This story was prompted by isilienelenihin on LJ. The prompt is a bit too big to put on here, but she asked for eleven/rose. I copied her lines best I could.
First time writing Rory, so please be nice!
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Obviously. That is the privilege of the BBC and the Doctor himself, which I am neither. Sadly.
There were marks on the wall, even scratches that marked the passing of days. It sprawled along the pillars, winding their way up and down as high as the marker could reach, then continued on the walls in varying sizes and angles as their creator grew more hasty or more resigned. They numbered in the hundreds, perhaps thousands, and for all that they marked the days, Rory didn't even know what day it was, let alone if it even mattered.
Thousands of days alone; thousands of sunsets died and forgotten; thousands of hopes quietly recorded and buried.
Not once had he dreamed of leaving his post.
He had been warned that the days would be long, lonely, madness lurking in the shadows, but Rory held fast that this was something he had to do. The box that held his wife stood unchanging in the center, impervious to dust or stone (he had spent an entire day throwing heavier and heavier rocks at it to test its durability; not one scratch marred its surface), so he stood unflinching at his post. That didn't mean he grew bored. There were times where he wished for just something to talk to, another person, another animal, he would even settle for one of those volleyballs from that one American movie some of his university mates had forced him to watch once. Just anything to prove that time was changing, marching on, getting just one day closer to when he could open the blasted thing.
When the marks took over the pillars and the entire right wall, Rory finally ventured out onto Stonehenge. Maybe something out there would help him with the passing of time, beyond the play of shadows and light from the small air shafts in the chambers beyond the Pandorica.
Outside, nothing seemed different. It was spring, if the balmy weather was anything to go by, the grass tall and green and the sky blue, and for one thrilling moment it felt so good to just breathe fresh air again; but he was all too quickly reminded that he was the only soul about.
That, more than anything, made the loneliness sink in.
"Time doesn't wait nor hurry for no man, does it?" he asked, to no one in particular. His voice, used after so many days of silence, was a bit of a shock. Did he really sound like that?
"Time makes its own way," A voice said from behind him.
Rory whirled around, and saw a woman perched on a fallen stone. Her honey-blonde hair fell in loose waves, golden eyes bright and animal-like, lips curled in a lupine smile. But what caught his attention were her clothes; they were leather and denim, clothes from his time, so out of place with this seemingly untouched bit of land.
"Who are you?" He asked, sword pointed in her direction.
Gold-flecked eyes flashed, muscles coiled and flowed, and the woman was soon walking away without a backwards glance. "A remnant," the wind seemed to sigh for her, "Of a time long past."
A remnant, he thought. Just like him; a remnant of things lost and yet to happen, out of time and not completely understood.
When she showed no sign of returning, Rory went back to the Pandorica, laid his sword out in easy reach, and said, "I saw a woman today, Amy. A woman from our own time. Imagine that, with all of history collapsing, a woman from our own time…"
It soon became ritual, describing his day to Amy. Though most of the time there wasn't much to tell ("I actually saw a deer today, though it didn't come near the ruins…" "Remember that day we went on that picnic, and we spent three hours just making shapes out of clouds? You laughed at me because I insisted that one cloud was a cat, and you said it was a lion, and we spent the rest of the time arguing over the differences?"), it beat back the overwhelming silence, and he found it staved off the madness, just a little bit.
He realized why the Doctor always had people around. Not because he wanted to gloat (Well, maybe that was a little reason), but because without people in that giant, echoing machine he would have gone mad. Rory knew that the Doctor was always on the edge of madness, constantly rode the razor's edge between light and dark, was so easily tipped over to the shadows and not very easily brought back from them.
Another month or three had passed when Rory saw the woman again. This time it was night, and she was perched on top of the structure looking at the sky, knees drawn to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around her like a shield. Afraid that he would scare her and send her falling, Rory made a few soft sounds to let her know he was there.
"How'd you get up there?" he asked.
"I jumped," she replied, thought he couldn't tell if it was meant to be sarcastic. Then, "The stars are out."
"Yeah. History is being erased. Pretty soon, we'll be gone, as well." Unless the Doctor fixed it. Rory wasn't really sure it was possible.
The woman sighed, the cool summer night breezes seeming to apologize as they brushed her hair. "I thought that this time I was right. Last time I saw you I thought I was just too early in history, but… I'm too late, aren't I?"
He squinted at her in confusion. "I don't understand. Late for what?"
She peered over her shoulder at him, and though her eyes seemed to glow, he just got an overall feeling of sadness radiating off of her. He wasn't a ladies' man, but the look didn't fit her; she should have been smiling. She had a face built for smiling. Like Amy had hair to match her personality, like the Doctor had a youthful face and energy to hide his old, weary spirit. The small, almost bitter smile she produced didn't fit. "Doesn't matter. I suppose it means I'll get there eventually, but right now… I'm just so tired."
Rory was silent for a moment. There was something about this woman that caused his instincts to go all shivery, like he was being stalked by a wolf in a dark forest at night (and his red cape certainly didn't help). But he was a nurse, and it was his job to make people better. Not quite a doctor or even a Doctor, but nurses did all the hard work doctors couldn't be bothered with. She certainly seemed like she needed help, and maybe a willing ear was all that was required.
"Want to talk about it?"
"Nah." She was staring up at the sky again. "Just promise me something."
"What?"
"Bring back the stars. People need the stars; gives 'em hope. I'll do everything I can from my end, but I need you here."
He looked up at the unnatural blackness as well. It seemed like an impossible task; bring back the stars, stop all history from ending, break Amy out of the Pandorica. He wanted to tell her that he was just an ordinary man who just so happened to be somewhat friends with the only man who could do all that, but seemed to have disappeared, armed only with a mop and a fez. He didn't even have his screwdriver yet. But if this woman needed hope, who was he to deny her? "Yeah. Think I can do that."
He was already waiting centuries for Amy to be back; maybe he could figure something out in that time. After all, he had plenty of it.
When he looked back over, she was gone.
"Amy," he said when he finally went back down. "Get your thinking cap on. Doctor or no Doctor, I'm going to figure this out. The stars are going to come back, and even if it takes me two thousand more years, I'll find a way to do it…."
It was another two years before he saw the woman again. At least, as close to two years as he could put it. The marks on the wall claimed it had been two years, and he had even added a day in case it was a leap year. He had spent the day exploring the area, Stonehenge always in sight, hand-laser open and ready in case something more hostile lurked in the tall grasses. The only thing found was a rabbit, and had shot the animal with his laser before it could run (target practice, although he felt sick just thinking about it). Being plastic had its advantages; he didn't need food or water except if he wanted to, and he didn't age a day, but nothing beat a good home-cooked meal. His time in the Roman army had at least taught him basic survival skills, and he was roasting the rabbit over a small campfire when she appeared on the fringes of Stonehenge. He waved, and she stepped closer, sighing.
"That smells wonderful," she said. "It's been ages since I've had a proper meal."
"Go ahead," he said. "I don't really need it."
She eyed him, as if wondering if he was serious, then shrugged and divided the rabbit in half. They ate in silence, and when they were through he asked, "Find what you were looking for?"
"Not yet," She replied, chewing on her lip. "But I'm getting closer. I can feel it… like a song that you can half-remember, and the words are coming back little by little." Absently, she watched the flames dance. Her eyes seemed to absorb the fire's color, glowing in the light, even more brilliantly than before. "I can't help but think its right around the corner."
"I know what you mean. I can't help but think that, with every day that goes by, it's one less day until I can see my wife again."
"We're both of us waiting," She replied, her voice distant, as if she was anywhere but there.
"Who are you waiting for?"
She looked at him, really looked, and said, "The stuff of legend."
The words sounded familiar to him, like it was a universal truth and one only had to dig a little deeper until they found it. "Sounds like a friend I know. At least, he would think so; chases after legends and secrets, while becoming one himself. It sounds like something he would be called."
Her gaze sharpened, and something like hope blossomed across her face. "Your friend… what's he called?"
Rory blinked. "The Doctor. Why…?"
The woman laughed, actually laughed, the sound filled with such joy that for a moment, Rory couldn't help but think that everything would turn out alright. When she finished, her smile was like the sunrise, and he was right in thinking that she had a face built for smiling. "Rory Williams," She breathed, "Thank you. I may not be waiting as long as I thought."
She hugged him, actually hugged him, and Rory blushed. "Well, you're welcome, though I don't really know what I did."
The woman laughed again, gave him another squeeze, and replied, "Everything will be fine now. Everything is… fantastic."
And with a flash of lighting, she was gone.
It took Rory a while, after blinking away the spots and his returning smile had faded, that he realized he had never given her his name.
"Whoever you are," he said, as the sun rose once more over empty plain and the warmth began to seep into him, "I hope you find what you were looking for."
The wind had no reply, but Rory felt like it agreed with him. Thinking back on how she had lit up just by him mentioning the Doctor's name, Rory knew that the mad alien would fix it. If that woman held such faith in him, if Amy held such faith in him, then the Doctor would figure out a way to save Amy and put history back on its proper path. All it would take was time, and patience.
He had both in spares.