child.

“How could I forget him?” she whispers, stricken. “The only man I ever, ever loved and I just forgot him like he never even existed. How could I do that?”

“Don't blame yourself; it's not your fault,” The Doctor murmurs. “You couldn't help it.”

She looks up at him, her beautiful eyes filled with such a terrible grief that it breaks his heart all over again. “But you remembered him, didn't you, Doctor? Why didn't you make me remember?”

“I tried,” he replies softly. “I promise you I tried. But sometimes, Amy, sometimes it's just easier to forget.”

A single tear trickles down her cheek and she blinks it away, only to find her eyes welling up with unshed sorrow. “I never even told him I loved him. He never knew- he never knew how much he meant to me.”

“Oh, he knew,” The Doctor says softly. “Trust me. He knew.”

She looks away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Why did he have to die?” she demands. “Why him? It's not fair.”

“I'm sorry, Amy, I'm so, so sorry,” he whispers. The Doctor blinks, and for a moment his face is twisted into self-loathing, but then the mask is back. “I shouldn't have brought him- He shouldn't have- I might've-”

And suddenly Amy can't hold back the tears any more. The dam breaks behind her eyes and they start pouring out, silent sobs that wrack her entire body and hurt so goddamn much it feels like she might break in two. The Doctor only holds her, stroking her hair over and over and over and whispering soothing nonsense in her ears like somehow it'll ease the awful pain.

“Tell me about him,” The Doctor says quietly. “I never did get to know him properly, did I? Tell me about Rory, Amy. Kind, funny, selfless, beautiful Rory Williams.”

And so Amy does. She tells him about the man she's known ever since she was a child, the man who was her best friend, her confidante, and her lover. She tells him about when they were kids, when they'd pretend to be fighting monsters and aliens and Rory would dress up as The Doctor because even then, even then he would do anything for Amy. She tells him about all the times they shared together, just talking or laughing or holding each other because just being together was enough. She talks and talks and talks until her throat is scratchy and sore and the pain inside her has swelled to a physical being that threatens to swallow her whole.

When she finally finishes, after what seems like eternity, she wants to burst into tears all over again because she's just reminded herself of exactly what she's lost. All the things they'll never do... and she said they had plenty of time to get married and settle down. Her face burns with shame, and she cradles her head in her hands.

The Doctor kisses the top of her head, still holding her because he's terrified that if he lets her go, even for an instant, she'll fall apart. Amy's head lifts, still so beautiful it hurts, even with blotchy skin and red-rimmed eyes and her face contorted with pain.

“Doctor,” she says slowly, and then she's kissing him and it's happening all over again and he's sick of being sensible and doing the right thing but he knows he must. He pushes her off him, gripping her wrists to hold her at arms length.

He looks at her hard for a few timeless seconds. “Amy, what are you doing?”

“I need to be distracted,” she mumbles. “I need- I need to forget.”

“No you don't,” he says firmly. “And this won't solve anything. It'll just make you feel worse, believe me.”

“But it hurts, Doctor,” she whispers. “It hurts so much.”

“I know. I know. And sometimes it feels like it won't stop hurting. But the pain is worth it. The pain is worth it even if you only have one good memory to hold on to. Because he's alive in your memories, Amelia Pond. And we can't let him die all over again.”

Amy forces herself to nod briskly, wiping away the wetness on her cheeks. “Can you take me home?” she asks quietly. Alarm flashes across his face almost too quickly for her to notice. “Not forever. Just for a quick visit. I just- I just need to go back. For him.”

“Of course.” The Doctor tries to smile, but somehow it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“And then take me to the best intergalactic bar in the universe so I can get blind drunk and pretend none of this happened,” she says decisively, hoping he can't hear the way her voice cracks in the middle.

He chuckles wryly. “I need to introduce you to Jack Harkness. You two'd get along famously.” He looks at the beautiful, broken redhead and smiles sadly. “To Leadworth, then.”

“To Leadworth,” she echoes.

But neither of them moves an inch.

It seems like an age later that Amy sighs, rakes a hand back through her hair and gets to her feet. “So are we doing this or what?”

The Doctor lets her pull him to his feet, a faraway look on his face. “Let's take you home,” he says softly, squeezing her hand, the one still wearing Rory's ring. Together, the two of them return to the console, but as The Doctor gears the TARDIS up to leave, Amy catches sight of something in the corner of her eye.

She frowns. Just for a moment, in the reflective surface of the console, she thought she saw Rory's face, smiling. But then it was gone.