When They Fall

Part 2: The End of the Beginning

Mini-Story Summary: Beneath the ruins of a familiar place, Rory comes face-to-face with the enemies he forgot he had, and faces the most powerful opponent of all—himself.

At the Pantheon

Rory rubbed his hands together. "Right!" he announced. "Let's get cracking. First things first: we need to find Tacitus' grave."

"Roranicus?" asked Gallus. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Rory looked down at his paralyzed legs. "Oh. Right. Serious injury to attend to and all that. Junius, check the body for rubber tubing. Oh, you wouldn't know what rubber is. It's…ah…it's squishy."

"Oh, that's helpful," said Junius sarcastically. "Why do I have to do it?"

Rory sighed. "Because I can't move, and I doubt Gallus wants to loot his own ancestor's body."

"No, no," said Junius. "I meant, why do we need this…tubing?"

Rory proceeded to pull off his breastplate. "For repairs."

"Repai—oh, wow." Junius jumped back as sparks shot like fireworks from the breach in Rory's chest.

"Yeah, exactly," Rory grimaced. "Tubing. Now."

Junius held up a snarl of cables. "Is this it?"

"Bring it here." Rory snatched it from his hand and began fiddling around with his wires. "So, if questions had weight, you two would be crushed. Ask away."

Gallus cleared his throat. "All that metal and sparks…you're like him," he said, nodding towards Tacitus' cyborgified body.

"I'm like him and I'm not like him," said Rory, snipping the tubing with a knife. "I have a lot of the same technology—robotics, it's called— but I'm not, well, dead."

"And you knew Tacitus?" asked Gallus. Rory nodded. "But he lived centuries ago!" exclaimed Gallus. "That would make you virtually ancient! When exactly were you born?"

"Well, a long time from now," answered Rory, pulling a severed end of wire from his chest. "Oh, look! Found it. Now, I just need the other cut end."

"When you say 'a long time from now,' do you mean, say, before the birth of Christ? Before the rise of Rome?" Gallus laughed half-jokingly. "The creation of the world?"

"No, the other way," said Rory, fishing out the second severed end. "A long time from now…in the future. Does that make any sense?"

"No," Gallus said, watching Rory thread the insulating tubing over the severed wires.

"Don't worry, I don't understand it either." The sparks stopped flying and Rory's legs twitched. He flexed his knees experimentally. "There! All better. Where was I? Oh, yes—Tacitus. We need to see his grave."

Behind the retreating backs of Rory, Junius, and Gallus, a pair of Roman soldiers emerged from the Pantheon courtyard.

"All clear?" one asked. The crest on his helmet signified his Centurion rank. The other, apparently his assistant, nodded. The Centurion sighed. "We were so close. The Visigoth king was within bowshot! If only we'd had the arrows instead of him, we could have ended this rampage."

"Did you see the man he was talking to?" asked the assistant. The Centurion shook his head.

The subordinate could barely maintain his calm. "He was a Roman! That man betrayed us to Alaric!"

"Him?" The Centurion beckoned towards Rory's back. The assistant nodded. "Run straight to the Senate," said the Centurion. "This invasion destroyed the livelihoods of the most powerful men in Rome. I'm sure they'll have something to say to the man who led the barbarians through their door."

"Of course, sir," said the assistant. "Where will you be?"

"Me?" asked the officer, adjusting his helmet. "I'm going to follow that man."

Gallus led his companions unerringly to a time-worn cemetery.

"This is the old family plot," said Gallus, indicating a row of headstones highlit by the clear dawn sky. "Tacitus has the oldest one."

Rory approached the grave slowly. It was empty, Rory knew; the body that should have rested beneath the ivy-encrusted headstone had instead found peace two centuries later by the blade of Rory's throwing knife. Nevertheless, Rory stepped over the ground where the coffin was buried, dogged by a guilty conscience. He peered closely at the headstone.

Tacitus Horatius, the engraving read. Father, Husband, and Friend. And then, beneath that:

All words begin and end with Silence.

"That's downright cryptic," muttered Rory.

"Are you talking about Tacitus' epitaph?" asked Gallus, moving closer. "I think he designed this headstone before he died. The old man must've been delirious at the time, because it makes no sense."

Rory's eyes fell on the ivy obscuring the lower portion of the stone. "Maybe it makes perfect sense; we're just missing something. Help me get these vines off," he ordered.

Beneath two centuries' growth of leaves was more weathered marble. Rory brushed off the last wisps of ivy and stood back to survey his handiwork.

"Oh," was all Rory could say.

Etched into the stone was a scene. A bench sat upon a patch of grass, but far beneath the ground was a hollow, a cave. In that cave stood a figure; however, that figure was not Tacitus, not even human.

"It's the Silence," whispered Rory.

"I don't understand," said Junius.

"I'd forgotten," said Rory, "but long ago someone told me what Tacitus' name meant. It means "silence." And, look! 'Silence,' in the epitaph, is written with a capital 'S.' You capitalize names. Silence is a name, and just as Gallus shares his name with his ancestor, Tacitus shares the name 'Silence'"—Rory pointed to the figure—"with that. Junius, meet the Silence."

"Hello, Silence," said Junius unhelpfully.

"I had it all wrong, you see," said Rory. He pulled a slip of paper from his tunic and handed it to his companion.

"'When they fall, don't stand behind them,'" Junius read aloud.

"Yeah. I thought it referred to the fall of Rome. Tacitus and I had mentioned the subject once or twice; I took it as a warning. Well, it was a warning, but not against the Romans. It's a warning against the Silence! You see, 'fall' doesn't just mean 'downfall.' It also means 'a coming,' like nightfall, the coming of night. 'When they fall' is a warning against the coming of the Silence. 'When the Silence come, stay away.' That's the real meaning of Tacitus' last words."

"Wait, what Silence?" asked Junius, looking at Rory.

Rory looked confused. "The one in the picture."

"There isn't any picture," protested Junius.

"Yes, there is! Look," said Rory, pointing.

Junius' eyes moved back to the headstone and widened in realization. "Wait, that carving looks strange, almost alien. What is it?" Then he gasped. "Oh. It's the Silence. You just told me that, but I forgot. How did I forget?"

"You stopped looking at the picture," observed Rory. "Junius, look away."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Junius averted his eyes. "What were we talking about?"

"There," said Rory. "You just forgot. Okay, look back at the carving."

Junius obeyed. "Whoa. Is that the Silence?"

"See? Now you remember again." Rory looked at Junius. "So, you can only remember the Silence when you're seeing it? That explains a lot. I've been having gaps in my memory. It was all caused by the Silence."

Gallus jumped into the conversation. "So, what do we do?"

"Well, we have to make sure we don't forget what we've seen," said Rory. He pulled a stick of charcoal from his tunic. "Lucky I keep a writing tool handy. Junius, hold out your hand." Rory seized Junius' extended palm, flipped it over, and began copying the Silent onto his hand. "There," he said finally, "does that look passable?"

Junius diverted his eyes from the headstone and stared at the charcoal-smudge-Silent instead. "It seems to work. I still remember."

"Good," said Rory, now charcoaling his own hand. "Now, keep that image within view at all times so you don't forget." Then he began scribbling on Gallus' hand. "Oh, and Gallus, do you know the name of this place?"

"Yes. It's the Hortensii Cemetery."

"I knew it," Rory breathed.

"How?" asked Gallus, surveying the Silent on his hand. "Is that significant?"

"It's very significant. This place used to be a garden. Tacitus' wife died here. The last time I visited, Tacitus, Galen, and I discovered a secret cave beneath a garden bench. The bench is long gone, but maybe, just maybe, I can still find the cave." Rory pressed an ear to the grass and began shuffling around on his knees, tapping the ground methodically. When he reached the fence, he tapped a few more times and grinned. "It's here."

"How are you going to open it?" asked Junius.

Rory nudged his companions clear. "Like this. Keep back."

A single shot from his hand-gun sent dirt flying. The dust settled to reveal a gaping hole in the ground, a maw in which Rory could spot an aged stone staircase descending into the darkness.

"Excellent! We're in business," said Rory, jumping onto the steps. "Junius, can I borrow your cloak?" Rory wrapped the cloth around the end of his sword and, with another shot, set the cloak aflame.

"Why, thanks," muttered Junius.

"What? It's a torch," explained Rory, heading down the stairs. "Come along! Don't lose sight of the Silence drawings on your hands. Oh, and watch out for the root."

"Ow!" exclaimed Gallus.

"Every time," laughed Rory.

After Rory, Gallus, and Junius disappeared beneath the ground, the Centurion emerged from his hiding place in the bushes. What he'd just witnessed was impossible, he was certain. He edged closer to the staircase beneath the grass. The Centurion, as a Roman officer, had the prerequisite nerves of steel; nonetheless, the gaping pit deeply unsettled him; its existence was simply wrong.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and stifled a scream.

"Sir?" he recognized the voice of his assistant. "I'm glad I found you. The men are no more than ten minutes behind me."

"Excellent," said the Centurion, shaking off his worry. "I'm eager for retribution…and some answers."

Rory slowly approached the main cavern, torch held before him like a spear in the darkness. He kept careful track of his companions; he could remember only too well the debacle that had occurred when Tacitus had disappeared under almost identical circumstances.

Junius eyed the sleek stone walls apprehensively. "This place gives me the shivers," he whispered. "I shudder to think of the abominations that live here."

"And the sort of man it takes to stand against them," muttered Gallus, hoping Rory wouldn't hear. "That man has nerves of steel, I think."

"More than just nerves," said Junius. "Did you see that miracle he pulled earlier? His innards are metal. Think about it. Metal. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen."

"That man's a riddle wrapped in an enigma and sprinkled with a generous helping of insanity," said Gallus, tiptoeing around a stalagmite. "But, at the risk of sounding irrational, I trust him nonetheless."

"I don't understand, though. He said he was old, very old," said Junius. "How can that be?"

Age means nothing. The ageless ones weather the trickle of time.

Gallus flinched, Junius let out a half-muffled shriek, and Rory wheeled around brandishing his torch as the chilling voice of the Silence echoed through the cavern.

"Oh, saw fit to eavesdrop on us, did you?" Rory barked at the darkness. "Well, then, join the conversation! Show yourselves!"

And then, to Junius' utmost horror, a pale shape emerged from the shadow; a wraith, like a man that had lived in depravity too long to remember joy, or sunlight, or human touch. The shell of a being. Then, it spoke—if spoke was the right word; speaking requires a mouth and tongue, and Junius could see neither.

We are the Silence. The Silence hears all. Every conversation, every whisper, every word spoken to an empty room, we listen and remember.

"You've been listening in for quite some time too, I think!" said Rory. "Since Tacitus tried to throttle me at this same spot, so very long ago."

No.

"Don't lie to me."

No. We have been watching you since the very beginning, long before the birth of Tacitus. He was not our first weapon, nor will he be our last.

"Why did you need him?"

You entered our abode. Your removal was necessary.

"So you controlled Tacitus somehow, I'd say, to get him to kill me. You failed, though. I'm still alive. Obviously."

Your death was not our objective. Tacitus served his purpose, and so his life was terminated.

"Is that so? So, then, you have other devious plans? Like what?"

The Silent pointed a spindly, pale finger at Rory. Like you.

"What do you want with me?"

We want to understand.

Rory's bold façade was slipping. "U…Understand? What about me do you want to understand?"

You are unique. You are a human who is not a human, a mortal that is not a mortal. You have seen many years, and know much. You have many memories.

"So?"

We take memories.

"Oh." Then Rory's brain spun into overdrive. That's why I have so many gaps in my memory, he thought. I've seen the Silence before, and I forgot about it each time. Who knows what could've happened during that amnesia?

Then a pair of wiry white arms seized him from behind, and his train of thought derailed.

"Lemme go!" yelled Junius from someplace beyond sight. The sounds of a struggle indicated that both of Rory's companions were restrained. Rory squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain his focus. Why would the Silence want my memories? He wondered. He must have asked that question aloud, because the Silent's answer chilled his soul.

We collect them.

"Collect memories? For what?"

They give us information. The experiences of a human with your…unique…perspective will tell us many things about your species. Your many memories help us to more efficiently shape your history. We released the plague that killed Emperor Aurelius. We gave Tacitus his name. We are the puppeteers of the past, present, and future, in a play which humans so unwittingly act out. Rory Williams, whatever manipulation we have done to Tacitus, we have done far more to you. The "ghosts" of your friends have allowed us to discern your emotions, but now we shall probe your mind.

Rory glimpsed the outline of a slab, eerily reminiscent of an autopsy table, before he was strapped to its surface. Something forced his eyelids shut, and he felt a cold disk of metal press against his forehead. And then, against his will, memories flooded to the front of his mind.

Six-year-old Amy was passing him a drawing during class; he was watching her recount the night she had met the Doctor; he was on one knee, a tiny red box held up to Amy's eyes that sparkled with the reflection of the engagement ring within; the Doctor was crashing what, until then, had been a splendid bachelor's party; he was strolling with Amy along the bustlingly beautiful canals of Venice; she was in his arms, limp, but he could barely see her through his tears; he was alone, on the back of a pterosaur or sailing a burning boat across the sea or walking the streets of Rome, but always alone.

It hurt. So much.

The copying process brings the most emotionally charged memories to the surface, the Silent was saying. These experiences grant the greatest insight into the human psyche.

Stop it, thought Rory. Just stop it, please. I'll do anything. But the memories came faster; details long thought forgotten seared into his mind. Then, a single thought flashed through his consciousness.

I'm not looking at the Silent right now. I still remember it.

Something's different, he thought. They said I was unique, that I wasn't human. Maybe that's not a disadvantage. As a human, I'd forget the Silence as soon as I blink. But, as a machine…I remember.

The process is complete, spoke the Silent. Rory opened his eyes to find the creature manipulating a magnet held above his eyebrows.

"What? And you're not going to wipe my memory again?"

That will be taken care of.

"But I can still remember everything!"

That will be taken care of. Magnetism applied at this precise location–the Silent indicated Rory's forehead—will disrupt your neural circuitry and physically erase memories, a feature we have used efficiently in the past. We may create a state of total amnesia if necessary. But, now, we have no need to do so. Rise.

Rory found himself unfettered and leapt to his feet.

Farewell, Rory Williams. Until we meet again.

Rory blinked but saw nothing but the darkness.

"They're gone?" asked Gallus, hauling himself upright.

"Thank goodness," shivered Junius.

Then Rory caught sight of an officer's helmet, gleaming in the torchlight. "Or not."

The Roman Centurion and his allies stepped into the light. "Hands where I can see them, traitors."

Rory and Junius obeyed, but Gallus stepped in front of them both.

"You're not touching him," ordered Gallus. "Roranicus may be guilty of treason, but I, for one, keep my promises. I have a debt of blood to pay to this man, and by the Gods I'm going to keep it."

The Centurion smiled humorlessly. "A blood debt? To the traitor? You owe him your life, I presume." Then, too fast to see, his gladius swung in a semicircle with a sickening slikk, and Gallus collapsed to the ground. "Consider it paid."

Junius dropped to Gallus' side and pressed his fingers to his comrade's neck just in time to feel the final pulse of his heart. "You monster!" he shouted.

Rory drew his sword and lunged at the Centurion. A mob of soldiers swarmed him. Someplace in the frenzy, Rory lost his weapon; he pummeled faces with his fists instead. A well-aimed kick sent the Centurion flying clear across the cavern, hitting the wall with a satisfactory crunch. A chop to the collarbone incapacitated, and a blow to the gut sent men reeling to the floor. The cave was littered with twitching and limp men, and Rory, the last one standing, towered over the scene with the grim face of a death-god.

Junius, still kneeling by Gallus' body, pointed a shaky finger at Rory's torso. Rory looked down.

"Oh," he said, pulling a gladius from his chest. "The Centurion must have stabbed me. No matter, though. He didn't hit any vitals." Rory tossed the weapon aside.

"You were stabbed," said Junius, shocked.

Rory nodded.

"And you fought all those men anyway."

Another nod.

"Some of them aren't moving. Are they dead?"

"Quite possibly," shrugged Rory. "They got what was coming to them."

"No, they didn't," said Junius. "You didn't have to kill them."

"We're safe now. It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does matter!" Junius pressed. "You treat human life as if it were nothing. All those years, all those memories; after seeing so much death, you just don't care anymore!"

Rory was silent.

"I've seen so much today," continued Junius. "The destruction of my city, Gallus' murder, and ancient creatures from my darkest nightmares. But you know what scares me the most? You do. A man without conscience or boundaries, a man set apart from the rest of the world. You're an anomaly, an abomination. Gallus trusted you, and now he's dead. Right there"—Junius indicated a soldier splayed out on the ground—"is Acanthus. I knew him, just like I knew half of the men you just slew. You frighten me more than the Silence ever could. I don't want to be near you. I don't want to see you. I don't even want to remember you. And thank goodness I don't have to." Junius held up his palm, the charcoal-scribbled Silent dancing in the torchlight. "All I'll remember is what happened at the Pantheon. And I'll chalk it up to hallucination, nothing more. I'll wake up later, my comrades at my side. The last few hours will be blank, and I'll continue my life."

"Don't do this, Junius," Rory pleaded hopelessly.

"It's the only escape," said Junius, raising a sword pommel above his head. "It's my only way forward. I'll let the past be the past. Nothing more." Then, in one swift motion, Junius wiped his hand against the folds of his tunic, erasing the Silence forever. As his eyes blanked with the memory loss, the sword-hilt crashed against his temple, and he sank to the floor, unconscious.

And Rory was, once again, utterly alone.

One Month Later

For a city trying to resurrect itself from the ashes of defeat, daily life for its inhabitants seemed remarkably normal. Citizens tiptoed around rubble in the streets on their way to the market; the wayfarers and beggars picked through the remains of houses looking for sellable baubles. In one of Rome's half-forgotten alleyways sat a cloak-wrapped figure. A man approached, his clothes not much better than rags; nevertheless, as he passed, he dropped a silver coin before the figure's feet.

"Thanks, but I don't need it," said Rory, adjusting his cloak.

The pedestrian stooped down to look him in the eyes. "You're the first bum I've met that's refused a denarii's worth of alcohol. What is it you want, then?"

"What I want isn't something you can give," Rory muttered.

"Nonsense," said the man. "Nine times out of ten, all a man needs is a decent conversation. So, speak up. What's the matter?"

Rory sighed. "The Pandoric—I mean, the Pantheon—is under heavy guard. The soldiers say they're afraid the building could be looted, but I know better. They want to make sure I stay away."

The man did an excellent job of hiding his confusion.

"I've done some unforgivable, unspeakable things," said Rory. "There are memories spinning around in my head that I want to bury, because every time I remember, it hurts too much."

"Don't beat yourself up over the past," advised the man. "Move on."

Junius' most recent words jumped unbidden into Rory's mind. "It's the only escape…my only way forward. I'll let the past be the past. Nothing more."

Junius was right about Rory's murders; they were wrong. Junius had forgotten everything. Perhaps he'd been right about that too; perhaps the path to the future was in forgetting the past.

Then, Rory caught sight of the pendant hanging from the pedestrian's neck.

"That's not a lodestone, by any chance, is it?"

"Oh, aye," said the man, allowing Rory to examine the necklace. "I picked it up on my travels."

Rory's eyes practically glowed with hope.

"What, you'd like it?"

Rory nodded.

"Fine, then." The man untied the pendant and tossed it into Rory's lap. "It's just a trinket, but if you need it that badly, then take it."

"Thank you," said Rory, fingering the lodestone. "I appreciate your help. I won't forget you."

The man nodded, smiled, and left.

"Actually," whispered Rory, "I will."

The Silence had given him an escape. He'd wondered why they hadn't erased his encounter with the beings from his mind. They had simply responded: That will be taken care of.

And it would be taken care of—by Rory. The Silence had known that all along. They "let slip" that he could hold the magnet to his forehead to induce amnesia. They knew he'd want to forget everything, so they told him how.

Everything, though? What about his childhood, his parents, and all the fantastic places he'd seen? What about the Pandorica and the fiancé he'd sworn to protect?

I've already failed her, he realized. I killed her myself, just like I killed those men. Remembering Amy…it's torture, because things'll never be the same with her. I'll never look her in the eye without seeing her, lifeless, in my arms…

"I'm sorry, Amelia," he whispered to the quiet, and pressed the stone to his forehead.

All words begin and end with Silence, Tacitus had written. But Rory wouldn't remember.

He wouldn't remember a thing.

Author's Note: I'm back, and so is Doctor Who! Thanks for reading, and a big thanks to those of you who review. I've been very busy lately, which is why updates are so few and far between. Most of my business comes from schoolwork, which doesn't make a very fun read. However, I've also started a blog! If you're interested, feel free to check it out; I don't post very often but I hope you like what I have. The link's on my profile page. Also, if you haven't already, go read my other Doctor Who fanfic, the House of Mirrors, which was great fun to write.

Thanks for your support! You guys are awesome.

Allons-y!