It took only a matter of seconds for Rory to be wiped from reality. For the Doctor to be the only being in history with memory of the man. The brave, handsome, stupid, gorgeous man.
When he’d babbled on to Amy, begging her to focus and remember, the word had tumbled out. Gorgeous. He hadn’t realized how much he meant it until after she forgot, when he had a moment to reflect on what he’d said to her.
Guilt was what propelled him to spoil Amy then. Trojan Gardens, Van Gogh…everything. Because he felt guilty.
Guilty for having let her forget. Guilty for having not brought Rory’s body back to the TARDIS. Guilty for having let him die. So much other guilt had come first, but this was breaking him.
He had lost and loved and killed and saved so many people. But these two, Amy and Rory, had become something more to him. Something different and extra. And having just one would never be the same as having both. Never be as good, as right, as pure.
He cared for, loved, all of his companions. He could never forget any of them. But Rory would always carry a certain weight, because he, the Doctor, was the only one that could let Rory live on. Rather than Amy, the love of Rory’s life, it was the Doctor to carry him on in his hearts. And they were both heavy with the task.