He Tries In Vain

It sleeps in the back of his head. They sleep. Peacefully, almost too much. Two thousand years locked away in a filing cabinet somewhere in a hallway.

The Doctor helped him organise it. The Doctor. Raggedy Man.

The memories of him, Rory keeps in a bookshelf. Rory loves books, visits them very often. Sometimes he plays the memories on a TV set in the living room in his little mind palace. Sometimes it's better to read, though. Not see.

But, the cabinet isn't big enough, it isn't strong enough and the locks break oh-so often and it all comes pouring out.

Two thousand years of loneliness.

(Oh, how it hurts.)

He wakes up.

It's three a.m. (it's always three a.m.) and he feels like he can't breathe and it's all coming back to him and he's made of plastic and deadly and he killed Amy, he-

Amy grabs his hand. He's shaking - can't stop - and she holds him tight and puts his head on her chest and she's breathing slowly. In, out. In, out. In-

But she's dead - Amy's dead and he's plastic and-

Her heart in beating in her chest. He can feel it.

Amy. Alive. Amy. Alive.

(It's always three a.m.)

(He always repeats the same words.)

"Are you okay?", she picks the words carefully.

Rory nods. "Yeah.", he says. "Never better."

Amy knows he's in denial. "Don't lie to me.", her accent's thick.

"I just-", he pauses. "I said I don't remember, but I do."

She nods. "You're safe."

"You-"

"I'm alive.", she cuts him off and takes his hand.

Comfort.

"I'm here. Alive.", she repeats and kisses him.

(If only it was that easy.)

He wakes up screaming.

"Rory, hey- Rory.", she calls for him. He can't hear her. The screams, so many screams, so-

"Amy-", he can't see her, he can't. Where is she? Amy- he has to; he has to find Amy. "Amy!", fire - all the fire - and Amy, where is Amy? The Pandorica - he has to find it, he has to save it. He-

"I'm here, Rory.", it's like she's whispering. "I'm here.", in truth, she's yelling. She's yelling and there're tears in her eyes because what if she doesn't get to him? She can't lose him, she can't l-

"Amy?", he sees her. He sees he and she's right there - in front of him - and she's alive and well and there.

"It's me, Rory.", she hugs him tight. "I'm here. You're safe."

He touches her lips, her cheeks, her hair. He holds her hands and hugs her and dries her tears.

"I love you."

"I love you, too.", she repeats it over and over again and those are the most beautiful words he has ever heard.

She leans her forehead on his. "Together, Rory, yeah?", she can feel him nod. "Together or not at all."

He falls asleep slowly.

He asks her if he should maybe go see a therapist.

"No.", she replies quickly. "They're useless."

He nods. Amy must know; she's been to four.

"I wouldn't bite them, though."

Amy laughs. "Yeah, you're a bit too old for that, aren't you?", she jokes.

"How would I even tell him I'm two thousand years old?", Rory jokes a bit dryly. "Without them wanting to put me in a psych ward."

Amy shakes her head. "You're not crazy."

(Sometimes, he doesn't really believe that.)

He has killed.

He was a Centurion - the Last Centurion - and he had to protect; first his men and then Amy Pond in the Pandorica.

So, yes. He has killed. Not with pride, or with joy. He killed because he had to.

The images haunt him night after night.

(He understands the Doctor better now.)

He sleeps longer, his nightmares growing shorter.

He thinks it's because they learned a sort of lesson; why don't they just hit him with all they've got and be done in five minutes, tops?

So, he gets it all in a row; one by one, the images flash in his head and he loses himself in the mess they bring along.

But Rory Williams is a Centurion. Rory Williams is the Last Centurion. So, Rory Williams will accept the images and fight because no matter how hard he tries, Rory Williams just can't seem to forget.

Rory fights, and Amy holds his hand.

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

She pauses. "I want to adopt.", he can hear she's unsure about telling him this.

He smiles. "Okay.", but then he fears. "But, I-"

She holds his hand.

Comfort.

"You and I.", she says. "Safe.", it almost sounds like a question and she's awaiting a confirmation.

For the first time in a while, he feels just like that, though. Safe.

He nods. "We'll go and see what we have to do tomorrow."

She's never been more proud of him.

(Months later, the nightmares just stop.)