Disclaimer: None of them are mine etc etc

Prologue

The good thing, Rory decided, the good thing about running for your life was that it really put things into perspective. Like, taxes for instance. Rory was pretty sure he'd never complain about having to pay taxes again. Or smelly plates of fish fingers and custard, which was ew but never really hurt him in general. Or cats. Or dead batteries or those thin socks that wore out at the heel or really anything. Because anything was tons and tons better than skidding down a dank alleyway, running for your life.

"Rory, where the hell are you?" Amy's voiced hissed into his freakin' space-aged earpiece, complete with a tiny microphone and recorders.

"A little busy here," he shot back, ducking behind some large trash bins and debating if he could scale the chain-link fence several yards into the alleyway.

He heard the rather discouraging sounds of more space-age technology firing up behind him, now in the form of gigantic, horrible laser-plasma whatchamacallit guns.

"Rory Williams," a metallic voice boomed from the street. "Please surrender immediately."

He swore under his breath and ran for it. Rory tossed himself onto the fence, securing his foot in a metal loop and wincing as it clanged loudly. He quickly climbed up the rickety construction, whispering expletives as he eyed the barbed wire on top. For one anxious moment, he stopped, desperately searching for some break in the sharp, thorny steel.

Seeing none, he resolved himself to pain and stuck his foot firmly in the row of metal loops, his stomach twisting at the sight. Crap. With a silent prayer to the whatever gods looked after him through years of physical education, he set his foot on the thorny wire and catapulted himself over the top.

It wasn't entirely successful. Both jacket sleeves were torn from the fall and blood seeped from deep scratches on his forearm. He landed unsteadily on all fours, wobbling a bit as the pain shot from knee to toe. His hands ached, now dripping in blood and sweat. Still, the fall wasn't bad and he stood after a moment, just as angry white light flooded the alleyway.

That voice again. "Please surrender immediately." The sound of heavy clanking.

With a glance behind him, Rory sprinted from the nearby street, away from his pursuers. He paused briefly under a streetlamp, taking in great heaving breaths. Man, he was thirsty. But he didn't dare to stop and reach into his satchel for a bottle of water and took off again, running to the only safe place he knew of.

"Rory, please, where are you?" Amy sounded properly frightened now.

"I'm coming," he choked between breaths. "I'm getting there as fast as I can."

A quick glance to the left told him he was on Baker Street and doubled his pace, knowing that he didn't have far to go.
The first blast came from behind him, just to the left. He didn't really see it, a strange whirring noise followed by an unholy green glow that lit up the street. He gasped, turning back before he could stop himself.

One look told him all he needed to know: where there had been a streetlamp moments ago was now a smoking crater in the sidewalk, courtesy of the aforementioned alien death technology.

"Oh, god," he moaned in terror, clenching his bloody fists. He tried to speed up his pace but it was just no use. The painful twinge in his side became a pounding ache and his limbs screamed in exhausting.

He stared at his assailants. They stared back, brandishing weapons.

Rory desperately looked around for something to hide behind - a large rock, a car, a trash bin. Something.

The depressing empty street stared back at him. No cars parked. No big rocks. Not even a breeze.

Oh, god, he was going to die. He was going to die in his hospital gown, for goodness sakes, and if a long and happy life with Amy had really been too much to ask for, why did he also have to denied the dignity of pants? Whose puppy had he run over in a past life to deserve this?

"I'm sorry, Amy," he whispered, despair clouding his vision as his pursuers approached.

No answer. Crap.

Was this it? On a no-name street where no-one lived?

The loud sound of car horns violently jerked him from his reverie. A black car was thundering down the street, a very familiar black car and now the back doors were being thrown open and it was slowing down and Amy was leaning out, hand extended, ready to take him into the safety inside and away from alien-death machines.

Safely hidden behind three large robotic guards, Harold Saxon screamed his frustration, dropping his laser gun to the dirty sidewalk.

He clambered in as the car didn't quite stop but picked up speed again, racing onto the nearly empty highway. "Thank god," he choked, giving her a sweaty kiss.
"Do you have it?" Amy asked, her eyes sparkling a little bit too much for comfort because goddamnit if she wasn't enjoying this whole alien business. "Were you able to get it?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks," Rory muttered and pulled something from his jacket pocket. He put it in her open palm. "I hope it was well worth it."

In the darkness, a tarnished fob watch glinted back at him.

Amy handed him a bottle of water and he drank deeply, sinking in the leather seat. How had it come to this, exactly? How had he ended up running for his life from the Prime Minister?

Well, funny story. But not really.