I originally just wrote this for myself at around midnight when I couldn't sleep, just imagining meeting Rory while he was waiting for Amy. But then it fleshed itself out, entirely of its own accord, so here goes.
Disclaimer: Don't own Doctor Who
The Lone Centurion
I first saw him at my kindergarten picnic. He was at the crest of the hill. I spotted him when I was chasing the soccer ball off the field. He stood partially hidden by the trees. I remember my first thought was that he was LARPing, live action roll-playing, because he was dressed as a Roman soldier. I walked closer, curious. He was standing alone, hand on his sword. He looked tense and frightened, and so sad. He looked so very sad. I went up to him.
"Excuse me. Why are you dressed like that? Who are you?"
"I'm R- The Centurion."
"What's a Centurion?"
"It's sort of a…warrior. From Rome. Italy."
I snickered. "You don't look like a warrior."
The man bristled. "Sure I do!" He gestured to himself. "Look! I've got…armor, and…and a sword! I got a sword!" He pulled it out of its sheath to punctuate his sentence. "Do you see my sword?"
"So…you're a great warrior," I said slowly. "From Ancient Rome?"
"I never said Ancient," said the Centurion. "How did you-"
"I know what a Centurion is, stupid face," I said, noticing as I did that his odd, nerdy face suddenly became much sadder. "But you still don't look like one. I don't believe and I want to know your real name."
The Centurion looked down at himself. "My name is Rory. Rory Williams."
"That's definitely not the name of a Roman," I giggled. "Why are you dressed like that?"
"Well, I kind of became a Roman. After I was erased from history. And was turned into plastic."
"Well, yes. But I'm still human. I've been keeping myself human."
"I think about my wife." The Centurion's expression softened. "I'm waiting for her."
The story was fantastic, to be sure. Any adult would have called the crazy house. But the story seemed to fantastic to make up, and why waste it on a random kindergartener? I believed him.
"Where is she?"
Rory the Roman turned and pointed through the trees to a great black mass some ten yards away. "She's in there. I'm waiting until it's time for her to come out."
"Like a butterfly in a cocoon?" I asked, recalling the lesson we'd had yesterday.
This brought a small smile to Rory's face. "Something like that." He looked at his watch. "It's 2001. She'll be out in ten years."
"Ten years?" I repeated, aghast, horrified by such an infinite amount of time. "How long has she been in there?"
"One thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine years," Rory said.
"And you've been waiting that whole time," I said. "In those same clothes."
"I'm plastic," said Rory. "Sometimes I'm not even fully conscious. I'm just single mindedly focused on protecting Amy."
"Is that her name?" I asked. "Amy?"
Rory nodded. He had an odd, far away look on his face, the same one my best friend got whenever she talker about her parents. Like she wasn't entirely there with me, but somewhere else, with her parents at her side.
"My name's Amy too," I told him. "Well, Amelia, but people call me Amy. Actually, only me mum calls me Amy, and only when she's home." I stopped, realizing this one thousand eight hundred and ninety nine-year-old man probably didn't want to hear about my home life. "Sorry," I said. "People say I talk too much."
Rory shrugged. "I haven't had a proper conversation since one-oh-two. This had been nice, Amy. I'm glad to have met you."
He gave me a genuine smile then, and it made me feel as though a golden bubble was growing inside my chest. And perhaps for just a millisecond, I may have had just the teensiest of crushes on him. But he was waiting for his own Amy. Perhaps I would just have to find my own Rory, someone who would wait 2,000 years for me if I got locked in a box.
"I'm glad to have met you, too," I said, giggling at how grown-up I sounded using his formal language.
"Amelia!" shouted Mrs. Curry, striding up behind me, purple with rage. "What have I told about not wandering off! Come back here this instant!" she grabbed my arm in her pincer-like grip and dragging me back toward the group. She didn't seem to have notice Rory at all. I looked back over my shoulder as I was led away, but the funny Roman had vanished from sight.
"And stay here!" Mrs. Curry deposited me next to a boy with sandy blonde hair which hung in his eyes. He was sitting cross-legged on the corner of the picnic blanket, twisting his interlocked fingers in his lap.
"Hi," I said to him, scooting closer.
"Hi," he mumbled without looking up.
"I'm Amy," I persisted.
"Rory." His voice was even quieter.
I let my jaw drop. No way. There was no way my luck was that good. Or maybe there was. Who was I to argue with fate? No one. If this was who fate was dropping in my lap, I was darn well gonna take it."
"That's a nice name," I said. I looked around and saw the Mary and Katy had just vacated the swing set. I grabbed Rory's hand out of his lap. He stiffened momentarily, but I was gentle, and soon he relaxed. "Come on, let's go swing."
In my mind, I spent my entire time in the Pandorica on that swing set, with my best friend and my true love.