|The Pandorica Seen Through Time
Author: WhooligAni PM
What happened to the mad Centurion and his big stone box all those centuries?Rated: Fiction K - English - Rory W. - Chapters: 32 - Words: 79,039 - Reviews: 419 - Favs: 334 - Follows: 394 - Updated: 05-13-13 - Published: 09-21-11 - id: 7401796
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I've always wondered what happened to Rory while he was guarding Amy. The Romans take the Pandorica back to Rome in 118 A.D. Exactly how did that go? etc. etc. etc.
So, here is my attempt at re-writing history from the point of view of a mad, semi-immortal Centurion guarding a big stone box. I hope someone out there likes it and also has a bit of patience because I'm pretty sure this will take a long time to write. =)
Spoilers for everything up to The Big Bang and I have no right to write this...but I will.
"2,000 years Rory. You won't even sleep. You'll be conscious every second. It would drive you … mad."
"Listen to me; this is the last bit of advice you're going to get in a very long time. You're living plastic but you're not immortal. I've no idea how long you'll last. And you're not indestructible so stay away from heat and radio signals when they come along. You can't heal or repair yourself any damage is permanent so for God's sake however bored you get stay out of-"
And he was gone. In a flash. As though he'd never existed.
Rory gulped. Not sure what to do. He felt a sudden fear. Maybe the Doctor had been right. Maybe he should have gone with him. What good could one plastic Roman do anyway?
But what if?
What if someone succeeded in opening the Pandorica before future Amy could bring his Amy back to life?
What if someone tried and failed but damaged the alien box so badly that Amy ceased to be in stasis?
No, he had made the right decision. He couldn't lose her again.
Rory drew his sword and then felt a bit ridiculous. There was no enemy to fight. Just time.
He sat on the box that held the only thing in the Universe that truly mattered to him and began to wait.
Rory tried not to think of the Doctors words.
At first, he thought about Amy and how they'd met.
He'd thought she was so cool but she looked right over him and why not? Rory was nothing. Not athletic. Not particularly smart.
Then Tiffany Wilson had teased Amy about her hair when they were 9 and Rory thought it was his chance. He'd stand up to her and call her a stupid face and Amy would be his best friend forever. Rory thought back to how humiliated he'd been when Tiffany'd bloodied his nose.
Amy hadn't been happy either. She'd rolled her eyes and said, "Why'd you go and do that, stupid face?" But she and Melody had helped him to the Nurse's office. He'd spend a lot of time in the Nurse's office from that point forward, usually due to something Amy and Melody had asked him or dared him to do.
But Amy only needed to ask. Rory was in love before he even understood what love was. He was totally, utterly hers and he had killed her.
Rory stood up. The light from the outside peeked into the chamber and he thought he'd take a stroll outside. Not far, mind you.
He walked around Stonehenge, and was slightly relieved that it still had the power to amaze him.
The sun had moved a bit lower by the time he began to feel a bit nervous. He'd been away from the Pandorica too long.
He made his way back, rushing more and more the closer he got and startled by how quickly he closed the distance. When he arrived, however, everything was just as he'd left it. He reached out to touch the Pandorica and felt a vague warmth, the tiniest fraction of a vibration he suspected only he could feel.
The Pandorica was safe, sitting in an already ancient room, thick with dust.
Well, that at least needed sorting.
Rory went back up to the surface and gathered weeds. He took wires from the Cyberman and bound the thick weeds to a broken branch.
"Look, Amy." He said to the gently thrumming box. "I made a broom."
The light from above had winked out and back in over and over before he'd cleared the chamber. He took all the desiccated figures; his former Auton Roman colleagues, the Daleks, and all the others and placed them in one of the antechambers he then sealed. He was surprised how much stronger he was.
He kept count of the days as they crept along. So he knew it had been exactly 23 days before he noticed he hadn't eaten anything. He hadn't drunk a drop. He hadn't felt any need to relieve himself.
"Of course," He said to the box. "I'm plastic. Why would a plastic dummy need to eat?"
Amy would have laughed at that. She'd have eaten this up. All the times she'd teased him about being a dummy and now, here he actually was a plastic dummy and … nothing. No jokes. No teasing. No Amy.
Now that the chamber was clear, he had nothing to do.
He paced for a bit but you can only pace so long. He remembered drilling. The Roman training he'd never actually had but at least it was something to do.
He developed a routine. Walk his perimeter outside. Go through a routine that incorporated every training exercise he could remember from not only his Centurion training but his two years of boxing in high school. Sweep up the chamber. Then, once all that was done he'd spend the next few hours before the sun went down trying to entertain himself by running through TV episodes he barely remembered. Monty Python skits. Trying to imitate all the gaits from 'The Ministry of Silly Walks". Pushing his memory until he remembered absolutely every last bit of The Holy Grail AND The Life of Brian.
When the sun went down, he'd do it all again in the dark.
It wasn't easy. Sometimes the days and nights passed so slowly. The monotony and loneliness loomed like a massive wave suspended over him but ready to crush him at any time. When it seemed too much, when his resolve faltered he'd often reach out to touch the Pandorica. He'd listen for the thrum that meant Amy was still suspended inside and feel the gentle vibration. He'd think of Amy, of her laugh, the silky feel of her hair brushing his cheek when he held her close. The feeling of her would be so immediate, so real. It gave him strength to face another hour, another day, another year.
He tried to keep track of the days as they passed but he must have lost track. He must have miscounted somewhere along the way because when the real Romans showed up his count was off.
He thought it was 120 A.D. but apparently it was only 118.