FIC: Aimless (2/?)
Category: Fanfiction
Title: Aimless (2/?)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairing: Rory/Eleven
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, implied M/M sex, blatant abuse of science, AU
Spoilers: Possible mentions of all early Series 5 episodes
Word Count: 2,713
Chapter Summary: The Doctor explains, but it doesn't really help anything.
A/N: So, I apologize if this is chapter is a bit slow. I promise, it'll start to pick up after this. I needed to get a bit of explaining and exposition out of the way. Next chapter should be much more exciting. (Hopefully) A great big thanks to all who commented on the first chapter, and I hope this one meets your expectations!
Chapter 1
The room he wakes up in is gray. Gray everything. Gray walls, gray floor, gray ceiling. The only thing that isn't gray is the wooden door set into one wall. Rory groans as a pounding ache takes up residence in his head and makes itself known.
"How do you feel?" the Doctor asks him, kneeling next to him and gently touching the side of his face.
"Headache's worse," Rory grunts.
The Doctor sighs. "Yes, I'd worried that might happen. Well, no need to worry, I can take care of this in, oh, two hours.”
“Take care of what?” Rory asks as he struggles into a sitting position, slumped against one gray wall.
“Oh, nothing.” The Doctor has the sonic screwdriver out and is flashing it in Rory's face. "Just a bug of sorts."
"A bug?" Rory echoes. "Like, I'm sick?"
"Sort of." The Doctor hops up onto his feet and stows the sonic screwdriver away in his pocket. "Right then, I'll be back in about..." He glances at his watch. "Let's say an hour, shall we? Right, don't open the door. Not for anyone, not for anything. Not even for me. Understand?"
"No." Rory stares at the Doctor, absolutely confused. "Doctor, what's going on? How can I be sick and not even know it? And where are we? Are we still on the TARDIS?"
"Of course we are," the Doctor says dismissively with a wave of his hand. "Well, we aren't, but our bodies are. But technically, yes, we're still on the TARDIS."
"Our whats?" Rory yelps in shock. "Doctor, what the hell is going on?"
The Doctor winces. "Rory, really, we don't have time for this."
Rory crosses his arms over his chest and glares. "Make time," he growls. "Explain."
The Doctor sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair. "Yesterday, when we were speaking with the Trallessi-”
"The slug things?" Rory interjects.
The Doctor stares at him in amazement for a moment. "Rory Williams, you did not just refer to one of the oldest and proudest races in the history of the universe as 'slug things.'" Before Rory can speak, though, he waves it away and says, "Yes, the 'slug things'. Anyway, when I was speaking with the king, while you were creating that fabulous distraction in the other room-”
“They tried to kill me!"
"-the king showed me their rather impressive array of weapons which he used to warn me to never meddle in their affairs ever again. You see how much credit I get for stopping two civil wars and a nuclear disaster that would have wiped out their entire planet."
"Doctor, would you get to the point?"
"The point! Ah, yes, the point." The Doctor claps his hands together. "It seems that somehow, the Trallessi managed to get their hands on a collection of dart guns, the darts for which contained a completely illegal and highly lethal dose of what is known as a 'memory virus.'"
"A..." Rory stares at the Doctor uncomprehendingly. Because he has a vague idea of what that means, but he's hoping it means something else. "A what? What the hell's a memory virus?"
"Well, technically it's not a virus at all, it's a bacterium, but by the time the poor chap who developed it got around to naming it, he had forgotten that. Tested it on himself, you see. Not his brightest idea."
"Doctor," Rory breaks in with a flat voice, "this is all fascinating, but could you please explain what this has to do with anything?"
The Doctor's face suddenly goes very grave. "When we were running, I saw one of them on top of the building holding one of those dart guns. Aimed at you."
"But they didn't hit me," Rory says with a frown. "You pushed me out of the way and I hit my head."
"No." The Doctor shakes his head. "You see, they were clever. When the king showed me the virus, he told me that they'd had their best engineers working on it, and I assumed that he meant the gun. But no, they must have engineered the virus to start working as soon as it reaches the brain. It immediately got rid of your memory of being shot with the dart."
"Got rid of my what?" Rory demands in shock, wide-eyed.
"Your memory." With a sigh, the Doctor sits back down next to Rory, leaning against the same wall. "That's what the memory virus does. It feeds on your memories. Everything you can remember-people, places, events, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings. Even some things you don't realize you remember. And those memories just disappear, until there's nothing left of you."
Rory stares at the Doctor in horror. "And that thing is inside of me. It could be eating away at my memories right now, and there's nothing we can do to stop it."
"Yes, no, and no, actually."
"What?"
"Yes, it's inside you right now," the Doctor says. "But no, it's not taking your memories, and actually, there is something we can do to stop it."
"How do you know it's not?" Rory frowns. "And how can you stop it?"
"Rory," the Doctor looks over at him, "do you know where we are?"
"Not a clue," Rory answers truthfully.
"We're inside your mind." The Doctor reaches over and taps Rory on the nose. "Inside that big old brain of yours."
"My what?" Rory splutters. "How is that possible? There can't be whole rooms inside my mind!"
"Ah, precisely!" The Doctor holds up a finger, looking rather like a mad scientist trying to explain some vastly complicated concept to someone who couldn't even begin to understand. Which, Rory supposes, he is. "This room doesn't exist. It's not real. It's just your brain's way of presenting a confusing concept to you in a way that makes sense and seems logical."
“And that concept would be...”
“Think of the ocean,” the Doctor says with a grin. “You and all your memories are divers, the virus is a shark, and this room is the shark cage. As long as you stay inside the cage, the shark can’t get to you.”
"Okay... How are you going to stop the virus, then?"
With a wide smile, the Doctor reaches into his jacket and retrieves the sonic screwdriver. "With this, of course!"
Rory's eyes flick back and forth between the screwdriver and the Doctor's excited face for several long moments. Finally, he says, "You're going to sonically screwdrive my head."
The Doctor snorts. “Please, Rory, have you been listening to anything I’ve told you? It’s your brain again, showing you how I’m going to fix something without making you implode from the complexity.”
“Thanks, Doctor, that makes me feel loads better.”
The Doctor sighs. “Look, Rory, it’s going to be okay. I can handle this. I just need to step outside and have a look at your memories.”
“All of them.”
“Yep, every single one of them.”
“But Doctor, wait.” Rory’s confused again. It seems to be a perpetual state with this situation. “I thought you said my memories were divers, too, in the shark cage. So why would you have to leave the room to get to my memories?”
The Doctor looks thoughtful for a moment. “All right, forget the shark. You, Rory, are an injured seal, bleeding profusely all over the place, the room is a boat, your memories are a school of fish in the ocean beneath us, and the virus is a shark.”
“I thought you said to forget the shark.”
“Well, no, don’t forget the shark. Forget the shark cage and the divers. Remember the shark. The shark is the virus. Anyway, as long as you, the bleeding seal, that is, stay out of the water, the shark-the virus-won’t be attracted to your memories-the fish. So as long as you stay in here, you and your memories are safe.
“Now, really, I have to get to work.” Stowing the sonic screwdriver back inside his jacket, he heaves himself to his feet and shoots Rory a grin. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. I’ll be back in an hour. And remember, don’t open the door!” Then he practically hops across the room and opens the door.
“Doctor, wait-” Rory starts, but it’s too late. The Doctor’s gone. With a sigh, he slumps back against the wall and settles in for a long wait.
---
It has to be longest hour of Rory’s life. He checks his watch at least once every five minutes. He wonders if whatever the Doctor’s doing is even working-he can’t feel anything, and it’s a bit concerning. He lets out a loud sigh that echoes around the empty, gray room.
At around fifty eight and a half minutes, Rory is numb with boredom and falling asleep. He’s startled out of his half-asleep funk, and at first, he isn’t sure what it is that wakes him up. Then, there’s a light rap on the door. Three knocks.
He’s up on his feet and halfway across the room before he remembers the Doctor’s warning. “Don’t open the door. Not for anyone, not for anything. Not even for me.” He hesitates then and stops, his hand half reaching out. “W-who’s there?” he calls warily.
There’s no response but a heavy thud against the door that makes him jump, and then the door flies open and the Doctor steps inside, slamming the door heavily behind him. He sinks down to the floor, desperately gasping to catch his breath.
“Doctor!” Rory hurries over to him and sinks down next to him. He wants to reach out to him, but isn’t sure if he should. “Doctor, what’s happened, what’s going on?”
“Virus,” the Doctor pants, “at the door, it was trying to get in. But no matter, it’s all taken care of now. Run away to go nurse its wounds.” He groans and shifts against the door. “Which is what I should be doing, probably.”
“You’re hurt?” Rory doesn’t seen any blood, but then again, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen the Doctor bleed. Does he even have blood? What if he’s got clear blood and Rory can’t see it and he’s actually soaked with it right now and there’s nothing Rory can do to save him?
“No, no, I just need to rest.” The Doctor closes his eyes and takes a few deep, calming breaths. “I’ll be fine in a little. This is what I get for trying to do so much at once. Suppose it was a bit of a stretch trying to get to that second birthday-by the way, you were adorable. You have no idea.”
“Second-second birthday?!” Rory stares at the Doctor incredulously. “You must be joking! You were gone for a whole hour! You said it would only take a couple of hours! Doctor!”
“Well, yes, a couple of real time hours. In here, everything slows down. It’s probably only been about two and a half minutes out there.” He waves his hand to demonstrate that he means the world outside Rory’s mind.
“Two years,” Rory breaths. “But… I didn’t even feel anything. I don’t even remember anything from before I was like five or six.”
“Oh, no, you don’t, of course not.” The Doctor opens his eyes and glances over at Rory as that would be obvious. “But your mind does. Picture a huge filing cabinet. Your brain is constantly taking in far too much information for it to handle-sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings. And not just what you’re physically feeling, but emotions, too-happy, sad, angry, confused, jealous, scared, excited. Your brain can’t handle all that sensation at once, so it files all of the less important stuff away in the back. It does the same with memories, too. Anything connected to strong emotion, along with anything recent, is filed in the front. Little things that don’t matter are pushed to the back with things that happened a long time ago. Over time, those files in the back start to decay and fall apart, until you can’t read what’s on them. It’s all there, you just can’t access it. And that, Rory Williams, is Alzheimer’s!” He grins triumphantly. Rory just stares at him.
“Did you know,” the Doctor goes on, and Rory knows that if he doesn’t stop him soon, he’s going to keep going forever, “that one in every ten thousand cases of Alzheimer’s is actually a memory virus that got accidentally released?”
Rory’s eyes widen. “But... Doctor... Alzheimer’s people... They... They forget how to-how to smile, and how to sit up on their own, and talk and... breathe. They-they die.”
The Doctor stares at him for a moment. “Oh. Oh, I wasn’t going to tell you that. I shouldn't have said that. That was a bad thing to say.”
“I could die?” Rory whispers.
“No!” The Doctor turns to him with a fierce look in his eyes. “No, Rory Williams, you are not going to die. As long as you keep the door closed and don’t let the virus in, you’ll be fine, I promise.”
“But I could have.” Rory’s numb with the shock. “I could have died. If you hadn’t seen it, if you hadn’t known what to look for, I would have died. I almost died.”
“Yes,” the Doctor admits, “but Rory, people ‘almost die’ every single day. Did you know, you don't even consciously remember it, but when you were two months old, your mum put you in a stroller and started walking to the store. There was a car coming as you two crossed the street, the driver almost didn’t see you, but at the last possible second, he did, and he hit the brakes, and he stopped. He was inches away from hitting you, but he didn’t. You and your mother survived. You could have died right then, two months old, endless possibilities stretching in front of you. But you survived. You’re right here, right in front of me.” He grips Rory’s shoulders and stares deep into his eyes.
Rory just stares back. He doesn’t know what to say. He was so close to death. He still is. The only thing protecting him is a gray room and a wooden door.
And the Doctor, his mind whispers to him.
As if in response to his thought, the Doctor suddenly pulls him forward and presses their lips together.
It’s not like the kisses from that night together, which were distracting and confusing and terrifying all at once. This is different. The Doctor’s lips are firm, and yet soft at the same time-gentle, asking. With that same careful, gentle manner, he lightly takes Rory’s bottom lip between his teeth. Rory gasps, and as his eyes slowly slide shut, the Doctor takes his opportunity to slowly lick his way into Rory’s mouth. One of his hands slowly slides to the back of Rory’s neck, and Rory threads his fingers through the Doctor’s hair, pulling him closer. They’re both active participants in this dance, their tongues pressed against each other.
It’s glorious and breathtaking, stunning and disorienting, and just as everything around him starts to slip away, the Doctor pulls back.
Rory’s gasping for breath, and the Doctor’s hair is wild. Their foreheads press together as they stare into each other’s eyes. The Doctor, Rory notes a bit sourly, isn't even slightly out of breath. Damn respiratory bypass. Damn Time Lord anatomy.
“Well,” the Doctor says, bright eyed, “that was entertaining.”
“’Entertaining?’” Rory raises an eyebrow. “You snog me within an inch of my life and call that ‘entertaining?’”
“Wasn’t it, though?” the Doctor says with a grin, and Rory has to admit that he’s right.
“What now?” Rory breathes.
The Doctor pulls away abruptly. “I have to go!” he announces. “I’ve got to take care of those memories. I’ll be back in another hour.” He presses their lips together again, and Rory’s just about to open his mouth to the Doctor once more when the Time Lord pulls away, bounces to his feet and gives Rory a grin. “Don’t miss me!”
“But Doctor-!” Rory’s cut off as the door shuts behind him, and he lets out a loud groan. Damn Time Lord.
Chapter 3
Title: Aimless (2/?)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters/Pairing: Rory/Eleven
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, implied M/M sex, blatant abuse of science, AU
Spoilers: Possible mentions of all early Series 5 episodes
Word Count: 2,713
Chapter Summary: The Doctor explains, but it doesn't really help anything.
A/N: So, I apologize if this is chapter is a bit slow. I promise, it'll start to pick up after this. I needed to get a bit of explaining and exposition out of the way. Next chapter should be much more exciting. (Hopefully) A great big thanks to all who commented on the first chapter, and I hope this one meets your expectations!
Chapter 1
The room he wakes up in is gray. Gray everything. Gray walls, gray floor, gray ceiling. The only thing that isn't gray is the wooden door set into one wall. Rory groans as a pounding ache takes up residence in his head and makes itself known.
"How do you feel?" the Doctor asks him, kneeling next to him and gently touching the side of his face.
"Headache's worse," Rory grunts.
The Doctor sighs. "Yes, I'd worried that might happen. Well, no need to worry, I can take care of this in, oh, two hours.”
“Take care of what?” Rory asks as he struggles into a sitting position, slumped against one gray wall.
“Oh, nothing.” The Doctor has the sonic screwdriver out and is flashing it in Rory's face. "Just a bug of sorts."
"A bug?" Rory echoes. "Like, I'm sick?"
"Sort of." The Doctor hops up onto his feet and stows the sonic screwdriver away in his pocket. "Right then, I'll be back in about..." He glances at his watch. "Let's say an hour, shall we? Right, don't open the door. Not for anyone, not for anything. Not even for me. Understand?"
"No." Rory stares at the Doctor, absolutely confused. "Doctor, what's going on? How can I be sick and not even know it? And where are we? Are we still on the TARDIS?"
"Of course we are," the Doctor says dismissively with a wave of his hand. "Well, we aren't, but our bodies are. But technically, yes, we're still on the TARDIS."
"Our whats?" Rory yelps in shock. "Doctor, what the hell is going on?"
The Doctor winces. "Rory, really, we don't have time for this."
Rory crosses his arms over his chest and glares. "Make time," he growls. "Explain."
The Doctor sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair. "Yesterday, when we were speaking with the Trallessi-”
"The slug things?" Rory interjects.
The Doctor stares at him in amazement for a moment. "Rory Williams, you did not just refer to one of the oldest and proudest races in the history of the universe as 'slug things.'" Before Rory can speak, though, he waves it away and says, "Yes, the 'slug things'. Anyway, when I was speaking with the king, while you were creating that fabulous distraction in the other room-”
“They tried to kill me!"
"-the king showed me their rather impressive array of weapons which he used to warn me to never meddle in their affairs ever again. You see how much credit I get for stopping two civil wars and a nuclear disaster that would have wiped out their entire planet."
"Doctor, would you get to the point?"
"The point! Ah, yes, the point." The Doctor claps his hands together. "It seems that somehow, the Trallessi managed to get their hands on a collection of dart guns, the darts for which contained a completely illegal and highly lethal dose of what is known as a 'memory virus.'"
"A..." Rory stares at the Doctor uncomprehendingly. Because he has a vague idea of what that means, but he's hoping it means something else. "A what? What the hell's a memory virus?"
"Well, technically it's not a virus at all, it's a bacterium, but by the time the poor chap who developed it got around to naming it, he had forgotten that. Tested it on himself, you see. Not his brightest idea."
"Doctor," Rory breaks in with a flat voice, "this is all fascinating, but could you please explain what this has to do with anything?"
The Doctor's face suddenly goes very grave. "When we were running, I saw one of them on top of the building holding one of those dart guns. Aimed at you."
"But they didn't hit me," Rory says with a frown. "You pushed me out of the way and I hit my head."
"No." The Doctor shakes his head. "You see, they were clever. When the king showed me the virus, he told me that they'd had their best engineers working on it, and I assumed that he meant the gun. But no, they must have engineered the virus to start working as soon as it reaches the brain. It immediately got rid of your memory of being shot with the dart."
"Got rid of my what?" Rory demands in shock, wide-eyed.
"Your memory." With a sigh, the Doctor sits back down next to Rory, leaning against the same wall. "That's what the memory virus does. It feeds on your memories. Everything you can remember-people, places, events, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings. Even some things you don't realize you remember. And those memories just disappear, until there's nothing left of you."
Rory stares at the Doctor in horror. "And that thing is inside of me. It could be eating away at my memories right now, and there's nothing we can do to stop it."
"Yes, no, and no, actually."
"What?"
"Yes, it's inside you right now," the Doctor says. "But no, it's not taking your memories, and actually, there is something we can do to stop it."
"How do you know it's not?" Rory frowns. "And how can you stop it?"
"Rory," the Doctor looks over at him, "do you know where we are?"
"Not a clue," Rory answers truthfully.
"We're inside your mind." The Doctor reaches over and taps Rory on the nose. "Inside that big old brain of yours."
"My what?" Rory splutters. "How is that possible? There can't be whole rooms inside my mind!"
"Ah, precisely!" The Doctor holds up a finger, looking rather like a mad scientist trying to explain some vastly complicated concept to someone who couldn't even begin to understand. Which, Rory supposes, he is. "This room doesn't exist. It's not real. It's just your brain's way of presenting a confusing concept to you in a way that makes sense and seems logical."
“And that concept would be...”
“Think of the ocean,” the Doctor says with a grin. “You and all your memories are divers, the virus is a shark, and this room is the shark cage. As long as you stay inside the cage, the shark can’t get to you.”
"Okay... How are you going to stop the virus, then?"
With a wide smile, the Doctor reaches into his jacket and retrieves the sonic screwdriver. "With this, of course!"
Rory's eyes flick back and forth between the screwdriver and the Doctor's excited face for several long moments. Finally, he says, "You're going to sonically screwdrive my head."
The Doctor snorts. “Please, Rory, have you been listening to anything I’ve told you? It’s your brain again, showing you how I’m going to fix something without making you implode from the complexity.”
“Thanks, Doctor, that makes me feel loads better.”
The Doctor sighs. “Look, Rory, it’s going to be okay. I can handle this. I just need to step outside and have a look at your memories.”
“All of them.”
“Yep, every single one of them.”
“But Doctor, wait.” Rory’s confused again. It seems to be a perpetual state with this situation. “I thought you said my memories were divers, too, in the shark cage. So why would you have to leave the room to get to my memories?”
The Doctor looks thoughtful for a moment. “All right, forget the shark. You, Rory, are an injured seal, bleeding profusely all over the place, the room is a boat, your memories are a school of fish in the ocean beneath us, and the virus is a shark.”
“I thought you said to forget the shark.”
“Well, no, don’t forget the shark. Forget the shark cage and the divers. Remember the shark. The shark is the virus. Anyway, as long as you, the bleeding seal, that is, stay out of the water, the shark-the virus-won’t be attracted to your memories-the fish. So as long as you stay in here, you and your memories are safe.
“Now, really, I have to get to work.” Stowing the sonic screwdriver back inside his jacket, he heaves himself to his feet and shoots Rory a grin. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. I’ll be back in an hour. And remember, don’t open the door!” Then he practically hops across the room and opens the door.
“Doctor, wait-” Rory starts, but it’s too late. The Doctor’s gone. With a sigh, he slumps back against the wall and settles in for a long wait.
---
It has to be longest hour of Rory’s life. He checks his watch at least once every five minutes. He wonders if whatever the Doctor’s doing is even working-he can’t feel anything, and it’s a bit concerning. He lets out a loud sigh that echoes around the empty, gray room.
At around fifty eight and a half minutes, Rory is numb with boredom and falling asleep. He’s startled out of his half-asleep funk, and at first, he isn’t sure what it is that wakes him up. Then, there’s a light rap on the door. Three knocks.
He’s up on his feet and halfway across the room before he remembers the Doctor’s warning. “Don’t open the door. Not for anyone, not for anything. Not even for me.” He hesitates then and stops, his hand half reaching out. “W-who’s there?” he calls warily.
There’s no response but a heavy thud against the door that makes him jump, and then the door flies open and the Doctor steps inside, slamming the door heavily behind him. He sinks down to the floor, desperately gasping to catch his breath.
“Doctor!” Rory hurries over to him and sinks down next to him. He wants to reach out to him, but isn’t sure if he should. “Doctor, what’s happened, what’s going on?”
“Virus,” the Doctor pants, “at the door, it was trying to get in. But no matter, it’s all taken care of now. Run away to go nurse its wounds.” He groans and shifts against the door. “Which is what I should be doing, probably.”
“You’re hurt?” Rory doesn’t seen any blood, but then again, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen the Doctor bleed. Does he even have blood? What if he’s got clear blood and Rory can’t see it and he’s actually soaked with it right now and there’s nothing Rory can do to save him?
“No, no, I just need to rest.” The Doctor closes his eyes and takes a few deep, calming breaths. “I’ll be fine in a little. This is what I get for trying to do so much at once. Suppose it was a bit of a stretch trying to get to that second birthday-by the way, you were adorable. You have no idea.”
“Second-second birthday?!” Rory stares at the Doctor incredulously. “You must be joking! You were gone for a whole hour! You said it would only take a couple of hours! Doctor!”
“Well, yes, a couple of real time hours. In here, everything slows down. It’s probably only been about two and a half minutes out there.” He waves his hand to demonstrate that he means the world outside Rory’s mind.
“Two years,” Rory breaths. “But… I didn’t even feel anything. I don’t even remember anything from before I was like five or six.”
“Oh, no, you don’t, of course not.” The Doctor opens his eyes and glances over at Rory as that would be obvious. “But your mind does. Picture a huge filing cabinet. Your brain is constantly taking in far too much information for it to handle-sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings. And not just what you’re physically feeling, but emotions, too-happy, sad, angry, confused, jealous, scared, excited. Your brain can’t handle all that sensation at once, so it files all of the less important stuff away in the back. It does the same with memories, too. Anything connected to strong emotion, along with anything recent, is filed in the front. Little things that don’t matter are pushed to the back with things that happened a long time ago. Over time, those files in the back start to decay and fall apart, until you can’t read what’s on them. It’s all there, you just can’t access it. And that, Rory Williams, is Alzheimer’s!” He grins triumphantly. Rory just stares at him.
“Did you know,” the Doctor goes on, and Rory knows that if he doesn’t stop him soon, he’s going to keep going forever, “that one in every ten thousand cases of Alzheimer’s is actually a memory virus that got accidentally released?”
Rory’s eyes widen. “But... Doctor... Alzheimer’s people... They... They forget how to-how to smile, and how to sit up on their own, and talk and... breathe. They-they die.”
The Doctor stares at him for a moment. “Oh. Oh, I wasn’t going to tell you that. I shouldn't have said that. That was a bad thing to say.”
“I could die?” Rory whispers.
“No!” The Doctor turns to him with a fierce look in his eyes. “No, Rory Williams, you are not going to die. As long as you keep the door closed and don’t let the virus in, you’ll be fine, I promise.”
“But I could have.” Rory’s numb with the shock. “I could have died. If you hadn’t seen it, if you hadn’t known what to look for, I would have died. I almost died.”
“Yes,” the Doctor admits, “but Rory, people ‘almost die’ every single day. Did you know, you don't even consciously remember it, but when you were two months old, your mum put you in a stroller and started walking to the store. There was a car coming as you two crossed the street, the driver almost didn’t see you, but at the last possible second, he did, and he hit the brakes, and he stopped. He was inches away from hitting you, but he didn’t. You and your mother survived. You could have died right then, two months old, endless possibilities stretching in front of you. But you survived. You’re right here, right in front of me.” He grips Rory’s shoulders and stares deep into his eyes.
Rory just stares back. He doesn’t know what to say. He was so close to death. He still is. The only thing protecting him is a gray room and a wooden door.
And the Doctor, his mind whispers to him.
As if in response to his thought, the Doctor suddenly pulls him forward and presses their lips together.
It’s not like the kisses from that night together, which were distracting and confusing and terrifying all at once. This is different. The Doctor’s lips are firm, and yet soft at the same time-gentle, asking. With that same careful, gentle manner, he lightly takes Rory’s bottom lip between his teeth. Rory gasps, and as his eyes slowly slide shut, the Doctor takes his opportunity to slowly lick his way into Rory’s mouth. One of his hands slowly slides to the back of Rory’s neck, and Rory threads his fingers through the Doctor’s hair, pulling him closer. They’re both active participants in this dance, their tongues pressed against each other.
It’s glorious and breathtaking, stunning and disorienting, and just as everything around him starts to slip away, the Doctor pulls back.
Rory’s gasping for breath, and the Doctor’s hair is wild. Their foreheads press together as they stare into each other’s eyes. The Doctor, Rory notes a bit sourly, isn't even slightly out of breath. Damn respiratory bypass. Damn Time Lord anatomy.
“Well,” the Doctor says, bright eyed, “that was entertaining.”
“’Entertaining?’” Rory raises an eyebrow. “You snog me within an inch of my life and call that ‘entertaining?’”
“Wasn’t it, though?” the Doctor says with a grin, and Rory has to admit that he’s right.
“What now?” Rory breathes.
The Doctor pulls away abruptly. “I have to go!” he announces. “I’ve got to take care of those memories. I’ll be back in another hour.” He presses their lips together again, and Rory’s just about to open his mouth to the Doctor once more when the Time Lord pulls away, bounces to his feet and gives Rory a grin. “Don’t miss me!”
“But Doctor-!” Rory’s cut off as the door shuts behind him, and he lets out a loud groan. Damn Time Lord.
Chapter 3