AN: So, interestingly, I don't actually really like Rory. 11 and Amy all the way, I say. Well, normally anyway. Huh. Guess this shows how much of a slave I am to angst then. Hope it's ok :) Oh, and all characters, snippets of dialogue that I tried to get semi-right after "The Lodger" viewed in Aus tonight - not mine.

The day Rory Williams died, everything in his universe mourned. Then, everything forgot.

The TARDIS murmured sadly as she watched Amy Pond traverse her corridors, looking bubbly and excited and happy. She had liked Rory - his uncertain, hesitant demeanor and small, insular goals provided a welcome comparison to the utter confidence, quickness and recklessness that her other inhabitants exuded constantly. Undoubtedly, she adored Amy and the Doctor, but she admired a human who was prepared, even proud, to identify his own personal happiness in such bland normalcy.

She had seen too many lost to excitement, too many lost to adventure, too many lost to the extraordinary. After a while, it seemed pointless.

The TARDIS understood the delicacy of the situation, but still, she ached with bitterness whenever Amy smiled. When Amy discovered the wonders of the TARDIS's Imperial Ballroom, she gazed in wonder at the soaring golden arches, the cavernous ceiling and its ornate artistic embellishments – the twisting serpents and beaming angels, the swirling sun and the eerie moon, realized in colours she was never aware of, nor could ever conceive. She let her fingertips ghost over the opaque glass walls, streams and curtains of colour swaying and flowing just out of reach. She waltzed and pranced around, taking advantage of her solitude to let the fairy tale materialize, nodding at imaginary lords and ladies and clutching tightly to her Prince Charming.

The TARDIS knew that now, that Prince Charming had ceased to exist.

Oh how she wished she could create a different scenario. Erase all the festivities and long tables, towering tureens and mellow lute playing of Amy's mind and show her how Prince Charming had crumpled to the ground, writhing in pain, knowing his fate, yet remaining lucid enough to appreciate her beauty, to appreciate her.

It would hurt, yes, but it would be better than this.

For as the TARDIS looked on in pain, Amy had not a care.

The Doctor despised Rory for dying.

He despised The Universe for erasing him, he despised Amy for forgetting him and he despised himself for not saving him. Again.

He'd had plenty of experience with 'significant' others before – Louis XV, Mark Antony, Mickey Smith – but Rory was quite… unusual. And, of course, he had a significantly larger nose than the rest of them. He had never seemed quite enough for Pond, stumbling and stuttering and drooling along behind her, always cowering in the shadow of her fantastic red-haired, quick-witted, blistering madness. But then he'd do something stupid or completely unnecessary like confront the Doctor about Amy's attempted seduction of him or cut off his grotty ponytail or fight a sword-wielding Venetian fish-alien with a broomstick handle, and all of a sudden, he'd be completely adequate.

Initially disconcerting, then redeemed with flashes of blinding brilliance. Rory and bow-ties were cool like that.

Donna and her business weighed on his mind every second of every day and he was the Last of the Time Lords, so he didn't need to be reminded of what a delicate situation this was. But every time that Amy, liberated by ignorance, pressed herself against him whilst pretending to watch him navigate through the TARDIS controls, purposefully strutted over the exact area that he was fixing under the clear, glass floor of the control room in her short, tight skirts, smirked impishly at him, called his name in that low, stupid sexy Scottish way that she does, or just exhibited any of the characteristics that made her mad, impossible, amazing Amy Pond, he'd go close to losing it. She tore shreds off his hearts and dangled them in front of his eyes, daubed them over his conscience and facilitated discussions with his darkness, transfiguring his guilt into rabid, barking dogs that snarled and leapt at the rusting chain link fence of his composure.

It was times like these that he prayed that they wouldn't find the holes.

Oh how he wished he could shatter her magical, heroic and false perceptions of him. Cast off his mystique and grandeur and murder "The Raggedy Doctor" with the truth of how it was him who Rory had thrown himself in front of, that was for him that Rory had sacrificed a growing baby and a disgusting hair-cut and a position in geriatrics and a ridiculous van and a white picket fence in Upper Ledworth for. That he had sacrificed a life of bliss with her for. He wished he could make her remember how she had instantly turned to him and demanded, without any worry, emotion or evident panic, to "save him", and how he had shook his head said, "I can't", and dragged her, screaming, away.

It would hurt, yes, but it would be better than this.

For as the Doctor looked on in pain, Amy had not a care.

The Universe had enjoyed watching Rory Williams exist. It liked how he was calming and simple and content with just being, as opposed those irksome busy-bodies who insisted on continuing to futilely attempt to discover all of The Universe's most majestic secrets. Rory had been decent and fascinating due to all the considerably un-fascinating aspects of his un-fascinating life. Whilst others of his kind were pushing boundaries in science and technology, pushing boundaries of social relationships, and pushing the boundaries of moral decency (The Universe puts particular implication on Tiger Woods in this category), Rory resided happily within them, watching football, drinking tea and making harmless, human mistakes. The Universe wishes more were like what he had been – a steady yellow light in a universe of multi-coloured neon strobes, revolving lights, glittering disco balls, blinding spot lights and narrow lasers.

Calmness in calamity.

The Universe knew that something was wrong within it, aware of the excess energy that had been steadily multiplying and escaping and of the dire consequences of it. This was new, unconquered and a secret of which The Universe itself was not even aware, but nevertheless, it understood the delicacy of the situation. Yet still, it wilted whenever it bore witness to a fact, or event, or life that had been changed due to Rory's erased existence. The "Penicillin and Other Counter Medicines" filing cabinet at the Ledworth Hospital is a shambles due to the absence of Rory's methodical and pragmatic, yet outstandingly simple, derived alphabetical-order theorem.

The record for the Boys' Under 12 single-rope skipping competition at Ledworth Primary School is now held by Mike Jacobs, Rory's far superior 507 continuous skips, being dreadfully undermined by Mike's 430.

Hayley Skinner's red balloon, acquired by her at Violet Parris' 6th birthday party on the 15th October 2005, swirled up into the sky for 3 minutes and 23 seconds before exploding under the pressure of the atmosphere and she cried all the way home – Rory not being around to inspire a village legend by launching off a park bench to save it for her.

Next door, the Reid family's pot plants have withered and died because benevolent, approachable and trustworthy Rory did not exist to water them and their replacement neighbor, Mr. Keller purposefully forgot.

Amy Pond does not know what reliability is, because Rory was not there to demonstrate.

Oh how The Universe wishes it could fix this breach, right this significant wrong and reinstate Rory Williams back into history. How it wishes it could affect the re-organisation of the Ledworth Hospital, the elevation of Rory back to his rightful place as Under 12 Boys skipping champion, save Hayley Skinner's balloon, protect the Reid family's pot plants from the spite of Mr. Keller and, most importantly, teach Amy Pond how to trust. It understands the uproar that would cause, bringing him back, the confusion, the mistrust, the possible catastrophes.

It would hurt, yes, but it would be better than this.

For as The Universe looked on in pain, Amy had not a care.

Love is pretty darn proud of itself, actually, looking back at all the unions that it has flourished in over the ages. Yeah, ok, Romeo and Juliet was a bit tragic and Brad and Angelina are presently burning to the ground in fits of fury and drunken scandals, but hey, Jack and Rose on the Titanic? Success. Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy? That one broke through social pretence and rigid class structure. Nelson Mandela and South Africa? Abolished the Apartheid regime and severely undermined racism in a violent and volatile country. Heck, Love was even a bit chuffed with Rose Tyler and regenerations 9, 10 and meta-crisis 10. Even after so long, true love, in its purest form, still made it tingle with happiness and joy.

To be fair, Love never really expected bumbling, nervous Rory Williams and fiery, fierce Amy Pond to ever be lukewarm acquaintances let alone husband and wife. However, Rory had fallen in love with Amy back when she was still Amelia, back when she had visited his family's house upon her arrival in Ledworth, mysterious and tragic, trailing dismally behind her Aunt. His mum and her Aunt had rushed off to the kitchen to discuss the horrible circumstances surrounding Amy's presence and Rory was left staring at her while Amy glanced disinterestedly around the room. She noticed his gaze. "What?" she said, Scottish accent grating wonderfully against the proper English-ness of Rory's hallway. "Do you have a crush on me or something?" He blushed, and from that moment on, he did.

Love adored cute meetings like that, and it also adored the consequent cute meetings – Rory saving her from solitude on her first day of school, Rory believing her tale of "The Raggedy Doctor", Rory buying her 10 million double chocolate mint milkshakes whilst listening to her vent about whichever psychiatrist it was she was presently suffering through, Rory stopping her from setting fire to the village square after years of frustration and disbelief and Rory helping her save the world from the Atraxi once the Raggedy Doctor ceased to be a fairy tale.

And Rory being there when he left again. Always.

Now Love, though sometimes fanciful, was wise, and did not need to be told of the delicacy of the situation. Still, it boiled with anger and passion at being erased from existence. Love did not take kindly to being forgotten, especially not by Amy, and every day, every minute, every second she existed without the knowledge of Rory's love burned and seared and cut and threatened to beat it.

In a minute of fleeting madness however, it relented, and allowed the torrent of despair and tragedy and injustice to overwhelm it. Oh how Love wished it could replay in high definition emotion all the scenes of love and happiness and trust that Amy had clung to whilst trying to salvage Rory's memory. How it wished she could again become acquainted with the feelings that led her to recklessly destroy her own life in the Dream Lord's trickeries when faced with the Hell of existing without him.

Then Love realized it could.

It overcame the barriers set in place by the well-meaning Time Lord, snuck around beneath his ship's radar and even fooled The Universe itself.

It would hurt, yes, but it would be better than this.

After 3 days of sporadic TARDIS shaking, frantic phone calls to the Doctor and a newfound appreciation for the zig zag thingo, Amy Pond is almost ridiculously glad that everything is back to how it should be – Amy and the Doctor, the Girl Who Waited and the Madman With the Blue Box.

This is all that is necessary.

Instantly, the Doctor jumps behind the controls with considerably more skill and poise than she, and blabs on about going back in time to plant the note whilst she teases him about his apparent match-making capabilities. "Find me a man," she smirks, "You be it," she thinks.

More shreds are ripped away.

"You need to write the note," he covers quickly, "make sure it's in red pen."

And then he runs, guilt snarling and snapping at his heels.

Baffled, she complies and Love strikes.

She searches for a red pen in the pocket of his jacket, fingers brushing what feels like a yo yo, a fish finger, a referee whistle, a sea urchin and a sun visor in the process. Her fingers close around a velvet box and intrigued, she pulls it out. She's seen in before.

The TARDIS groans.

The Universe wails.

The Doctor sighs.

Love is triumphant.

Her eyes narrow and her throat constricts and she begins to shake. Tears threaten to spill over and somewhere deep in her chest, her heart is tearing itself apart, thrusting itself madly against her ribcage, sliding dejectedly down, then starting again. Quicker and quicker and quicker. Her mind is reeling and she knows she is searching for something and she knows she is missing something and she knows she needs something but she doesn't know what that something is. Pictures flick through her mind like pamphlets caught in a violent wind and she feels herself moving closer and closer to the answer.

She arrives… to blank.

There is no white, no black, no shades, no colours, no pictures. No music, no smells, no feelings, no emotions. Just a nothing.

A cord trips in her mind and suddenly she's back. She's forgotten the velvet box, she's forgotten what it inflicted upon her, she's forgotten what she felt. She is normal. Breathing. Fine.

"Oi! Doctor! Can't find that pen!" she yells over her shoulder, "And hey! What's this box eh? Already gone ring shopping for River?" Giggling girlishly, she hops down the stairs and skips down the corridor, gloating, "River and Doctor sitting in a tree! K…I…S...S…I…."

This time, all four cry.

For as the TARDIS, the Doctor, The Universe and Love look on in pain, Amy Pond has not a care.