The Boy Who Waited

The first time he died, Death did not greet him like an old friend. He was a new one; but oh was he new. Did new even begin to cover it? He was... well… different from anything yet seen by the old being. And Death should have known his new friend wouldn't stick around long. While he was here, though, this simple yet complicated man became the greatest thing to happen to poor, ancient, lonely time.

This man was Rory Williams. No, actually. This man was Rory Pond. Rory Pond, The Boy Who Waited.

But Rory isn't the only boy who waited, not when Death has been alone since before time, waiting not-so-hopefully for an end to this bottomless boredom. Sure, creatures came and went, as they always do, but no one could ever stay by his side forever; no one could keep from fading with time. There are no stories of the ghosts of dinosaurs, or the shadows of the Neanderthals. There are no nightmares from the Silurian in the closet, even though they were on the earth before our time. No such stories exist because no such story has been salvaged from the weathering of time. Sometimes, not even time itself could escape its power. So how could anything accompany Death without being torn from his already too cold and broken heart… again? Maybe he could do it.

The Boy Who Waited. Rory or Death?

It wasn't that Rory was particularly clever. Death had befriended Clever before, and Rory was not him. But Rory was brilliant. He shined with his loyalty and love for anyone he had cared for and he put all his being into his passion. The name Pond. A name is what the owner decides it means. The Ponds were strength personified. Their love would always shine through.

When Death first met Rory, he knew that this man wasn't here to stay. He knew he would have to say a sad farewell to his new friend. Rory could not die without the woman whose name he held in his own. Rory could not leave Amy. He would defy all the odds so he could see her again. So Death had to bid his friend farewell.

The interesting thing about Rory is that he has the habit of dying more than once. So Death did not have to wait long before he heard the familiar sound of Rory's uneven and hesitant footsteps near the doorway. Death put his drink down on the table, and leaned against it. He smiled softly as his hands came together in what could be described as a praying position, even though praying was far from what he was actually doing. As Rory entered, Death simply leaned back elegantly, and followed Rory's movements with his eyes. Rory was silent, unlike the last time. "Welcome back, old friend."

"I've done it, again, haven't I?" By then Death and Mr. Pond could greet each other without the stiff formality from the first few times. But Rory was still not with Amy. Rory had opened the wine cellar, and as usual, opened the very-aged wine to pour a drink for the two to share. They, as usual, told each other of the stories from the mere hours (what felt like only hours to Death, anyway) since they had been apart. Rory told Death of the stories of traveling through time with the doctor, and Death listened, awestruck. He was not impressed by the Doctor- Death had met time lords before- he was fascinated by Rory and the impossibility of this man. Rory would listen as Death ranted about the trouble caused by the Winchesters, and he would always try to remember to convince the doctor to take a trip to see these two hellions. And Rory always had to leave. For Amy.

Until the one time Rory was accompanied by the fiery ginger herself. "It's called marriage."