Hi, this is my first 11 fic. I am not entirely happy with it, but it will do. Its AU, Rory never died/became all auton-y. He just went home, resigned to the fact that Amy and the Doctor loved each other. This isn't my favorite pairing in the world, but I could see it happening :DD
Thanks for reading, and please remember to review! Enjoy xx
It was a 38 year old Rory who trod the streets of London on the first spring morning of 2026. In the fifteen odd years since he had said a final good bye to his fiancé (ex fiancé he corrected himself) and watched as she disappeared inside a time machine, entwined in the loving embrace of her childhood fantasy, he had succumbed to drink, meddled with drugs and was yet to have a relationship that lasted more than two months. He had lost all contact with his parents, and was in constant search of a steady job with which he could pay child-support and the bills for his tiny, one bedroom flat.
The job centre, as a matter of fact, was where he was headed on that morning. It was a small, tatty looking establishment with which he had become very familiar over the last decade. In the years he had repeatedly returned, he had seen the deep blue paint on the door peel and pale from the dim England sun. Nine and a half years ago when he had first set eyes on it, the colour, the structure had been so much like the TARDIS door, he had shamelessly burst into tears and gone back home. But he had hardened to it, and as the memories faded, so had the resentment. But not the pain. The pain of losing your one true love to a dream.
Then again, Rory reasoned as he rounded the corner, how could he have ever competed with him? How could he, Rory Williams, not particularly interesting at best, have ever compared to the Doctor? The Doctor was interesting, The Doctor was brave. The Doctor was bloody good looking; he added bitterly; The Doctor was everything he wasn't. But then his thoughts turned. The Doctor made Amy, his beautiful Amy happy. That was something he knew he had never, and would never truly be able to achieve. Who knew how many more psychiatrists of she had stayed? How many more nights would he have lain awake while the woman next to him murmured another man's name in her sleep?
And so it was with shocked surprise that he quite literally walked headfirst into a large, deep blue police box. He ricocheted off it, rubbing his head where he wouldn't be surprised if there was already a bruise forming. It was then he actually registered what he had walked into. Rory gazed at it, wondering if he had finally gone mad. He reached out, his fingers hovering over the paint, but not touching. Slowly, as if in a dream, he circled the parameter, his fingers still trailing lightly, until he came to the front. Here he stopped. The misty glass windows were dark, he observed. The Doctor must be out. Suddenly he wondered whether Amy was still travelling with him. She would be thirty seven by now. Rory wondered if she was still as beautiful. He wondered what adventures she had had. His still hovering hand edged forward to caress the fading wood when
"EXCUSE ME PUNY HUUUMAN!"
Rory whipped round, jumping out of the way as a tall man wearing a bowler hat and carrying what appeared to be an old fashioned camera but with extra pipes attached came hurtling towards him. The man didn't look anything like the Doctor. This man was probably about forty five and had a far pointier chin, but other than that Rory didn't get much of a look at him. But despite his rather un-orthodox appearance, the door to the TARDIS swung open and he ran in.
Rory blinked, ogling in amazement. The door hadn't closed. Should he go in? Should he
"DOCTOOOOOR"
Rory whipped round again at the familiar, Scottish voice that yelled down the road. Amy Pond was running towards Rory with the biggest grin on her face. She was still beautiful, he thought happily. She had aged well, the lines around her eyes ones of laughter. Rory felt himself smile for the first time in years. He didn't care that her mouth had issued the name of her childhood hero, he just cared that she was running towards him, getting closer, and closer with each second.
And then she ran past him, without even a second glance, into the blue box which promptly began to dissolve with a loud 'wwwaaang, waaannng'. Rory felt like he had been punch in the chest. She didn't see him. She didn't even look at him. Rory didn't know how long he stood there; gazing in shock as a thousand painful memories flooded his mind.
He was so pre-occupied that he never registered the laughing, ginger girl who had clutched her mother's hand as she ran. If he had, he would have seen Amelia Pond. A perfect copy of the wonderful, crazy girl he had befriended aged ten. Except her eyes, he would have mused. Her eyes would have sparkled with intelligence far out-reaching that of a human ten year old. But then again, how many human ten year-olds had two hearts and helped her parents fight alien invasions?