The Last Of His Kind

Summary: ...and he can't bear to see children cry.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be here.

Rory didn't mind his wife being famous. No really, he loved it. They still lived in the same little house the Doctor got them, but Rory was always the one who got sent along for the weekly shop. The press paid more attention to Amy.

As he wandered through the supermarket (oh the choices on offer for a carton of eggs) he had the feeling all was not right. He had gained this knack for sensing this during his time with the Doctor. It's usually associated in his mind with the moment that the aliens charge through the wall and start killing people and/or making claims to the planet. However, it felt like something more human than Rory usually guessed at. He looked around, and spotted a small girl, 5 or 6 at the most, huddled against one of the aisle walls. How no one else had noticed her he didn't know, but she seemed to be crying. Rory went over to her. He squatted down so he didn't seem threatening.

"Hey," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

The girl sniffed. "I've lost my mummy." She stopped.

"Mummy says I shouldn't talk to strangers."
"Very wise," Rory agreed. "Well, my name's Rory. Do you want me to help you find your mummy?"
The girl nodded. Rory held out his hand, and she took it. Gently, Rory led her to the front desk, and explained to the attendant what had happened. He put out an announcement, and it wasn't long before the girl's mother came running down the aisle.

"Oh Alesha!" she half-sobbed, pulling the girl into a tight hug. "Oh, I thought I'd lost you!"
Rory smiled briefly. Not wanting to interrupt, he sidled off into the crowd. When the mother turned to look for her daughter's saviour, Rory had disappeared.

The Doctor had seen all of this. He had been tempted to go over to the girl himself, but Rory had handled it just as well himself. He couldn't resist every now and then going back to check on the Ponds, though he never spoke to them. He had done too much.

It was as Rory was unpacking the shopping that he found the note. He never knew how he had got it, but he had an idea who it was from. It was just a single sentence:

"You did good, Pond."

AN: Thanks for all the reviews on Come Along Ponds, I do appreciate them! I'm going through a dry spell of ideas ATM, give me time and I may update it. I am writing something that isn't all sentimental. Just give me time. R+R please!