I REALLY REALLY HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE. You see, I'm rubbish at coming up with conclusions, and this one might be a little rushed, and confusing, but it should make sense in the end.

*Warning for violence*

Seven Devils

She was almost getting used to seeing his ugly, hideous face every day. Almost. She generally tried to avoid his eyes, because it was his eyes that gave away exactly what he was thinking, and she generally didn't want to see that. She didn't want to see the horrors within their carefully controlled boundaries.

It had been a year. A year of torture. A year of sitting pretty in tight dresses, with the council of the mouse people (who had apparently funded the Master's attack on the Doctor) that just barely masked the bruises that never quite left her or Amy's bodies, of pretending to smile, when afterwards she knew that he would beat them bloody. She hoped with all her being that he wouldn't think of doing anything other than hitting them, that his more manly desires wouldn't show. She already felt bled dry of all hope.

She could feel herself slowly slipping away, deep into the recesses of her mind, as each day passed without the Doctor. She could see similar beginnings in Amy's eyes, and they both knew that he was truly gone, and so was Rory. They weren't going to save them now.

He had let slip at some point that even if the Doctor saw him, he wouldn't know who he was. He'd changed faces, he explained, and he always said that this form was rather fond of hitting before he smacked her again.

She used to try and fight back. So did Amy. But it got to the point where every single ounce of adrenaline and the things that kept her going was sucked out of her.

Jack was now staying with them permanently, and he was the closest thing to the Doctor she had. He kept them from dying. He kept them living. She was at dinner, trying to eat.

She played with her food, raising the smallest bites to her mouth. She still hadn't accepted that she was a Time Lord or Lady or whatever you called it, even though the pounding of her hearts tells her otherwise. She doesn't want to believe it because the Doctor isn't here, he's not the one telling her the information.

"Oh, Clara, you don't seem to be enjoying your food." The Master said, and she raised her dull eyes. "Eat up. We don't want you going hungry." She took larger bites, and soon she was done with the whole plate. "For that, you get a reward." He stood up, and walked over in front of her.

She immediately flinched back, but he simply laughed. He gestured towards the guards, and they seized ahold of each of her arms, dragging her from the room. Amy didn't even glance up, but Clara could see the tears falling down her friend's face and knew that she had finally given up trying to save them. Just like Clara had weeks ago. He would be so happy that he'd broken both of them.

"Walk with me." He said, and looking into his yellowish brown eyes she nodded, the guards released her and she took careful, measured steps next to him, her eyes trained on the floor. "Clara, do you know what I want?" She remained silent, her lips pressed together in a thin line. His fingers came up and gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I said, do you know what I want?"

"No." she said in the same dull tone she had perfected over the last year. "I do not, Master."

"My, Master. My Master." He corrected her idly,his eyes focused on the white wall behind her. "All I want Clara, is for us to be friends." She didn't respond, but she could only imagine that her cheeks flushed with the audacity of that comment. Friends? "Would you like that Clara?"

"Yes, My Master." She lied, and his fist came out of nowhere and cracked her across the face. She didn't release a sound of pain, no, she was to good for that.

"Don't lie." He spat, and she stumbled back, silent tears running down her face. "Take her back to her cell!" he shouted, and the guards came back, and dragged her away. They threw her onto the floor, and she collapsed, letting the sobs roll over her body.

They were so alone. So alone.

Doctor? She silently begged, Where are you?

Sometimes he could take it. Sometimes the pain of losing her was bearable, and sometimes it hurt so much that every single breath he took sent a new wave of unbearable pain ripping through his chest.

He saw it in Rory's eyes every day. He felt like his own emotions were reflected in the other mans eyes, and he hated himself for it. Rory had never lost Amy like that before; they had always found each other in the end. And it was his fault that Amy was dead now. Both of them still clung to the hopes that when they figured out how to wake everyone up, both women would be alive and well.

But as the days passed, and each night they said goodnight knowing that they didn't make any progress that day, the hope began to sink deep into his chest. He had moved in with Rory the day he revealed to the Doctor that he remembered. They woke up. Rory went to his normal boring job, while the Doctor did a bunch of boring calculations, Rory would come home to the Doctor screaming and throwing his said calculations at the wall.

This time though, he decided to take the Sherlock approach to things. Without a gun of course, because he didn't approve of such things. Still, he was sprawled on the sofa, in his robes still, throwing his bow ties at a painted smiley face on the wall, which, he supposed, bow ties were somewhat like bullets, they were more cool.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rory sighed, as he walked into the living room. The Doctor in response threw a bow tie at his face.

"I'm busy doing…. IMPORTANT THINGS!" he shouted, and resumed his target practice.

"Doctor…" Rory trailed off, and he walked into the kitchen, apparently done dealing with this time lord today.

"It's impossible. Just like she was impossible! Just like everything IN THIS DAMN WORLD IS IMPOSSIBLE!" he yelled the last few words after Rory.

"Look, if you really want to figure it out," Rory walked back into the room, a glass of wine in his hand. "Read the letter." Rory had been saying the same thing every day for the past year. Read Clara's letter. Read her last words, because even though it may help you, it's still her last words and it's her goodbye.

"No." he says firmly. "I can figure this out on your own."

"No, you can't." Rory argued, and he stood in front of the Doctor now, his hands on his hips. He looked so Amyish that the Doctor was almost afraid of him. Almost. "Look at you. You're throwing bowties at a wall."

"I'm calculating the gravity force in this world!" he chucked the next one at Rory's head. "I can't expect your dull human brain to understand!"

"Understand this." Rory stepped in front of him, and the Doctor could see what he had clutched in his grip, an envelope with her handwriting on it. He immediately jumped off the couch and tried to take it from him, but Rory held it out of his reach. "If you don't read it, I will."

"Fine." The Doctor gave in, his shoulders slumping, "Just give it to me." Rory handed it to him, but based on Rory's watchful eyes, he knew the other man would grab it back at first suspicion of foul play. The Doctor knew it was over due though, and carefully, he pried open the letter.

Doctor, or Elijah, or whoever reads this.

I'm going to die.

His breath caught in his throat, and he cleared it, and he almost read it aloud, but his voice failed him, and he read it in silence, having every intention of Rory reading it when he was done.

Now to anyone but the Doctor reading this, I probably sound as crazy as a box of cats, but if it is you, if it is the Doctor, I need you to listen. You woke up. I don't know if you remember it, but you woke up, for just a moment, and saved me. You woke up when Elijah Smith died, and you tried to get me to see you, but I couldn't. Please. Please save me, wherever I am, because I don't want to be alone.

He felt like he was collasping with every written word. After a year, a long, hellish year, Rory was making him read this now? He felt like he was being ripped to pieces. Maybe that was why he was reading it now, because he had finally sank to the bottom of the barrel, and there was no return without guidance. Her words were almost like a comforting hand, pulling him out of the darkness.

Hell, I know this sounds crazy, but I love you. Remember that okay? Remember me.

Clara.

She'd written it in a hurry, that much was clear from her hastily scribbled words, and the simply the way that she sounded frantic. He was uncomprehending for a moment, his eyes staring unknowingly at the small piece of paper clutched in his fingers, the words, I love you cartwheeling around in his brain. He could feel Rory's eyes on his back and knew he should say something, but couldn't find the words.

Then it hit him.

"OH YES!" he yelled, jumping up and down and pumping his fist in the air. "CLARA OSWALD YOU SAVED ME AGAIN!" he yelled, and Rory's face spread into a smile.

"So what do we have to do?" Rory asked eagerly.

"It's so very simple," the Doctor murmers, "I can't believe I didn't see it before. We have to die." Rory went pale.

"What do you mean die?" he asked in alarm. The Doctor tossed the letter at him. Rory quickly scanned the words. He looked up at the Doctor in confusion, obviously not getting the very obvious fine print in front of him.

"We die, we wake up." He said, taking the letter from him and whapping him on the head. "Simple Rory! Simple!" Rory looked at him in alarm.

"So you're proposing we kill ourselves." He summed up. The Doctor nodded. Rory backed away from him, a look of fear on his face. "Okay, Doctor, are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling fine!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Now, now Mr. Pond, now is not the time to start doubting me."

"Now is exactly the time to start doubting you." Rory said, and the Doctor frowned.

"Fine, if you don't want to help-"

"Of course I don't want to help you!" Rory yelled, "Look, I know you want her back. I want Amy back too. But this isn't the time to be making stupid decisions."

"It's not stupid, it's calculated." The Doctor snapped. "Look, whoever has them now is not going to keep them alive for much longer."

"How do we know that they're even alive in the first place?!"

"We don't." the Doctor got close to Rory, his nose nearly touching the other mans. "But it's worth a shot. If you don't want to help me, so be it." He turns, grabbing his coat and walking out of the door. Only then does he realize that he's grabbed the coat Clara was wearing when she died. It wasn't hanging on the doorknob before, in fact he's positive he threw it away long ago. He takes it as a sign, a sign that he's doing the right thing.

"Doctor, I can't let you do this." Rory says.

"You don't have a choice." The Doctor says, and before Rory can stop him, he's crashing through the window of their apartment, to the concrete five floors below them.

She stares at her shaking fingers, instead of looking at Amy when the other girl is thrown into the room. She feels cold, and alone.

"Did you hear?" the guards whisper, and her head straightens up. The guards never talk, just stand their like statues, occasionally laughing when she or Amy shrieks in their sleep. "The Doctor has escaped from the sleep prison." Amy and Clara look at each other then, and Amy grins, the first time in a long time. Clara moves over and kneels beside Jack, slowly nudging him awake.

"He's coming." She whispers in his ear. "He's going to save us."