Despite the glistening armor, Rory managed to draw surprisingly little attention to himself. He also seemed to know the Roman countryside better than Martha had ever known London. They made good time towards Venice, stopping every evening, or morning as the case may be, in one enslaved village or another. Rory also spoke Italian fluently. He noted that his dialect was somewhat archaic, but Martha preferred not to use local translators. It was too hard to tell who's side they were on, and if they were the only ones who spoke the language, deliberately mistranslating her words became all too easy.
Rory also helped put the people she met at ease. The Last Centurion was an old legend, but many people still believed it. Seeing their hero come to life gave them hope. It gave Martha hope too. In fact, Martha had started to regain some optimism about the whole endeavor.
Then Rory collapsed.
Three days into their journey, they had left a small town in the middle of Italy and were heading northeast. The villagers had been surprisingly hospitable, as they actually had supplies to spare. Martha had been very grateful, and had barely noticed that Rory refused to take any food for himself. She had never seen him eat before, so it wasn't as though it was anything out of the ordinary.
A few hours from the town, Rory started to falter. At first, it was just a small stumble here and there. Soon, he was practically tripping over his own feet. Martha had asked if he was alright a few times, but he just said he was fine and refused to say anymore. An hour after he had started lagging, Rory lay down and stopped moving.
Martha rushed over to his side, immediately checking his vitals. He seemed to have collapsed from exhaustion.
Just then, she saw a group of Toclofane over the horizon. She put the perception filter around Rory's neck and prayed. The perception filter worked best in a crowd. Between the empty plain, and Rory's shining armor, there was no guarantee the device would work.
The Toclofane flew over the land, giggling madly. Martha held her breath as they passed overhead. She thought she saw one slow, but if it had it hadn't noticed anything. She waited for a few tense heartbeats after they passed out of sight before she moved.
She shook Rory gently. She wanted to let him sleep, but they had to move on. Toclofane were unpredictable at best, and they might come.
Rory moaned, "Don' wanna get up." Martha shook him again.
"C'mon, Rory. It's time to go."
"Don' wanna. Lemme sleep."
"We need to go now. They might come back."
"Amy, lemme sleep."
Martha was just about to respond when Rory's eyes shot open. He sat up on his elbows. "You're not Amy."
"No, I'm Martha. C'mon we need to go." She pulled him to his feet. He started to walk, then noticed the perception filter around their necks. He raised an eyebrow. "There were a couple Toclofane around and you were kind of out of it," she explained.
He nodded a couple times and took the perception filter off. He stumbled as he stepped forward. Martha put an arm around his waist to steady him, then froze. The armor hung far too loosely off his shoulders.
"Rory? When was the last time you ate?"
Rory pondered this. "Dunno. A week, maybe. Why? Is that a problem?"
Martha rolled her eyes. "Yes, that's a problem. You need to eat to keep your strength up."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
Martha couldn't believe she was even having this conversation. "Then why did you collapse back there?"
"My circuitry malfunctioned. That happens sometimes. Rarely, but it's usually really inconvenient."
"Rory, you're human. Remember?"
A look of dawning comprehension spread across Rory's face. "Oh, yeah. I am, aren't I? I'm starving. D'you have anything to eat?"
Martha was tempted to bash her head against a hard surface. Unfortunately, the only hard surface available was Rory's breastplate, so she resisted the urge. Instead, she pulled out one of her rations and handed it over.
"Next place we stop, you pick up your own food."
"Fine. Where is our next stop?" Rory asked.
"There's a little village about a quarter day's walk from here," Martha said.
"Who's the contact?"
"What?"
"Do you have a contact in the village?" Rory elaborated.
"No. Do I need one?" As a matter of fact, it was the first village where she didn't have a specific contact. Usually, she was told what the closest town was, and who to talk to when she got there.
"Not really, but it's better to stay away from places full of strangers."
"Why's that?"
"There are quite a few people who think their lives will become easier if they capitulate to the Master's rule. There would be no better way to gain his favor than to turn you in. Let the people you've already spoken to spread your story there."
Martha couldn't deny that it was good advice. "Of course, turning me in would gain the Master's attention. I wouldn't want that."
Rory smiled grimly. "You already have his attention, Martha Jones. He's doing everything he possibly can to find you."
Martha sighed; she kept her sanity by not thinking about thinks like that. "Well, if I didn't already have his attention, I wouldn't try to get it."
Rory's smile became a bit friendlier. "There are quite a few people who aren't as smart as you. It can be just as dangerous to overestimate people as it is to underestimate them."
"In other words, never assume the Doctor knows what he's doing."
Rory laughed. "He does occasionally. He once took down an army in three minutes forty-two seconds."
"Impressive," Martha noted, not really sure what else to say.
"Quite."
"Now, we just need to figure out where we're staying for the night."
"Same place."
"What?" Martha demanded.
"It just so happens that I have a contact," Rory explained smugly.
Martha barely resisted the urge to punch him. "Why couldn't you have told me that?"
"I just did."
As they walked, Martha let her mind wander. Rory was far more observant than her, and she was relieved to have the opportunity to just think without having to worry about being attacked by floating balls of doom.
Her mind led her back to Rory's collapse.
"Rory, if you don't mind me asking-" she trailed off, unsure of what to say.
"Yes?" Rory prompted.
She took a deep breath. "Who's Amy?"
Rory's face became completely expressionless. Martha though the statue in the Tomb of the Last Centurion displayed more emotion than Rory did now. "She was my wife," he said solemnly. "And the only woman I ever loved who was not my own blood. I waited for her. Two thousand years I waited for her. We were supposed to be happy, have a long, happy life together. Then the Master killed her. Because he felt like it. Because he could." He shook himself. "That bastard will die for his crimes," he stated cooly. "Not by my hand; I won't live to see him defeated. But someone. Someone out there will suffer so much by his hand that even the Doctor will not be able to help him. The demon who calls himself Master will die, and Amy will be avenged. Does that answer your question?"
It took Martha a few moments to form a response. Hoping to steer the conversation to safer waters, she asked, "How did you meet the Doctor?"
"He was the stripper at my stag party," Rory said in the exact same tone of voice.
"I don't think I want to know."
"It's actually not as dirty as it sounds." Rory sounded much more jovial now. Martha admired his ability to tuck away memories he couldn't face. She had a feeling she would need it very soon.
A/N: You guys are amazing. This is now officially the best response I've ever gotten to a story. I'll try to update as much as I can, but my muses can be rather uncooperative. If anyone would be willing to make some cover art for this story, please PM me. I'd love to have a pretty cover for people to see. I only have a very vague idea of what I want to do with this story, and most of what I want to do would be better if it happened a few chapters later, so I really need your suggestions. Many, many thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed this story, as well as the people who just took the time to read it. If I could give you guys real cookies, I totally would.