Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
Word Count: 580
She thinks maybe it's been hours since she was taken to, well, wherever this place is. This place where she is tied to something and alone and trapped in the darkness. Because that's all Amy sees: darkness. There's nothing else, no matter where she looks. Even the recorder in her palm is gone so there's no flashing red to give her light.
Those creatures—the ones that erase themselves from her mind—don't come back for her. But she knows it's them, because, really, who else could it possibly be? She can't remember seeing whoever took her or what happened so it has to be them. And she knows that they haven't come back because she isn't randomly wondering what happened or suddenly feeling nauseous. The monsters simply leave her alone in the darkness.
Except she isn't really alone, she thinks. Not really. Because she likes to believe that they can hear her. If her recorder isn't in her hand then it has to be in the room, yeah? And they would have found it when they came looking for her. So she tries to talk to them. They don't respond, but she doesn't expect there's really a way. It doesn't matter though; they'll come for her. She knows they will.
They–both of them. The stupid pair of them. Rory and the Doctor. And it's kind of funny, because she doesn't know where she is or what these monsters look like or even what's going to happen to her, but she still thinks of them. Really, she could die here, but all she thinks about is them. The pair of them. Rory and the Doctor. How could she not? They're all she really has after all.
Rory and the Doctor.
It means something that she thinks of Rory first. He is her husband after all. The stupid idiot who waited two thousand years for her; who stuck with her when no one else would. And she loves him. Really, she does. But it has to mean something that her last possible thought is about the Doctor. He's the imaginary friend who came back, after all. The stupid idiot who kept her waiting her entire life; who took her where no one else could have. He stole her heart when she was seven. No one could ever take his place in her heart.
Rory and the Doctor. Rory and the Doctor.
"I love you," she tells him. "I know you think it's him–I know, I know you think it ought to be him–but it's not. It's you. And when I see you again, I'm gonna tell you properly just to see your stupid face." She laughs and imagines the stupid grin on his stupid face when he hears this. "My life," she needs him to know, "was so boring before you just…dropped out of the sky." And she smiles when she remembers the day she met him and he had that stupid grin on his stupid face. "Just get your stupid face where I can see it, okay?" She can feel the tears swelling behind her eyes. Oh God, just how many bloody tears does she have? "Okay?"
Because he'll come, she knows. They both will. They always do.
Rory and the Doctor. Her husband and her imaginary friend. Her two idiots. Her stupid, stupid boys. Her first thought. Her last one. They're all she has. They're all that matters.
Rory and the Doctor.
Note: Honestly, Amy's speech sounded like it was directed towards the Doctor, but I don't think she was lying when she told Rory she meant him. So this was my solution. Nothing spectacular, but it puts my mind to a bit of an ease. Beta-ed by Muffintine, as usual.