What you need to know: this fic is eleven/rory, none of these characters are mine; they are property of stephen moffat, russell t davies, and eric kripke, and it get's mildly PG: 12 if you're comfortable with a bit of implied sex talk and fluffy things.
enjoy
When the Doctor sees Rory, he's a face in a spaceship window looking in.
The Doctor yells in surprise and hammers on that stupid, stupid cold metal that was separating Rory from him.
He turns and demands to have a spacesuit on righthissecond, because maybe Rory had just been a figment or maybe he was still alive but that's hopeless-
When he gets out of the cargo hatch, making desperate swimming movements, Rory isn't there.
One minute later, Carmen Raveris is found dead of suffocation on board.
Two minutes later, Carmen Raveris is laughing with her husband, who looks dumbfounded.
The Doctor had rather liked her, actually. Maybe she'd like to travel the universe.
Three minutes later, the spaceship crashed into Greenland.
There was one survivor.
When the Doctor sees Rory again, he's leaning on the stop sign in the middle of London, clad in a black suit, looking intently at him.
"Rory!" The Doctor screams, dropping his companion's hand, muttering sorry about this to her bemused glare, and ran full tilt toward him, excusing profusely when he hit someone, and finally taking his eyes of Rory when someone grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him around.
"Watch where you're going, bub! You don't own the sidewalk," Yelled a familiar inpatient, bossy voice and the Doctor's eyes widened.
"Donna," He whispered, and Donna's eye narrowed.
"What do you want? Why do you know my name?" She snapped back, and the Doctor backed away, shaking his head, backing up into a tall mean-looking man.
"I'm so sorry," He tripped over his words, making them jump and stumble and skin their knees, and he turned back to Rory, who was still looking at him, hands bunched in the pockets of his tuxedo pants, smirking.
"Rory!" He yelled desperately, leaving Donna glaring at him, and he came up to crosswalk, pushing the button repeatedly.
The Doctor knew it was impossible for time to stop suddenly, and with no warning, but it sure seemed like it, waiting for the light to turn, seeing Rory straighten up slowly and turn away, vanishing in thin air.
"Rory!" He yelled again, thanking Gallifrey when the light turned and he rushed to cross the street, jumping and swerving around people.
He came to the stop sign and felt around it, searching up and down the street for a black tuxedo attached to blonde hair and a large nose.
He turned away, shaking his head, and saw his companion, Jane that brave little thing, smile at him reassuringly from across the street and he smiled back sadly, checking again over his shoulder, to look, please be there, please be there
He crossed the street, seeing Donna argue with someone in a shop about something for her son, and he smiled and looked up towards the gathering rain clouds.
Jane grabbed his hand, and he slowly shook her off.
He saw the hurt and the acceptance and damn Rory, he had to make Jane feel better.
Maybe he'd take her to her favourite park. Yes, she'd like that.
That suit didn't slip from his mind once that day.
2 people died that day in a car crash. Witnesses say that the two men were crossing the street when a car crashed into them.
Police on the scene said that the driver is missing and presumed dead.
Some people claimed until they keeled over from a heart attack that they saw a man with a black suit, blonde hair, and a rather large nose near the accident, checking out the crushed cars and looking over his shoulder, disappearing into thin air with a small swish.
The Doctor never heard this of this.
That third time was the hardest, the Doctor thought.
He'd seen Rory at a graveyard, in that same damned suit, looking quietly at a shade-covered tombstone that looked centuries old.
He was only a few feet away.
"Rory?" He breathed, reaching a standstill, arms reaching out towards his suit-covered back, wanting to feel him, wanting to make sure that idiot was real, that he wasn't going mental.
Rory looked back and smiled sadly, mouthing something that the Doctor couldn't hear and disappeared with a small crack, and the Doctor rushed that few maddening feet forward and dropped to his knees, reading that small, old tombstone with the cracked lettering that read barely legibly;
Rory Williams
June 17 1901 – November 18, 1930
the greatest man I've ever known and the bravest
rest in peace my soldier
That wasn't fair. Making him go numb like that.
The Doctor's mind curled around the holes in his life and his mouth moved like no no no this can't be possible I saw him he's alive he's rory and he had a suit on and he was there and he was tangible and he
An old lady who saw the man crying by the tombstone twirled her faded red hair between her fingers and cried too.
She died at 12:26 that night from a heart attack, surrounded by her daughters and her sons.
Amy Pond died happily.
The next place was a McDonalds.
Carolina was hungry, dammit, and she was going to drag the Doctor by his neck towards a Big Mac or so help me God.
American companions were… different. The Doctor loved her dearly.
Rory was sitting with another man, laughing and stuffing fries into his face, careful of some getting on his suit.
The Doctor turned and stared, oblivious to Carolina when she screamed at the poor cashier what sounded vaguely like "YOU MCFUCKED UP!" and Rory saw him, turning his head back to the man and smiled a bit, cocking his head towards him, mouthing what looked like the Doctor's name. But you died the Doctor's mind whispered.
The man turned and the Doctor saw bright blue eyes, certainly not Earthly eyes, and he swallowed hard.
Rory snapped his fingers in the man's face and laughed, his laughter sounding like molasses to the Doctor ears.
Rory turned back to him and winked, mouth forming the first syllable of the Doctor's name to yell for him when the man put his hand on Rory's shoulder and they disappeared, Rory's hand still reached toward him.
"Doctor! Get me a burger please!" Carolina tapped him on the shoulder, and smirked at the cashier, who looked scared out of his mind, both hands clutching his cash register as if it were his lifeline, and the Doctor smiled and flashed his psychic paper.
The cashier looked visibly relieved and with a pointed look at Carolina, he yelled out her order.
"Thank God," Carolina moaned, slumping onto the counter.
The Doctor nodded distantly, his eyes still trained on the spot Rory was.
He bet it was still warm.
Nobody died that day.
It gets easier, the Doctor thought. Seeing Rory everywhere. Going mad slowly.
He began to see him laughing at the movies three rows in front of him before disappearing, strolling through the park when it was snowing before walking behind a tree and never reappearing, seeing him cry as he sat on the bench outside the hospital, head buried in his hands.
He barely ran to him anywhere, barely got his lips to form that forbidden name, barely got that man out of his mind for barely a minute.
Carolina wanted to quit, so he let her go, so happy when she saw her little brother again.
The Doctor wanted to feel happy.
Rory passed him on the street, turning his head to stare at him as he passed, hands in his suit jacket pockets, sunglasses barely shielding his eyes.
You're not real, he heard his mouth say.
You'd be wrong about that, he felt Rory answer, smile evident and the sadness barely an inch way from actually being visible.
His voice was more rough than he remembered. More painful as well.
He looked away before he could see him going and hear the swoosh and felt the disappointment.
Sometimes, though, he wasn't fast enough.
A 12-year old python named Shepard died that evening. He lived longer than everybody thought he would.
His owner Jimmy cried all the same.
He talked to Rory for longer on the tenth day of seeing him.
He was sitting on a bench in Cardiff, hands wringing in his lap and eyes turned heavenward.
He felt the bench creak as Rory sat down, eyes running over the Doctor's face, black suit impeccable as always.
"What are you?" The Doctor asked, and Rory smiled.
"What you'd fear, evidently. I am the stuff of the very best dreams and the very worst nightmares. A being that would charm you to death. A bringer of death and plague," Rory answered slowly.
"What are you?" The Doctor asked again, voice hard. "Where's my Rory?"
"I am an archangel, Doctor, and Rory. I destroy. I heal. I bring death. I never asked for this," Rory said haltingly.
"No," The Doctor said, voice wobbling. "Rory died in 1930. You stole his body and are using him as a puppet." He snarled the word puppet, and Rory winced.
"Rory Williams never existed. He never married Amelia Pond, and he never bled out on the battlefield at 29. That was a façade, Doctor, and it was so real I believed it. I wanted it to be real. I wanted you and Amy and time travelling, but you left us and I climbed back up to Heaven with my bare hands and feet, waiting and reaching for my Father to take me back. I yelled and screamed and in that moment, Rory Williams ceased to exist. I rose from the ashes, the stealer of stars. Michael, they called me first as I healed their blindness. Lucifer, some others chanted as I burned their houses down. Castiel was never understanding of my fascination with humans," He stopped and smiled.
"So I made him fall in love with a human male. He loved him so much and the man loved him and now Castiel has fallen. I couldn't be more jealous."
The Doctor nodded. "You're an angel. Rory Pond is an angel. Your name isn't Rory Pond. What is it?"
"Gabriel. He who performs acts of justice and power for God, the Father," Rory said, and the Doctor could see a shadow on the concrete behind them of four large shadows of wings burst out of Rory's back. He felt the feathery softness of them brush his cheek, and the Doctor leaned into their security.
"Rory Williams loved you. Loved you more than himself," Rory said softly, hand reaching up to stroke the Doctor's cheek.
The Doctor nodded, a tear dripping past his lips and sliding down the angel's wrist, down his sleeve.
"I can make you forget, if you want to," He said sadly, and the Doctor shook his head.
"Never," He whispered, and the angel drew him close, planting a kiss on his forehead and the Doctor felt his wings draw close around the both of them, locking them close.
He smelled like Rory. Like a sun-drenched meadow and tea.
"I love you," He choked out, and Rory nodded against him.
"I know," He said simply, before disappearing with a swoosh.
He cried, bunched up on that bench, feeling those blasted wings curled up against his back.
It wasn't until the next day when he found the small rosary in his pocket.
His companion, a man named Marcus, left him alone, blubbering about angels and Rory and a blasted suit and wings.
He found marks where Rory's wings rested against his back, pink marks that spread eagerly across his skin and he felt the bitter taste of love flood his mouth, and he prayed to Rory, felt the wings trace his mouth and his eyelids, smelled the meadows and the teas, and he saw those green eyes water and he heard the heartbreak and he wished, oh he wished for miracles.
An 8.9 earthquake hit Texas, and only one person was injured, 46-year-old Dorian Craig.
He was discharged from the hospital, waxing rhapsodic about a vision of a yellow-haired man with wings the size of semi-trailers reaching for him as fire rained down from the heavens.
The Doctor heard this, and prayed.
The Doctor felt Rory in his bed, staring at the ceiling next to him. He felt those wings brush his cheek in a greeting, and he turned to face that angel.
"You came back," The Doctor whispered reverently.
"I did," Rory whispered back, and the Doctor felt feathers draw around him, and felt them tighten uncomfortably, felt the words echo through the silence, and he heard Rory cry.
He turned and drew him into his arms, feeling the angel shake, and kissed his forehead, eyelids crushing together, and felt the pain build up behind them as he tried to hold in tears.
"Tell me you'll be okay," Rory cried into the Doctor's neck.
"I'll be okay," His voice cracked, and Rory kissed him quickly, felt his lips turn salty and damp from tears, felt the declarations of love in his breath and his lips and the curve of his neck and the wings that tightened around him and the rustle of that suit and the swoosh of his wings when he was gone.
Pain poured from his eyes as they closed, hands grasping his pillow, grasps that empty air where his Rory was, felt injustice and heartbreak and he felt it flood his cheeks and blow him apart.
He couldn't do this.
A house fire left 3 people severely injured, burns blackening their arms and their blood.
All three people saw the yellow-haired man before blacking out.
This man was nicknamed the saver of souls.
Rory chuckled at this. If only they knew.
A man named Dean visited the Doctor one day, with an fallen angel named Castiel on his arm.
"It's hard," Dean said.
"I couldn't let him go," Castiel echoed.
"I love him."
The Doctor politely thanked them and asked who let them know he was in a motel in North Dakota.
"Rory," They both said, and left, hand in hand.
He looked out the window for hours, seeing horses pass by with riders whooping and urging them on, saw vintage cars cruise slowly down the pocked street.
"Doctor," He heard that voice say, and he tried to stay stable.
"Castiel was here today. He said loving a human is hard. I didn't have it in my hearts to say I was otherwise," He chuckled humourlessly, eyes still locked outside the window.
"Doctor, I love you," He turned to see Rory with wounds, wounds that ran deep down his face, wounds scratched into symbols, down that neck and pooling in the ripped shards of his jacket, and said, "I love you and I'm about to die for you, and I hope I'm worth it because I will die if you don't say that you love me because that's the only thing that might keep me fighting for you and those blasted humans and say it please,"
"I love you," The Doctor said with no hesitation, and Rory nodded.
"Thank you. I'll see you soon," He blinked away and the Doctor felt himself cry again.
1, 000, 000 people were rescued from a cruise liner as it crashed into Vancouver Island.
The Saver of Souls was there again, now named the angel who saved man.
Rory was back when the Doctor was asleep, watching him, for angels didn't need to sleep.
"You're alive," The Doctor said reverently as he squinted at him through the projected light of the TARDIS.
"Yes," Rory smiled, and the Doctor knocked him over onto the floor, his face pressed desperately against Rory's chest, and he exhaled, "You're alive,"
"Yesyesyesyesyes," Rory breathed, and the Doctor crept up to snog him senseless.
"Rory, Rory, Rory," He growled as the wings curled around him, whispering against his shoulder bones and he felt the groan wrestled from Rory's throat, his neck arching deliciously.
The next morning, Rory was gone.
There was a small gray kitten with blue eyes on his doorstep.
He named him Castiel, and Rory was there to coo at it and was gone by 8:00.
The Doctor knew it wouldn't last. It would end with him dying or Rory falling or Rory falling out of love or-
Rory shushed him and rolled him back over.
Rory's wings were a place of great curiosity.
The Doctor ran his fingers across the edges, sketched them carefully until his bedroom was filled with drawings, until his current companion, a Welsh lady named Gretchen, slipped on them and broke her hip.
Rory healed her.
A forest fire killed 7 people in Colorado.
People yelled, "Where is our angel?"
Rory can't cook.
The Doctor can't cook.
This ends up in sex every time.
A shark attack claimed 11 people's lives in Australia.
People take to the streets and pray en masse.
Rory doesn't come for a day.
That's fine, the Doctor tells himself, and laughs because he is so clingy.
He doesn't come for a week.
He doesn't come for a month.
He'll come back, he tells himself.
He doesn't come for a year.
Two years.
Five years.
Ten years.
Where is our angel now?
The disasters picked up speed, than stopped completely.
The World War Three was stopped in its nuclear tracks.
The new strain of bird flu was extinguished, and the velociraptors were shot down.
Everyone was fine.
That damn smile, the Doctor thought.
That damn smile made me rip me heart out and serve it on a silver platter, the Doctor thought.
He was alone and unafraid of dying.
He ripped open schisms and made the Daleks beg for mercy.
He made the Cyberman cry and it didn't feel like enough to bridge that stupid hole in his heart that stubbornly wouldn't let him forget him and his stupid wings and
"I'm back."
Swoosh.
Everything was alright, just then.
Every person in the world had a good feeling, just then.
Did you feel it?
It felt like cookies and strawberries and really good sex and anger and pain and rage and serenity and Christmas and a punch in the face and a feeling of wings down your back and a whispered I'm so sorry and I missed you and I might risking my life but I can't be without you and you make me feel like I can scream and topple worlds and laugh and bring life to where there was none and I love you I love you I love you and that feeling when you're with someone you're in love with and you never it'll end with you dying or he falling or he falling out of love and oh, shut up, get down here and kiss me.
It felt like falling.
Review if you liked it. I'm not forcing you to. It makes me smile though.