It was not a smooth ride.

The box spun end-over-end at a mile a minute. Amy screamed. The lights flickered. Rory thought he was going to be violently sick. He smelled burning plastic and wood, then felt a terrible deadly pressure, like he was being squeezed through a toothpaste tube. There was a heart-shaking concussion, and for just a moment they were suspended in free-fall. Then the scaffolding loomed, and Rory hit it face-first. The TARDIS had hit ground, but it kept moving, skipping like a stone across a pond. Each landing threw Rory into the air, then back to the ground.

After about a million years, the box came to a standstill.

Moaned like a lost child—and died.

"Argh," said Rory, some time later. He wiggled his fingers and toes, felt his nose. He ached everywhere, and felt dizzy, but was basically healthy. "Blimey. Never doing that again. No thank you." He shook off the dizziness, and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Gggh." Then, somewhat louder: "Amy!"

"Yes?"

"Y' alright?"

"Fine," she said. "You?"

"Argh," Rory repeated. "Fine. Where are you? I can't see a bloody thing."

"You could open your eyes," said Amy, her soft breath right in his ear. "Just a suggestion."

Rory rubbed the back of his neck, then took her advice, blinking his way back to consciousness. Amy sat right next to him. There was hardly any light inside the TARDIS, and what there was was silvery gray, like moonlight. But he could see. "D' you see the Doctor?"

"I got him," said Amy.

She certainly did. Amy was sitting lotus-style, leaning against the central column, with the Doctor's head in her lap. She looked anxious and a little banged-up, but hardly the worse for wear.

"Is he alright?"

"He's no worse," said Amy. "And we're alive. We all lived."

"I guess we did." Rory took a few moments to catch his breath. "Any idea where we are?"

"No," said Amy. "But... it's raining."

It was a little bit worse than rain. Water drummed on the outside of the TARDIS and rushed down the tiny windows. The air tasted of damp and ozone. Brisk winds buffeted the ship, and Rory heard the low rumble of thunder. Lightning flashed constantly, suffusing the ship in flickering white light. And there was another light, bigger, steadier, closer to the ground. Moving. It swept across of the TARDIS, causing both Rory and Amy to blink, then faded away. A few moments later it came around again. Lighthouse? Rory wondered. Had they been marooned at sea?

Fat lot of good it would be if they were.

"Okay," Rory sighed. He braced himself on the control panel, then staggered to his feet. "I'm just going to have a look round."

He decided to do just like the Doctor. Throw open the doors and take the universe it as it came. He strode across the control room, hopped off the scaffolding, opened the doors the police box, and stuck his head outside.

After a long moment, he slammed the TARDIS door, locked it, and sat down next to Amy.

"What's out there?" she demanded.

He was out of breath, shivering, drenched to the skin from head to waist. He took off his T-shirt and squeezed some of the water out of it, then used it to wipe his face. "Storm," he gasped. "Really, really big storm."

"I could tell that from here, idiot," said Amy. "What else?"

"Well," said Rory weakly. He swallowed, then coughed. "Prison."

Amy blinked. "What? What do you mean, prison?"

"I mean prison," said Rory. "That light that keeps shining down on us? It's a searchlight. From a guard tower. There's... men with guns, and barbed wire and... prison. We're in the exercise yard." His eyes went wide as he realized something. "Oh my God," he groaned. "We stole the TARDIS, and it took us to straight to prison and why are you smiling?"

"It worked," said Amy. She kissed Rory on his damp cheek. "Oh, it worked. Everything's gonna be fine, Rory. We're geniuses. We're safe."

"Safe from escaping, maybe."

"No," said Amy. "Really safe. I know where we are."

"Where's that?"

"Stormcage!" said Amy.

A flash of lightning punctuated her words.

"Yeah?" Rory groused. "And what's that when it's at home?"

"Prison," said Amy. "It's the biggest most secure prison in the universe."

"Oh. Good."

"And we someone who's in," she said. "A friend. River Song!"

"Who the hell is River Song?" said Rory. If there was one thing he'd learned about space, it was that he didn't want to make any new friends. Even meeting the Doctor hadn't done them very much good.

"Oh, come on," said Amy. "The woman from the Pandorica? 'Dated an android?'" She looked deeply into her husband's eyes, eagerness and relief giving way to a renewed worry. "Rory, tell me you remember."

Rory remembered the Pandorica. Too well, sometimes. He woke up in the night sometimes, dreaming of Amy's box, feeling it bearing down on him. But it was difficult keeping it organized. The Pandorica had happened and not-happened, and he'd been a different man and just the same. It was like looking at his own self through smoky glass: distant and unclear and untouchable. It worried Rory. He'd told the Doctor about it and the man had simply looked piqued and told him not to think about it. Useless advice. But the Doctor had a way of making things real just by saying them—which also worried Rory, but not as much.

"Sorry," he heard himself say. "No; I'm alright, it's just sort of... off." He rocked his hand back and forth, indicating doubt.

"Well, she's brilliant. She'll know just what to do." Faith restored, she leapt to her feet. The Doctor's head rolled from her lap and hit the scaffolding with a thump. "Oh, sorry Doctor," said Amy. "But we're getting help. River'll be here in a flash. Wild horses wouldn't stop her." She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the Doctor's forehead. "Come on, Rory. Oh, this is perfect."

She ran out the doors.

Rory leaned on the control tower with his arms crossed.

A moment later Amy came back in. She looked like she'd been thrown into a swimming pool while wearing her nightie.

"On second thought," she said weakly, "maybe we ought to get an umbrella?"

Yes. An umbrella, and a change of clothes and clean socks and a bigger umbrella. And a pair of torches, and macs and galoshes and some snacks from the kitchen. Then an argument about whether they should put the Doctor in bed or leave him as he was (they left him, with pillows). Then Rory said they should use the loo before going out because you never knew. All of this done in the damp and the dark, shouting at each other over the pounding rain and the thunder.

They met again at the doors, almost half an hour later.

"Okay," said Amy. "Let's go."

Neither one of them moved.

"We're delaying," said Amy.

"No kidding."

Amy looked over her shoulder. "You think he'll be all right?"

"I'm starting to think he's better off than we are," said Rory.

"Wait," said Amy.

She hopped back onto the scaffolding and knelt next to the Doctor. She reached under his jacket.

"What are you doing?" Rory was scandalized.

Amy said, "We need the sonic screwdriver,"

"What would we do with that? Bake it into a cake?"

"If we must." Amy pulled a small wallet from the Doctor's jacket and flipped it open. She showed it to Rory. "Here, what does that say?"

It was the psychic paper, and it was blank. "Nothing," said Rory. "It's not working."

Amy made a face and tossed the wallet at him. A few moments later she came out with the sonic screwdriver—a pen-sized metal cylinder with bits on, which reminded Rory of anything but a screwdriver. She also took the Doctor's TARDIS key, which she gave to Rory, because she had her own.

"If we get separated," she said, "meet back here."

"All right," said Rory.

"Now let's go." Amy snapped open the umbrella.