Title: Scary



Summary: Being in love with the Doctor is the single scariest thing Rory has ever experienced. Having the Doctor love you back is even even scarier.

Notes: AU where Rory is the Doctor’s companion, without Amy. Ignore the Doctor’s lines, I haven’t gotten his dialogue down quite yet. However, I did enjoy writing Rory quite a bit. I got the idea for this fic a long while back when I was thinking that, realistically  even though it would be the most amazing thing that could ever happen to someone, having the Doctor be in love with you, or being in love with him, would be really fucking scary, not to mention dangerous.


It’s not until he’s in too deep that Rory realizes there’s something really wrong with him. He’s been traveling with the Doctor (read: warning him not to do something stupid, being ignored, and then saying a mental ‘I-told-you-so’ as they run for their lives) for months now and the littlest things have just made sense of what Rory has known all along.

It’s the little rush of warmth that he gets every time the Doctor spins around the TARDIS console, it’s the fluttering in his stomach when the Doctor hugs him, and it’s the fact that he bites his tongue to stave off some of his more scathing remarks because he doesn’t want to hurt the Doctor’s feelings. It clicks in his brain one morning when he’s walking down the stairs. He pauses on one (the fourth from the bottom, to be exact), looks straight in front of himself without blinking, and says, “Oh.”

“’Oh’? What’s ‘oh’?” The Doctor asks, and Rory really can’t say a thing. He just stares for a moment before shaking himself out of his reverie.

“Nothing, nothing. Just- nothing.” He shakes his head at the Doctor’s raised eyebrow. “Remembering when my dad’s birthday is. Do you think we could stop off to get him a present?”

When the Doctor grins and starts up his running commentary as he is wont to do, Rory thinks to himself, I suppose everyone falls in love with him sooner or later.

(He won’t admit it to anyone, not even himself, but he’s kind of insanely proud he’s held out this long.)


Being in love with the Doctor, as it turns out, is a scary thing. It makes Rory behave irrationally, makes him want to scream at the walls of his bedroom at night, pull out his hair, clutch at his head. It makes Rory jump into danger without the slightest idea if he’s going to come out alive, it makes him angry at himself and the Doctor, and sometimes, just sometimes, it makes Rory want to die.

But then the surge of emotions passes, every time, and Rory never dies.

He keeps on living, keeps running from danger and laughing at the Doctor’s antics, and he keeps loving the Doctor more than Rory ever knew he could.

The Doctor runs around wearing tweed and a bowtie and grinning like a maniac and acts so, so childishly, and Rory knows better. He can see it, sometimes, when someone dies, when they have to make a decision that hurts others. It’s not all that it’s made out to be in the beginning, Rory knows. At first it’s all sparkling newness and excitement. In the end, it’s smoke and mirrors and holding onto each other as tight as you can. Because if you let go for even a second you’ll lose each other, lose yourself. But Rory had an advantage over most of the other companions, he knows he did. He knew something like this would happen when he first stepped inside the TARDIS. He could tell, that first day he saw the madman with a blue box appear in his hospital out of thin air, could tell when the Doctor saved his life, could tell when he took the Doctor’s offer and his hand and never looked back.

Rory knew it would end up hurting him, and he had suspected that it would hurt the Doctor.

But he never realized he would fall in love with the man who fell from the stars.


As it turns out, having the Doctor be in love with you is also a very scary thing. Rory doesn’t realize this until about three (or is it four? Everything’s a bit wibbly-wobbly in the TARDIS) months after he knows for sure that he loves the Doctor.

He comes to the conclusion that the Doctor loves him, predictably, in the middle of a crisis. It’s the first one of the week, in fact, and Rory has learned to expect at least three more before Sunday. Lately the largest number they’ve had is six in as many days.

At least being in love with the idiot was never boring, Rory thinks, as the natives from the planet they have mistakenly landed on tie his arms behind his back. While it lasted, it was sort of fun, wasn’t it?

He hopes the Doctor will find another companion soon. It wouldn’t do for him to travel alone.

But, as is routine, the Doctor bursts in at the last moment, all fast words and surprising intellect, and the ridiculous tweed. Rory can’t help but smile, even if he’s dangerously close to falling into a vat of what looks like an extremely painful alien liquid.

The natives, of course, are not happy that the Doctor has managed to foil their nefarious plots (and since when did Rory’s life become a bad spy movie?), and seemingly decide collectively that, really, they’d rather kill Rory now than give up to one man in a bowtie.

The Doctor, to say the least, doesn’t like this turn of events. (Of course, Rory doesn’t either, but he’s seriously considering all that he’s done wrong with his life and not really focusing on anyone else.)

Only then, to everyone’s surprise, Rory isn’t dying, and instead hauled to his feet and shielded by the Doctor. The alien natives are squeaking to each other, and Rory feels bad, because he honestly doesn’t want to be known as that one companion of the Doctor’s who got killed by the squeaking aliens.

Then the Doctor is squeaking back and Rory is just waiting for it to turn out to be a strange dream brought on by that futuristic Chinese food they had the night before. Whatever he’s saying though, it seems to be doing the trick, because the strange aliens are backing off-rather alarmingly quickly, actually. That’s when Rory starts to tune in and pay close attention and-oh.


He thinks he understands why they’re trying to get away from the two of them so fast now. He’s heard the Doctor take that tone of voice before (although not while squeaking, that is quite a novelty). It’s the kind of tone that makes Rory’s hair stand straight up on the back of his neck, that makes everyone in the room straighten their spines and start looking for an escape route. It’s the tone of voice that makes you remember the Doctor has spent hundreds of years alone.

He’s only heard the Doctor sound like that twice before, and now that he thinks about it-both of those times were when he himself, Rory, was about to die.

That’s the second something slides into place in his mind and then Rory’s brain decides to disconnect for the time being and leave him running on autopilot.

It’s a good thing he’s so used to running for his life now-if he wasn’t, he has the sneaking (mortifying) suspicion the Doctor would have carried him without a second thought.


So Rory ends up sitting on the stairs beside the TARDIS console, waiting for the Doctor to come out and ask him where they should go next. He’s looking down at his hands, contemplating the exact amount of time he spends scared these days. It’s a frighteningly large portion of his life.

And then the Doctor is there, just as Rory had predicted, all smiles and bright lights, waiting for Rory to see how brilliant this day would be. But Rory-Rory is scared.

He thinks maybe it’s time for him to go.

Something shifts, drops from the Doctor’s expression, but the smile is still there, and if Rory hadn’t spent so much time with him already he wouldn’t see that it is forced.  

“Go? Where will we go, Rory?” A part of his heart crumbles in on itself, ashes falling, at the ‘we’.

“Home,” Rory says simply, partly because it will get the point across well enough, mostly because he can’t remember how to work his vocal chords. “I think I should go home. Now. Please, Doctor.”

The Doctor isn’t smiling now, and that’s just so wrong that Rory wishes he could restart the day, pretend this never even crossed his mind. But Rory can’t, he can’t because this needs to be done, and he’s doing it for the Doctor.

The Doctor, he has come to realize, is everything. He is the only thing that is important.

The Doctor must keep living. The Doctor must keep saving the world and finding people to love and protect. The Doctor must go on without him; the Doctor must go find someone to love him better than Rory can. Rory has tried, but what he has to offer is meager, and he knows, he is certain, there are people out there who can offer better things, who can love the Doctor in ways Rory could never even comprehend.

Rory is doing this for the Doctor, and it is tearing him apart.

It’s a good thing he’s been willing to die for the Doctor for months now.

“Are you sure? I know we’ve been getting into trouble, but Rory, there’s so much more I had to show you. There are worlds and stars out there waiting for you, for us.”

His hands are trembling.  Rory clenches his fists. “I can’t keep doing this.” He says. The Doctor looks taken aback. He continues. “We can’t keep at this, Doctor. It’s not right.”

The Doctor’s gaze darkens. He takes two steps forward, stopping short when Rory backs up, keeping the space between them equal.  He would crumple in on himself if the Doctor touched him now. If the Doctor touched him now, Rory knows he would never leave.

“Not right for whom, Rory?” The Doctor asks, and Rory can’t breathe because it’s that voice, the one the Doctor uses before doing something even more insane than usual. When Rory tries to back away again, as the Doctor advances, the small of his back hits the railing. He can’t tell if the Doctor had planned that or if the TARDIS was helping her thief out.

“It’s not right for me to stay here. I-I can’t do it. I can’t give you what you deserve, Doctor. I can’t stay here and keep-“ He hesitates, eyes on the ground. For a second, it seems he’s not going to be able to say it, but hey, Rory thinks, he’s already going to be left behind in a few moments while the Doctor goes soaring off into the galaxies, he might as well admit it to both of them. “I can’t stay here and keep loving you; it’s not right. I can’t give you what you deserve.”

There’s silence. Rory realizes belatedly that he’s all the way across the room from the doors, which he should probably wait by for when the Doctor drops him off at home.

Then there is a hand on the side of Rory’s neck, the other’s fingers pushing gently back through Rory’s hair, and his surprised eyes meet the Doctor’s soft ones. He’s never noticed how nice the Doctor’s eyes are. (Or, at least, he hasn’t had time to dwell on them.) Rory freezes, hands dangling uselessly at his sides. He can’t seem to blink.

“You’re right, Rory Williams,” The Doctor says, and Rory can feel his soul disintegrating in his chest. It hurts even more than he thought it would. The skin of his scalp and neck prickle unpleasantly under the other’s hands.  “You can’t give me what I deserve. Because,” the Doctor adds, gaze never wavering, even as Rory can feel their bodies press together tightly, “I deserve so much less, so much worse than you. But I can’t help needing you. Love’s insane, Rory. It’s given to the least worthy of people, but at least I know I can make one of the best beings I’ve ever had the chance to meet happy.”

Rory never gets to respond. There are hands on him then, and a mouth above his, and the railing is really quite uncomfortable, the way it’s digging into his spine, but Rory could not care less.

He’s scared more than ever, but Rory thinks maybe this is worth it.



Words: 1,457

Summary: AU where Rory becomes Ten’s companion. First fic for the pairing, so excuse the pure rubbish this is. 

Rory hasn’t smiled since Amy left. Sure, he’s taken family pictures for Christmas and birthdays and the like, but he hasn’t been- happy.

And Amy, with her red hair and flaming temper and glowing skin- Amy was gone.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

They found a note on her bed –perfectly made-one morning a year or so ago (but God help him if it didn’t feel like fifty). Said she was sorry, but she couldn’t go through with it all (they were going to get married, and it would have been the best day of Rory’s life), that they wouldn’t find her and she hoped he’d understand.

And Rory did understand. Leadworth was the most boring place in all of Europe, everyone knew that. He knew that Amy would leave, that she had to leave. He just thought they’d leave together.

So Rory’s fiancée had run away and his family wasn’t much help in dealing with it all and Rory never smiled.

Then the TARDIS dropped out of the sky in the middle of his late night shift at the hospital.


Rory’s already tired, and the shift is supposed to last for at least four more hours. But he can’t help it, hides his face in his sleeve as another yawn overcomes his sense of decency.

There’s a crashing sound from outside and smoke billows up passed the second floor window he’s next to.

Rory drops the clipboard he’s holding on the bedside table of a coma patient and sprints into the hallway.

Outside, a man in a blue suit and long brown coat climbs out of a blue box.


There’s a police telephone box (hadn’t they gotten rid of those years ago?) in the middle of the lawn in front of the hospital. It’s smoking and a man with wild, gravity-defying hair is muttering to himself and gripping said wild, gravity-defying hair in both hands.


Rory hurries down the steps outside the entrance but stops a few yards away, dumbstruck. He lifts a finger, goes to say something, and closes his mouth, curls his fingers into a fist. He’ll be honest here-he has no idea what to do. (Why hadn’t anyone else seen it? He thinks, but then, Rory’s always had the worst luck, so maybe this is the universe trying to have a laugh again.)


The man whirls around and stares at him. His coat swirls around his legs and Rory wonders vaguely if he ever trips because of it.

“Do you, uh, need any…help?” He asks timidly, keeping enough space between them, because, honestly, Rory’s not sure he won’t be attacked by the guy who appeared in the middle of the night with a telephone box and an intent on talking to himself.

The man blinks once, and asks, “When am I? For that matter, where am I?”

Rory blinks too. Was his hearing going? “Sorry, what?”

The guy sighs, drops his hands. Rory takes an extra step back, just in case. “When. Am. I? Where am I? Come on, hurry up, haven’t got all day now.”

“It’s night,” is all that pops into Rory’s head.

The man looks around. “Yes, so it is. Doesn’t answer my questions, though, does it?”

“You’re in Leadworth. It’s June.” When the other’s face doesn’t change, still looking expectant, Rory furrows his brow. “Um, it’s 2010?” Was he drunk?

“Huh,” the guy says, and turns to look at the telephone box. “Why would I crash in Leadworth?” The box just spurts a bit more smoke in reply.

Rory frowns, the nurse in him kicking in at the word crash. He looks the guy over, checks for injuries. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, but a concussion is not out of the question, and with the way this guy is carrying on, Rory would say it’s even probable. Although, he might just be drunk, even though his body language and balance suggest otherwise.

“Crash?” Rory asks, because he is a nurse, and takes a step forward. “Crash what? You don’t seem to have a car…” But trails off when the man rolls his eyes at him and gestures to the box.

“I crashed. Well, not really, She crashed us, even though I wanted to go to Christmas 1867, very cold night, you know, but lovely all the same. Seems The TARDIS had other ideas though.”

TARDIS? Rory thinks, and it must show in his face, because the man stops and turns to him. “Stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space.” He pats the side of the box. “I’m The Doctor, and this is my spaceship. Cool, huh?”  

Rory considers going back inside and forgetting the whole thing, but something tugs at the edges of his mind. He has a feeling tonight is going to be very, very different.

“So, what’s your name?”

Rory can’t seem to find his voice. (Does he really want to give the very possibly mad man his name? He already knows where Rory works.)

Rory finds that, yes, he does. “Rory Williams.”

The Doctor grins at him, all straight, white teeth. He seems to be having a string of mood swings, and Rory wonders if he can keep up. “Williams. Will. I. Am. Shatner. Shakespeare. I know him, Shakespeare that is, did you know?”

Rory feels like he’s missing some vital part of the conversation. “Huh?”

“Yup, helped him with some trouble he had with some witches. Well, not really witches, but the people of that time didn’t really have the capacity for understanding alien life. Not like now, eh?” He’s still smiling, and Rory feels like the ground is slipping from beneath his feet.

“Sir-” He gives Rory a look, and Rory corrects himself-“Doctor, are you alright?”

“Yes, of course. Are you alright though? Don’t seem very happy. Life here’s not very exciting, is it?” He says.

Rory is bewildered. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”

The Doctor gives him a long, searching look. His face is serious now, and Rory forces himself to stay relaxed under his gaze. Then The Doctor starts talking again. “You’re not satisfied with normal life, but you try to make the best of it. Watching out for others, waiting until something exciting happens, even though you don’t think it will. Bit sad, that.”

Rory bristles, feeling slightly offended. “I’m not unsatisfied. My life is fine.”

“Fine but not good?” The Doctor asks. “Don’t you want something different to happen? You spend all this time waiting, but what are you waiting for?”

Rory feels something in his chest tighten, and he knows that this loon is just a little bit right. Life in Leadworth bores him, but he’s fine, really, he’s fine. Rory’s fine with watching over coma patients and being underpaid and having his fiancée run away from him and being alone and not smiling, really, he’s just fine. “I don’t know.” He says.

The Doctor smiles and holds out a hand, slender fingers are an invitation. “Come along, Rory Williams. Come travel with me.”

“I-” Rory can’t figure out if he’s going mad or not, but if he can’t believe that this man is who he says he is, then how did he get here? How did he know about Rory?

“I’m no one. Just a nurse.” Why would he ask this of Rory? Who in their right mind would ever offer a wonder like this to boring, meek little Rory?

The Doctor shrugs. “And I’m just a man in a blue box.”

Rory can’t speak, but he stares at The Doctor and wishes, wishes. Rory wishes he knew what to do now, wishes he could go, wishes for this to be real, real and not a dream. He thinks of his patients and his coworkers and his parents. He thinks of his tiny flat and never being happy. He thinks of Amy.

He wants to forget, to forget the boring long hours that stretch between the days, slow a syrup, to forget the days where he just can’t get out of bed he’s so tired of it all, forget the hollowness in his chest. He can’t remember what it’s like to love someone like he loved Amy, but this man is offering him the world and beyond, and Rory thinks that for The Doctor, Rory could try to remember.

The Doctor doesn’t drop his hand when Rory slides his palm into the other’s. He just smiles a little, and opens the doors to the TARDIS. Rory catches sight of the inside, all otherworldly and bronze shine. He can feel his eyes widen and his grip on The Doctor’s hand tightens. The Doctor squeezes back.

“We’ve got all of time and space, Rory Williams. Where do you want to start?”

Rory smiles.