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locker_monsterTitle: The Boy Who Waited (48/49)
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.
London, 1941 A.D.
The thin wail of the air raid siren pierced the stillness of the night. Rory finished the sentence he was reading before looking up. A few days had passed without an attack, but no one was foolish enough to believe that it was the end of the Blitz. Bombs falling from the sky were akin to raindrops these days. And when it rained, it poured.
He put aside his book and reached for his helmet. It was surprisingly sturdy when it came to falling debris. He had been saved from a few nasty blows to the skull while wearing the distinctive centurion headwear.
It would be a minute or so before he heard the growl of Luftwaffe engines. Initially, he used to dread that one minute. It was a minute spent waiting for the sky to fall. These days, it was more tedious than terrifying. After months of being bombed, it was almost boring. Rory thought it was just him, because of his knowledge of the future, but everyone in London thought the same, too. It was a worn out duty, getting up in the middle of the night and trooping to the bomb shelters. History class had made it seem like the Blitz had people cowering in fear under their beds.
Retreating to a bomb shelter had never been an option for Rory. He had to stay close to the Pandorica. From the air, the Royal Collection warehouse looked like an industrial warehouse and to the Germans that meant it held things that could help the war effort and it needed to be destroyed. And even though the Collection staff had offered to move the box to the countryside along with some other valuables, he had elected to stay. London would suffer through this and so would he.
A distant rumble heralded the arrival of the German planes. It was like listening to a thunderstorm approaching. The comparison seemed apt, considering “blitz” was German for lightning. Rory couldn’t decide which was more destructive: bombs or lightning.
A bomb exploded a few miles off and he felt the shockwave through the floor. The lights overhead swung slightly on their wires, like a breeze had blown through the warehouse. It was a full moon, he realized, and there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky. Perfect conditions for a run tonight.
Rory looked to the Pandorica. A thin layer of dust covered the top of it. Debris was constantly knocked from the roof and he had given up on keeping the box clean. As always, he thought of Amy, but lately he also thought about a story she had told him. Early on in her travels in the TARDIS, the Doctor had taken her to London in 1941. She got to meet Churchill and those strange, pepper pot Daleks and the city had been bombed while she was there and something else about Spitfires in space. Amy had experienced it all before he had. It was the same and it was different all at the same time.
The Luftwaffe suddenly buzzed right over the warehouse and just for a second everything was silent.
Then the world exploded.
The force of the blast knocked Rory out of his chair. He crashed into the table and it broke, sending books, pieces of wood, and melted candles flying into the air. He landed awkwardly on his shoulder and let out a grunt of pain. Before he could even roll over, more bombs fell from the sky, taking out sections of the warehouse. Rory threw his arms over his head, praying the roof wouldn’t cave in. Bits of flaming debris rained down around him, but thankfully the roof held. For now, at any rate.
He lifted his head, looking over his shoulder. Everything was on fire. The high stacks of crates were now pillars of flames and bright orange fire raced along the beams in the ceiling. He took in a breath and the air was already scorching.
A small part of Rory had hoped to escape the Blitz unscathed, but that would have been too easy. Life as a plastic Roman soldier always had to be difficult it seemed.
And it had to be fire. Not a fast moving explosion that left nothing in its wake. He wouldn’t have had to think about an explosion because he’d already be a pile of plastic pieces and he was panicking because there were flames everywhere and he was going to melt if he stayed on the floor.
His rambling thoughts finally reached a logical point and Rory sprang to his feet. He had to get the Pandorica out of the warehouse before it burned down around him. Smoke was rapidly filling the large space and it was becoming hotter than the Gobi Desert. He already felt weak, like he had just worked a double shift at the hospital and he hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day. God, he hated fire.
He had supplies for moving the Pandorica, but, of course, he hadn’t planned ahead for situations involving raging infernos. Strapping the Pandorica to a cart took time that he didn’t have right now. He’d just have to do it the old fashioned way.
The chest was hot to the touch, but Rory got it open without melting his fingers. He grabbed the length of rope inside and started wrapping it around the middle of the Pandorica. Around him, the fire continued to spread. Burnt timbers in the ceiling that could no longer hold their weight crashed to the floor. Light bulbs exploded as the glass expanded in the extreme heat. Crates packed with straw to cushion the precious art held within turned to cinders in seconds. He was acutely aware of everything, but he tried to block it out. It was impossible, though. Ignoring the fire was like trying to ignore the sun. You still felt it even if you closed your eyes.
Rory’s fingers slipped as he tied the last of the knots. He felt rubbery and malleable, like wax, but he couldn’t tell if it was all in his head or if he was actually starting to soften. He banished the thought to the back of his mind.
The smoke was thick now. He had an arm’s length of visibility in front of him but no more. Rory quashed the urge to breathe in. There was no telling what the hot air would do to his plastic insides. Wishing for a gas mask, he took off his cape instead and tore it in half. One half he wrapped around his nose and mouth while the other he ripped in half again. With those pieces, he wrapped up his hands to protect them from the flames. It wouldn’t last long, but it was all he had.
He took up the rope and slung it over his shoulder. And then he pulled.
It should have been a cinch. With his superhuman strength he usually had no troubles getting the Pandorica moving. It barely moved an inch this time. Rory pulled and pulled and the box scraped agonizingly slow across the floor. They were both going to burn up before they reached the doors at this rate.
A hunk of the roof fell from above and it crashed down on a stack of nearby crates. The flames flared, sending a cloud of sparks into the air to join the rest of the firestorm. Rory bit down on his bottom lip. He had to get moving now. Pooling what was left of his strength, he pulled on the rope again. It dug into his shoulder and the rough fibres scratched his palms even through his makeshift gloves, but finally, step by step, he got the Pandorica to drag along. It felt like he was pulling a ten tonne anvil, but it moved nonetheless.
Being housed in the middle of the Royal Collection have never been much of a hassle before, but before tonight Rory never had any qualms about being so far from the doors. Now he just regretted it. The way out was a million miles away as far as he was concerned. His strength was fading fast. He could barely lift his legs to step forward let alone kick flaming rubble out of the way. The toes of his leather boots were scorched from trying to clear a path.
The roof was caving faster now. The wreckage rained down on him, burning holes in his clothes. Some of the embers made it down to his skin and he cringed each time he was stung. The endless piles of wooden crates toppled like dominoes, crashing into the Pandorica. Each impact caused him to stumble and he ended up stumbling into a patch of fire. His boot and part of his woollen trousers were suddenly ablaze and the pain was unbearable. Rory dropped the rope to bat at the flames, but the fire started to eat away at the fabric around his hands.
In desperation, he ripped off the leg guard and part of his trousers and the metal sizzled against his fingertips. He threw the piece of armour aside and tore into the bindings of his boot. The leather practically fell apart in his hands, but at least his foot came free. Through the thin fabric of the wool sock he now wore he could feel how hot the floor was.
A loud, sharp crack, like a whip, was the only warning Rory had for what came next.
A huge section of the roof broke free and it plunged to the ground. Had he been standing up he would have reacted too slowly. From his position on his knees he easily tucked into a roll and he tumbled out of the way. Only he had no control over his momentum and he rolled right into a pillar of flames.
He was surrounded by fire, completely immersed in it like he had jumped into a pool. Rory screamed inside of his head, too afraid to open his mouth and breathe in the molten air. It was too hot, but he had to move. With flailing limbs, he pivoted and through the blaze he saw the reassuring bulk of the Pandorica. Some of the roof had landed on top of it, but the stone seemed unaffected by the fire. He latched onto the image and burst forth from the flames.
The right sleeve of his tunic was on fire, right up this shoulder. He slapped at his arm, to try to put it out, but it wouldn’t, not completely. His bronze wrist guard started to constrict around his forearm in the heat. Beneath it, he swore his felt his skin bubbling.
He wasn’t going to win this battle. It was a corridor of fire from here to the doors. The rope he had dropped was buried beneath flaming rubble. Rory was going to die in this warehouse.
I’m sorry Amy, Rory thought in his head.
Amy.
For over fifteen hundred years he had protected the Pandorica, from raids and wars and through perilous journeys. He had been buried alive and drowned and stabbed and shot. And it was all for Amy. Amy Pond from Leadworth. His girlfriend, his fiancée. The only woman in the world that mattered to him. The woman he loved.
Some of the rope was still intact. Rory pulled off the leather skirt that was part of the armour and he wrapped it around the end of the rope that he could still see. With a groan, he pulled the rope free of the flames. It was blackened and still hot to the touch, but the thick leather helped to protect his hands. There wasn’t any time to clear the rubble from atop of the Pandorica so he left it where it was. His right sleeve still smouldered, but he ignored the pain.
Rory kept thinking of Amy as he started forward again. Her vivid ginger hair. The smatter of freckles across her nose. Her infectious smile. Her enduring Scottish accent that made every word sound like poetry.
The warehouse wasn’t a warehouse anymore by the time he made it to the doors. It was a giant bonfire eating through the bones of the structure. Part of the doors had collapsed, but it wasn’t big enough to get the Pandorica through. Rory reached for his sword, still strapped to his hip. He had to tug harder than normal to pull it free and the blade looked slightly warped. It was still sharp though and he hacked away at the brittle wood like he was a lumberjack. He didn’t see the fire anymore. All he could think about was how close he was to freedom.
One of the doors finally collapsed completely and a rush of fresh air enraged the flames. They swirled around Rory, like they could drag him back inside. Just a few steps beyond, bomb ravaged London beckoned. He picked up what was left of the rope and he pulled the Pandorica across the threshold.
To suddenly be away from the severe heat was a shock to the system. The air was cool, but he couldn’t feel it. It was like he still had an aura of fire around him. The metal of his armour sizzled and his skin was definitely bubbling now. It popped and steamed, like he was cooking up some bacon for breakfast. His legs threatened to give out on him, but he kept walking forward. He wanted to get as far away as he could from the warehouse.
The blaze lit up the land and he saw the ruins of the other warehouses in the area. Nothing remained. It was all gone.
His foot caught on a hunk of masonry and Rory made no effort to stop his fall. He landed face first in the dirt, still cooking, still melting. With the last of his strength, he turned over onto his side. The Pandorica, without a single burn or scratch on it, sat in silhouette as the fire behind it gutted the remnants of the Royal Collections warehouse.
He had done it. The Pandorica was safe for one last time.
The corners of Rory’s mouth turned up into a smile as he drifted off…
I love you.
They weren’t words he heard often from Amy. Her lonely childhood had left her scarred and expressing affection didn’t come easily for her. When he did hear her say the phrase, he knew it was because she really meant it.
They lay in bed, naked beneath the sheets, tired but content. He hovered on the edge of consciousness, but he knew Amy was next to him. Her slender hand rested on his chest and the bed shifted as she leaned in closer to him. I love you, Rory Williams, she whispered, and her warm breath tickled his skin.
It’s time to wake up…
Rory opened his eyes. The first thing he became aware of was that he was alone. No one rested beside him. The second thing that grabbed his attention was that he wasn’t sprawled on the ground outside. He was, in fact, lying in a bed. Naked.
He lifted the bed sheet off of his chest just a fraction, so he could peek underneath. Yup, he was definitely naked. He suddenly felt very self-conscious even if he was alone. The darkened room in which the bed sat was small; there was a dresser, a bedside table, and a square mirror on the wall. All the things needed by one person.
So, someone had moved him and they had taken his armour and his clothes, too. While he was grateful that he wasn’t a gooey puddle of plastic, this left him at a disadvantage. Maybe that was the point. You couldn’t go running off without any clothes on. Well, you could, but it would have been very awkward.
Rory sat up, feeling sore all over, like he had been thoroughly beaten with a cricket bat. He flexed his hands and wiggled his fingers, just to reassure himself that he still had them and that they hadn’t melted. A quick probe also revealed that he still had his hair and his facial features felt more or less the same. Taking in a deep breath, he felt no pain, so he got up out of the bed, taking the sheet with him. He wrapped it around his middle as he quietly approached the door. Light spilled in from through the gaps between the door and the doorframe, the source of the dim illumination that had allowed him to see his surroundings.
He listened carefully but he heard no movement in the other room. When he tried the doorknob, it turned without resistance. The door creaked on its hinges. Rory poked his head around it, just in case someone was lurking, but he was greeted by the sight of an average looking, and empty, flat.
The place had seen better days. The carpet underfoot was faded and worn and the wallpaper had turned a musty yellow. The linoleum in the kitchenette was cracked and peeling. The rest of the fixtures were battered and scratched. The furniture wasn’t any better. The chairs and sofa were mismatched and the padding poked through from various holes. No pictures sat on the mantle or hung on the walls. This wasn’t a home; just a place where people passed through.
And a prison it was not. Just to be sure, Rory made his way towards the front door. He was still a bit unsteady on his feet and not as quick as he could have been. He had only made it to the kitchen when he heard a key being inserted in the lock of the front door.
He thought of heading back into the small bedroom, but there was no time, so he stood his ground and waited for the door to open. It squeaked on its hinges as well, but the figure who entered paid no attention to it. He closed the door and pocketed his keys, but then paused when he realized that someone was standing in the kitchen. The figure looked up.
Rory just stared. He was suddenly grateful that he had a firm hold on the sheet. He probably would have dropped it in surprise had he not.
“Ooh, it’s been a long time since I’ve been greeted by a naked man in a bed sheet.”
Jack looked exactly the same, but, of course, he didn’t age at the same rate as a normal human being so that wasn’t much of a surprise. It was the captain’s presence that shocked Rory the most. He hadn’t seen Jack since they parted ways in the warehouse nearly twenty-five years ago.
They stared at each other for a beat longer before Rory let out a joyful laugh. His chest felt so tight with emotion that he thought it might burst. “You haven’t changed.”
Jack strode over and Rory pulled him into a hug the moment he was close enough. He gripped the man tightly, happy to see a familiar face. He took in a deep breath, to try to calm some of his emotions, and he caught a whiff of smoke. The smell came from the great coat Jack wore.
Rory pulled back and he looked Jack in the face. A smudge of soot stained his forehead. It didn’t seem like much, but it suddenly meant everything to Rory. “You found me.” The words got stuck in his throat as the realization hit him full on.
Jack pressed his forehead against Rory’s and a comforting hand clasped the back of his head. “I couldn’t leave you there to burn.”
His tensions eased at Jack’s touch. It had been so long since Rory had any human contact. He spent his days and nights alone, talking only to the Pandorica.
“The Pandorica.” He broke away from Jack. “Where is it? Is it safe?”
Jack’s arms fell down to his sides. “Hey, calm down. It’s all right. I was just checking on it.”
Rory sighed with relief as he ran his hands through his hair. He paused when he saw the state of his right arm. The skin on his forearm looked like it had been burned, but the scars were old and white, not new and red. He looked further up the limb and the skin there was melted. There were thin trails where the plastic had soften and dripped like hot wax.
He couldn’t look away. It was fascinating and horrifying at the same time. Human flesh wasn’t meant to melt and reform. Then he remembered his left foot and he pulled up the sheet to take a look. His knee and shin were similarly melted, but his foot was fine.
“When I found you, your armour was starting to liquefy.”
It took some effort to look up at Jack. The captain smiled apologetically. “I had to get it off of you before it could burn through your clothes. I couldn’t save it, though. I’m sorry.”
The news was like a stab to the heart. Rory stumbled back a step. It was just bronze and leather, nothing of worth, but it felt like he had lost a part of himself. He had worn his centurion armour for so long that he couldn’t imagine not having it around. “No, it’s fine. You had to…” He became aware of his nakedness once more. “Do you have some clothes I could borrow?”
“Yeah, there’s some stuff in the bedroom. They sounded the all clear so you can check on the Pandorica.”
Rory nodded his thanks and he made his way back to the bedroom. He switched on the light and then closed the door. He stood there for a moment to let his thoughts settle, but all he could think about was the feeling of his skin cooking in the heat of the fire. Suppressing a shudder, he went to the dresser to find some clothes.
The sky was starting to lighten by the time they made it back to the Pandorica. The area was a wasteland. Not a single building remained intact and all that remained of the Royal Collection warehouse was a giant pile of blackened rubble. Rory didn’t get too close, but he was certain the ashes would still be warm to the touch. No one had come by to put out the flames. The fire had consumed everything and with no more fuel, it had simply died.
It was a comfort to see that the Pandorica was all right. It was coated with a fine layer of soot, but a swipe of the hand revealed that it would be easy to clean. Rory wiped his dirty hand down the front of his borrowed jumper before he lay his hand against the surface of the box. He glanced around, but there was no one nearby. Jack hung back at a discreet distance and he would keep any crowds back if one suddenly appeared.
“I thought I might have lost you for good this time,” he said in a low voice. Before he had blacked out, Rory had thought he had moved the Pandorica some distance from the warehouse, but now he saw it was no more than five feet. Had the flames spread, he wasn’t sure what might have happened.
“I lost my armour. I guess I can’t be the Lone Centurion anymore.” It was a random thought, said a bit jokingly, but he felt a pang of sorrow where his heart ought to have been in his chest. It was just a name history had given him, but it gave him some weight, so to speak. People didn’t try to do bad things to the Pandorica when the Lone Centurion was around. How could he look after it now when he was just Rory Williams?
“Hey.” He felt Jack’s hand on his shoulder and a second later the captain stood next to him. Jack fixed him with a concerned gaze. “You okay? And don’t say you’re fine.”
Rory had been about to say just that so he promptly clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t fine, obviously, but he didn’t want to burden Jack with his issues. The man had already done enough. “And I haven’t even thanked you,” he realized, speaking the thought aloud.
Jack shrugged, making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. He was a good actor, Rory had to give him that, but he knew Jack Harkness. He could see the hurt just below the surface. He had shown more interest in the Pandorica than in Jack. What a way to greet an old friend he hadn’t seen in nearly a quarter of a century.
“No, I am the biggest twat ever. If you hadn’t found me when you did, I’d probably look like a Salvador Dalí painting right now.” Rory paused as a thought came to him and he took a moment to really look at Jack. The great coat was the same, but he wore a navy coloured military uniform. “How did you know to come find me?”
“I’ve been through this era a few times, especially during the Blitz.” Jack leaned back against the Pandorica, crossing his arms over his chest. “I used to know when and where all the major bomb hits were. I wish I had remembered about this one sooner.” Jack looked around at the ruins with dismay.
“You were busy.” It wasn’t a surprise to see that he was fighting in the latest world war.
Jack looked back at Rory and small smile touched his lips. “I thought about dropping in on you a few times over the years.”
Though Jack added nothing else, Rory understood the subtext. Jack had wanted to visit, but he didn’t know if Rory had wanted to see him. “I’m sorry, Jack. I could have stayed in touch, I just-”
“You can stop apologizing. I get it.” The captain glanced back at the Pandorica. “I really do.”
There was something in the way that Jack spoke that made Rory frown. “You get it?” he repeated tentatively.
Jack pushed away from the Pandorica and stood up to his full height. He looked around, but sunrise hadn’t brought any gawkers yet. “You were delirious when I found you, saying things that didn’t make sense. There was one word you kept repeating, over and over, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“Amy.”
A shiver went down Rory’s spine. The last time he had heard someone, besides himself, speak that name was over a thousand years ago.
“I remember when we first met, you told me you guarded the Pandorica because you had hurt someone. That was Amy, wasn’t it.”
It wasn’t often that Rory was presented with a chance to come clean. He had done it, just once, but that had been under specific circumstances. He had another chance now and he actually found that he wanted to tell the truth. He was tired of the lies and Jack had a right to know. “I shot her, by accident. She’s…” He swallowed, unaccustomed to saying the words out loud. “She’s inside the Pandorica, in stasis.”
In one of those rare instances, Jack didn’t have a ready reply. “I think I’m jealous of a stone box,” he said after a moment. He chuckled, but it sounded like a cover to clear his throat. “She must mean a lot to you.”
“Everything,” Rory said without hesitation.
Jack patted the Pandorica thoughtfully. “Technically, I still work for the Crown. I can get the Pandorica moved to another warehouse. Or maybe to the countryside until the war is over.”
“That’d be great.” He hadn’t given any thought about finding another place to store the box.
Men’s voices sounded in the distance and Rory looked back to see a group of firefighters making their way through the charred remains of the warehouses. Without having to exchange a word, he and Jack retreated from the Pandorica.
“I can even get you some new armour.”
“No.” Rory spoke without thinking and even when he realized what he had said he had no regrets.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s just armour. I don’t need it to look after the Pandorica.” He hadn’t chosen to look after the box because of what he was wearing. He became the Pandorica’s guardian because of what he felt. He was here for Amy. The Lone Centurion would live on, even if he wasn’t dressed for the part.
“I’m going to have to call you something else then. Centurion’s not going to work anymore.”
“Rory.”
Jack walked on for a few steps before he came to a sudden stop. The smile on his face instantly transformed into a look of surprise.
Rory held out his hand to Jack. It took the captain a second but then they shook hands. “I’m Rory Williams.”
* * *
“The records of the Lone Centurion’s exploits are sealed,” said Barbara. “It seems a bit unfair to tease something the general public can’t access.”
Captain Jack Harkness’ smile grew wider. “I can put in a good word for you. You should get something for organizing the exhibit.”
Barbara’s heart was suddenly racing, like she was a schoolgirl in love again. To be able to read through the Crown’s official records about the Lone Centurion was a historian’s dream. There wasn’t much to go on after the Pandorica arrived in England in 1867. It was like the Lone Centurion had decided to retire. She didn’t even care that wouldn’t be able to publish a paper; she just wanted to satisfy her own personal curiosity.
“I would be eternally grateful if you did.” Barbara found herself smiling hopelessly at Harkness, like Donna and Dorothy had. It was hard not to.
“I’ll talk with the bosses.”
Lost in her elation, she had failed to notice one of the security guards hovering nearby until now. The young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, too polite to interrupt. It was likely he was here to speak with Harkness about the museum’s safety measures regarding the Pandorica.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll let you get to work.” Barbara took a deep breath as she walked away. She hadn’t felt this flustered in ages, not since the museum had hired her to be one of its curators.
And for the first time, she had no worries about the exhibit. People had been admiring the Pandorica for centuries now. A perfect display wasn’t needed to appreciate the beauty of it. Everything was going to be just fine.
Rating: PG
Characters: Rory, with appearances from Barbara
Timeline: set between "The Pandorica Opens" and "The Big Bang"
Summary: London, 1996. Barbara Wright prepares the Pandorica for exhibit at the National Museum. As the work unfolds, she recounts the lengthy history of the stone box and its loyal protector, the Lone Centurion.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. Everything else is me taking liberties with history.
A/N: A huge thank you to my beta
punch_kicker15. This story would still be sitting on my hard drive if it weren't for you.1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49
London, 1941 A.D.
The thin wail of the air raid siren pierced the stillness of the night. Rory finished the sentence he was reading before looking up. A few days had passed without an attack, but no one was foolish enough to believe that it was the end of the Blitz. Bombs falling from the sky were akin to raindrops these days. And when it rained, it poured.
He put aside his book and reached for his helmet. It was surprisingly sturdy when it came to falling debris. He had been saved from a few nasty blows to the skull while wearing the distinctive centurion headwear.
It would be a minute or so before he heard the growl of Luftwaffe engines. Initially, he used to dread that one minute. It was a minute spent waiting for the sky to fall. These days, it was more tedious than terrifying. After months of being bombed, it was almost boring. Rory thought it was just him, because of his knowledge of the future, but everyone in London thought the same, too. It was a worn out duty, getting up in the middle of the night and trooping to the bomb shelters. History class had made it seem like the Blitz had people cowering in fear under their beds.
Retreating to a bomb shelter had never been an option for Rory. He had to stay close to the Pandorica. From the air, the Royal Collection warehouse looked like an industrial warehouse and to the Germans that meant it held things that could help the war effort and it needed to be destroyed. And even though the Collection staff had offered to move the box to the countryside along with some other valuables, he had elected to stay. London would suffer through this and so would he.
A distant rumble heralded the arrival of the German planes. It was like listening to a thunderstorm approaching. The comparison seemed apt, considering “blitz” was German for lightning. Rory couldn’t decide which was more destructive: bombs or lightning.
A bomb exploded a few miles off and he felt the shockwave through the floor. The lights overhead swung slightly on their wires, like a breeze had blown through the warehouse. It was a full moon, he realized, and there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky. Perfect conditions for a run tonight.
Rory looked to the Pandorica. A thin layer of dust covered the top of it. Debris was constantly knocked from the roof and he had given up on keeping the box clean. As always, he thought of Amy, but lately he also thought about a story she had told him. Early on in her travels in the TARDIS, the Doctor had taken her to London in 1941. She got to meet Churchill and those strange, pepper pot Daleks and the city had been bombed while she was there and something else about Spitfires in space. Amy had experienced it all before he had. It was the same and it was different all at the same time.
The Luftwaffe suddenly buzzed right over the warehouse and just for a second everything was silent.
Then the world exploded.
The force of the blast knocked Rory out of his chair. He crashed into the table and it broke, sending books, pieces of wood, and melted candles flying into the air. He landed awkwardly on his shoulder and let out a grunt of pain. Before he could even roll over, more bombs fell from the sky, taking out sections of the warehouse. Rory threw his arms over his head, praying the roof wouldn’t cave in. Bits of flaming debris rained down around him, but thankfully the roof held. For now, at any rate.
He lifted his head, looking over his shoulder. Everything was on fire. The high stacks of crates were now pillars of flames and bright orange fire raced along the beams in the ceiling. He took in a breath and the air was already scorching.
A small part of Rory had hoped to escape the Blitz unscathed, but that would have been too easy. Life as a plastic Roman soldier always had to be difficult it seemed.
And it had to be fire. Not a fast moving explosion that left nothing in its wake. He wouldn’t have had to think about an explosion because he’d already be a pile of plastic pieces and he was panicking because there were flames everywhere and he was going to melt if he stayed on the floor.
His rambling thoughts finally reached a logical point and Rory sprang to his feet. He had to get the Pandorica out of the warehouse before it burned down around him. Smoke was rapidly filling the large space and it was becoming hotter than the Gobi Desert. He already felt weak, like he had just worked a double shift at the hospital and he hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day. God, he hated fire.
He had supplies for moving the Pandorica, but, of course, he hadn’t planned ahead for situations involving raging infernos. Strapping the Pandorica to a cart took time that he didn’t have right now. He’d just have to do it the old fashioned way.
The chest was hot to the touch, but Rory got it open without melting his fingers. He grabbed the length of rope inside and started wrapping it around the middle of the Pandorica. Around him, the fire continued to spread. Burnt timbers in the ceiling that could no longer hold their weight crashed to the floor. Light bulbs exploded as the glass expanded in the extreme heat. Crates packed with straw to cushion the precious art held within turned to cinders in seconds. He was acutely aware of everything, but he tried to block it out. It was impossible, though. Ignoring the fire was like trying to ignore the sun. You still felt it even if you closed your eyes.
Rory’s fingers slipped as he tied the last of the knots. He felt rubbery and malleable, like wax, but he couldn’t tell if it was all in his head or if he was actually starting to soften. He banished the thought to the back of his mind.
The smoke was thick now. He had an arm’s length of visibility in front of him but no more. Rory quashed the urge to breathe in. There was no telling what the hot air would do to his plastic insides. Wishing for a gas mask, he took off his cape instead and tore it in half. One half he wrapped around his nose and mouth while the other he ripped in half again. With those pieces, he wrapped up his hands to protect them from the flames. It wouldn’t last long, but it was all he had.
He took up the rope and slung it over his shoulder. And then he pulled.
It should have been a cinch. With his superhuman strength he usually had no troubles getting the Pandorica moving. It barely moved an inch this time. Rory pulled and pulled and the box scraped agonizingly slow across the floor. They were both going to burn up before they reached the doors at this rate.
A hunk of the roof fell from above and it crashed down on a stack of nearby crates. The flames flared, sending a cloud of sparks into the air to join the rest of the firestorm. Rory bit down on his bottom lip. He had to get moving now. Pooling what was left of his strength, he pulled on the rope again. It dug into his shoulder and the rough fibres scratched his palms even through his makeshift gloves, but finally, step by step, he got the Pandorica to drag along. It felt like he was pulling a ten tonne anvil, but it moved nonetheless.
Being housed in the middle of the Royal Collection have never been much of a hassle before, but before tonight Rory never had any qualms about being so far from the doors. Now he just regretted it. The way out was a million miles away as far as he was concerned. His strength was fading fast. He could barely lift his legs to step forward let alone kick flaming rubble out of the way. The toes of his leather boots were scorched from trying to clear a path.
The roof was caving faster now. The wreckage rained down on him, burning holes in his clothes. Some of the embers made it down to his skin and he cringed each time he was stung. The endless piles of wooden crates toppled like dominoes, crashing into the Pandorica. Each impact caused him to stumble and he ended up stumbling into a patch of fire. His boot and part of his woollen trousers were suddenly ablaze and the pain was unbearable. Rory dropped the rope to bat at the flames, but the fire started to eat away at the fabric around his hands.
In desperation, he ripped off the leg guard and part of his trousers and the metal sizzled against his fingertips. He threw the piece of armour aside and tore into the bindings of his boot. The leather practically fell apart in his hands, but at least his foot came free. Through the thin fabric of the wool sock he now wore he could feel how hot the floor was.
A loud, sharp crack, like a whip, was the only warning Rory had for what came next.
A huge section of the roof broke free and it plunged to the ground. Had he been standing up he would have reacted too slowly. From his position on his knees he easily tucked into a roll and he tumbled out of the way. Only he had no control over his momentum and he rolled right into a pillar of flames.
He was surrounded by fire, completely immersed in it like he had jumped into a pool. Rory screamed inside of his head, too afraid to open his mouth and breathe in the molten air. It was too hot, but he had to move. With flailing limbs, he pivoted and through the blaze he saw the reassuring bulk of the Pandorica. Some of the roof had landed on top of it, but the stone seemed unaffected by the fire. He latched onto the image and burst forth from the flames.
The right sleeve of his tunic was on fire, right up this shoulder. He slapped at his arm, to try to put it out, but it wouldn’t, not completely. His bronze wrist guard started to constrict around his forearm in the heat. Beneath it, he swore his felt his skin bubbling.
He wasn’t going to win this battle. It was a corridor of fire from here to the doors. The rope he had dropped was buried beneath flaming rubble. Rory was going to die in this warehouse.
I’m sorry Amy, Rory thought in his head.
Amy.
For over fifteen hundred years he had protected the Pandorica, from raids and wars and through perilous journeys. He had been buried alive and drowned and stabbed and shot. And it was all for Amy. Amy Pond from Leadworth. His girlfriend, his fiancée. The only woman in the world that mattered to him. The woman he loved.
Some of the rope was still intact. Rory pulled off the leather skirt that was part of the armour and he wrapped it around the end of the rope that he could still see. With a groan, he pulled the rope free of the flames. It was blackened and still hot to the touch, but the thick leather helped to protect his hands. There wasn’t any time to clear the rubble from atop of the Pandorica so he left it where it was. His right sleeve still smouldered, but he ignored the pain.
Rory kept thinking of Amy as he started forward again. Her vivid ginger hair. The smatter of freckles across her nose. Her infectious smile. Her enduring Scottish accent that made every word sound like poetry.
The warehouse wasn’t a warehouse anymore by the time he made it to the doors. It was a giant bonfire eating through the bones of the structure. Part of the doors had collapsed, but it wasn’t big enough to get the Pandorica through. Rory reached for his sword, still strapped to his hip. He had to tug harder than normal to pull it free and the blade looked slightly warped. It was still sharp though and he hacked away at the brittle wood like he was a lumberjack. He didn’t see the fire anymore. All he could think about was how close he was to freedom.
One of the doors finally collapsed completely and a rush of fresh air enraged the flames. They swirled around Rory, like they could drag him back inside. Just a few steps beyond, bomb ravaged London beckoned. He picked up what was left of the rope and he pulled the Pandorica across the threshold.
To suddenly be away from the severe heat was a shock to the system. The air was cool, but he couldn’t feel it. It was like he still had an aura of fire around him. The metal of his armour sizzled and his skin was definitely bubbling now. It popped and steamed, like he was cooking up some bacon for breakfast. His legs threatened to give out on him, but he kept walking forward. He wanted to get as far away as he could from the warehouse.
The blaze lit up the land and he saw the ruins of the other warehouses in the area. Nothing remained. It was all gone.
His foot caught on a hunk of masonry and Rory made no effort to stop his fall. He landed face first in the dirt, still cooking, still melting. With the last of his strength, he turned over onto his side. The Pandorica, without a single burn or scratch on it, sat in silhouette as the fire behind it gutted the remnants of the Royal Collections warehouse.
He had done it. The Pandorica was safe for one last time.
The corners of Rory’s mouth turned up into a smile as he drifted off…
I love you.
They weren’t words he heard often from Amy. Her lonely childhood had left her scarred and expressing affection didn’t come easily for her. When he did hear her say the phrase, he knew it was because she really meant it.
They lay in bed, naked beneath the sheets, tired but content. He hovered on the edge of consciousness, but he knew Amy was next to him. Her slender hand rested on his chest and the bed shifted as she leaned in closer to him. I love you, Rory Williams, she whispered, and her warm breath tickled his skin.
It’s time to wake up…
Rory opened his eyes. The first thing he became aware of was that he was alone. No one rested beside him. The second thing that grabbed his attention was that he wasn’t sprawled on the ground outside. He was, in fact, lying in a bed. Naked.
He lifted the bed sheet off of his chest just a fraction, so he could peek underneath. Yup, he was definitely naked. He suddenly felt very self-conscious even if he was alone. The darkened room in which the bed sat was small; there was a dresser, a bedside table, and a square mirror on the wall. All the things needed by one person.
So, someone had moved him and they had taken his armour and his clothes, too. While he was grateful that he wasn’t a gooey puddle of plastic, this left him at a disadvantage. Maybe that was the point. You couldn’t go running off without any clothes on. Well, you could, but it would have been very awkward.
Rory sat up, feeling sore all over, like he had been thoroughly beaten with a cricket bat. He flexed his hands and wiggled his fingers, just to reassure himself that he still had them and that they hadn’t melted. A quick probe also revealed that he still had his hair and his facial features felt more or less the same. Taking in a deep breath, he felt no pain, so he got up out of the bed, taking the sheet with him. He wrapped it around his middle as he quietly approached the door. Light spilled in from through the gaps between the door and the doorframe, the source of the dim illumination that had allowed him to see his surroundings.
He listened carefully but he heard no movement in the other room. When he tried the doorknob, it turned without resistance. The door creaked on its hinges. Rory poked his head around it, just in case someone was lurking, but he was greeted by the sight of an average looking, and empty, flat.
The place had seen better days. The carpet underfoot was faded and worn and the wallpaper had turned a musty yellow. The linoleum in the kitchenette was cracked and peeling. The rest of the fixtures were battered and scratched. The furniture wasn’t any better. The chairs and sofa were mismatched and the padding poked through from various holes. No pictures sat on the mantle or hung on the walls. This wasn’t a home; just a place where people passed through.
And a prison it was not. Just to be sure, Rory made his way towards the front door. He was still a bit unsteady on his feet and not as quick as he could have been. He had only made it to the kitchen when he heard a key being inserted in the lock of the front door.
He thought of heading back into the small bedroom, but there was no time, so he stood his ground and waited for the door to open. It squeaked on its hinges as well, but the figure who entered paid no attention to it. He closed the door and pocketed his keys, but then paused when he realized that someone was standing in the kitchen. The figure looked up.
Rory just stared. He was suddenly grateful that he had a firm hold on the sheet. He probably would have dropped it in surprise had he not.
“Ooh, it’s been a long time since I’ve been greeted by a naked man in a bed sheet.”
Jack looked exactly the same, but, of course, he didn’t age at the same rate as a normal human being so that wasn’t much of a surprise. It was the captain’s presence that shocked Rory the most. He hadn’t seen Jack since they parted ways in the warehouse nearly twenty-five years ago.
They stared at each other for a beat longer before Rory let out a joyful laugh. His chest felt so tight with emotion that he thought it might burst. “You haven’t changed.”
Jack strode over and Rory pulled him into a hug the moment he was close enough. He gripped the man tightly, happy to see a familiar face. He took in a deep breath, to try to calm some of his emotions, and he caught a whiff of smoke. The smell came from the great coat Jack wore.
Rory pulled back and he looked Jack in the face. A smudge of soot stained his forehead. It didn’t seem like much, but it suddenly meant everything to Rory. “You found me.” The words got stuck in his throat as the realization hit him full on.
Jack pressed his forehead against Rory’s and a comforting hand clasped the back of his head. “I couldn’t leave you there to burn.”
His tensions eased at Jack’s touch. It had been so long since Rory had any human contact. He spent his days and nights alone, talking only to the Pandorica.
“The Pandorica.” He broke away from Jack. “Where is it? Is it safe?”
Jack’s arms fell down to his sides. “Hey, calm down. It’s all right. I was just checking on it.”
Rory sighed with relief as he ran his hands through his hair. He paused when he saw the state of his right arm. The skin on his forearm looked like it had been burned, but the scars were old and white, not new and red. He looked further up the limb and the skin there was melted. There were thin trails where the plastic had soften and dripped like hot wax.
He couldn’t look away. It was fascinating and horrifying at the same time. Human flesh wasn’t meant to melt and reform. Then he remembered his left foot and he pulled up the sheet to take a look. His knee and shin were similarly melted, but his foot was fine.
“When I found you, your armour was starting to liquefy.”
It took some effort to look up at Jack. The captain smiled apologetically. “I had to get it off of you before it could burn through your clothes. I couldn’t save it, though. I’m sorry.”
The news was like a stab to the heart. Rory stumbled back a step. It was just bronze and leather, nothing of worth, but it felt like he had lost a part of himself. He had worn his centurion armour for so long that he couldn’t imagine not having it around. “No, it’s fine. You had to…” He became aware of his nakedness once more. “Do you have some clothes I could borrow?”
“Yeah, there’s some stuff in the bedroom. They sounded the all clear so you can check on the Pandorica.”
Rory nodded his thanks and he made his way back to the bedroom. He switched on the light and then closed the door. He stood there for a moment to let his thoughts settle, but all he could think about was the feeling of his skin cooking in the heat of the fire. Suppressing a shudder, he went to the dresser to find some clothes.
The sky was starting to lighten by the time they made it back to the Pandorica. The area was a wasteland. Not a single building remained intact and all that remained of the Royal Collection warehouse was a giant pile of blackened rubble. Rory didn’t get too close, but he was certain the ashes would still be warm to the touch. No one had come by to put out the flames. The fire had consumed everything and with no more fuel, it had simply died.
It was a comfort to see that the Pandorica was all right. It was coated with a fine layer of soot, but a swipe of the hand revealed that it would be easy to clean. Rory wiped his dirty hand down the front of his borrowed jumper before he lay his hand against the surface of the box. He glanced around, but there was no one nearby. Jack hung back at a discreet distance and he would keep any crowds back if one suddenly appeared.
“I thought I might have lost you for good this time,” he said in a low voice. Before he had blacked out, Rory had thought he had moved the Pandorica some distance from the warehouse, but now he saw it was no more than five feet. Had the flames spread, he wasn’t sure what might have happened.
“I lost my armour. I guess I can’t be the Lone Centurion anymore.” It was a random thought, said a bit jokingly, but he felt a pang of sorrow where his heart ought to have been in his chest. It was just a name history had given him, but it gave him some weight, so to speak. People didn’t try to do bad things to the Pandorica when the Lone Centurion was around. How could he look after it now when he was just Rory Williams?
“Hey.” He felt Jack’s hand on his shoulder and a second later the captain stood next to him. Jack fixed him with a concerned gaze. “You okay? And don’t say you’re fine.”
Rory had been about to say just that so he promptly clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t fine, obviously, but he didn’t want to burden Jack with his issues. The man had already done enough. “And I haven’t even thanked you,” he realized, speaking the thought aloud.
Jack shrugged, making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. He was a good actor, Rory had to give him that, but he knew Jack Harkness. He could see the hurt just below the surface. He had shown more interest in the Pandorica than in Jack. What a way to greet an old friend he hadn’t seen in nearly a quarter of a century.
“No, I am the biggest twat ever. If you hadn’t found me when you did, I’d probably look like a Salvador Dalí painting right now.” Rory paused as a thought came to him and he took a moment to really look at Jack. The great coat was the same, but he wore a navy coloured military uniform. “How did you know to come find me?”
“I’ve been through this era a few times, especially during the Blitz.” Jack leaned back against the Pandorica, crossing his arms over his chest. “I used to know when and where all the major bomb hits were. I wish I had remembered about this one sooner.” Jack looked around at the ruins with dismay.
“You were busy.” It wasn’t a surprise to see that he was fighting in the latest world war.
Jack looked back at Rory and small smile touched his lips. “I thought about dropping in on you a few times over the years.”
Though Jack added nothing else, Rory understood the subtext. Jack had wanted to visit, but he didn’t know if Rory had wanted to see him. “I’m sorry, Jack. I could have stayed in touch, I just-”
“You can stop apologizing. I get it.” The captain glanced back at the Pandorica. “I really do.”
There was something in the way that Jack spoke that made Rory frown. “You get it?” he repeated tentatively.
Jack pushed away from the Pandorica and stood up to his full height. He looked around, but sunrise hadn’t brought any gawkers yet. “You were delirious when I found you, saying things that didn’t make sense. There was one word you kept repeating, over and over, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“Amy.”
A shiver went down Rory’s spine. The last time he had heard someone, besides himself, speak that name was over a thousand years ago.
“I remember when we first met, you told me you guarded the Pandorica because you had hurt someone. That was Amy, wasn’t it.”
It wasn’t often that Rory was presented with a chance to come clean. He had done it, just once, but that had been under specific circumstances. He had another chance now and he actually found that he wanted to tell the truth. He was tired of the lies and Jack had a right to know. “I shot her, by accident. She’s…” He swallowed, unaccustomed to saying the words out loud. “She’s inside the Pandorica, in stasis.”
In one of those rare instances, Jack didn’t have a ready reply. “I think I’m jealous of a stone box,” he said after a moment. He chuckled, but it sounded like a cover to clear his throat. “She must mean a lot to you.”
“Everything,” Rory said without hesitation.
Jack patted the Pandorica thoughtfully. “Technically, I still work for the Crown. I can get the Pandorica moved to another warehouse. Or maybe to the countryside until the war is over.”
“That’d be great.” He hadn’t given any thought about finding another place to store the box.
Men’s voices sounded in the distance and Rory looked back to see a group of firefighters making their way through the charred remains of the warehouses. Without having to exchange a word, he and Jack retreated from the Pandorica.
“I can even get you some new armour.”
“No.” Rory spoke without thinking and even when he realized what he had said he had no regrets.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s just armour. I don’t need it to look after the Pandorica.” He hadn’t chosen to look after the box because of what he was wearing. He became the Pandorica’s guardian because of what he felt. He was here for Amy. The Lone Centurion would live on, even if he wasn’t dressed for the part.
“I’m going to have to call you something else then. Centurion’s not going to work anymore.”
“Rory.”
Jack walked on for a few steps before he came to a sudden stop. The smile on his face instantly transformed into a look of surprise.
Rory held out his hand to Jack. It took the captain a second but then they shook hands. “I’m Rory Williams.”
* * *
“The records of the Lone Centurion’s exploits are sealed,” said Barbara. “It seems a bit unfair to tease something the general public can’t access.”
Captain Jack Harkness’ smile grew wider. “I can put in a good word for you. You should get something for organizing the exhibit.”
Barbara’s heart was suddenly racing, like she was a schoolgirl in love again. To be able to read through the Crown’s official records about the Lone Centurion was a historian’s dream. There wasn’t much to go on after the Pandorica arrived in England in 1867. It was like the Lone Centurion had decided to retire. She didn’t even care that wouldn’t be able to publish a paper; she just wanted to satisfy her own personal curiosity.
“I would be eternally grateful if you did.” Barbara found herself smiling hopelessly at Harkness, like Donna and Dorothy had. It was hard not to.
“I’ll talk with the bosses.”
Lost in her elation, she had failed to notice one of the security guards hovering nearby until now. The young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, too polite to interrupt. It was likely he was here to speak with Harkness about the museum’s safety measures regarding the Pandorica.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll let you get to work.” Barbara took a deep breath as she walked away. She hadn’t felt this flustered in ages, not since the museum had hired her to be one of its curators.
And for the first time, she had no worries about the exhibit. People had been admiring the Pandorica for centuries now. A perfect display wasn’t needed to appreciate the beauty of it. Everything was going to be just fine.
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no subject
Date: 2013-09-28 04:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-28 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-09-28 06:06 pm (UTC)Whaddaya mean there is only one more?! No!! No, I've been living this for so long and -
NO.
*Sobs*
*Clings to you*
no subject
Date: 2013-09-28 09:17 pm (UTC)I'll miss this!
Date: 2013-09-30 03:35 am (UTC)Re: I'll miss this!
Date: 2013-10-02 02:31 am (UTC)