Centurion: 1941
1941 - The Lone Centurion
It was a quiet night, for now. It was dark of course; even without an official blackout, London kept its lights off except when absolutely needed. The dim lamp over the warehouse door was the only real source of light. The few clouds were only barely illuminated by the moon.
There was a small flare of orange light from the street. A soldier was lighting a cigarette.
Instinct made his hand reach for his sword. The soldier didn't seem to care. He swaggered over to the steps and sat down beside him.
"Nice night," he said. An American, judging by the voice.
"...Yeah," came the reply.
The soldier took another drag from his cigarette. "Won't stay quiet for long though."
"Probably not."
The soldier flashed him a cavalier grin. "Bet you the rest of my cigarettes there's another attack within the next forty minutes."
"No thanks," he said dully. "Those things'll kill you."
"They really, really won't," said the American. He sighed and stared up at the sky. After a pause he turned with a puzzled look on his face. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "Tar builds up in the lungs. Can cause lung cancer or infection. Tends to shorten the expected lifespan. Suppose there are worse things to worry about right now though."
"No kidding," said the soldier, glancing back up at the sky. Still no sign of any zeppelins though, and the sirens were silent. "How'd you know that stuff anyway?"
"Common knowledge," he muttered, not really interested in chitchat. "And I used to be a nurse."
The soldier's eyebrows shot up. "That's really not what I was expecting to hear from a thousand year old Roman."
"Life's full of surprises," the Centurion said dully. He'd had this conversation and a million just like it time and time again.
"Speaking of which, you're looking pretty good for a thousand."
"Thanks," he said.
"I gotta say, I was pretty surprised to find the rumors were true." The soldier was still smiling strangely at him.
"Who says they are," the Centurion replied flatly.
"Well the clothes are a dead giveaway," the soldier said with a laugh. "Gold armor, red capes - it's all pretty damn old fashioned."
"Mm."
"Y'know, if you want to avoid drawing attention, you'd probably be better off with something a bit more contemporary."
"Maybe."
"But that's not really what made me believe in the legend," the soldier continued. "It's more something in your face."
"My face."
"Your eyes especially," he said. "They look a lot older than the rest of you."
It was a cliché, to be sure, but it did manage to turn the Centurion's head.
"And the way you've been acting," the soldier continued, "You've heard all that stuff before, seen everything. So I guess I believe the legends. You really have been guarding this box for hundreds of years, haven't you?"
The Centurion swallowed, taken aback by the soldier's intense gaze. "Yeah," he said.
The soldier turned to look over his shoulder at the warehouse door. "What's in this thing anyway?" he asked, as if he could see the Pandorica through the walls of the building.
The Centurion hesitated, his hand back on the hilt of his sword. Normally, he'd refuse to answer, drive away the intruder, make certain nobody could open the box before its time. But it was just like the soldier had been saying; there was something in those eyes that seemed out of time, an understanding the Centurion couldn't quite comprehend.
"Have you ever heard of Pandora's box?" asked the Centurion.
The soldier turned back to him and shrugged. "Sure. Girl opens a box when she's told not to, releases all the evils into the world." He raised an eyebrow. "You saying all the evils in the world are in there?"
The Centurion snorted. "What do you call this?" he said, gesturing to the street. This area hadn't been bombed directly, but it was still full of broken windows, abandoned homes, debris and litter. "The evil was all let out a long time ago."
"So what's in it then?"
The Centurion stared up into the dark sky with a tiny smile. "When I was a kid, my closest friend was an expert on the story. She said that the very last thing out of Pandora's box was hope."
The soldier followed his gaze. "Hope, huh? We could really use some of that about now."
The Centurion smirked and closed his eyes. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll win."
"'We' being..."
"The Allies, obviously."
"Well you are a Roman, you know. And Rome is in Italy..."
"It's not really the same. Any loyalty I might have had to Rome is a millennium gone."
"Fair enough." The soldier laughed again.
The Centurion smiled back, in spite of himself.
"So, do you have a name?" the soldier asked.
The Centurion hesitated at first. It had been a while since anyone'd asked. His title was usually enough.
"Rory," he said.
"Nice to meet you, Rory," the soldier said. He held out his hand for the Centurion to shake. When the gesture was accepted, he smiled and leaned in close to Rory's face. "Listen, you wanna go for a drink or something? Or, I could bring drinks here," he added quickly, noticing how the Centurion's body tensed. "Wouldn't want to leave your box unprotected. I promise, I'm not trying to steal it."
"Then why are you doing this?" Rory asked, his hand clamping down on the soldier's.
"Because you look lonely," the soldier said, still smiling. He didn't let go. He held the Centurion's hand gently, leaning in to stare into his eyes, smiling just slightly. "Because you could use a friend. And because you're gorgeous."
Rory flinched and pulled his hand away. He was sure he was blushing, plastic or not. He ran a hand through his hair. "Wh-what's that supposed to mean?"
"Just what it sounds like," the soldier said, still sitting much too close. "You're gorgeous. I'm asking you for a drink."
"That's ridiculous," said Rory. "And I'm not 'gorgeous.'"
"Sure you are."
"I'm not. The Doctor always used to make fun of my nose."
The soldier snorted, leaning back on his hands, amused. "What does he know? He always used to get mad at us for making fun of his ears."
"I - what?"
"What?"
Rory stared at the soldier. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing," said the soldier, but he looked awkwardly to the side. "Forget it."
"No," said Rory. "You said something about the Doctor. How do you know the Doctor?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the soldier said. He got to his feet, obviously agitated. "I just said whatever popped into my head. It didn't mean anything."
"Yeah it did," Rory said. "You've traveled with him, haven't you?"
"I didn't - "
"In a blue box. Through time and space. There were stars and planets and he took you there and it was always dangerous but you kept going anyway."
The soldier stared down at him, breathing heavily.
"Before he left, he said that time was being erased. That things were being pulled out of the universe through cracks. I know, it happened to me, only I came back as a Roman." Rory knew he was babbling, but in centuries, this was the first time he'd spoken to someone who might understand. Some people believed in stars, but they didn't know. And Rory knew the Doctor had traveled with other people, the records were all back on the TARDIS, he just never thought he might find one of them. "Isn't there something about your life that doesn't make sense? Something missing?"
"Nothing about my life makes sense," the soldier said. "I've already done this war once."
"What?" said Rory.
"I did it before. I remember it. I know the Blitz ends and we win the war. America bombs Hiroshima. Japan surrenders." He shook his head. "I have no idea how I know. But I've been here before. I'm not even from America, I have no idea where I came from, but I stole this identity from a dead man, and I've been waiting since 1898 for somebody and I can't die."
Rory stared at him. That was all a bit more than he'd expected. "What?"
"I can't die. Or, I can, but then I come back. Over and over." He ran a hand through the back of his hair. "I came here because I knew it gets bombed tomorrow, and I thought I might get myself officially killed and head back to Cardiff."
"Oh," said Rory.
"I remember stars," he continued. "And traveling through space and planets and people I've never met."
"Yeah," Rory said. "So do I."
"You know what caused it?"
"Sort of." Rory rubbed his forehead. "I mean, the Doctor explained before he left, but not very well. The rest I've had to piece together myself."
The soldier hesitated a moment, then sat back down on the stair. "Tell me about it," he said. "Please."
"Yeah," said Rory. He swallowed again and closed his eyes, looking for a place to start. "What's your name, by the way?"
"...Jack," said the soldier. "Though, like I said, I stole it."
Rory shrugged. He tugged his cape off his shoulders, suddenly finding it stifling. With a deep breath and another look at the empty sky, he started his story.
Chapters:
Prologue: 102 - An Auton
1941 - The Lone Centurion
1977 - A Security Guard
1981 - Security
2007 - Luke Smith
2008 - Gwen Cooper
2009 - Donna Noble
1996 - Rory Williams
Epilogues