*Note: My headcanon for this is that Torchwood was discontinued because when the Doctor rebooted the universe after the Pandorica, it erased all anomalies, which would (sadly) include Jack. Meaning he likely died on the Gamestation. No Torchwood 3. ): So Torchwood in here is a bit more like the one from Army of Ghosts. No, I don't own DW. Stop that, whoever's asking!
Rory
You walk into a whitewashed room, one desk in the middle, two chairs on either side. The window is barred, the door locked behind you. Guards are at the ready on either side, three facing the prisoner.
"Who is this?" you ask stiffly, taking a seat and fingering the file on the desk.
"Melody Malone," the dark-skinned woman below you identifies herself readily; the glint in her steely eyes tells you she's probably enjoying this. She's bound hand and foot to her chair, gag slipped down only just far enough to allow her to speak. Why this teenager can be so confident in the midst of a Torchwood-level-6 interrogation, you don't wish to know.
"Well, Melody," you announce, glaring back at her, "I'll be totally blunt with you. Tell me all that you know about the Last Centurion."
She guffaws. "What? This isn't about the bus I stole two days ago? I was hoping it was. Became such a chore when Amy made me take it back," she added, muttering under her breath.
"Miss Malone," you continue crisply, "our scientists here at Torchwood facilities have found that an anomaly recently appeared in our sector of time and space. Naturally, we want to know more about him. Withhold information at the cost of your life. What does the title, 'Last Centurion' mean to you?"
"Centurion?" Melody flips her braids over her shoulder, looking far too smug for having just been threatened. "The Roman Empire collapsed like, forever ago. Too bad the Doctor wasn't there to save them," she added in a mocking tone.
"According to our records, this 'Centurion' bears a striking resemblance to your alleged childhood friend, Rory Williams," you add in a hard voice.
Her saucy smile dissipates into a much more serious expression.
"Does that ring a bell?"
Melody's eyes narrow at you, gleaming so hard you think she might dematerialize you on the spot. Her brain is working fast; you can see it in the way her temples pulse and her unblinking stare.
It makes you sweat nervously under your stiff collar. This subject is acting strangely; not at all like the other unusual types of interrogations you trained for.
When she doesn't move her gaze or relax her stance for several minutes, you uncomfortably start to wonder if you should wait for her to make her decision or proceed with a different tactic.
"What can you possibly be thinking now? You will tell us!" you bark at her, incredulous when she doesn't respond.
You frown. She seems totally lost in thought. You wonder what she's doing; where she's gone in her memories of her and Rory Williams…
"All right, suckers," six-year-old Mels announced with that wicked gleam in her eye, "I've been practicing my dance moves, and I bet neither of you can beat me!"
"'Suck' is a bad word!" five-year-old Rory piped up from sitting cross-legged in the corner.
"Yeah, and you just said it. Come on, Mels. I don't wanna play dance party," seven-year-old Amelia folded her arms, rolling her eyes with a bored expression.
"I do!"
"Shut up, Rory. No one cares what you think."
"Well, I want to play dance party, so that's what we're gonna play." Mels marched into the nearby kitchen and started pulling out pots and pans to use as drums.
"Those are MY pans," Amelia complained.
"You mean your Mum's," Mels smirked.
"If you wanna play dance party so bad, you should invite us over to YOUR house."
Mels tossed her head and pretended not to hear.
"Why can't we ever go to your house, Mels?" Rory added, missing her lofty response. His eyes grew wide. "Is it because you don't have a mum or dad?" he added in an almost-whisper.
"Shut up!" Amelia scowled, elbowing him in the ribs.
"Ow!"
"Who said I didn't have a mum and dad?" Mels snapped, whirling around with an angry, hurt tone in her voice. "I've got a mum and dad, just the same as you or Amelia or anyone else!" She turned with a huff back to unloading the cupboard of saucepans, banging them extra-loudly when they hit the linoleum floor. "They just don't like it when I have friends over, is all."
"You had Oliver over last week," Rory pointed out. "Is it just us who can't come over?"
Mels looked uncertain as to how she should answer.
"The kid's got a point," Amelia shrugged dryly, looking square back at her friend. Rory tried to hide his thrill that the great and powerful Amelia had actually complimented him. "Why is it just us that can't come to your house? Are we not good enough for your stupid parents?" she snapped, Scottish accent flaring more than ever.
Mels sucked on her lower lip, arms crossed in front of her chest. She waited a long while, looking first at Rory, then long and hard back at Amelia. "Of course you're not," she finally answered. "My parents hate you, cuz you're stupid. You're all stupid, all of you!"
Neither Ameila nor Rory cared to point out that there were only two of them.
"Now can we get back to playing, please?"
Mels suddenly looked upselt. Mels never got upset. She got in trouble all the time. She'd broken a bone once, and gotten a concussion from falling off of a swing, and picked fights where she'd gotten scrapes and bruises and insults hurtled at her, and none of that had ever made her so much as shed a tear.
Amelia and Rory exchanged a glance. What should one do with an upset Mels?
"Um, I think my mum just called," Amelia piped up. "I'll be a few minutes, back there." She awkwardly turned and ran toward the back bedroom.
Leaving Rory alone with the terror of Leadworth Field Elementary.
Rory stuck his chin out and decided to play it cool, watching his friend as she gave up with the pots and pans.
"Well, we can't dance NOW," Mels grumped, sitting down heavily on the floor, her nose wrinkled in a deep frown.
He shook his head, blond hair brushing across his eyes as he sat down next to her. She was only a year older than he was, but she was the same size as Amelia; much bigger than his scrawny self.
They both knew they couldn't have a dance party without Amelia.
Their reasons were different. Rory thought it was because Amelia would be mad at them for doing it without her. Mels thought, for some strange reason, it was because Amelia and Rory musn't dance with anyone but each other.
Without warning, Rory suddenly took Mels' hand in his own, small one. "I'm sorry we were mean about your parents," he mumbled.
Mels looked down to see his blue eyes staring up at her, filtered by his long, yellow bangs.
"Do they really not like us?" he added, concerned.
Mels sighed dramatically. "No," she confessed. What was it about Rory that always made her cave? Her lips pursed tightly, and twitched, as if she had a secret and was afraid to keep talking, even though the kid next to her was nearly half her age.
Seeing that she didn't want him to ask her any more questions, Rory patted her hand affectionately. "I love you, Mels."
She cocked her head at him curiously, surprised and somehow thrilled at the sudden outburst. How little he did know! "I love you too, Rory." She gave him a big hug and fairly squeezed the breath out of his smaller body. Then the mischievous glance came back into her eyes. "Hey," she whispered lowly, "Before Amelia comes back, if you want, I can teach you the Macarena!"
A mischievous light came into Rory's eyes and they scampered off together.
You couldn't quite tell if Melody knew something about Rory Williams or not, but the way she stared off into space for nearly five minutes straight, then suddenly snapped her attention back at you the way a wild animal would as it caught a whiff of its hunter, causes you to rethink your job application for Torchwood.
A jolt of fear pierces your heart as the lights flick out, instantly darkening the room. Someone screams, there is a thud, and you lunge for where you think the chair was, drawing your weapon as you do so. Melody Malone is somehow already free from her bounds, the chair is tipped sideways, and someone kicks you in the throat (you don't even know who).
"Malone!" you shout after clearing your throat, "Come back here if you want to live one more hour! Don't be a fool; we'll always find you!"
Amidst the cries of the wounded guards in your office, you stumble across limbs and bodies to fumble at the door handle. To your chagrin, the door swings open as soon as your hand touches it, and the lights are dark in the hallway as well.
You swear under your breath. She's already gone.
Fortunately, you know your way around this base like nobody's business and you're not about to give up yet. You sprint around the corner, stopping just to feel for the wall on the other side before taking off again. Alarms are going off all throughout the building, but the Malone brat has apparently figured out how to disable the flashing red lights, on top of her first stunt of turning the main lights off in the first place.
Screams and panic fill the air around you. You brush against arms and backs and fronts and faces as you push through the crowd of agents, all trying to make their way to the front. You want to yell, but you don't want HER to know you're coming for her, so you just shove harder.
Finally, you see it. A sliver of light coming from about a hundred feet forward on your right. Putting your head down, you barrel through the crowd like a cross between a home-runner and a quarterback, carelessly throwing aside your fellow agents in the effort to catch up.
Gasping and panting, you burst through the metal door, only to see Melody, keen eyes staring at something on the ceiling in the window-lit foyer. "Hold right there!" you shout, pulling your gun.
Slowly, she blows a big bubble with her rubbery pink gum (that somehow you didn't even notice she still had), not removing her eyes from the ceiling. She looks nervous, terrified even, but it's definitely not of you. She fingers the cuff of her jean shorts and pulls out a pen (another thing you didn't realize she had!), making a firm, dark tally mark on the palm of her hand.
Unable to stand it anymore, you look up, and breath is wrenched from your throat. How could—What is—
"What ARE you?!" you exclaim, revolted at the sight. The creature has a clicking purr in response to your question, and it's mesmerizing and chilling at the same time.
You look away for one moment, remembering Melody.
"Wait—wha—"
She's gone. Again.
You lower the gun and huff out a breath, hearing the shouts behind you as the lights flicker back on.
Somehow, you can't remember what you were so afraid of only a second ago.
You will SO have heck to pay for losing this one.
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