"What is this?" Rory asked quietly, looking up from the puddle that he, only moments ago, had been holding. The puddle of plastic that had been his wife. The Doctor only looked to the floor of the TARDIS control room thoughtfully before rushing to the console to play with his damned buttons and knobs. After a few moments of this with no answer, Rory cried angrily, "Don't give me the silent treatment this time, Doctor. Answer me! What is this? Where the fuck is she?"

"I don't know, Rory, but I swear to you I will find her," The Doctor answered turning around. "Whatever it takes, I will find her." With that he spun back to the console to begin working on whatever it was that The Doctor did in times of crisis.

Speechless, Rory walked away. He knew that he could do nothing, and so he walked through the labyrinthine hallways of the TARDIS and turned the corner to the bedroom he shared with Amy, feeling scared and ashamed of himself. Shouldn't he have known? That was his wife. He sat down on their bed, the bed in which he had held her close every night as they fell asleep, the bed where they had made love only the night before. She had felt the same as she always did, soft and small and warm in his arms, under his lips. Shouldn't he have been able to tell that she was plastic? He could still smell her in their sheets, that vanilla scented body wash she preferred. She had insisted last week that they stop so she could stock up for the next several months. Underneath the vanilla soap was her own smell, the scent that was unmistakably Amy. He held her pillow to his face for a moment, just taking it in. He didn't know how long he stayed there, trying to hold on to her a little bit more. How were they able to put even her smell into this bit of technological genius? They had recreated her perfectly; just as, he supposed, the Nestene had done with him, so long ago in another reality. He had been such a good copy of himself that even he had believed it.

So had Amy been. And now she was somewhere else, alone and apparently in labor. She was giving birth to a child, presumably his. He had a terrified wife and a child out there who needed his rescuing. He had no more time for self pity. His family needed him, but he didn't know what to do. This was the fact that paralyzed him. So, Rory needed The Doctor.

With that thought, Rory heard the engines fire and felt the TARDIS shift beneath him. Clearly, The Doctor was on to something. So, he took a deep breath and wiped away an errant tear that had appeared in his eye, then walked back through the hallways, regaining his fortitude with every step. The Doctor looked up from the console as Rory walked into the room, bearing all the strength and resolution of the Last Centurion of legend that he had been, waiting for his love to awaken.

"Well, Doctor," He said, "What's the plan?"