A/N: So, I'm back! And hello, to everyone, I suppose! I know I probably shouldn't start another story, but I will. It's fully written, I'll post chapters up regularly. Review your thoughts!

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, or any of it's characters or themes. I'm just a fan.

-oOo-

It had started raining.

Rory Williams sighed in exasperation and continued to walk along the dull tarmac, pulling his sleeves further down over his hands uselessly against the wind.

I was promised amazing worlds and different civilizations, he thought, dryly.

He was pretty sure London was neither different, nor particularly amazing.

Especially not Brixton.

At night.

But they were here for a reason, Rory reminded himself. An important reason- to prevent the earth from being blown to pieces. Or rather, for the Doctor to prevent it, with the company of his glamorous assistant. Who just happened to have a husband.

And so, on arrival, Rory (being the most willing and- more relevantly- most unnecessary of the trio) had volunteered to get 'essentials'.
Even if it was just to get away from the room of military personnel joking and laughing with the Doctor about subjects that Rory did not have any knowledge of, and shamelessly flirting with his wife.

He really didn't know how a pack of Jammy Dodgers and some jelly babies would do to help evade an asteroid- especially with all the technology he had to hand at UNIT HQ, their current destination. He did have a pretty good idea they were just going to be shared around by the Timelord, with tea and possibly a joke on him. As always.

Oh well, he thought, walking further into the night and away from the streetlights, in the hope of a shortcut to the high street and twenty four hour Tesco. He wasn't really mad at them at all, just a bit fed up. It was unfair to accuse the Doctor of treating him badly- the pair were good friends, and the Doctor had come to respect Rory greatly. He loved travelling with the Doctor and Amy- and he loved Amy, his wife, even more than that.

And it wasn't like they made him go, Amy offered to come with him, or go instead.

But he had insisted.
The Doctor saving the day was much better entertainment then him trying to find a supermarket, he thought, tiredly.

Still, Rory thought, trudging along, he was the one out in the cold- he could feel a bit sorry for himself. The rain was pouring now, and Rory's footsteps sounded much louder now he was away from the main road, each shoe hitting the concrete with a wet slap. The high street shouldn't be too far away, he thought, entering the narrow maze of dark alleyways that snaked around the houses.

The wind blew through the small space, stirring the rubbish. Rory swallowed. This shortcut didn't seem as good an idea now he was here, in eerie darkness, picking his way through cigarette butts. He persisted, though, and after about a minute he heard a chorus of drunken curses start up, coming from nearby.

Rory froze, cursing himself for being such a wuss. This was late Friday night. Of course people would be out enjoying themselves. It wasn't a threat, or cause for concern.

He nodded, resolved, and walked on. It didn't help to slow his beating heart he was now suddenly painfully aware of. The shouts were coming in his direction- they seemed to be coming from just around the corner now.

Rory's fists clenched and his breathing quickened. You've fought vampires and pirates, been killed at least four times, and lived over 2000 years as a plastic centurion, he thought bitterly, and you're scared of a drunk?

He calmed at that, and smiled. It was so easy to forget his time as a Roman. He drew courage from the memories, and steeled himself. The rowdy men turned the corner, now chanting a rhyme. There were about six of them, all big and burly, shaved heads and football shirts. Some were carrying bottles in their hands.

Rory tried not to show any signs of acknowledgement- but he couldn't help glancing at them. He looked away quickly as one of the guys grunted at him. Don't act scared, he thought, then they won't make a move.

"Oii, skinny boy, d'ya wanna play with the big kids?"

Too late.

The others joined in then, picking up from the first, their words slurred and aggressive.
Rory looked down and carried on, petrified. He passed them with none making a move, intending to continue quickly away once he was around the corner, scolding himself for getting so worked up, when one of them reached out and grabbed him.
He panicked and shot around, trying to pull away, while the others lumbered toward them, forming a ring around the now struggling Rory.

"Are you threatening us?" one of them boomed.

"No. Let me go. I've done nothing!" Rory tried desperately, aware of how pathetic he sounded.

"Naa mate, you get what you asked for!" a particularly vicious looking drunk man slurred, as he staggered forward.

The fist came out of nowhere. Pretty quick for a drunk guy, Rory fleetingly thought, before the slab connected with his head and he fell to his knees, being held up by a hand attached to the back of his collar. Bright spots appeared in his now blurry vision.

They jeered gleefully, and before long another man kicked out, hitting Rory in the stomach, drawing a grunt from the injured man. This seemed to spur them on, and Rory was dropped to the ground with a thump.

The floodgates opened, boots and kicks raining down on his body and face, the smashing of bottles over his prone form. Rory's sight and hearing grew duller, and the sharp panic that had descended on him grew foggy.

He knew that he would not get up from this easily afterwards, and hoped that he wouldn't die here, with these drunks beating him, soaking in the blood that he could feel as already beginning to saturate his clothes.

He hoped Amy wouldn't forget about him.

Vaguely, Rory remembered he had never made it to the shop. He hoped they could do without. The worry of what they would do without Jammy Dodgers fresh in his hazy mind, he passed out.

-oOo-

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