In the wild
One Christmas Eve, some time before the Pandorica was curated into a museum
Rory took a few steps back and surveyed his handiwork. The Pandorica sat there, unmoving, as it had been for – God knows how long – he had lost count, draped in garlands and covered in snow. But despite all the festive decoration, it was still a forlorn and desolate sight to behold.
Everything was quiet. The silence rang in Rory's ears, a poor substitution for Amy's throaty, Scottish laugh. Rory had grown accustomed to the silence, of course. He had learnt to push it to the very back of his plastic head. He acknowledged its presence, but was no longer tormented by it every waking moment – which was basically, every single second – because he was plastic and he could not sleep.
But it was not his own loneliness that bothered him right now. It was Amy's. Amy must be tired of spending centuries with nobody but him. This was one of the ways Rory kept himself sane – by having imaginary conversations with an imaginary Amy. He could almost hear Amy's adorable Scottish drawl saying, "Urgh I've had enough of your stupid face. Give me another face to look at!"
An idea came to Rory's mind. He scooped up a handful of snow and compressed it into a ball. He then rolled it around until it was about the size of a big watermelon. He repeated the procedures but made the second ball the size of fitness ball. It took a long time, but he did not rush. There was no need to rush. The Pandorica was not going anywhere. He stacked the small snowball onto the larger one, stuck on twigs as arms, acorns as eyes, dead brown leaves as hair, and looked around for something that could stand in for a bow tie – and found none. Rory sighed.
So much for the new face.
He glared at the poor representation of the Doctor, and suddenly had an irrational urge to punch its jaw (which lacked the heft of the real deal).
This is the Doctor's fault. Everything is the Doctor's fault. Amy being trapped. Him being plastic. The world being a mess. Amy running off in the first place.
Rory clenched his fists.
No. He is my friend. And he needs us.
Rory Williams sighed and patted the faux Doctor on the head. It was never in him to bear grudges. He was simply too good.
"Merry Christmas, Doctor," he said.
He walked over to the Pandorica and rested his forehead against its cold surface. He imagined he could hear Amy's soft and rhythmic breathing through the wall.
"Merry Christmas, Amy," he pressed his lips against the barrier.
A kiss.
As long as eternity.
Spanning across all of time and space.
He knew Amy could feel it.
He knew.