Rory looked at his wife expecting an answer and then…she was gone. He looked around, dazed, energy sapped and his knees felt weak. He wasn't in a graveyard anymore. His heart thudded loudly in his ears as his stomach dropped. Oh no. He was in New York…in the 1930s. He didn't even know if it was 1938 or some other year. He looked around him, it seemed the same. Same trees, same skyline. But without Amy.
He wandered, finding Central Park and looking out across it. It wouldn't be soon until the Angels found him. Would they find him? Were they even here? He didn't think so.
Oh God. What was he going to do? He walked up to the edge of the fountain, looking down into the water, his rippling reflection staring back at him. He gave a small chuckling breath that then hitched in his throat as he stared down at the water.
Stupid Face.
He turned his back to the fountain, leaning back on it slightly. What was he going to do? He was stuck He knew that. He kept his breathing calm and revised; allowing deep breaths and cutting them short if his breathing hitched. There was no use in completely freaking out.
He walked. Then he sat down on a cold, hard bench. Then he let go, crying to himself. No one was around, not that he cared; it didn't matter if he was surrounded by people if Amy wasn't among them. And he'd been with the Doctor long enough to know they couldn't come back for him. There was no way. Fixed points in time, alternate timelines and paradoxes and what else kept them apart. He placed his head in his hands and his back arched so that his hands pressed against his thighs as he doubled over in grief. Great gasps of sadness wracked his body as he remembered.
Oh Amy.
He was stuck, the blasted stone angel had sent him back to the past and he didn't even know how it had been there. Everything had been fine. They'd broken the paradox, survived. They were supposed to laugh and clamber back into the TARDIS. Done and dusted. Another adventure over, the next one ahead. A happy ending
"Amy." His voice was strained and hollow, lips dry. He licked them slowly. He rocked forward, his hoodie slipping down slightly as crystal tears ran down his face like a torrent, soaking his cheeks. He looked up slightly through his hands to see a flock of haphazard pigeons paddling on the gritty ground, darting for crumbs. He saw a pair of shoes, brown and small, walk slowly.
"Rory?" a voice, quiet and undeniably Scottish rang out. Rory's eyes widened as he looked up suddenly into a face he never thought he'd see again. Amy. It was Amy. Oh Amy. Fiery hair tumbled around a heart shaped face, her lips pink and agape. Her emerald eyes wide, and filled with tears that were rarely shed.
"A-Amy?" He faltered, standing up quickly and taking a step towards her. "How?" She gave a weak smile.
"Can't get rid of me that easily, you idiot." And then it clicked. Amy ran towards him, he sprinting to her, throwing their arms around each other. They hung on as though they needed the touch to breathe. It was then Amy knew she had made the right choice, it was always her Roman. Her Rory. Her Stupid Face. She buried her face in his shoulder as his fingers ran through her fiery locks.
They stood like that for a while; minutes, hours? They couldn't tell. All that mattered was that they were there and they were together. And everything was going to be alright.
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Heather x