Rory almost said it again, that's not true. He did know something, could feel the pain and uncertainty wracking her every time he came home from a gig, his senses blasted wide open by the audience. He bit back the words, though. Knowing that he was so sensitive to her agony could only make Pippa withdraw further, whether out of anger at the further invasion or a desire to protect him. Or both.

And now this. You should have let me die. His gut clenched at the thought that Pippa could want her life to end, at the image of her dying in the cold and wet and stench, alone. Or worse, after some further cruelty inflicted by the monster who'd taken her.

"I couldn't." Rory too spoke in a whisper, barely audible over the furnace. He slowly shook his head, rejecting the thought of losing her. As slowly he sank to his knees before her, in penitence or supplication, he didn't know. Unaware of the tears filming his own eyes, he looked up into her beautiful, beloved face. "I couldn't leave you ..."