Doctor Who: Mind and Body

Chapter 6: At Death's Door

CHAPTER 6: At Death's Door

Paper. Books. Furniture. All of it was everywhere.

Standing in Joseph's destroyed office, Rory and Amy looked around for an indication - something, anything - that might suggest where to begin their search. But it was useless; the entire room was equally upended, broken. Flung about by a wild hand. Carnage was strewn from corner to corner, where one clump of debris looked about as helpful as the next.

"Well," said Rory, "Housekeeping's not going to like this."

Amy gave a light chuckle, and Rory smiled - partly from Amy's positive reaction, and partly from the sheer helplessness of the situation. What else could he do? An orderly office might point towards a frequently used item, or a lack of dust around an area where it was allowed to settle; clues that would lead to something of significance. But this… this was like looking for an extremely messy needle in an extremely messy haystack.

They stepped further into the room, casting out an occasional foot to toe over an ornament here, a stack of binder folders there. As they cleared the way forth, Amy spied what appeared to be a vertical wooden structure - almost some kind of barrier, about waist high and of decent thickness - towards the back of the room, sticking out from a floor of mess. She approached, bending down to excavate it from the surrounding debris, only to find that it was joined to a solid rectangular block at the base. A moment of confusion passed before Amy realised what she was looking at.

"Rory! Help me turn this over!"

He went to where she was standing. "Grab it there," she said, pointing to a position opposite her. "One, two, three!"

Together, they lifted the thing out of the rubble and, right way up, it revealed its true form: Joseph's upended, solid oak desk. Pushing it back upon its wide, sturdy base, the surface - thick and heavy - revealed a smattering of fist-sized indentations, cratered by splinters of wood. If the state of their surroundings didn't demonstrate it, here was clear evidence of the strength and the fury that this office once contained.

"Note to self," Rory said, running a finger into one of the heavy dents. "Stay out of this guy's way."

He looked at Amy, who greeted his gaze with fond eyes. "Thank you," she said simply, with a smile.

"For what?"

"For being you. In the middle of all this mess and danger, you're still you. And that means more to me than you'll ever know."

A bashful expression crossed Rory's face. "If there's one thing I can be, it's me."

"I'm glad," she said, moving towards him. "Because goodness knows there's more than enough of me right now."

Amy looked at Rory to gauge his reaction; his face fell ever so slightly, eyes suddenly elsewhere, as though they were avoiding direct contact. Seriousness overtook the lighthearted banter, and Amy's heart thumped cold. She repositioned herself so Rory couldn't help but look at her, and reached down to take a hand of his into her own.

"Rory," she said. "You do know which is the real me, don't you?"

It was the longest of pauses.

Seeking to escape her gaze, Rory glanced to his side, down to the desk… and something at its edge caught his attention. One of the fierce poundings on its surface had caused a drawer, once flush against the thickness of the wood, to protrude outwards at a jarring angle. "Look at this," he said.

He gave the drawer a firm pull, then another, and slowly worked it against the broken housing that compressed upon it from within. Eventually he managed to force it open, and he peered inside before fishing out its contents: a remote control, littered with buttons. Immediately, Amy recognised the device. "The first meeting," she said, snapping her fingers as she recalled that moment. "The TV!"