"Amy?"
It was the Doctor, back again and Rory sighed with relief, laying his head against the door and pressing a kiss to the sonic in gratitude.
He had found them and it was gone now. It had worked, and the thing had left him. The sonic had driven it away.
Amy was safe, she was with the Doctor, only the Doctor.
She was safe.
"AMY!"
Rory's eyes widened, his heart pounding at the pain, the plea in the Time Lord's voice. The heavy, wooden door was not barred. It hadn't feared him. He was impotent
in the things's eyes, it had just taken her, hiden her because it enjoyed watching him search and suffer and because it knew only the Doctor was strong enough
to open it.
A second horrified, anguished sob proved it wrong.
He tumbled through the opening into the shadows beyond.
Into an ungodly nightmare.
The Doctor's eyes, streaming and heavy, bleak with shame and despair.
Amy down, sprawled lewdly open, her eyes closed.
The Doctor's hands reaching downward, touching Amy, touching where he never should.
"No. No."
The words rolling, expelling from the Doctor in a steady anguished stream as Rory dropped, frozen and utterly incapacitated.
His wife, exposed, unconscious, her folds under the Doctor's hands.
The Time Lord broken, shuddering, descending with a slow, aching tenderness to press chaste, tear-sodden kisses to her face.
The Doctor descending between her thighs in a gesture so abject and despairing as to strip it of all sexuality.
His own hands, finally, achingly reaching out to stroke at her cheeks and hair.
The Doctor convulsing, suddenly screaming, in frantic, unintelligible alien words.
Seeing.
Rory's own hands reaching out again, pulling down the tails of the Time Lord's tweed jacket, covering the exposed skin.
Holding the Time Lord's head as he wretched.
"I..."
"I know. I know."
"It was me."