Lost in Thought : Snippets of an Alternate POV

Goodbye Forever

There was some muffled muttering before he heard Rory's voice coming from the layer below the console, the man visible through the glass standing rather close to the supportive pillar for some odd reason - that was nowhere near where he'd kept the remote.

"Doctor, I'm down here, below the console! You... might want to see this."

He frowned. Rory sounded almost... worried? Had he found his experiment with the lava blocks? They were supposed to be safely contained, but they'd escaped before...

"See what? Rory, who are you talking to? Are you talking to yourself again?" he asked curiously as he rounded the stairs. Because that was his thing, Rory needed to get his own. Like knitting! No, wait, being a nurse was his thing, scratch that. That, and handling Amy.

Amy, right.

"And you might want to hurry, Amy's getting very..." he cut himself off as he reached the bottom, rounding the pillar to find Rory wearing his 'concerned nurse face' and crouching in front of -

He stopped abruptly, hearts skipping a beat in his chest. "Impatient," he finished weakly, staring wide-eyed at the other person in the room, the one he hadn't been expecting to see at all that day.

"Lyssa?" he said incredulously, noticing with concern the dried tear marks trailing down from eyes glowing a bright gold, obscuring the beautiful brown he loved so much, and the way she clutched her left hand - obviously injured - to her chest. Even worse was the fear clearly written all over her face as her gaze flickered between him and Rory.

Not restricting his speed like he usually did, he started to dash forward towards her, only for Lyssa - his fairy-girl, his - well, everything - to flinch at the movement, curling back into the pillar and drawing further into herself. He stopped instantly at the flinch, worry doubling - where had she been, that even in the TARDIS she felt in danger? Or, possibly worse, what was she seeing that an abrupt movement alarmed her so?

Rory held up a hand. "Doctor, I don't think she knows who we are," he said hesitantly.

He frowned at the man, still keeping a close eye on the unnervingly-silent Lyssa. "Yes, she does," he said pointedly. That was kind of her thing. "She always knows who we are." Her expression changed and he looked over, hearts aching at the lost look on her face. "Don't you?" he said, concern spilling over into his voice. He sucked in a breath when she turned to him with only an absent recognition in her eyes, but no actual realization of who he was.

"What am I doing here?" she asked shakily, looking between the two men with growing confusion and fear. "How did I get here? What is this place?"

He fought back the urge to wrap her up in his arms protectively at the fear clear in her voice as he scanned her for any sign of injury aside from her hand that could explain this, only to find nothing. That didn't rule out other methods, though, and he rapidly cycled through the possible options.

"Lyssa... Please tell me you know who I am," he asked, trying to keep his own fear out of his voice. "We need to figure out how wounded you are."

She frowned. "Why do people keep asking that? First him, and now you. I hurt my hand, not my head! What's going on? And how do you know my name?"

A sinking suspicion formed and he silently begged that it wasn't so as he tried to figure out how far along she was. He felt a pang in his hearts as he noticed her bare fingers and realized that she was likely early, very early.

And then his eyes fell on her collarbone, where no necklace rested, no charms or even the chain, and he stumbled back in shock, blood draining from his face as his hearts clenched within him in terrible realization.