When in Rome…

Mini-Story Summary: Rory tries to do as the Romans do. Badly.

121 AD

The three years since Rory had arrived in Rome had passed in a blur. He took a job as a tutor for the children of the aging doctor Quintus. He took the opportunity to hide the Pandorica behind a wall in Quintus' cellar. Rory had diverted suspicion by "renovating" the basement to create a teaching area. Often, while instructing little Tertius and young Lucine, he habitually checked the back wall, ensuring the safety of his beloved box.

Every day, he strolled through the streets of Rome, inspecting the markets and exploring the secret alleys of the forums. Thousands of people passed by every day, ignorant of the machinery masquerading as a human in their midst. He'd examine their faces—the harried mothers, the carefree men, the grim politicians, the ecstatic children. However hard he tried to suppress the thought, every so often he'd wonder where their graves would be, how they died, or if he knew any of their descendants back in Leadworth. In this capital of the ancient world, Rory felt completely alone.

Over time, Quintus allowed Rory to observe his procedures. Rory would often sneak into his medical stores at night and sterilize his equipment. As Quintus' patients healed better and faster than any in Rome, his reputation spread. Gradually, as Rory and Quintus grew closer, Rory gently guided the doctor's techniques. They boiled and sharpened his scalpels between uses, scrubbed the room every evening, and prescribed makeshift penicillin for bacterial infections. Quintus, far from letting his success go to his head, nicknamed Rory Aesculapius and gave him a bed in his own house. His duties as nurse and tutor kept him busy, but still found time for his walks.

On one particularly sunny day, Rory had just finished a foray into the Forum and was returning to Quintus' villa when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun around to find a man, a plebian by the look of his toga, with a familiar face.

"Mr. Rory?"

"Tacitus?"

The man pulled Rory into a bear hug. "I waited for you," he said. "A whole week, I waited. And you didn't come. I thought you were dead."

"I'm glad you're fine too. Did the crew survive?"

"Yes. Every last member."

Rory breathed with relief. "Thank God."

"I combed the water looking for you. When I couldn't wait any longer, I felt terrible, like I was abandoning you. How on Earth did you escape?"

"Well, I'm a good swimmer."

"And the box?"

"Safe."

"But I saw it plunge into the water!"

"A very good swimmer."

Tacitus eyed Rory. "We need to talk. Come to my villa?"

Over the obligatory glass of wine, Tacitus pressed Rory for answers.

"I don't think you've changed at all, either. Don't you ever age?"

"You have, though," said Rory. "Last time, you were barely old enough to hold a paddle. Now look at you!"

"Yeah, my wife swears I grew a foot-length since we first met."

Rory slid back in his seat. "Really? I mean…aren't you too young…?"

Tacitus leaned forward with a smile. "I'm old enough to marry."

Rory stared into his goblet. "What's it like?"

"Sorry?"

"Being married. Is it worth it?"

Tacitus settled into his couch. "Without a doubt. Every second with her is worth all the treasure in the world."

"And you'd do anything for her?"

"Anything. I'd follow her to the farthest ends of the Earth, risk my life to protect her." Then Tacitus gagged on his wine with a sudden realization. "Like you and the Pandorica, right? It's not what's inside it, but who's inside. A lady."

Rory nodded, deep in thought. "It's been the night before our wedding for twenty years now."

"What happened?"

Rory took a long breath. "Well, she ran off to chase her dreams. I followed her to the end of the Earth, and beyond. We just kept running together. It was so easy to run, you know, to ignore all our responsibilities and obligations. But then I did something unforgivable, and as punishment I have the biggest responsibility of them all—protecting that box. One thousand and eighty years to wait until I can see her again, to tell her I'm sorry."

Tacitus was silent for some time. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because two thousand years is a long time to keep a secret."

Tacitus nodded. "I can't imagine. It doesn't sound real. It sounds…"

"—like a nightmare?" asked Rory.

"I was going to say 'fairytale.'"

"Why?"

"I'm just nineteen, so what do I know about life? But, I think that every person, myself included, wants to run away from the world sometimes. Every person then has to face the consequences of those actions. Very few people have the opportunity to fix what went wrong. You've been given a second chance, Mr. Rory. That's why I think your story will have a happy ending."

The next morning found Rory giving Tertius and Lucine literature lessons.

"Mr. Rory?" asked Lucine, waving her hand. "At the end of Orion's story, Zeus turns Orion into a constellation. What's a constellation?"

"A constellation is a group of stars."

"Stars? Those aren't real, are they?" interjected Tertius. "Dad always said they were just myths."

Rory chose his words carefully. "To some, the stars are just stories. But to other people, they're real."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Nothing in this universe makes any sense, Tertius, if you think about it long enough."

Tertius was quiet for a moment, but Rory could almost envision the cogs of thought churning in his little cranium. "You're right, Mr. Rory," he admitted. "Dad and Auntie Evelina escaped Pompeii when the gods set the mountain on fire. They don't like to talk about it, and when I ask them, they say they were saved by a miracle. That doesn't make sense either."

"A miracle? What sort of miracle?"

"They say the household gods leapt from the sky and took them to a safe place."

"Sounds like a 'storks-drop-babies-on-doorsteps' story to me," commented Rory.

"What?" asked Lucine.

"It's a story they'll explain when you're old enough to understand."

"Oh," said Lucine. "I hate when they do that."

"Me too!" said Tertius.

"Don't worry, you'll grow up soon enough."

"Mr. Rory, will you still be with us then?"

Rory was saved from responding by a knock on the door.

"Be right back," he said, scuttling up the stairs.

He answered the door to find three fully-armored guards at the threshold. One stepped forward.

"We have received an anonymous tip," he announced. "Are you Roranicus?"

"Uh, yeah," said Rory hesitantly. "A tip about what?"

"Are you hiding Imperial property on these premises?"

"No." The truth.

"Sorry, but we can't take your word for it." The soldier pushed past Rory and began surveying the villa. "We have orders to search this house."

"I'm certain Quintus won't be pleased," protested Rory.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll be gone soon enough. We'll leave the explaining to you."

"Gee, thanks," muttered Rory as the soldiers split up. The first—and most irritating—began descending the stairs. Not good at all.

Lucine and Tertius looked nervous as the soldier drew closer, poking around the floor, peeking in the vases, and rifling through the texts. Then, to Rory's horror, the man began pounding his spear-butt against the walls and listening intently. The one opposite the stairs seemed solid enough. So did the one to the left, and to the right. But then Rory could only look on helplessly as the spear hit the last wall with a hollow thud. A grin split the soldier's face as he raised the weapon and drove it into the plaster.

When the dust settled, the children gasped.

The sleek black corner of the Pandorica poked through the shattered wall.

"I can explain!" said Rory. "It's—"

And then the soldiers wrestled him to the floor.

Over the course of the day, Rory's incessant pacing had worn ruts in the cell's dirt floor.

"It's no use, Aesculapius," said Quintus. "The emperor's prison is inescapable."

"No, that's not what I'm worried about. What on Earth does Hadrian want with the Pandorica?"

"What, the box? How did you hide it in my villa, anyway?"

"While I was renovating, I stashed it behind the wall," Rory confessed.

Quintus nodded.

"You're not angry?" asked Rory. "I'm sorry my association with you got you arrested too."

Quintus shrugged. "You're a smart man, Aesculapius. I'm sure you had your reasons. But I don't much like being on the Emperor's bad side. I can't believe you were willing to risk the Emperor's wrath. You know how much he wants—needs—that box."

"He needs it? Why?"

"Haven't you heard the stories?"

"Which stories?"

Quintus took a deep breath. "The Celts feared the box. Said it brought misfortune. The ship that transported the box back to Rome mysteriously caught fire and sank, and the surviving members of the crew said that some of their shipmates became inexplicably insane. A few of them even committed suicide."

"What does this have to do with Hadrian?"

"Well, having safely within his possession such an object of fear and respect will grant him the same level of admiration from the Celts. He'd finally put a stop to the rebellions in Britannia. The Emperor wants to parade the Pandorica through Britain to display his power."

"I can't let him haul the box back North. It was difficult enough to get it here safely."

Quintus eyed Rory inquisitively. "How'd you get possession of the box? Last I heard, it was at the bottom of the sea."

"The same way you escaped from Pompeii, apparently," said Rory. "A miracle."

Quintus nodded wordlessly.

"But what I don't understand," continued Rory, "is how the soldiers knew where to find the Pandorica. It's not as if I told them where it was." Then his eyes widened in sudden realization. "But I did tell Tacitus. Why on Earth would he go tattling to the Emperor? Doesn't make any sense."

"Ironic name, too," muttered Quintus.

"I'm sorry?"

"'Tacitus.' It means 'silence.' If he's an imperial informant, it's a rather funny name."

Rory froze for a moment, as if this trivia had some significance. Then he shook his head. "Well, in any case, we need to get out of here," he announced. "We need to recover the Pandorica."

"But it's in the possession of the Emperor!"

"Well, then, let's go have a chat with him, shall we?"

"We can't just go traipsing off to Palatine Hill!"

"Why not?"

"We're in a prison," observed Quintus.

"Not for long," Rory promised.

By dinnertime, Rory had dragged Quintus up to the steps of Hadrian's palace.

"I still can't believe the door was unlocked," said Quintus.

"Just luck, I guess," said Rory. Actually, his success was more due to a quick laser blast and a fair amount of running than anything else.

"Well, I hope this 'luck' holds," commented Quintus. "The prison may be somewhat insecure, but rest assured the palace won't be. The Praetorian Guard isn't a force to mess with, and don't get me started on the frumentarii. Do you have a plan?"

"Yes," said Rory, pointing. "You see that gate?"

"Of course."

"We're going to knock."

Rory sidled up to the gate. A guard grabbed his arm.

"You can't enter," he said gruffly.

"Why not?"

"Because it's the Imperial Palace."

"So?"

"You can't just stroll in and sup with the Emperor!"

Rory grinned mischievously. "Watch me!"

And then he slipped under the guard's elbow and darted inside.

"I just don't understand that man," muttered Quintus, sprinting after him.

Upon seeing Rory burst into his dining room, Emperor Hadrian set down his wine. The eyes behind his beard raged.

"What is this?" he stormed. "Where're my guards?"

"Don't worry," said Rory. "My entourage will arrive at any moment."

The soldiers, panting after the long pursuit, barreled into the chamber.

"Oh, here they are!" Rory said cheerily. "Now, where's my box?"

Hadrian was furious. "Guards, seize this lunatic!"

The soldiers obligingly pounced at Rory, who suddenly was far from their reach, one of their swords in his hand.

"That wouldn't be such a good idea," he warned. Then he lifted the sword to where the Emperor could see it, this symbol of Roman power gleaming in the torchlight.

Then he snapped the blade in half.

"Now, let's talk, Mr. Emperor, just you and me," said Rory.

Quintus stumbled into the room, panting heavily. "Aesculapius? What's this about?"

Rory saw the shadow of surprise that crossed Hadrian's face. The display of strength, the impudence, and now this man referring to the intruder by the name of a god? Could it be?

"…oh, and let's bring Quintus too," finished Rory.

The Emperor agreed.

Although a pair of guards kept watch outside the door, once the Emperor had led Rory and Quintus into his private chamber, they were completely alone.

"Great," said Rory, sinking onto a couch. "Now, earlier today you stole a box from Quintus' property. That box is under my protection, and I want it back."

"That box is needed to quell the rebellion in Britannia," countered Hadrian. "Surely you know that."

"I do," said Rory, "but, if I remember my history correctly, the rebellion will end this year anyway. I promise. Just build a big wall straight through Britain and you'll be fine. But, come New Year's, the only purpose the Pandorica will serve to you is as a paperweight."

"But the box is also said to contain riches," said Hadrian. "Whoever survives the hardship the Pandorica brings can try to open it. This wealth would be an invaluable asset to Rome."

"Why do people see a box and automatically assume there's treasure inside?" Rory sighed. "Let's set the record straight: there is nothing in that box of any monetary value to you."

"Then why are you guarding it?"

"Because I promised, a long time ago, that I would."

"Promised? Promised whom?" asked Hadrian. "The gods?"

"No, a Doctor," Rory stared straight into Hadrian's eyes. "The Doctor. He's the warden of all of time and space. No prison can hold him, though many have tried. I've seen armies turn and flee at the sound of his name. Now, I promised him, twenty years ago, to watch over the Pandorica. When I see him again, after Rome falls and your palace dissolves into dust, must I tell him that the Pandorica's loss is your fault?"

The Roman Emperor surrendered his authority, gazing at his own feet. "Very well," he conceded. "I propose a bargain. You can guard this Pandorica, and I can guarantee its safety."

"How?" Rory asked.

"I shall build a grand receptacle in Rome to hold it," promised the Emperor. "Amongst other relics, where hundreds of people shall pass by every day, it will remain in plain view, revered, and therefore untouched."

"What sort of receptacle?"

"I call it the Pantheon."

"The Pantheon? Really?" Rory grinned. "The Pandorica in the Pantheon. Imagine that. Agreed. But how do I know you'll keep your word?"

Flames flickered in Hadrian's eyes, and he drew himself up to his full height. "I am an Emperor of Rome. My word commands the lives of ninety million subjects. If my word does not suffice, nothing will."

Rory nodded. "Keep the Pandorica in your safest vault until then, then. I'll be keeping an eye on it as well. Actually, two eyes. Actually, two eyes and a hand." Rory reached for the door. "Anyway, thank you, sir. I probably won't be seeing you again. But, in any case, watch out for your brother-in-law, Servianus. He's a slippery one. Bye!"

And, ignoring Hadrian's befuddled expression, Rory grabbed Quintus' arm and slid out the door.

Someplace between Palatine Hill and Quintus' villa, the old Roman doctor asked him a question that must have been eating at him for some time. "What do you mean, Rome's going to fall?"

Rory couldn't look Quintus in the eye. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

Quintus put a hand on Rory's shoulder, bringing their walk to a halt. "No. You said Rome would fall and the palace would turn to dust. You said you remembered from history that the Britannic revolution would end this year. You're recalling events that haven't happened yet, almost as if…" he sighed. "Almost as if you'd slid back through time."

Rory said nothing.

"By the gods!" exclaimed Quintus loudly. Then, looking around guiltily, he lowered his voice. "All that knowledge, all that experience. And you can't say a word. It must be killing you. The whole city, this whole Empire, and you realize it won't last."

"Nothing lasts," whispered Rory. "Everything decays eventually. Just a matter of time."

"Is that really what you think?"

Rory was silent for some time. "No."

Quintus flashed a brief smile. "Good to know you're a wiser man than to believe that. You've shown me at least one thing that never dies, Aesculapius. Promises. Anchor yourself to your vow, let it fill you with comfort and hope, and you'll survive the storm. Take it from me, a life without hope isn't a life at all."

Rory glanced in Quintus' direction. The man was looking intently at Rory, as if he expected Rory to ask him something. So he obliged.

"What do you mean, 'take it from me?'" Rory inquired. "Wait…this doesn't have anything to do with your escape from Pompeii, does it?"

"Oh, Aesculapius, it has everything to do with that," said Quintus. "In the years you've lived with us, you've never looked twice at our shrine. I understand that you didn't want to get involved with our religions and our gods, but you would have immensely benefited from closer inspection of the carving on the wall."

"Why? What about it?"

"It's of our household patrons. The ones that took us from Pompeii."

"You called it a 'miracle.'"

"So I did," said Quintus. "It was a miracle. I was a boy when Vesuvius exploded. A 'volcano', my father called it. Our family was trapped in our villa, cowering and resigned to death. But, just when all hope had faded, a blue box appeared."

Rory turned to face Quintus. "You met the Doctor?" he asked disbelievingly.

Quintus nodded. "He saved us, and took us in his box to a safe location. In thanks, he holds a prominent place in our home, and our hearts. He changed our lives, too—he's the reason I now practice medicine. To help people. But, above all, in a world that was tearing itself apart, he gave us hope. Now, the question is, Rory, do you have hope?"

Rory took a deep breath. "Yes," he said simply.

"Well, that's all that matters."

"Thank you, Quintus. Now, let's head back home. There's still one question that needs answering. Who told Hadrian about the Pandorica? Also, I need to fix your wall," he finished sheepishly.

"Oh, forget the wall. You must tell me your stories. I'm sure you have plenty."

The pair began walking again.

Rory smiled. "Where should I begin?"

Author's Note: Yep, I definitely just introduced an underlying multi-story arc. That'll keep me busy for some time! Meanwhile, I think Rory's going to have some more entanglements with historical figures, just because it's rather fun. And maybe a few more monsters will invade these stories as well.

Speaking of monsters, Finals and Essays of Death are rapidly rearing their ugly heads, and so over the next week or two I might be a bit preoccupied defeating them with pens, which, as we all know, are far superior to swords. In other words, please forgive me if I don't update as regularly as I usually do.

Once again, thanks for reading! Feel free to write a review telling me what you think. Reviews make me just as happy as new episodes of Doctor Who do. Which is saying a lot…so, please, fuel both my obsession and writing by leaving a comment!

Allons-y!