Rory was not always such an ambitious child. When he was younger - say five or six - he was perfectly comfortable not leave the confines of his own backyard. Getting lost in the streets, however unlikely, was a troubling possibility to him, and he preferred to explore the contents of his own space, hoping to find every little crook and nanny. Though it was always changing in one way or another, it never changed so much that it wasn't his backyard any longer, and he felt safety in that. Minute changes were much more comforting than the massive life changes that he seemed to have thrown at him.

At eight, his father was undoubtedly worrying about his lack of adventure. It was quite frustrating to him, as he was always trying to shoo him out into the street or to the local park, where he had been to sometimes when he was younger. He shied away from that place, assaulted by fuzzy memories of a once happy and whole family. He knew, without having spent time there, that the swings where his father had pushed him had been replaced with new, brightly colored ones. The merry-go-round that he had loved to spin about with his mother on had been tossed out in favor of a jungle gym that he was not overly impressed with.

It had changed too much.

So he ignored his father the best he could, and he opted to play around in his own backyard, which had not seen much change since he as a child. Change was an evil, terrible thing that tore apart the things he loved most about the world and made him an unhappy child. He would not be subjected to it.

One night, however, the precious sanctuary of his backyard was marred by the biggest change he would ever experience in his young life. Nothing would compare for years to come, either, though he didn't realize it when he stumbled from his bed, sleepily rubbing his eyes. The loud crash that had caused him stir had apparently not woken his father, he realized, as he opened her door to find her snoring peacefully. The man could sleep through an alien invasion, he was willing to bet.

He searched the house high and low to find the source of the noise that had woken him, but finding nothing, he decided to return to his bed. As he passed by the backdoor of his little home, he noticed a faint glowing coming in through the window. Fear jolted through him as he realized that it was coming from the backyard. He quietly opened the back door and slipped out of the house, swiftly making his way to the foreign object that had somehow invaded his safe place.

He stopped not ten feet away, anger contorting his face as he tightly clenched his fists. This was his home, his sanctuary, and he would not stand for this betrayal. These things simply did not happen here and he would not allow it.

A face popped up over the blue box, the light from below (was that coming from inside?) making his face look strange and alien. Confused, Rory took a step back, not sure how to react. The face smiled, a big goofy smile that calmed Rory in a way that he did not understand. He needed to be angry; he needed to shout! He needed to tell the strange man to be gone and take his strange blue box with him!

He backed up even more, keeping his distance as the strange man climbed out. His clothes were disheveled and he looked… wet. He was soaked to the bone. What on earth? Was there water in that blue box?

"Could I have an apple? All I can think about. Apples. I love apples. Maybe I'm having a craving? That's new. Never had cravings before." He didn't pause as he looked back into the blue box and said, "Whoa, look at that!"

"This is my yard!" Rory huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Is it, now?" The strange man asked, eyes widening. Rory realized that the man was seriously lacking in the eyebrow department, and thought to point it out but changed his mind. "Well, then perhaps you could find me something to eat. I'm starved!"

"Why are you all wet?" Rory asked, ignoring the man's requests. Why would he bring food for a stranger?

"I fell into the pool."

"What pool?"

"In the library."

"A pool in the library?" Rory asked, skeptical.

"Yes. And I fell into it." The strange man said, smiling. Rory wondered if the man maybe had a nut loose in that skull of his. "When I crashed."

"Right. Who are you?" Rory asked, tilting his head to one side as he inspected the man. Very strange looking man, indeed.

"I don't know yet. I'm still cooking."

"…okay. Can you go cook elsewhere, then?" Rory grumbled, turning away from the man. He couldn't tolerate all of this nonsense, or the fact that the man was encroaching on his own space. He didn't like it a bit.

"Wait for me!" The man called, only making Rory even angrier. He smiled as he imagined himself slamming the door in the man's face. How satisfying that would be. Yet, when they finally reached the door and he went inside, whirling around to slam the door shut, the man was smiling kindly down at him, and he found that he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't be so unkind. With a sigh, he let him in and tossed the man an apple. The man bit into it, and then proceeded to spit it out immediately.

"That's disgusting. What is that?" The man said incredulously.

Perplexed, Rory answered, "That's an apple."

"Apple's rubbish. I hate apples."

"But you just said-" Rory shouted, only to be cut off by the strange man, who was poking about in the drawers of his kitchen.

"No, no, no. I like yogurt. Yogurt's my favourite. Give me yogurt."

Rory could do nothing but oblige, and so he retrieved yogurt, giving it to the man. The man poured some into his mouth, before spitting it into the sink. "I hate yogurt. It's just stuff with bits in."

"But you just said-"

"New mouth. New rules. It's like eating after cleaning your teeth. Everything tastes wrong. Argh!" The man said, grimacing.

"What's wrong with you?" Rory asked, growing angry. He didn't like this business one bit. He felt like the man kept lying to him, and if there was one thing he liked less than change, it was adults who did not tell him the truth. Which was pretty much every adult ever, he had quickly learned.

"Me?" The man asked, challenging Rory. "You're the one who keeps giving me awful stuff to eat!"

"I'm only giving you what you ask for!" Rory shouted at the man, giving him a good kick to the shin. Probably not decent behaviour for an eight year old boy, but Rory was so frustrated that it was the only thing he could think to do. The man clutched at his leg, dancing on one foot as he stared down at Rory.

Despite the heated words, the two kept at it, exhausting nearly every possibility they could in Rory's mum's kitchen. Finally, he settled on some Jammy Dodgers, which only irritated Rory, seeing as he went through all that trouble only to find that the stupid man liked biscuits, of all things. It could have been easily averted if the man had just said so in the first place.

"What's your name?" The man asked, as he munched on a biscuit.

"Rory." Rory told him, grudgingly. On one hand, he'd rather the man just leave and for things to go back to normal. On the other, despite the way the man frustrated him, he actually kind of liked having him around. Not that he was going to admit that to the man.

"Lovely name. Where are we, Rory?" The man asked, as if it were a normal question.

"England." Rory said, confused.

"And what about your mum and dad?" The man asked, pushing the plate of biscuits away from him now.

"My dad is asleep. Not a lot wakes him," Rory admitted, and immediately regretted it. What would the man do with that information, he wondered? He looked down at his hands as the words spilled out of his mouth, "And my mum's… she's dead."

"Blimey, sorry to hear that." The man said, not unkindly.

They both looked up as a strange bell began to sound, and the man immediately started shouting no, pushing his chair back and jumping up from the table. Startled, Rory jumped up, too, following the man out of the back door and into the yard, back towards the strange blue box.

"What? What is it?" Rory asked, fear edging in his voice.

"I've got to get back in there. The engines are phasing. It's going to burn!" The man said, hurrying over to the box.

"What engines?" Rory asked, not sure what to think.

"The TARDIS engines!" The man said, exasperated, as though this was something Rory should have known.

"But it's a box!" Rory shouted.

"It's not a box. It's a time machine." The man said, matter-of-factly.

"Is not!" Rory all but hissed. The man frowned but shook his head and climbed up on the edge of the box.

"It is, but it won't be for much longer if I don't get her stabilized. Five minutes in the future should do it!" The man said, preparing to leap off the edge and into the box.

"Wait!" Rory shouted, throwing himself forward. "Prove it!" He gasped. "Take me with you. Show me!"

"It isn't safe! Just wait five minutes! I'll be back before you've even had a chance to miss me."

"You're lying, just like everyone else." Rory mumbled, looking away from the man in the blue box.

"Do I look like everyone else?" The man asked softly. Rory shook his head. He could not say what prompted him to do so, but he knew that this man was, indeed, not like everyone else. With a sigh, he resigned.

"That's because I'm not. Trust me, I'm the Doctor." The man said, and Rory realized that this was all he was likely to get in the way of identification. The name rang inside of his head like bells, and he clung to it. If he never had anything else of this encounter, he at least had that. With a wink, the man leaped into the box, shouting, "Geronimo!"

He watched as the large blue box dematerialized, and then he knew that he had to believe the man was telling the truth. Unwilling to believe, for once, that the man - the Doctor, Rory reminded himself - was lying to him and would return, he charged into the house, running swiftly up the steps. He didn't care if he woke his father, though he doubted it would happen. He grabbed a small pack, stuffing only the essentials inside of it. He really didn't need much. Satisfied, he made his way down to the yard, closing the door behind him. He found a spot somewhat close to the place that the box had been sitting and sat down, cross-legged. He plucked at the grass, hoping that it might make the five minutes pass faster.

Five minutes turned into ten, ten turned into thirty, and thirty turned into an hour. He sat, hopeful, until the dawn lightened the dark sky into pinks and oranges and finally a soft blue. With the disappearing of the stars, so too Rory's hope dwindled until it was nothing but disappointment that caused his chest to ache. Not for the first time, an adult had lied to him, yet, this lie seemed more cruel than all of the rest combined. Defeated, he stood, brushing grass and dirt from himself before making his way into the dismal house which looked so plain after the previous night's events. He was a fool to think anything extraordinary might ever happen to him - he was Rory. Just Rory.