First Fic in this Fandom. I have been watching DW since I was four, though. So I know all about the Zygons and Susan and Ramona and Sarah and Ace.

Anywho...without further ado, here is the first chapter of Planetside

Disclaimer: Owened bu the fantastic BBC. Writen by so many people I don't really want to list them all, but credit has to go to Donald Wilson. He started it.

CHAPTER 1

Keep your fingers crossed for luck. Rory almost snorted. Did the Doctor really think that crossing their fingers would keep them safe?
"It feeds of your fear," the Doctor said.
They had already lost Joe and the kid with the stutter, Howard. Rory had spoken to him, before...
But now only he and Amy and the Doctor were left. And Gibbis, and Rita.
Even after they trapped the Monitor in the hair salon (who has a fear of hair salons?) it managed to escape.
He hadn't been afraid. Even when it had broken the glass and pulled away the mop jamming the door, he hadn't been scared. It must have something to do with having almost two thousand years of experience behind you. Even if he did have to repress all the memories to keep sane.
Rory watched as Amy stopped to talk to Gibbis. She was most likely telling him tales of the Doctor, of how wonderful he was, of how he would save them. Rita was making tea in the kitchen. Rory could smell it from where he sat. He looked around the room, the circular tables, the white tablecloths, all set like there was about to be a party. In a psychotic 1980's hotel that tried to kill you with fear.
Rory didn't realize he was shredding napkins into a pile until the Doctor sat down next to him.
"How are you doing?" the Doctor asked. He was holding a cup of tea. So Rita had finished in the kitchen. She was a doctor too. And he was Rory, the Nurse.
Rory shoved the pile of shredded paper away. "Fine."

The Doctor looked him straight in the eyes. "Are you sure?"
"I'm not scared." Rory half chuckled. "I'm…" he stopped to think, "one thousand, eight hundred and ninety four years. There's not much left to be scared of if you're that old."

The Doctor shrugged. "I guess so…" Rory watched him look over the room, where Joe and Howard and the dummies were lined up. The Doctor's eyes were glazed. Rory didn't push, he knew from experience that he just had to wait. The Time Lord would talk eventually.

"Is it something else?"

Rory started. He still wasn't used to the Doctor treating him as an equal.

He faced the Doctor, or at least, the side of the Doctor's face.

"I'm not sure, Doctor." Rory answered honestly. "I'm not scared."

"I know…" The Doctor's brow furrowed. "But what else do you lack?"

Before Rory could respond, the Doctor stood up and looked around.

"I've got things to do." And he left.

Rory smiled at Amy as she put some grocery bags on the counter. The green plastic crinkled as she dug through them.

"It's in here somewhere," she muttered. Amy turned to the other bag, her red hair swinging in a thick curtain. Rory watched from the doorway.

"Viola!" she cried, and wrenched free a bag of mixed nuts. "What do you think? Will it work for Jeff's party?"

"I think he would prefer it if you were still a kiss-o-gram." Rory joked.

It had been two months since the Doctor had left them in London. Really, it wasn't that bad. Amy had only cried a few times. Mostly it was when she saw their front door. Rory knew how she felt, how the blue color seemed almost exactly like those TARDIS had-or has, Rory supposed. The Doctor hadn't ended. He just left. But sometimes it felt like the same thing.

They had moved on, though.

Amy had tracked down Jeff and his latest girlfriend about a week after they had been permanently grounded. She went to clubs or pubs or whatever else they did on Friday nights. Rory usually opted out. He felt too old, like he imagined teachers must feel chaperoning secondary school dances. He used to work extra shifts or managed their finances (not that Amy hadn't done it a thousand times before) or went for long walks, remembering a London older and newer looking at the same time. He went to the museum once, vaguely remembering Amy telling of how the Doctor went to them sometimes to keep score.

He had passed the Roman exhibit (resisting the urge to tie the laces properly on the armor. Honesty, how were you supposed to move with it tied like that?) and somehow ended up in the war section. Perhaps it was a traveling exhibit. He paused at the Hundred Years War, World War I, the Russian Revolution, and so many others. One picture stopped him. It was a photograph taken of Normandy Beach, from the allied craft landing; looking up past the 'X's of metal made to tear out the bottoms of boats like so many teeth. The stretch of sand that reminded him of Space Florida; past the waves of barbed wire. Even higher still, showing the white expanse of cliffs. It cut off below the machine gun turrets that Rory knew dotted the top and sides. Rory didn't know how long he stood, staring at the picture, before he noticed the man next to him. He was old and wrinkled, sporting a faded jacket and trousers. Even though he was hunched and wizened, he still tried to keep his spine stiff. It must seem a sad sight, Rory and the old man, although Rory feltmuch the same way. Old, stooped, and tired. The worst part was the memories kept him awake. No, there were worse things, if Rory truly thought about them. He chose not to. Better to focus on the now.

"I was there." He croaked.

Rory looked at the man again.

"On the beach." The man said, as if there could be any other.

There was pride in his voice, but mostly sadness and pain. Age colored it the most.

"I know." Rory had replied. He had been there too. There was an American kid, named Jeffers who somehow ended up on the boat. In fact, there were quite a few Americans…

"I stormed the beach with a bunch of Limeys." The old man said conversationally. "You know, there was one crazy guy with a sword?"

Rory winced. Not one of his brightest moments.

The old man was still staring at the picture. "He charged right ahead, shouting something mad. You know, some of us just did an 'ahhhh'." He paused to collect his breath. "But this guy, Williams or something….William. He was some kind of Latin scholar. And William, he ran up that beach shouting 'erm victia'!" the old man chucked. "Crazy guy."

"Enim Victoria!" Rory whispered. He remembered, For Victory.It had seemed appropriate at the time.

Rory was watching Jeffers closely now, but the man's gaze never wavered from the picture. Rory was sure it was him. "And then I got hit, in the leg" he tapped it, "and fell screaming into a bunch of wire."

He stopped talking. Rory was busy flipping through his memories. There were so many aliases, so many cover stories and questions…

"Right," Jeffers cleared his throat. "So I was stuck there, flailing like a fish and sobbing and crying for my mom, and William appears. So I tells him:
'Looks like you dropped right out of the sky.'
And he laughs…he had this funny laugh, this old laugh…and he says 'No one's told me that before.'
'Can you help me out?' I ask him, and he pauses. Then he shrugs. We're in the middle of a beach, getting shot down at, about to die and the crazy Brit shrugs, and he says:
'I haven't lived a thousand years just to let people die.'
And he hauled me over his shoulder and took me to a medic. "

Rory swallowed. He remembered that part, the incredible rush of running up the beach. Some part of his brain was analyzing constantly, and that part had heard Jeffers go down. Rory had gone back for him. It was the right thing to do at the time. Like pulling out a gladus while storming Normandy in the middle of World War Two. What did the Doctor say, once? "Christmas Eve, on a rooftop, and my whole brain went 'what the hell'!"
Rory had done that too.
Jeffers coughed again, softly. "I met my wife a few weeks later, she was a nurse see, told her all about Willliam. She said he hadn't come in, but there was so many wounded that she wasn't sure either. So Ester and I looked through the records. Do you know?" Jeffers looked at Rory. "He wasn't there. Willam wasn't anywhere. I mean, it's not the most common last name anyone's ever had, but I couldn't find him. The Latin scholar."

Jeffers rubbed his chin. "You look like him. What's your name?"

Rory knew he could have lied, but that would be too hard. He had lied so much already. To patients, to their parents, their loved ones, to the Doctor and himself. To Amy. "Rory Williams."

"Williams?" Jeffers shook his head. "Any relatives fought in the wars?"

Rory grinned slightly, "If they had I didn't meet them."

Jeffers balked. "It's you…" he stammered.

Rory watched in alarm as he saw the man's resolve collapse.

"I mean…" Jeffers was shaking, crying slightly. Then he grabbed Rory's hand and shook it. "You saved my life. God damn you, you saved my life."

Rory gently pulled his hand free. "I'll see you around, Jeffers." He said, and then walked away, leaving the man to cry in front of the picture.

Was this what the Doctor felt like, when he left his companions behind?

The guilt felt like lead.

"Stupid face."

Rory flinched as the bag of mixed nuts came hurtling towards him. He caught it, and hastily set it back on the counter.

Amy had her hands on her hips. She looked very put out. "I have been calling your name for the past four minutes. The leastyou could do it pretend you're paying attention."

"Right." Rory replied.

"I was saying that we need to leave now it we want to get there on time." Amy gestured to the bags on the counter. "I'll put these away if you take the nuts to the car, okay?"

"Okay," Rory said, "nuts to the car. Got it."

Amy pulled up to Jeff's door. She slid the car into park and paused to look at Rory.

"Listen," she said, putting her hand on his. "I know you didn't want to come."

Rory glanced up at her, surprised.

"Oh don't give me that look," she snapped. She took a deep breath. "It's just… you need to get out more. Have adventures here. Not spend all your time locked in your brain." Amy poked his forehead to drive her point home.

"Alright," Rory said. "Let's go."

He unbuckled and made a move to leave the car. A figure strode past the windscreen. Rory jerked back in surprise. What was he doing here?

Amy watched the man too. "Who is that?"

The man strode confidently up to Jeff's door and knocked. Rory was apprehensive. There was only one person he knew who wore that coat anymore.

Rory got out of the car. "An old friend."

Amy looked at him oddly. "I know all your friends. There is only so many people that live in Ledworth. I mean…" she looked at the figure disappearing through the front door and back at Rory. "I would have remembered him."

Rory laughed. "I mean, a really old friend."

"Really?" Amy's mouth dropped open. "Can we meet him? Maybe he'll tell me more than you do!"

She started towards the front door, the spun back. "The nuts!"

Rory made a move towards the back seat. Amy waived him off. She opened the back door and froze.

"You brought it?" Amy reached in carefully and pulled out the bag of nuts. Her eyes were fixed on the sword peeking out from beneath the seat. "What possessed you?"

"Be prepared." Rory said.

Amy slammed the door shut. "You're not a bloody Girl Scout." She marched huffily towards the front door.

Rory hurried to catch up. "Actually, that was the Boy Scouts, started by Lord Baden Powell. He was a nice guy." He paused. "The mustache was a bit much. I told him to shave, but…" Rory shrugged, as if that explained the eccentrics of historical figures.

Amy giggled. "You remind me of him sometimes."

Rory paused. They stood at the door. It was painted green with a brass knob.

"Is that good?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "It's good."

Amy insisted on knocking.

A young blonde girl opened the door, holding a can. She grinned at them. Rory liked her, a bit. She looked innocent, full of life. In short, the girl looked juvenile.
"Hello." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Jackie. Jackie Enwind."

Amy gripped it tightly. "I'm Amy Williams." She shook briskly, and then elbowed Rory.

Rory smiled tightly. "Rory". He didn't shake her hand.

Jackie's brows furrowed. Then her expression cleared. She stepped back from the door.
"I'm keeping you out aren't I? You're probably freezing, right?"

Rory was about to say, no he wasn't. That she didn't know what cold was until she marched shoeless in the middle of winter over burnt-out fields, dragging a box the color of night because there were no more stars…

Amy none-too-gently elbowed him again, so he followed her lead inside. She introduced him to lots of people. Some reminded him of Romans, or Gauls, or other friends, and he wondered if they were decedents. Perhaps Amy remembering so strongly had fused time or something.

Then he ran into Jeff, in the kitchen. Jeff wasn't drinking, which was new to Rory. He looked well, a bit heavier than when Rory had last seen him (had it really been the Stag Night? Jeff hadn't made it to the wedding…) with a new girlfriend named Rita. She looked nothing like the Rita Rory had known. This Rita was bouncy and giggly and on her fourth drink. The food hadn't even been put out yet. Rory doubted they would have gotten along, her and the Rita he left behind. Finally she left, and Jeff could really talk.

"I've gotten a new job." He announced.

"Really," Rory said. He gave Jeff the same look he saw the Doctor use on the aristocrats in Pre-Revolutionary France. In fact, Rory might have used it then too.

"Yep, BBC. I'm a screenwriter for the historical programs. My first is airing tonight."

"That's fantastic." Rory responded. History. He'd have to get out before it started to avoid the flashbacks.

"Yep. It'll be on in …" Jeff checked his watch. "Five minutes."

No escaping from it then.

"What's it about?" Not the Black Plague. Or the Queen Mary, the Bloody one. Most of the Elizabeths were alright.Rory tuned back in when he heard:

"…roman, who did all sorts of awesome things. Well, not really. We did this under the idea it was a kind of guild. Like the Masons or something." Jeff grinned broadly. He checked his watch again. "Two minutes until…"

He was cut off by a cry of "Jeff! Rory!" from the den.

The two men walked in. Rory saw the Amy had put mixed nuts in a glass bowl. It was blue, of course, nestled between some limp looking sandwiches and fish fingers. There was no custard on the table. Rory checked twice.

Rita raised the volume on the television as Rory sat down next to Amy on the couch. The screen was black, and then scrolling text showed Jeff's name (which was greeted with cheers) and a half dozen other writers. Then it cut to a frumpy looking woman in an ill-fitting green suit, sitting it what looked like a library. She smiled at the camera.

"He has lived for thousands of years. Some say he is as old as time itself. That he has seen the beginning and end of every star, and all the time in-between."

Rory shot a glance at Amy. She shrugged, but frowned slightly.

"This man, this young-ancient man is found in every story around the globe. He never ages, never seems to portray the years that have passed him by. His is eternal, some might say. People claim to have met him. On the Silk Road he is documented, and Leonardo spoke to him. Other people: mothers and daughters, soldiers and peace-makers, and everyone else. Kings and emperors have begged for his counsel."

The woman paused, and the screen cut to another man. He was dressed in traditional Roman garb. He was looking right at the viewers.

It unnerved Rory. He stole a glance around the room. It appeared that every person was enthralled. Jeff was grinning happily to himself. Amy had her eyes riveted to the box.

"Is it about the Doctor?" he whispered in her ear.

She waived him impatiently away with a "Shhh!"

By that time the (flax) Roman was speaking.

"When my men told me about him, I could not believe. They said he had been waiting for a year, maybe a little more. He was dressed in proper attire, but he spoke brokenly. He was to wait, he said."

Rory heard Amy gasp. Rory glanced at Jeff, at the others. They thought they were so clever. So young, so bright, doffing up history and putting on a show with it. Rory made a move to stand, but Amy grabbed his arm. He looked down at her, at her hand gripping him so hard.

She shook her head, so he sat down. The (flax) Roman told of the centurion who looked like all other centurions, one who claimed that Mercury, the god of tricks and thieves and time, had given him a mission to guard the box, and what it contained. The actor garbled the word Pandorica. That made Rory grin, slightly. When Sextilius had spoken to him, he had known exactly how to pronounce Pandorica.

Then (flax) Sextitus told of how he tried to remove the Pandorica, and leave the centurion behind. Rory stopped smiling, held his breath.

"The centurion killed ten of my men." The (flax) Sextilius said. He had none of the anguish the real Sextitus had. The real Sextitus had screamed like a man who had lost his children. "I agreed to allow the centurion to accompany the Pandorica back to Rome."

(Flax) Sextilius kept talking, telling of the journey, of how the centurion barely ate and slept less, of how the centurion spoke to the barbarians as easily as he did to a Roman.

That was because he had no translation circuit. Rory had no help. The TRADIS was busy explodingin space, trying to keep the Earth in existence. It had no time for him. Well, sometimes it nudged him, to where he needed to be. He would always go, always, after the one time he refused…

There was so much guilt in almost two thousand years of living.

Amy's nails dug into his skin and he looked back at the screen. It looked like the show was attempting at a Gual this time, speaking of the fall of Rome.
The Gaul swallowed hard on screen. At least he was trying act the part.

"This centurion stood on a hill just outside of Rome. The flames were reflected in his eyes, and I was terrified. He might have been Mars, for all the care he seemed to show to the city below him." The Gaul paused. "I was running away, for I didn't want to be a slave again. When he looked at me…I thought he would kill me on the spot. Did gods not kill you when you looked at their true from? He looked into my soul with those eyes. Old man's eyes in a young man's body and godlike enough to be above time. He spoke to me. The centurion said, 'Emperies do not fall'. Then he looked over the city, over the screams and fires. 'They die'."

The lady in the ill-fitting suit was back on again. "This one of the guardian's mantas throughout history. Yet he never told it to rulers, records show us. He told it to the common folk. The centurion like to speak to all kinds of people, it seems. History shows us that the Pandorica traveled to India and stayed for a few years, under the watchful eyes of its sentinel, the Lone Centurion."

Well? What did you think? Good, bad, ugly?