I did warn that this one would be stupid long...
I am incorporating parts of S6 Amy's character into my reading of her, by the way. Just so you know.
CHAPTER 21. Category Seven: 3 – 4 November 2010
The Doctor and Amy just stared at the man, completely lost for words.
This is... unexpected, they both thought. It crossed Amy's mind that it was quite a good thing that they'd recently opened up the telepathic channel between them – at least, on a temporary basis – and the last part of their conversation had been silent. Otherwise she wouldn't have been able to look the Time Agent in the eye for days if he'd overheard that. Even the possibility of it caused a hot blush to creep up her neck. Oh geez... I just basically told the Doctor I was... well, that I was half... oh dear oh dear oh dear. Hopefully he won't have noticed.
She made well sure that her psychic barriers were firmly in place – it wouldn't do to have the Doctor seeing those thoughts.
Seeing the colour moving up her cheek, Jack raised an eyebrow. "So, are you two going to let go of each other now, or should I just leave you some space and get some quiet music?" The words brought them back to reality and they disentangled themselves from each other, the Doctor clearing his throat and straightening his bowtie nervously, Amy putting her hands on her hips and giving Jack her finest death glare. Unfortunately, this just made his smile even wider.
The awkward moment was finally shattered when two figures emerged from around the still-burning Dalek 'corpse'. One hazel-eyed blonde girl, and the other a tall brown-haired man.
Rory! At that moment Amy's mind cleared of all distractions, all considerations of the Doctor and escape. All she could see was her ex-fiancée, endlessly thankful that her mistake hadn't cost him his life. As she wrapped her arms around him so tightly that she could feel the beating of his single, fragile heart, she knew she would never make that mistake again.
The Doctor watched the pair hold each other in pure relief, a curious, unfathomable expression on his face. He may have looked clueless and oblivious on the outside, but that was just a front. A façade to stop his companions becoming too attached – to stop himself becoming too attached to them. A defence against that dark, insidious voice lurking in the edges of his mind.
He'd learnt the hard way that he needed it. The hardest, in fact – losing his family. Losing his species, an action he alone was responsible for. Losing Rose to a parallel universe, not once but twice. Donna, her memories of him wiped for her own safety. Adric, Astrid, both killed in heroic but very much final acts of self-sacrifice. No, nothing teaches the hand about fire quite like being burnt, and he knew full well now that his human companions were fragile. Precious. More so than his blood-stained self. If he got too close, it would be their doom. And his.
Now, as he watched, he could see that Amy was seeing this, too. Or at least, was gaining a glimpse of the twisted, tortured path that he had taken. Her relief and remorse told him everything he needed to know – she'd resolved not to take one more step down that terrible road. And she wasn't human, was she? She neither wanted nor needed that kind of protection, did she?
Of course he'd noticed what she'd said. What she'd clearly felt. The emotions and those little pockets of her mind that were beyond words that she'd shown in him in what they'd thought were their last moments alive. At the time, he'd just been grateful that he'd gained what he didn't deserve, his last, selfish wish – that he wouldn't die alone. That he'd go out with someone who knew him, truly knew him. Someone who loved him. And that, he thought, was that.
But, thanks to an immortal man, Amy's ex-fiancée and her once-worst-enemy, they were still very much alive.
He shook his head. He couldn't think those thoughts now. And so he did what Time Lords usually did – he put it off for later.
"Right! Thanks for the timely intervention, all. Fifteen minutes to go before this place turns into a great big electric chair slash tower. Let's get out of this trash can."
It turned out that having had no genuine idea where they were actually going and having been delayed by several small Dalek patrols, Jack, Rory and Katherine hadn't actually gone very far from the junction where they'd initially gotten lost.
This was an enormous stroke of luck, because by the time they found the junction again there was just over ten minutes remaining, and they had to sprint and pray to have any hope of reaching the exit before several million watts of current melted every single cell in their bodies. They galloped along another long downward ramp, the space suddenly opening right up around them into a large, open room, empty aside from numerous wide steel columns evidently designed to support the upper levels, and they saw it. A rectangle, in the distance, made of shining sunlight. They'd made it, with mere minutes to spare.
Amy punched the air, whooping joyously as they ran between the steel pillars that dotted the open ground floor for the exit and safety. Her triumph, however, was short-lived, and ended in the cylindrical metal form of a Dalek materialising in front of them. This one was at least a foot larger than those they'd defeated above, and was bright orange in colour, gleaming in the light streaming through the doorway. Another materialised. And another. And another.
"The Doctor and his companions are trapped!" A mechanical, distorted voice called out from the central Dalek as more continued to teleport in. "Exterminate!"
Soon, a dozen orange Daleks were spread in a line before them. They instantly dived behind the nearest steel columns for cover as twelve shining beams of light pierced the air, crackling as they struck metal, showering the black concrete floor with sparks.
Amy, Jack, Rory and Katherine returned the salvo once the beams vanished, the Doctor helping boost their power with the sonic. The central Dalek, the one that had spoken, exploded under their concentrated fire, but they could see that this would take too long, as they ducked behind the steel columns to avoid the next volley of deadly light. It'd take, on average, twenty seconds to kill each Dalek. There were eleven to kill. Ten now. That made just over three minutes... and they had two.
The Doctor met Amy's eye, shaking his head slightly, sadly. The game was up.
Amy refused to acknowledge the gesture. No. NO. I am not giving up. Not now. Not when we're so close. Not when we've almost saved them. Saved him. She turned and fired another ball of plasma at another Dalek, causing it to burst into flames. In the process, another twenty seconds had gone. Ninety remaining. A tear began to form in her eye, stinging, and she rubbed it away furiously.
It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair. She'd come all this way, she'd come so close to saving them and now they were all going to die, in sight of escape. Rory would die, because of her. The Doctor would die because of her. If she hadn't run off to save Rory, he would've had plenty of time to escape on his own. She had dragged him along with her. It wasn't fair.
"Do you hear me? NOT. BLOODY. FAIR."
She hadn't meant to scream, but she couldn't help it, couldn't control it any more, her frustration, guilt and rage at herself breaking through all the dams she'd built to bottle them inside.
At once, silence fell. The deadly beams of light vanished. No one moved, no one made a sound. The Daleks were still, docile, harmless.
Jack turned his head to try and establish why they'd stopped firing. He poked his head beyond the steel column, presenting a perfect target for the assembly of killing machines in front of him. Nothing happened. They were still clearly alive, judging by the glow within their eyestalks, just perfectly happy to hold their fire.
As if they've been ordered to... a sudden suspicion gripped his mind, related to that exclamation in that strange, ornate language he'd just heard. He turned to Amy, who was still pressed against the steel column next to him.
"What on earth did you just say to them?" he asked her, his voice quiet, equal parts shock and suspicion.
The Time Lady seemed affronted. "Nothing. Just yelled at them. Must've said it in Gallifreyean, sorry.."
"That's the thing, Amy... I think they've stopped. They're harmless. Something's happened to them."
"The hell do you mean?" she snapped, twisting around to see the evidence for herself. Again, her head presented a perfect target for the Daleks to fire at, but again they chose not to. They just stayed absolutely still, completely benign. She stared bemusedly at them for several seconds before realisation hit her with the force of a meteor. "Oh no... oh no no no," she whispered, her hands trembling, her face white. "How... how did that..."
"Sixty seconds!" The Doctor suddenly called out behind them. "You've dealt with the Daleks, right? Right! Let's go!" Out of nowhere, he grabbed the Time Lady's hand and pulled her towards the exit, running as quickly as he'd ever run in his long, long life.
The five of them had made it less than ten metres beyond the entrance, sprinting over the rocky, blasted ground of Kappamarine when an explosion tore through the upper portion of the steel edifice behind them and a blue, electrical shimmer ran down the sides, waterfalls of gold-white sparks cascading from the gaping wounds in its steel surface.
They didn't stop running until they were safely enclosed within the familiar confines of the blue police box over a mile from the destroyed drill.
They were all draped or leaning over various parts of the console room, panting – quite hard in the case of the humans, without the benefit of a double circulatory system to help push blood around. The Doctor threw the flight lever and the TARDIS dematerialised from Kappamarine, reappearing in some distant, safe void between galaxies.
"So that's it, yeah? Those Dalek thingies are all dead now?" Katherine asked as she leaned against the door, still quite out of breath.
"Yes, yes, the Daleks are all gone. And hopefully won't come back," the Doctor replied distractedly, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. "Sorry that had to be your first outing, I know I did promise you a holiday resort planet, not a run-in with the most evil creations in history."
She waved him off. "Don't worry, it was a blast. It'll take a bit of getting-used-to, the almost dying bit, but hey, we survived, didn't we?"
"Yes," he murmured softly. "Yes, thanks to Amy." His eyes searched the console room for Amy, looking for those fierce green eyes, that mane of shining red hair.
But she had already gone.
Amy sat wedged between the door and the wall of the blue-carpeted room, shivering, her mind overloaded with conflicting emotions. The moment they'd reached the TARDIS she'd dashed up the stairs, headed straight for her room, told the TARDIS to hide her and deadlocked the door with her sonic phone. Right now, she needed a little bit of time, a little bit of space for herself.
And time and space is one thing I still have, she thought amidst the maelstrom of emotions swirling in her modified Time Lord brain.
Relief. Rory was alive, and safe. Determination. There was no way she would let him be anything else ever again. Sadness, loss. That would mean he had to leave the TARDIS immediately, that their relationship was over.
But those were the emotions she'd been grappling with for the best part of two hours now, and if Amelia Pond was good at anything, it was dealing with her emotions in quick order. Yes, it tore her hearts to lose him. Yes, she felt terrible about everything she'd done to their relationship. Done to him. But she was a strong girl, so very strong. She'd deal with it. So long as he was safe, and alive, she could live with herself. She thought.
And it's not like I won't ever see him again, will I? Anytime I want, I can just drop into Leadworth for a cup of tea. Even in the privacy of her own mind the words sounded hollow, empty, no replacement for what she'd lost, but there was no other way. Cold comfort was still better than no comfort at all.
No, the raging storm brewing within her wasn't to do with that at all. Rather, it was something else she'd done. Another, decidedly more terrifying, act.
They're the most evil beings in existence, she reasoned. They deserved it. And I didn't have any other choice. We were minutes – seconds away from dying. All of us – except Jack, I guess. It's not like I really tried to, either, it just sort of... happened. So it was just luck that it happened, and I didn't have any choice either way. I had to do it.
But he wouldn't have, a voice answered. You know he wouldn't have. He would never have done anything like that.
Maybe not, she conceded, but he'll understand. OK, maybe he'll tell me off, yell at me a bit, but once he's gotten the message across, he'll smile and forgive me, telling me it's OK. Because he knows me, and he cares for me.
Yes, hewould, the voice stated in agreement, but it wasn't done. That's hardly the point, is it? He does that because he's a kind man. A good man. A wonderful man. But Amelia Pond... the girl who murders people because she's angry, the girl who claims to value the sanctity of her mind above everything else... then without a second thought uses and dominates the mind of others for her own benefit.
To save lives!
So? The voice replied dismissively. Her voice. You know it's true. So what does that make us now?
She didn't have an answer. She couldn't answer. She sighed, closing her eyes and resting her head on the door. All she wanted now was for this god-forsaken, heart-shredding day to end at last.
"So where is she now?" Rory, sipping his tea.
It was the morning after their escape from Kappamarine. They had all traipsed off their own rooms soon afterwards, far too physically – and in Rory's case, emotionally – spent to do anything on that day. Rory was so worn out that he hadn't even managed to find his and Amy's room, and had staggered into the library, resting on the soft, warm armchairs. After a deep, dreamless sleep, he awoke and dragged himself back into the console room, determined to find and see Amy, gain as much quality time with her as he could before his enforced exit. Instead, he found the Doctor and Katherine, evidently waiting for him.
The three had then retired to one of the many lounge rooms of the TARDIS, hustled there by the Doctor on the basis that there was something important he needed to say. He'd poured them all a mug of tea, then directed them all to the couches whilst he fetched something. He returned a few minutes later, holding a large, leather-bound red book.
"In her bedroom, apparently," the Doctor replied. "The reason you couldn't find it last night is because she told the TARDIS to hide it. She's deadlocked the door, by the way, so don't bother heading up there – you won't be able to get in."
Rory looked at the Time Lord suspiciously. "How do you know that?"
"Because she's showing me, right now-"
"-psychically?" The note of jealousy came instinctively, borne out of years upon years of being forced to second best to a man he never thought had ever existed. Well, he existed alright, and now he was giving his precious Amy Pond to him, but he couldn't help be protective, cautious on her behalf.
"Yes. Not how you're thinking, though, all she's showing me is where she is and that she's deadlocked the room, nothing else, and I physically – or, erm, psychically, rather – can't find out anything else now that she doesn't want me to. I think the message is pretty obvious, though. She wants some downtime to herself."
Katherine nodded. "She looked like she'd been through the wringer as we came into the TARDIS. I reckon give her a day or two, she'll be alright," she declared, trusting that her intuition would lead her true.
"I suspect so. Out of interest, why do you care so much? Not to be rude, or dismissive, or anything," he added quickly, "Just curious. I mean, she hasn't exactly given you many reasons to be friendly – there must be something else."
The blonde shrugged. "It's pretty simple. I treated her like shit when she was a kid. Now I'm trying to make up for it. If I have to cop a bit in return, well, fair's fair."
The Doctor smiled warmly. "The important thing is that you're trying. That's what counts."
She chuckled. "That's nice to know. I'm not exactly expecting a sudden turn-around, though. Stubborn girl is Amy Pond."
"You're right about that."
"So..." She set her mug on the table. "What gives? What's so important that you need to drag us down here for a chat?"
"What, don't you like the tea?"
"The tea's fine. But you still dragged us down here. I don't like being dragged places, Doctor, unless there's a good reason. So come on now."
"Alright. Although to be frank this is mostly for Rory's benefit, unless you're going to be staying on the TARDIS for longer-"
"Which I am."
The Doctor looked at the blonde in surprise. "Are you sure? You've seen how dangerous it is, Katherine, and I don't want to be standing over anyone's grave any time soon."
She flicked her wrist dismissively. "Meh. So long as you, Amy and Jack are around, they could send an army our way and we'd get home in time for supper."
He smiled appreciatively – he had to admit, he did like having her around. And Amy could use a female friend to confide in... once they actually to that stage, of course.
"Fair enough. Alright then, you're both going to need to hear this."
"But I'm not staying," Rory pointed out. "I can't stay. Amy won't let me."
He flinched and closed his eyes, knowing the suffering that lay behind the words. "I know. What I'm about to tell you is why Amy won't let you. Why she's so scared that she might do something terrible to you if you stay. You deserve to know."
"This has something to do with Amy's psychic abilities, right?" Katherine asked shrewdly. The Doctor turned to the girl, astonished.
"How on earth did you know that?"
"Rory and I have already talked about it. She's already given me a glimpse of what she can do."
"Well, today, yes."
"Before today."
A pause. "What do you mean?"
She hesitated. He doesn't know? Why doesn't he know? What other secrets is she keeping from him?
She made an executive decision. "Not important. But let's just say Rory and I already have an inkling of what she's capable of, and it's messy. Don't worry, she didn't actually hurt anyone," she added carefully, hoping that that would cover the unspoken truth that she had certainly threatened to.
"Right," the Doctor said slowly. "Do you know the, erm, specifics?"
"Of what she's capable of? No," Rory answered.
"Right. So the Cliff-Notes summary is this. A few millenia back the Time Lords invented a scale of telepathic power, from one to seven..." Rory and Katherine blinked as he spoke, taking in the explanation of Time Lord psychic categorisation systems, not a subject they'd thought they'd be hearing about. "And seven?" Rory asked, when he had finished.
"Ah, yes, well. Seven is a curious category. It was originally just a junk category the Time Lords invented because they felt it kind of poncey to all be occupying the top drawers as category fives and sixes, so they invented a new one on top. It has a full description and rules for what makes a telepath a category seven, but that was just because they were pedantic buggers back in the day, and they wanted to make sure their system looked right, so no vague wishy-washy definitions. They didn't actually expect that one would ever show up, and I assumed they were right. Everyone did."
"Let me guess," Katherine drawled, "Amy is the first?"
"The first and only. It's an absurdly unlikely and unique set of circumstances that's led to this. First she had to grow up with a time crack in her wall, so the raw time energy could start to change her brain – that's what bumped her up to a four in the first place. Then someone – namely, me – had to come along and close the crack before it started to cause DNA corruption. Then, she had to get transformed into a Time Lord, which involves a set of circumstances so extraordinarily unlikely that even I didn't know it was possible. And it won't be happening again, as you know. Not least because without the protection of the Time energy in her brain, she would probably have been blown to smithereens by the regeneration energy."
Rory shuddered. "That's comforting."
"Well, it is in a way, because she turned out fine afterwards. Not only that, but the reaction between the time energy and the regeneration energy caused a runaway acceleration in the development of her brain, which meant that by the time the regeneration processes ended in her, she had a substantially more powerful brain than usual for Time Lords. Energetic stuff, pure time. Reacts in all sorts of strange and unexpected ways when it's in that form and you mix something else with it."
"And this was enough to make her a... super-telepath, I think you called her?"
"That's the official designation, yes. That wouldn't be quite enough by itself, but remember: this is Amelia Pond we're talking about. She was already mentally very, very strong beforehand, just because of who she is. Willpower, intellect, obduracy – it all counts up here," he told them, tapping his finger against his temple.
"Alright, then. She's a category seven telepath. Now care to explain what it means? I'm guessing that's why you got the book out?" Katherine was more perceptive than her blonde locks suggested.
"Got it in one. Here, listen." He opened the book up to a page marked in strange, circular symbols, of the same type that dotted the TARDIS walls. He ran his finger down the page, evidently searching for the correct section. "Category seven... category seven... ah. Here." He began to read aloud in a firm, slightly monotone voice.
"'Category seven, or super-telepaths, possess all the abilities of category six telepaths, and also possess some or all of the following' – in this case, best go for the 'all' bit," he added, before continuing. "'The ability to create impenetrable external psychic barriers, the ability to interface remotely with other telepaths over almost any temporal or spatial distance' – so she can talk to me and any other telepaths in our heads, wherever or whenever she is, so long as our time-streams are in sync – 'large-scale hypnotic and other psychic domination abilities, up to and including complete and total control of any unshielded mind."
He hesitated before continuing. "Finally, super-telepaths have the ability to launch psychic attacks on other psychically active beings. These attacks, at full strength, can be fatal to all but those with the powerful psychic barriers. To date no super-telepaths... yada yada ya. So that's it. That's basically what she's capable of."
Rory and Katherine sat in stunned silence for a minute, shocked at the revelation of what the energetic, flirty redhead was truly capable of.
"She... she can kill people? Just by thinking it?" Rory whispered.
The Doctor swallowed. "She's capable of it, yes."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Rory demanded, his voice beginning to quiver. The Doctor looked away, guilt glinting in his cerulean eyes.
"I didn't want you worrying about it... evidently, that was a mistake."
"Yes, yes it was." His voice was low, quiet, his clenched fists shaking, his knuckles bone-white.
"Rory, I'm sorry. I truly, genuinely, am sorry. If there was another way to do this, I would find it, but I can't see it. She can't see it."
"But if she's in control, there's no danger to me, right?"
The Doctor still couldn't meet the man's eyes, couldn't bear to see the sudden flare of hope that had lit up within, knowing that he was about to crush it. "That's what I'd hoped... but evidently, she knows she isn't. She's unstable. You saw it today. She didn't mean to mind-control those Daleks. But she was incredibly scared, incredibly angry, and incredibly sad, and after everything that had happened today, it simply burst out. I felt it instantly."
"Why? Why is this happening?" Rory's control was breaking, sheer frustration, helplessness and a boiling sensation in his throat overriding his good sense.
"I don't know. Rory, I honestly don't know. There's something – something – she's locked up in her mind. Something big, something terrible – traumatic. I have no idea what it is." Well, he thought, other than it involves a lot of white. "But I'm trying everything I can to get to the bottom of it. I promise you, Rory Williams, I am doing everything in my power to find out what this is, and why she's locked it away. But until I find out, until I convince her to unlock her mind, she's unstable. Minds, especially psychic minds, aren't meant to be chopped up into little separate rooms like that. They're meant to be kept whole, free. The harder she tries to close off a piece of it, the more unstable she'll become, the less control she has over her own abilities. When she's scared, or angry, it'll burst out, and then..."
Rory gazed at the Time Lord, studying him, reading his face for a lie or an exaggeration. At last, he nodded, convinced that this time, at least, he had told the truth. "Alright. OK. So I have to go. Right. Fine. OK then. If you don't mind, I'm going to see her one last time. Assuming she doesn't kill me, of course," he added bitterly, standing suddenly, robotically.
"Rory, we can always drop in whenever – Rory, wait!" He called after him, but Rory had already marched out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. He sighed and rested his head on his palms, a ball of misery in his stomach at the state that he'd left them all in.
"He'll be fine," Katherine told him soothingly. "He's a strong bloke. He just needs a little time, that's all."
Don't we all? "Katherine, now that you know the truth, if you want to leave at any time, you're welcome to do so. I won't stop you."
"Hell no. I'd already figured the gist of it out myself, thanks. All you've done is fill in the details and given me all the jargon. I'll stay with Rory for a few weeks after we get back to Leadworth, so he has someone he can talk to, but I'll be back after that."
"But the Precept-"
"-weren't chasing me in 2010, and I'd already moved to London in January of that year. It'll be fine, it's only for a couple of weeks. And after that... I was promised all of time and space, Mr Time Lord. I expect to get it."
He smiled softly. "Yeah, I guess that's the one thing I'm good at giving people."
To an outsider, it would look as if the city was at the height of its splendour. The walls now stretched and twisted outwards into the countryside for miles around, the citizens relishing the staggering amount of living space their Queen had suddenly bequeathed them
The expansion had started some time ago, without warning. To the enemies, it was an aggressive move, a deliberate growth of the city's already immense power as the reach of the walls extended all around it. As the walls grew, so did the city's strength, the ever-increasing numbers of red and blue flags proudly announcing the city's infinite power, cannons and barricades increasing exponentially, turning the city into an indomitable fortress from without.
From within, however...
The Queen works at the base, her calloused hands bruised and her back aching in the fierce midsummer sun, as she places yet another stone on yet another wall. For the truth is that she does not care for the outsiders, their fears, plans, and suspicions. She has no thought for them. She isn't expanding towards them.
No. She's running.
No one knew how. No one knew why. But that disease, that stain that had begun from the city's innermost depths was unmistakeable. Someone, somehow, had cracked the defences of the Room. It shouldn't have been possible. Indeed, she suspected that their actions had merely been the last pinprick to pop an over-inflated balloon, but it doesn't matter now.
The white terror was spreading. As it grew, as it multiplied, so the city's power multiplied with it. The walls she builds now are somehow even stronger than before, flawless, indestructible. Wide enough to hold entire armies on their breadth, their battlements an intimidating display of the majesty and the total, complete dominance the Queen enjoys over her external rivals.
However, she does not stop to enjoy it for one second, for as the whiteness grows, so does the Queen's fear. So she runs and she builds. She can't build fast enough. The whiteness is spreading too fast.
But she has no choice.
Amy awoke suddenly, disoriented. Her eyes darted around, registered smears of blue all around her. After a few seconds, her vision cleared – amazingly, she had fallen sleep still wedged against her bedroom door.
There was a soft knocking above her head.
She frowned. Didn't I deadlock the door? Didn't I show him psychically me deadlocking it? Why doesn't he listen to me?
"Amy, can you open up? It's me. Or do you not want to see me now?" The sadness in the familiar voice was unmistakable.
Rory! She shot up and removed the deadlock with her sonic, wrenching the door open and pulling her ex-fiancée into a crushing hug. She wanted to apologise, for every injustice, every insult, every callous remark she'd ever hurled at him, knowing that he'd taken it all as part of the package that was her. And now it's gone. It's all gone forever.
There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to do. She'd wronged him enough.
No more.
"I understand, Amy," he whispered in her ear. "I really, really understand. I'm not angry at you. At all."
"You should be," she whispered, unknowingly slipping into her genetically-ingrained second language. The tears began to flow, hot, thick, burning trails of grief scarring her pale cheeks. "Rory?"
"Yes, Amelia?" His own voice was trembling, his control wavering, buffeted by the winds of despair surrounding them.
He used my real name... that's the first time he's used my real name in years... the first time since I told him not to...
She couldn't speak. All her words, all her strength, all her flirtatiousness, her wittiness, her cockiness, had melted away from her. Along the man she'd once hoped to call her own. What could she do? What could she say?
She broke away from him slightly, and looked into those beautiful, clear, innocent eyes again.
An idea suddenly struck her. She wouldn't say anything.
She wouldn't need to.
She placed a hand on his face, her long, slender fingers brushing his temple, and closed her eyes.
Rory Williams, can you hear me?
He gasped, his hand clapping against hers, pressing it into his cheek. "Is that... was that... you?"
Yes. It's me, Rory. Come with me. I want to... want to show you something.
And she did. Flashes of images and emotions flowed through his mind, flickering in his consciousness. Incoherent, distant, as if he was viewing frames from a slide projector through a muddy widow. Pictures of Leadworth, of me...? She's showing me pictures of myself?
The images kept coming, and the emotions became clearer. The more she showed him, the more it began to make sense. He was holding her hand as she shook violently, biting her lip, holding back tears that she so badly needed to fall. He was standing in front of her, defending her honour from a sneering, flint-eyed man whose shoulders were twice the width of his. He was placing a hand on her forehead, wiping cold sweat off her pale brow as she tried to recover from an experiment gone much too far.
The more she showed him, the more he understood.
At last, the flow of images and emotions stopped, and her face returned to his vision. The clear, flame-curtained face, the soft curve of her cheeks, the slight part of her strawberry-red lips. She looked more beautiful that he had ever seen her. He looked into those sparkling, vivid green eyes as they opened, and heard four words in his mind. Four words, that together with the cascade of memories she'd given him just the merest glimpse into, told him more than a million ever would. Ever could. Would ever need to. He heard them resonate through his mind, simple, plain, clear as a bell.
He pulled her in for one final, desperate kiss, her hand wrapping around the base of his neck to deepen it in a mirror of his own. They held together, lips locked, needing each other, absorbing everything that was the other in a fit of passion borne from everything they'd shared, every laugh they'd laughed together, every smile they'd given each other, every dark night they'd stolen together. A moment more intense than anything either had experienced ever before.
Thank you, Rory Williams.
Rory'll be around.