There are parts of deep space that remain untouched by creatures of any galaxy, that remain quiet and welcoming to those seeking peace and quiet. There are no piercing battle cries filling the air or the screeching, motorized sounds of starships leading to civilization that would be heard anywhere else. There is simply silence and a comfortable emptiness. It is in this blank canvas of stars that a wooden blue box drifts slowly and quietly, barely emitting a soft humming noise from its engines. The small but prominent light fixture on its roof flickers on every once in a while, a blast of white light emanating from it. As tranquil as it appears, there's more than what meets the eye.
The interior of the box isn't nearly as still as it appears from the outside (just as it is with size). There are great whizzes and bangs, poofs and dings. There's the clicking of buttons and the tinkling noise of typewriter keys as the massive machine is programmed, and that whirring of the engines that could be heard outside can now be heard in here too. The Doctor span madly around the console, fiddling with everything and making large amounts of noise while doing so, momentarily forgetful that his companion had gone to her room to sleep.
Sleep. Ah, of course. That's what he had meant to do. Hitting one last button and flipping one last switch, the Doctor left the console and with his hands in his pockets, hopped up a staircase to his right and continued down a hallway towards his room. He'd only gone a few paces from the staircase when he heard a muffled noise - it sounded like crying. Was that Amy?
He went towards the sleek white door that he knew concealed her bedroom and rapped his knuckles against the metal. They slid open slowly to allow him in and showed the dark room. Amy hadn't come into view yet. What was wrong?
The Doctor peered through the doorway hesitantly and found her. Her room was pitch-black except for a small lamp switched on that sat on her bedside table. Amy's bedsheets had been kicked to the footboard and she sat hugging her knees tightly to her chest, her back heaving with sobs. Her hair fell in a mess of waves over her face and stuck there, wet with tears. The Doctor rushed over to her bedside, sat down beside her and put his arm around her trembling shoulders.
"What is it? Amy, why are you crying? Are you hurt?" he asked in a worried tone, trying to peer at her face through the flaming red mane.
"N-no, I… I don't know. I d-don't know," she murmured shakily as she looked at him, a confused expression on her face. She raised her hand to wipe at her cheeks and brought her hand down, studying the tears on her fingers. "But I am. Why am I doing that?"
The Doctor was aware of her eyes on him and bowed his head, his floppy brown fringe casting a shadow over his eyes. "Because you're sad." He said simply.
"But I'm not, am I? I just... how can I be? Nothing's wrong. I put my clothes away and put my nightie on just fine, and then I sat here and was about to turn my light off, and -" Amy said, her voice cut off when another sob escaped her throat. Her lips trembled as she looked off into the distance, not staring at anything in particular.
"It's in my head, there's something there. I can't get to it." She said matter-of-factly.
"What's in your head?"
"I… I don't know. I can't remember," Amy choked out.
Realization hit the Doctor hard and he felt his stomach plummet. Rory. He must still be there in her head, but buried deep. She couldn't reach him, but she knew he was there all the same. She knew something was wrong. Didn't miss a beat, Amy.
"Do you have any idea what it is? Do you remember a face, words, anything? Think, Amy. I need you to think. Please," The Doctor pleaded with her.
She paused and thought hard, still staring straight forwards, her brow furrowed. "No, nothing. I really can't."
The Doctor closed his eyes. "You have to remember."
"No, no, Amy. You have to remember. Go deep into your memories. You have to find out why. I can't do it for you."
"But Doctor, I-I don't understand, why am I crying? Why am I crying?" She repeated, her teary eyes looking desperately over at him. She tried to keep her face straight to convince him that she really was fine, but deep in her heart, she knew something was amiss. The tears that were now leaking from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks didn't help her, either.
He tightened his hold on her and hugged her, kissing the top of her head and sighing. "Oh, Amelia."
Before Amy could ask him again for an answer, he'd gotten up and was already in the doorway, looking at her. She was startled to see that his eyes were not expressionless as they had just been, but instead were sad and - was that guilt? What would there be guilt in his eyes for? What wasn't he telling her?
"Goodnight, Amy," The Doctor said, his voice little more than a whisper. He slid her bedroom door closed and the room was silent once more, but Amy could hear him lean against her door and sigh again. After several heartbeats, she heard him straighten himself up and heard his boots clomp down the hall, and everything was quiet.
Her bed felt colder and emptier now that he had left her, and she placed her hand where he had sat, wondering why she felt so alone. She had the Doctor, as it had always been, but that didn't feel like that was it. It felt like there had been something else, something just as big and important that she couldn't remember. Was that what had made her cry?
Amy went as still as a statue as she concentrated with all her might on that missing piece. It felt almost as though there was a door at the back of her mind with things propped up against it, keeping her out.
"Please, I don't understand, I don't remember," she whispered to herself. Oh great, she thought. Now I'm talking to myself. I've gone mad. Thank god aunt Sharon isn't here, I'd be on to my fifth psychiatrist…
She was close and she could feel it - she could feel someone. But who? She was so close to opening the door in her mind and she could feel something on the verge of breaking through. There was a name, a face, a familiar scent, and it was all on the tip of her tongue. So close…
The TARDIS jolted sharply and Amy, along with her bedside table, toppled to the ground with a large crash. With a groan, Amy hauled herself off the floor and went to fix her furniture. With her bedside table right-side up and her lamp and books back on it, she pulled the sheets from the end of her bed and curled up in them, her auburn hair fanning out on the pillow. She rolled to her side to turn off her lamp, and she felt her pillow with the side of her face. It was wet, like someone had been crying while lying on it.
Had that been her?