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"What's wrong with him, Doctor?" Amy's passion is spent, and she stands next to the cell door with frostbitten eyes, Vastra's lace handkerchief dangling forgotten from her hand.

"Amy... Amy, you have to understand…" the Doctor begins, and stops. How to explain. He usually has words, so many words, and now, suddenly… he doesn't. You have to understand that Rory's not coming back. You have to understand that Rory's not what he seems. You have to understand...

Vastra appears next to Amy, terse and professional.

"I've confiscated the prisoner's belongings and clothing," she announces. "Here's the list; I have Jenny taken them to storage as we speak."

The Doctor takes one last, long look at the figure in the cell and turns to her.

"Thank you," he says. "You found the watch?"

"Yes."

"Have Jenny bring it to me as soon as she can."

"Yes, Doctor." Vastra isn't usually this polite, but her eyes are on Amy. "Is there anything… I can do?"

"No. But... thank you for your assistance."

Vastra leaves, and when the Doctor turns back to Amy, she's crying again. Or, more precisely, tears are coming out of her eyes. She doesn't seem to notice. The Doctor sighs and turns away, leaning his head on the TARDIS corridor.

"Oh, Pond…"

Inside the cell, Rory crouches in the corner, his back stubbornly turned against the door. They've handcuffed him—the next best thing to a straitjacket—but he keeps rapping the rhythm out on the wall. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

"You. Doctor. Start talking," Amy says, but the fire is gone from her voice. "Start talking now. What's wrong with him? What's wrong with Rory?"

"Rory… he isn't…" the Doctor fumbles for words. "Rory isn't Rory." Inspiration comes to him, and he rocks himself off the wall and starts talking. "Once upon a time, there were two boys who played in the field together, until they turned eight. You have to understand, Pond, that growing up on Gallifrey isn't like growing up on Earth—when they, when we, we…" he stops, helpless, recalling something Rory said. "It's a rite of passage thing, y'see, like shaving or getting your first car, only instead of getting a clean chin or a shiny new Buick, you stare into the Untempered Schism where all of time and reality is bound together in a glorious, horrible transdimensional spiral. It… well, you're never really the same after looking into something like that. But most people learn to deal with it, they shut it out or replace the memory with something else, they live normal lives. Well, close to normal lives. Normal for Time Lords, anyway."

Amy stares at him with widening eyes.

"Rory's a Time Lord?" she blurts.

"Yes. No. …I'm getting to that bit. There's a few, a very few, who break when they look into the… thingy. Some become geniuses, more than geniuses, gods or those that call themselves gods. Some… run away, and never stop running." He can't help the catch in his breath. "Some go mad. And Pond, what a sharp, burning, brilliant madness it is. It eats them up from the inside, grinds them away 'til there's nothing left.

"Now these two boys I told you about, they walked to the place where the sky breaks and looked into it. One ran. But the other broke. His mind split, and the place where his thoughts should be…" the Doctor shook his head, recalling the brief agony of sharing a thought with the Master, years ago. "Drumbeats. He became filled with the sound of drumbeats. And yes, he went mad."

Amy's crying again, silently and without moving her lips. The tears streak down her cheeks unnoticed.

"After that, well. The boy who ran grew up, and his—the other came after him, full of arrogance and war and the sound of drums. Gallifrey's most infamous child. He tried to kill me. First he chased me, then I chased him, and then the Council—not here anymore, long story—chased him, and the drums chased him, and I searched for him across the times… so many times. He killed and died and came back, again and again. He made himself human and hid for years at a time, but I always found him. I was always… I was…" he falters.

"You're lying," Amy says quietly. "You're lying. It can't be."

"I never thought he'd hide so close," the Doctor says bitterly. "I never thought he could."

Amy turns away for a moment, looking into the cell.

"So," she says hollowly, turning back to him. "Who is he? This… friend of yours. What's his name? What's he like? I may as well start getting to know the man I married."


Rory's head will split. The drums thunder incessantly, each blow flashing white pain behind his forehead, and he can't stop. He taps on the floor, channeling some of the energy, some of the drumbeats, out of him into the floor. He should be crying. He should be thinking about… somebody. But there's nothing there anymore, only pain and drumbeats. All the memories, he thinks. He kept the door closed, but there's too many memories. Too strong. They're beating on the inside, trying to get out, and he can barely feel it. It's an odd sort of numbness—no feeling in most of his mind, all pain in the front, where the drums beat. Drums. Beat. Three. Four.

He hears Amy and the Doctor talking, but they're a long way away. They sound like—like voices wrapped in cotton. Or a scratchy recorded conversation held long ago and broadcasting from a great distance.

"…dangerous, you see. Can't keep him here where…"

"…wouldn't! You wouldn't! He's my husband!"

"…must understand. She'll try to… Time War… play us against each other… won't let… split the lock from the key… friend in Cardiff… go after… give us time…"

"...protect... always there..."

"Give it to me then."

That last sentence is in sharp focus. Rory's head snaps up and he half-turns, half-scrambles to see who's talking. Outside his cell, Amy and the Doctor jump at his sudden movement. Through the clear window in the TARDIS cell door, he sees them clearly. Amy and the Doctor. Together.

And for some reason, he hates the Doctor now more than ever. More than ever? He's never… hated… They're talking about him, and Amy gives the Doctor something small and round hard, something familiar, something that should be his. Something that should be his! Rory glares at the Doctor with a sudden, unexpected ferocity and twists at his cuffs, and both people move back from the door.


"So what, we just—leave him at this Torchwood place?" Amy's not happy with the plan, but the Doctor sets his mouth firmly.

"Yes. Until I get this whole—thing—sorted. The Master was always volatile and—unpredictable." The Doctor flips a large switch on the console. "I want to make sure he comes back to himself when we're not in the middle of a war."

"Why bring him back at all?"

Amy's question hangs in the air, brittle and hopeful and defiant all at once. The Doctor stops.

"What?"

"He won't—remember without the watch, so why bring him back?" Amy says.

"Pond, that's not funny. He's got to come back. He's the only other Time Lord in existence. The only other one. Just think of that for a moment."

"He's my husband!" Amy snaps. Immediately, she draws back a little. "And the Master's your enemy, yeah? Like, a space terrorist. You don't want to bring him back. Just, just give me the watch—"

She reaches for it with ragged desperation, and the Doctor backs up quickly.

"And what about the drums?" he asks quietly. "Something's wrong, Amy, he shouldn't be hearing the drums. He shouldn't be remembering. His consciousness is seeping back into him, it's bleeding back despite the arch and the memories and the time and everything. Do you know what happens to a human body with a Time Lord consciousness in it? Do you?"

"It's—it's just that watch, just that bloody watch," Amy says stubbornly. Desperately. "Just give it to me, Doctor. Just get rid of it. Get rid of it and I can have Rory back."

"You can't. He's going to die." The words are so quiet, so still, but Amy freezes and draws her breath in sharply, painfully. She stands there, not breathing, not moving, and the Doctor sees tears forming in her eyes. "You can't leave him like this, Amy. He's going to wake up, and his human body won't hold his mind. It will kill him, Amy, kill him slowly."

"I will have him back," she says in a high, tremulous whisper. "I will have my husband back."

The Doctor looks at her with sad, tired eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says. And somehow, that's enough to explain everything. Amy's face crumples, and she runs from the console room, trying to hold in the sobs and failing. The Doctor sighs wearily, closes his eyes for a moment, and pulls down the TARDIS lever to set the course for 21st century Cardiff.


Of course Jack is waiting when the TARDIS doors open. He's got his pack on his back and a wide grin on his face, obviously hoping for a quick adventure or romp at a famous party before being dropped off to resume his Torchwood work. His smile falters when he sees the Doctor's face.

"Uh oh. I'm guessing this isn't going to be one of the fun visits. Nice suit, by the way. I could get used to this regeneration."

"Jack. I'm so glad to see you here. Long story, but basically…" He can't finish. The Doctor rubs his forehead, trying to regain his manic charm. "I need you to watch a prisoner for me," he says quietly.

Jack raises his eyebrows.

"What kind of prisoner?"

"A friend. A—companion. It's complicated. People are coming for him and he's not himself at the moment."

"Well, that's not at all mysterious or foreboding," Jack says sarcastically. He peers around the Doctor's shoulders, trying to see inside the TARDIS. "Who is the unlucky guy? And what happened to him? And, most importantly, Doctor…" he stops and looks the Doctor square in the eye. "What's the risk factor to my team if we hold him for you?"

The Doctor turns away quickly.

"Minimal," he lies.


They walk Rory out between two guards—half for nominal security, half because Rory's dizzy and uncoordinated and keeps tripping over his own feet. Amy walks behind. The Doctor is unpleasantly reminded of war funerals (he's seen so many), and the trailing widow.