The Adventures of the Doctor and Rory the Roman: One
1963 AD
Rory stood rather awkwardly in the smoking area, holding no cigarette and not particularly wanting one. Plastic people - especially former nurses - don’t smoke. Still, he had to come out here every day for at least fifteen minutes and look like a prat because he was required to take his breaks by law and, somehow, he didn’t think telling everyone he was the Roman Centurion they looked at statues of every day would let him off, not without being sectioned anyway.
This really was the weirdest time - including the Jazz Age - that he’d ever lived through. Mostly because he actually felt naked without his centurion garb on, though in reality, since it had been plastic, he was really probably clothed for the first time in nearly two thousand years. Which was a quite embarrassing thought when he considered some of the things he’d done and people he’d met.
It had been a lot harder to watch the box this last century. People wouldn’t leave him alone if they saw him, treating him like some kind of celebrity or trying to get agreement to experiment on him to see how he worked. So he’d disappeared and left the box alone - the hardest thing he’d ever done - for longer periods of time. Instead he’d finished his medical degree by correspondence. Which was really hilarious if he thought about it for long. The difficult part was not putting down treatments that hadn’t been invented yet. Not just things like advanced surgeries but treatments he’d learned in the future of his own time and on other worlds. Worlds gone and never been.
And then came the Blitz. A time when he could have really used the Doctor, any of them. But the Doctor didn’t come and so Rory had pulled and heaved and strained and melted more than a little. He’d been truly frightened, truly shook. The flames, they were so hot and the bombs were dropping all around him. It was absolute chaos, but he didn’t waver in his goal. He’d lasted that long, he wouldn’t fail. He’d saved the Pandorica and left it for them to find. He’d watched from a distance as they had gathered around it and taken it to a more secure location. He’d been damaged, practically truly naked, with small bits of plastic armor clinging to him.
His face and hands were okay, apart from blistering on the inside of his hands. But he’d never look so truly a Centurion again and since it had been more of a hindrance than a help those days he didn’t - mostly - regret the loss. It had been his identity for so long. So long. He’d gotten some clothes out of a rubbish bin and then bought proper ones with money he’d squirreled away for just such a purpose. He was mostly functional, hand gun, hearing, vision, and strength all okay. The oddest thing was how much he missed his sword. He still had that huge gash in his shoulder and stab wounds from several different people and if he took off his new clothes he was a bit of a melted, chipped mess. He sincerely hoped Amy never had to look at it. But the vast majority of the damage could be hidden with long sleeves and high necklines and that’s basically what he did.
After the war he’d followed the Pandorica around the world a bit as countries decided what to do with it. It was unanimously declared the property of Britain - especially since that’s where it’s first known appearance was recorded - at some convention they’d held purely for that reason. But Britain had a lot to do after the war and not so much time to be concerned with the mysterious Pandorica. But finally it had been brought home and had its own exhibit made for it at the National Museum. Rory had gotten fake papers to secure a new identity - he’d felt just like a spy - for himself and secured a job as one of the security guards for that specific exhibit.
It was exactly what he needed; only he was required to do stupid things like take lunches and get days off and things like that. He managed to help make up for it a bit by pretending to be a student writing a paper on the Pandorica and its influence on the public, so people didn’t think it was odd when he stayed late after his shift or showed up on his days off. After that excuse was over he intended to become a professor whose sole purpose was to study the Pandorica. But he always wanted to stay a security guard as well. He wanted that authority over the box.
The times where he was absolutely forced to leave the museum he spent close to it in an all night coffee shop, pretending to drink a cup, and writing or reading or getting more degrees. It was amazing what one could do with one’s time when one didn’t have to sleep or eat or want to do anything but go to work. The waitresses there thought he was very strange - he had been asked out a couple of times - and his coworkers thought he was even more peculiar. He’d been thought worse.
It was odd for him to see London being re-built or, rather, built in the way that he remembered it. Slowly things were coming into focus and it was like coming back home after a long period of time - to which version of his home, he didn’t know. The absolutely weirdest thing was the rise of the police public call box. At first they were red and not so weird, but then…then the blue happened and every time Rory came upon one in the street he always had to knock on the door - probably looking very odd to passers-by - to see if it was the Tardis. It never was, but he still had to try.
Today he was simply standing in the sunshine - he still thought it was weird that the sun was still there - and waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn’t quite sure. But he’d been told to go outside and not to come back in for at least twenty minutes. So he was doing his mental revision thing. Something that had always helped keep him from going crazy. He was very busy doing that when somebody interrupted him with a well-timed cough.
Turning he saw an elderly man with a cane, black jacket and very interesting hat approaching him.
“May I help you, sir?” he asked.
“Certainly, young man, certainly. I am looking for the gift shop. I wish to purchase a present for my granddaughter and I cannot seem to find it.”
“It’s just inside and to the left,” Rory said, pointing through the glass doors.
The old man pulled out a pair of glasses and peered through them.
“What an absurd way to label things, I still cannot see it. Would you be so good as to show me?”
Rory had fifteen minutes left, why not?
“I’d be happy to do that, sir, follow me.”
So they’d gone inside and Rory had taken the old man into the gift shop where he’d insisted on getting Rory’s opinion on what to buy. It had taken awhile because the old man couldn’t find what he wanted and disapproved of everything.
“What nonsense, what drivel,” he kept repeating. “Where I come from we don’t bother with such things.”
“Is there something your granddaughter wanted in particular? Why did you come in here to get something rather than a normal shop?”
“Susan is a very special child and you wouldn’t understand why but she’s much more mature than any of your children here. She likes history and science, even if it’s primitive, and something like these things might amuse her. Or so I’d thought.”
“What time period is Susan interested in?” Rory asked, trying to be patient and rather feeling like he was dealing with Mrs. Poggit - who, when she wasn’t parading in people’s dreams and killing him, was actually a rather nice old lady, if a tad persnickety - again.
“Ancient, very ancient, and far beyond your time, young man.”
“Try me,” Rory muttered under his breath. “Well, this is our oldest section. We’ve some lovely things from the Stone Age right on down to replicas of the Pandorica.”
“What’s a Pandorica, hmm?”
“Uh, big box. Mysterious. Found under Stonehenge by the Romans,” Rory said, repeating the tourist spiel he’d helped come up with though probably without the eloquence and zeal the museum heads required in the actual tour guides.
“You have it here?”
“Yes, sir, upstairs.”
“Very polite, aren’t you?” he said, not really waiting for a reply. “I shall buy a small Pandorica and perhaps you would be so kind as to show me the real thing, hmm?”
Rory glanced surreptitiously at his watch - he didn’t need it, not really. Ten minutes. And that’s where he was headed back to anyway.
“Absolutely, sir.”
“I see you’re worried about the time,” his new friend said, pointing at Rory’s watch. “Don’t bother with me if you’ve some place to be. I am a born navigator,” and he chuckled to himself.
“That’s actually where I’m headed, sir,” Rory assured him. “I’ll just wait here, Mr…?”
“Not mister,” the man said, “Doctor.”
“Me too,” Rory said. “then Dr…?”
“Just Doctor. The Doctor will do fine.”
Rory wanted to burst out laughing but he didn’t say anything. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure.
“Sure, Doctor.”
He waited while the Doctor made his purchase and then took him upstairs, gently asking questions all the way.
“Thank you, young man,” the Doctor said as Rory helped him up the stairs, inwardly very amused at having to do so.
“My name is Rory,” he said, looking at the Doctor’s face for clues. “Rory Williams.”
The Doctor didn’t even blink.
“Yes, yes, very good,” the Doctor said, pulling his arm free. “I can manage, young Williamson.”
Rory smirked and didn’t bother correcting him. Either this was some doddering old man with an eccentric epithet or this was the first Doctor and he’d never met him. Rory’s life would lead him to believe the latter, but he thought the former would be hilarious as well.
“And you’re from where?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t know it. You’d have no idea how to conceive it,” the Doctor said, chuckling to himself.
“Oh, I’ve been to some far away places,” Rory said, taking a chance. “My favorite was a little bazaar on the third moon of Neptune.”
The old man stared at him and then looked away.
“Impertinence, hmmm. Trying to make fun of an old man, eh!”
“Not if you’re the Doctor from Gallifrey,” Rory said.
“What?” the old man said, looking around him furtively. “What do you mean?” He brandished his cane. “You’re not Gallifreyan.”
“I’m Auton,” Rory said.
And the Doctor tried to hit him over the head with his cane. Years of instinct and training helped Rory to avoid it easily.
“What infamy are you planning?” the Doctor asked. “I will not return.”
“You don’t…want to go back to Gallifrey?” Rory asked, confused, keeping away from the Doctor’s cane.
“Certainly not. After the way they treated me! After what happened to Susan! I only borrowed the Tardis anyway.”
“You stole the Tardis!” Rory cried out, utterly amazed.
“Borrowed, I said, young man, are you hard of hearing?”
“No, I heard you. It’s just, from everything I’ve seen I would’ve thought you and the Tardis were practically melded together at birth or however it happens for Timelords.”
“We are more complex than that. Woven, I'd say,” the Doctor said grumpily. “And you seem to know rather more than is good for you. What do you know about me, hmm?”
“I know at least eleven of you,” Rory said. “I’m going to travel with you in the future, Doctor. In the Tardis.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Doctor said. “I would never take anyone else in the Tardis with me. Least of all an impertinent…Auton, you say?”
“You’ll have to take my word for it, Doctor,” Rory said. “I promise, I don’t mean you any harm. I’m not…uh, I’m not from Gallifrey. Not here to get bounty on you or anything like that. I just happen to know…all of you.”
“Eleven, you say?” the Doctor said.
“Well, I’ve met eleven of you. I’ve been guarding the Pandorica for almost two thousand years and I’ve bumped into you many times. But I traveled with one of you that’s after your tenth body.”
“How careless of me,” the Doctor said, seeming deep in thought. “Well, my boy, I shall take your word for it. But I shall be watching you, yes, very closely. What’s in this Pandorica, hmm?”
“It’s rather complicated,” Rory said. “I’ve already explained everything to your second and ninth selves. I’m not sure time can handle another…disturbance. And I’m going to have to ask you to erase your memory of meeting me. It’s rather important to time. And…I know time’s important to you.”
“Prettily said, prettily said, Williamson. Well, all right then. I shall see about it. I’m not promising anything, mind you. Now, is this your Pandorica?”
“That’s my Pandorica,” Rory said, gesturing to the inner chamber where the Pandorica sat, guarded by velvet ropes, a statue of himself, and a plaque of the history lining the walls.
“Very intriguing,” the Doctor said, puttering closer and examining it closely. “Yes, very. I can understand your need to guard it.”
“It’s…personal,” Rory said. “I have maybe about thirty years left until it can be opened. Somehow. But that’s nothing really. Not compared to everything.”
The Doctor looked closely at him and even though this was the youngest version of the Doctor there could be, Rory could still feel the ancient might of the man, the wisdom and fire and he rather shuddered then feel that gaze on him. This Doctor was so young, had so much potential, had so much to live through. But he was still the same.
“I wish you good fortune,” the Doctor said finally. “Yes, and I’m grateful for your help. I will look forward to meeting you again, though I shall not be inviting you to travel with me. It’s not possible, you see. Very dangerous and you wouldn’t want to be an exile, no, you wouldn’t.”
“I’m already an exile, Doctor,” Rory said. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather travel with. Just…please, uh, don’t remember me saying that.”
The Doctor laughed and left the room.
“Very amusing,” Rory could hear him muttering. “What an impression. I shall tell Susan, yes.”
Rory stood there for a few minutes processing - granddaughter! - and wondering if his memories were going to change, as, indeed, had happened a few times. But other than an odd look Two gave him on their first meeting, nothing changed. So he guessed the Doctor must really have wiped his memory entirely.
This encounter, more than any of the others, had really helped shape Rory’s perspective of the Doctor. It was really mind-boggling. It would be like meeting a teacher or a parent when they were a baby. So very weird. And it really made Rory wonder how he would interact with the Doctor - provided the universe didn’t utterly die - once they got back together. He had so much more respect, insight and knowledge of the Doctor now. In fact, he rather thought Amy might be jealous. It would give him something to think about, anyway, over the next horribly long thirty years.