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It had all started when the Doctor decided to go to college.
That in it of itself was a huge mess, what with the studying and cramming and the waking up in the middle of the night to hear the coffee maker brewing. There were books thrown, mugs shattered, and lanky figures found in the living room curled up in a ball cuddling a calculator. Though it alleviated the Doctor’s boredom, it wasn’t—and never will be—his most dignified moment. And in the context of the Doctor, that was saying something.
Of course, good things also came from it. Difficult things usually did that and worked both ways, positive and negative. Friends were gained, as were many memorable experiences. The Doctor complained less about the cooking or other people’s apparent stupidity and turned his focus of whining towards his assignments. This was a blessing in Rory’s opinion, seeing as he was the one who kept the Doctor company around 95% of the time and was the subject for a third of the complaining.
And, of course, there was the ‘Mulan incident’.
Even after all of that they’re still unable to watch the film without feeling a small bout of shame.
Rory thought that college was done and over with. The Doctor seemed to detest it for the most part and, to be honest, he was a lot more occupied than he was before. It made complete sense that he wouldn’t enroll again, and Rory had a firm belief that it wouldn’t.
Until this morning.
They have a routine, now. Of course they had one before, but that was when Rory held the firm belief that he was only attracted to women. In both cases, things change.
The outline is the same. Morning, Afternoon, Night. Possibly lunch, if it is manageable. During the morning they switch off who makes breakfast, the Doctor claiming the first three days of the week and Rory getting the last four. Afternoon is usually occupied by them watching television or going out to hang out with Rory’s hospital friends or the other tenants in the building, like Jeff from down the hall or Clara in the floor above them. Night consists of dinner, talking, and possibly sex. Though, the last is usually a highly likely thing considering that the Doctor has an attitude towards it akin to that of a hyperactive teenager.
But back to mornings. Along with breakfast, mornings are a news-sharing time. Any plans for the day, any thoughts expressed are told and left to think about for the rest of the day. It’s how they are, in an essence. Better to deal with it later than try to confront it at first sight.
It’s August, and Rory’s looking for his clothes.
“Have you seen my scrubs anywhere?” he shouts out, digging through his drawers and finding nothing.
“No, why?” the Doctor asks.
“I can’t find them anywhere,” he answers simply. He walks out of the room. “Are you sure you don’t know?”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” he waves off, irritated. “Have you checked everywhere?”
“I’m fairly certain, yeah.”
“The closet?”
“Nothing.”
“Bathroom?”
“Barren.”
“Drawers?”
A sigh. “Just checked.”
“The lobby?”
Rory blinks, and takes a moment to reconsider his choices before responding. “Why would they be in the lobby?”
The Doctor shrugs. “Clothing has a habit of ending up in strange places. I recall one time on the planet of Shibu Senti I had decided to go to the spa.” He grimaces. “Next thing I know my jacket is being sacrificed to a black hole.”
“Well I can’t go into the lobby with just my pants and t-shirt,” Rory points out.
The Doctor looks back at him for a quick moment, eyes scanning him before going back to making breakfast. “Dunno,” he comments. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”
Rory snorts. “Yeah, that’s because you see me all the time like this,” he argues. “Fairly certain that most of the people living in the building would rather not see me walking around like this down to the lobby.” He gestures to himself.
The Doctor smirks. “How unfortunate.”
Rory rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now are you positive that you haven’t seen them anywhere?”
There’s a pause. “Did you check behind the television?”
Rory stares at the man. “I’m not even going to ask,” he states, turning around to continue searching in the bedroom. A moment later he reemerges. “Actually, yes I am. Why should I be looking behind the television?”
“Retracing your steps,” the Doctor says, turning around and writing in the air. “Divide by three…and I’m fairly certain there was a small draft…yes, yes it should be behind the television.”
Rory stares for a while longer, completely incredulous and sure of himself that his scrubs are not behind the TV.
He walks over there anyway. The scrubs are found not four seconds later.
“How..?” he asks.
“Ah, Rory. I think you forget that I’m brilliant.” And with that he goes back to making breakfast.
The nurse smirks and proceeds to put on the scrubs before walking over to the kitchen and peering over the Doctor’s shoulder.
“What are you making?” he asks.
“French toast!” the Doctor answers, obviously proud. “Recipe I learned from the thirty-fourth century. Should be ready in a minute or two.”
Rory takes to grabbing his cup of coffee and gulping down a large amount of it. “I’m going to have a late shift tonight. Mrs. Jensen’s bunion surgery’s left her more irritable than usual.”
“Isn’t that Valerie’s division?”
Rory raised an eyebrow, surprised at the fact he knew that. “Uh, yeah. But she has a date tonight, so I’m covering for her.”
“Rory Williams, you are a saint.” And with that, the Doctor turns around and leans in for a quick kiss. They usually happen like that, in a moment of spontaneity that commonly ends up with Rory pressed up against something. One time it was a rather pokey-geared contraption standing up in the Doctor’s room. It resulted in ten stitches and a week of apologizing.
After a couple seconds the Doctor is focused on the food again and Rory’s back on the subject at hand. “You doing anything today?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the Doctor tells him. “Probably read a couple books, check the tracker for the whereabouts of the TARDIS. It’s still wandering about the 800s. She likes that region quite a bit, I don’t blame her.”
“What about the ducks? Are you going to go to the pond again?”
“Of course I’ll be going to go see the ducks, Rory, what sort of person do you take me for?” He flashes a quick smile and pulls out two plates from the cabinet. “The things they hear are quite shocking, you’ll never believe who hangs around duck ponds nowadays.”
“So I’m guessing no need for a bus fair, then?”
“No, no…wait, yes! Yes.”
Rory frowns. “Where else are you going?”
“To school, of course,” the Doctor answers nonchalantly.
He blinks. “School? As in…university?”
“Yes, of course,” the Doctor says, sounding exasperated. He places a piece of French toast onto each plate and turns towards the other man. “I’ve told you, Rory.”
“Told me what?” Rory repeats, confused.
“I applied for another semester. Honestly, can you even hear with these things?” He tugs on Rory’s ears. “It’s like everything I say just passes over your head!”
Rory frowns. “Doctor, you never told me that.”
The Doctor scrunches his face up. “What are you talking about? I told you last week, when we were on the planet with all the giant sponge cakes, remember?”
The nurse eyes the Doctor and yet again questions his choices. “Doctor, I’ve never been on a planet with giant sponge cakes. You’re stuck on Earth.”
The Doctor’s face relaxes and his eyes widen with clarity. “Right,” he breathes out. “Sorry. That must’ve been a dream.” He lifts up a plate. “French toast?”
Rory takes the food with his free hand, not really playing attention to breakfast. “You’re going back to uni?”
The Doctor nods.
Rory searches for a good reason for him to do so but comes up with nothing. “But why? You hated it before.”
“Times change, Rory. People change. And now I don’t hate uni.”
He analyzes that statement. “That makes no sense. You were whining and stressing about it most of the time you were there.”
“That proves nothing.”
“I recall you tossing a textbook at the wall and yelling—rather loudly, mind you—something about the professor secretly being a bat.”
“It’s happened before,” the Doctor mutters, taking a bite of toast.
“I just don’t see…why.”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Reasons usually are involved with things like this.”
The Doctor is about to respond when the phone starts to ring.
“Oh, that’s probably for me.” He snatches the land-line off of its receiver. “Hello? Yes, hi! Yes, this is him…Nina talked to you, eh? Meet up? How about…” He grabs Rory’s wrist to read his watch as Rory carefully tries to balance the coffee in his hand. “...oh, say an hour from now, hour and a half? Cool, yeah…Cool. Alright, see you later as well, dude.” He hangs up and grins.
“Did you just say ‘dude’?” is all Rory can ask.
“Yes,” the Doctor says, nodding and grimacing. “Yes I did. And I’m not saying it ever again, I can tell you that.” He grabs Rory’s wrist and reads off of his watch again. “Oh, will you look at the time. You’re going to be late.”
“What? Doctor, I still have an hour and f—” He is interrupted by the Doctor taking the plate from his hand and stuffing the French toast inside his mouth. While Rory is momentarily caught off guard from the sudden assault the alien escapes into the bedroom. Rory takes the toast out of his mouth. “—an hour and fifteen minutes. Where are you going?”
“Nonsense. One can never be too early.” The Doctor reemerges with Rory’s satchel, walking over and slinging it over his flatmate’s shoulder. “There you go.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing! Nothing’s going on with me, now let’s go!” He turns Rory around and angles him towards the door, pushing him towards it. “Vamos! Laten we gaan! Pojďme! Allons-y! Ooh, I haven’t said that in a while…”
“Doctor, stop pushing me,” Rory orders, struggling. The Doctor’s already got the door open and pushes him outside. “Doctor, I can’t go to work like this!”
“What do mean? You look gorgeous.”
“I’m not wearing any shoes.”
“Ah,” the Doctor says. The door shuts, then reopens a couple moments later. The Doctor returns with a pair of tennis shoes and places them in Rory’s arms. “There you go. Don’t worry, I’ll feed and the cat and clean the kitchen.” He grabs Rory’s face and kisses him. “Have a nice day at work!”
The door shuts.
Rory’s in the elevator when he realizes that he still has a mug in one hand and cold French toast in the other. He’s in the lobby when he remembers that he’s still not wearing shoes.
Clara’s checking her mail and turns to say hello, but takes one look and starts to laugh.
“Tired?” she jokes.
“Hm? No, no…” Rory answers, distracted.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “What, did your boyfriend kick you out?”
“No,” he denies. He frowns. “At least, I don’t think so…”
“Well, I don’t know about you but it looks like you got the boot,” she tells him.
“No, he wouldn’t kick me out,” Rory denies. “He was just…in a rush.”
Clara walks over and pats him on the shoulder, sighing through her noise. “Don’t worry. There’s a first time for everything.” She glances over to the front desk. “Super’s going to come out any minute, so I’d put on those shoes.”
Rory is left in the lobby.
He didn’t get kicked out. No, of course not.
Of course not…
#
As if the morning wasn’t bad enough, after work he returns to find the Doctor sitting on the sofa.
This sounds normal enough, and it would be if you subtracted the various items surrounding him branded with Greek letters and the fact that he’s watching football.
Rory shuts the door slowly, and the Doctor turns away from the football game to greet him. He’s wearing a green t-shirt and a baseball cap. Backwards.
Rory doesn’t know whether to ask or take a picture.
“Hello!” the Doctor says, waving.
Rory drops his bag and kicks off his shoes, then proceeding to the couch which is littered with things like mugs and calendars and flags.
“What’s all this?” he asks, picking up a cup labeled with a symbol he can’t make out along with an A and an X.
The Doctor stands up, grinning. “Merchandise.”
“For what, though?”
“For me. I’ve got to represent my fellow man, have to advertise.”
Rory picks up a flag. “Why?”
“Because, Rory. You are looking at the soon-to-be new member of the Theta Alpha Chi fraternity.” He grins even wider. “I was going to surprise you! That’s what people do when they join clubs, right? Have a surprise party?”
“I think that’s only for birthdays.”
“Oh. That’s a shame. There needs to be more surprise parties. I’m going to have one for you next week, with balloons and everything.”
“Why?”
“Because everybody needs a good surprise party.”
Rory looks around and he can almost hear the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place.
He turns his focus back on the Doctor. “This is why you’re going back to uni? To join a fraternity?”
“And to gain a much more fulfilling education thank you very much,” he says with complete seriousness. He breaks down into a fit of giggles. “But mostly the fraternity.”
Rory looks down at the pile of stuff that continues to stare back at him, and then looks back up at the Doctor. “When did you decide to join a fraternity?”
The Doctor waves his hand carelessly. “A couple weeks back. Contacted some people and…” He twirls. “I’m on my way to belonging to a fraternity. Pretty cool, eh?”
Rory nods his head to the side in agreement and turns his attention to the football game. “Why are you watching this? You hate football.”
“Part of initiation,” the Doctor explains, hopping back onto the soda. “Buy the things, get the score for the latest match, and bring a costume next Friday. After that I have to attend a get together at least once a month.”
“You? In a frat party?” Rory repeats. He laughs and sits down next to the Doctor. “That’s a sight I’d like to see.”
“You will. They say we can invite girlfriends.”
“But I’m not a girl.”
The Doctor shrugs. “Girlfriends, boyfriends. Same thing.”
Rory frowns. “Wait a second,” he says. He turns to the Doctor. “Are you saying that I’m the girlfriend in this relationship?”
He shrugs. “More or less.”
“But I’m not the girlfriend!”
“Yes you are,” is the immediate response.
Rory’s poised to retort, but instead sits back and sighs. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?”
The Doctor snickers and loops his arm around Rory’s shoulders.
#
Clara Oswald likes to say that her life is relatively boring. When people ask what her days are like she answers with the simple list of sleep, work, and eat. And people believe her, for the most part. After all, a young girl just starting off and living on her own sounds amazingly mundane. The illusion starts to fade when they enter the building.
More specifically, when they meet her downstairs neighbors.
Rory Williams and the man who calls himself the Doctor. She had been friends with Rory first, when he moved in. She was fairly new to the building as well, and they formed a sort of companionship to deal with the fact that the both of them were alone in the city with nothing else to do. They’d have movie nights, they’d talk about their work and the rent and the other tenants. And when the Doctor arrived he was absolutely fascinated by her for some reason. Possibly because she was one of the few neighbors who didn’t mind how much noise he made.
But when one met Rory Williams and the Doctor, the line between normality around them and normality for the rest of the world started to blur.
Take right now, for instance.
There’s a knocking at her door, and after a quick look through the peephole she can see a man with a mop of messy hair smiling at her.
This is usually what most people would identify as ‘normal’.
She opens the door to find him dressed in brown burlap robes, looking antsy and rubbing his hands together.
This is what Clara would identify as ‘normal’.
“You forget your key again?” she asks. This isn’t the first time this has happened.
He shakes his head quickly. “Do you know where Rory is?”
She vaguely recalls the man is question talking about going to the pub with some friends. She frowns. Something’s not right. “Not here,” she answers.
The Doctor shakes his fist and looks around. “But he promised…”
“Promised?” she prods. “Promised what?”
“That he’d come to my initiation, I told him about it. I told him to meet at the flat at nine o’clock.” He peeks inside her flat. “You sure he’s not here?”
Clara gently pushes him out. “Sorry, no lover boy here. He went to the—um, he got called in.”
The Doctor grimaces. “Really?”
Clara grimaces back. “Sorry. I’m sure he’ll turn up for…whatever your initiation is.”
“I have to dress up in a costume and the ‘streak’—” He puts air quotations around the word. “—by the administrator’s office. Whatever that means.”
“Oh,” Clara says. She sympathetically pats his arm. “Well, good luck. Seriously.”
The Doctor leaves to go to his initiation, and she waits until he’s going down the stairs to dial the number into her phone.
When Rory picks up, there’s loud music in the background and a lot of talking.
“Hey,” he greets.
“You, mister, are in a lot of trouble.”
“What?”
“Do you know who just came up to my door? Your boyfriend, dressed like a monk.”
“A monk?”
“Yeah. And do you want to know why?”
“Uh…” he stutters, afraid of an answer. “Do I?”
“Because he’s been looking for you, that’s why,” she says. “You’re lucky I covered for you.”
“Why would the Doctor be looking for me?”
Clara’s about to respond with yelling and genuine frustration when the realization dawns on her. She laughs a little in a spite of herself and breaks out into a grin.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” she observes.
“Forget what? Clara? You still haven’t explained the monk thing.”
Her sniggers die down. “I want you to think, Rory. The Doctor—who has been talking about that fraternity of his nonstop and blasted it’s anthem at four in the morning—arrives in a monk costume looking for you.”
There’s a considerably long pause.
“Oh no.”
Clara nods. “Uh-huh.”
“That’s today?” he asks. “But—” She can hear him counting each day off until his voice gets small. “Shit.”
“So I’d suggest you get to wherever he’s going before it’s too late,” she chirps. “Again, you’re lucky I covered for you and said you were on call. Next time you won’t be so fortunate.”
She can almost hear Rory rested his forehead on his hand. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Thank you. I’ll just…go get a ride on the tube or something.”
“Good on you,” Clara compliments. “And if he does find out, you better be ready to make up. I would hate to see my two favorite boys broken up.”
“Please don’t give me any ideas,” Rory pleads. The background music fades away. He’s left the pub.
“Oh, right. Sorry. Won’t say anything more.”
There’s another long pause from Rory. “I’ve got to go find my way over to a station. But thank you, really.”
Clara smiles. “Anytime.”
She hangs up.
#
Rory does arrive at the college.
Fortunately, he’s right on time. Unfortunately, all of the buildings look exactly the same. Finding the administrator’s office is like finding a needle in a concrete haystack.
Rory searches the campus for an hour before realizing that it’s probably too late. With a sigh and a voicemail message apologizing for not being able to make it, he returns to the flat and waits.
…and waits…
…and waits.
Rory waits three hours for the Doctor to arrive. Three hours, twenty-two minutes, to be exact. Just sitting, watching the cat stroll by before he goes back inside the Doctor’s room where he’s been keeping his residence. Just sitting until the Doctor arrives. And by that time he’s already nodded off on the sofa, curled with the bed comforter wrapped around him and the television playing at low volume.
That is when someone decides to pound on the door.
He jumps, and sits up, rubbing his eyes. Next he proceeds to the door.
“Who is it?” he croaks.
“Who do you think?” the person on the other side replies. Rory frowns and opens the door to a rather disheveled-looking Doctor in his normal clothing, save for the bow tie that’s undone, and smiling like a toddler that’s been given high doses of laughing gas. He spreads his arms outward. “It’s me! Sorry for the knocking, but I lost my key and Clara was asli—asleep.”
Rory squints. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay!” he proclaims. “I’m the prime example of okay, Mister Okey-Dokey of ‘I’m Spen—Splendid’ Land. That’s me.”
“Are you—are you drunk?”
“Eh…a little bit.” He frowns, but it turns into more of a pout. “What’s with the mad face?”
Rory, if you haven’t guessed already, is fuming. “I called you,” he says. “I called you five times, left three messages, and you never picked up. I’ve been worried all this time and you just come in here like nothing’s wrong!”
The pout deepens. “Really?” The intoxicated man then digs his hand inside his pocket and pulls out an older-looking mobile phone, flipping it open and blinking. “Oh. Looks like you did. Sorry, set it to the one where it goes all buzzy.”
“You mean the silent setting,” Rory corrects with a sigh.
“No, I mean buzzy,” the Doctor argues. He stands up straight. “I’m hungry, do we have any cereal?”
“Doctor, hold on—” The Doctor strolls inside anyways and immediately heads towards the cabinets.
“Where are the ones with the little white plushy things?” he asks rather loudly.
Rory frowns. “You mean marshmallows?”
“I think so.”
He watches the Doctor struggle with opening the cabinets for another thirty seconds before going over and grabbing the box from the top shelf.
He shakes the box. “Were you looking for this?” he asks.
The Doctor grabs the box and smiles. “Yes!” He kisses the box and looks up at Rory. “Have I ever told you that you’re gorgeous? Because you are. G-O-R-G-I—wait, that’s not right.”
“Doctor, I think you need to sit down.”
“And smart, too, even though you act stupid sometimes. That’s okay, though, it’s a good kind of a stupid. Rory stupid, that’s a good stupid.”
“I appreciate that,” Rory admits, putting his hands on the Doctor’s shoulder. “But we’re going to have you sit down before you trip over something.”
The Doctor grumbles something about Rory being his mother before being guided over to the sofa.
“What about my cereal?” he whines.
“I’m getting your cereal,” Rory reassures as he walks back over to the kitchen.
The Doctor settles into the couch cushions. “You missed out on one helluva night,” he points out. “Got out to campus where the guys’re all lined up, and tell me I have to strip and run in front of the administrator’s office.”
Rory grabs a bowl and the milk carton. “And?”
The Doctor lazily waves his hand. “Easy peasy. Done worse, to be honest.”
Rory laughs. “Only you would streaking easy.”
“And then afterward, one of the guys said they were throwing a party,” the Doctor continues. “And y’know me, love a good party.” Rory walks back with the cereal and the Doctor sticks his hands out. “Gimme.”
Rory hands the bowl over and watches him try to pick up the spoon and fail. “How much did you have?”
“Not much,” the Doctor says. He makes a second attempt to grab the spoon and succeeds. “Aha!”
Rory frowns. “But wait…didn’t you say you could tolerate it? Something about Time Lord biology?”
“Oh, yes,” the Doctor remembers nodding. He takes a bite and starts chewing loudly, and points the spoon at Rory. “That was a lie.”
“A lie,” Rory repeats.
The Doctor nods again. “Time Lord biology’s fantastic at most things, like dealing with poisons or manatating energy levels.” He frowns. “That’s not the right word. Maintaining, that’s it.” He grins. “And we’ve got two hearts. But for some reason it encounters fermented liquid and—” He makes an explosion-like noise and raises his free hand in the air. “Completely useless against it.”
“So you decided to get pissed.”
“Yup!”
“Remind me to never, ever get you drunk,” Rory says. He exhales and settles into the sofa.
“I don’t know,” the Doctor says, grinning even wider. “You seemed to like it a lot the last time. Quite enthushi—entoo—you liked it a lot.” He tips his bowl over slightly. “Oh, hell, I’ve spilled.”
Rory goes and grabs some paper towels. Once the bowl is safely away he rubs his face and yawns. “I think it’s about we go to sleep.”
“You know what I think we should do?” the Doctor asks, standing up and doing a horrible job at it. He points to Rory. “We should have sex.”
Rory stares at the Doctor for a good ten seconds. “No.”
The pout returns and the Doctor slumps forward. “Why not?” he whines.
“Because I’m angry and you’re drunk,” he explains. He picks up the comforter and places it in the Doctor’s arms. “You sleep out here.”
The Doctor frowns. “Why do I have to sleep out here?”
“You’re sleeping out here because a) I know that if we do share a bed you’re going to try to cope a feel and b) it’s closer to the bathroom, which I’m fairly certain you’ll need.”
He pouts again. “But—”
“No buts,” Rory orders. He points to the sofa. “Now lay down.”
The Doctor obeys and drapes the comforter around himself. Rory goes to the medicine cabinet and returns with a container of Tums and a bottle of painkillers. He sets them down on the table.
“Make sure to a couple in the morning,” he advises. “I’ll cook breakfast tomorrow, okay? Something like toast.”
The only response he gets is a light snoring sound. The idiot’s already fallen asleep.
He smiles in spite of himself, and leans down to plant a kiss on the madman’s forehead.
“G’night, Doctor.”
#
The Doctor wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache and the stomach of somebody who just ate the world’s largest tuft of cotton candy in under twenty minutes. In general, he’s just not well.
Rory wakes up to find that he has taken residence by the toilet, looking green and weary.
“Hangovers,” the Doctor states weakly, “are not cool.”
Rory gives him a glass of water and pats his back. “No parties then, alright?”
The Doctor shakes his head quickly. “No, no parties. No parties for a long, long time.”
Earlier that week, Rory had made plans to actually do something during the weekend, like do taxes or go to the cinema. Not sit around or be lazy, no. Rory had been determined to go and get things done.
Instead, he stays in.
#
The Doctor lasts four months.
It’s rough, and not very pretty for the most part. It consists of coffee mugs being strategically placed all over the flat for convenient pick up and at one point setting the smoke alarm off because the Doctor’s decided that it’s time to start a campfire out of half done worksheets. There’s nights where Rory’s up all night because of the Doctor and nights where they’re both randomly struck unconscious on the sofa and the Doctor ends up hugging Rory because, like most people who have the attitude of a child, he needs a stuffed animal at night.
And then there’s the fraternity. As fresh meat among the others, he and his fellow newcomers are assigned the job of errand boys. They go out to the grocery store and buy snacks and drinks and ‘tutor’ the upperclassmen by doing their assignments.
You’d have to either be a fool or a saint to actually agree to do any of those things. Unfortunately, the Doctor falls somewhere along the middle.
And the Doctor has a disposition to help those who need it. And if someone requires assistance, he’ll jump at the first opportunity to aid them. Makes sense, if you think about the life he’s lead. From the stories Rory’s heard, it’s almost of a requirement if you want to be the Doctor. And it’s a wonderful trait to have. In fact, it’s one of the many things Rory loves about the Doctor, and it’s something they have in common, a need to help.
But there is a line that can be crossed, and by this point it’s been trampled on multiple times.
“You could just refuse,” Rory suggests after the Doctor goes on another tirade.
The Doctor, who is sitting at the counter and leaning on his elbows, scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, but I made a commitment. I can’t break a commitment.”
Rory frowns. “Didn’t you plan to keep a plant in your room that died after a week?” he asks.
“I forgot about it!” the Doctor snaps.
Rory stares down at him.
The Doctor sighs. “I can’t intentionally break a commitment,” he corrects.
That was during the second month.
The third month can be dubbed as the ‘dry spell’. In this case, either the Doctor is too tired or Rory is too tired. There is little to no middle ground. And when they do find it, it’s for a very brief ten minute period and they usually end up falling asleep anyway.
In short, it’s hell.
It’s somewhere in the second week of the fourth month that the Doctor bursts into the flat with a grin on his face, running towards his room. Rory, who has the day off due to a mix up in shift scheduling, frowns.
“Doctor?” he asks. “Doctor, don’t you have class?”
“I quit!” the Doctor calls back.
“What?”
“I dropped out! Also, left the fraternity. That’s done with.”
Rory blinks a couple times before responding. “Excuse me, what? Weren’t you saying something about ‘never breaking a commitment’?”
“Never intentionally breaking a commitment, Rory,” the Doctor corrects. “And I’m going to fix that by also adding ‘without good reason’.”
“And what’s your reason?” Rory asks.
“You’ll find out. Call it an impromptu surprise party.” There’s a crashing sound and some laughing. “Oh, this is marvelous. Absolutely marvelous, amazing. Wonderful.”
Rory smiles. “What’s got you so happy?”
The Doctor throws open the door and grabs Rory’s face, smiling wildly. “She’s here,” he says, and kisses him for he doesn’t know how long. They separate and the Doctor looks him in the eye. “She’s here, Rory.”
Rory, who’s smiling, knits his eyebrows together. “What are you talking about?”
The Doctor pats his shoulder and turns around, heading back to his room. “Pack up your things,” he orders. “And not just something for an overnight stay, it’s going to be much longer than that.” He does another 180 spin at the doorway. “Five minutes. I’d suggest you use the blue suitcase.” The door shuts behind him.
Rory’s halfway through packing his shirts when the Doctor grabs him and drags him out into the kitchen, where Rory’s able to free himself of his grasp.
“I’m not finished!” Rory protests.
“Doesn’t matter, clothes are unnecessary most of the time,” the Doctor waves off.
“Where are we going?” Rory asks. “What’s going on with you?”
The Doctor frowns. “Didn’t I tell you before, Rory?” The frown is drawn back up into a grin. “She’s here.”
“Who’s this ‘she’ you keep on talking about?”
“Somebody very dear to me,” the Doctor answers. “Are you jealous?”
“What? No!”
His grin widens and he points at the nurse. “Aha, yes you are. Jealous Rory. Cool.” He claps his hands together and his face turns serious again. “Okay, got to concentrate. Got stuff to do, got things to get done.” He opens the door leading out of the flat and looks over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Rory blinks and trails behind him.
They opt out on the elevator (or rather, the Doctor does) and tip-tap down the stairs at a rapid pace until their at the lobby. The Time Lord practically runs through the doors as Clara enters, caught off guard. Rory’s halfway out of the building when she speaks up.
“Where are you two going?” she asks. She smirks. “Not having any fun without me, are you?”
Rory shrugs. “Dunno, really.” And with that he leaves.
After a block or two of running the Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver, holding it high in the air and muttering. After another block or two of walking silently in a straight line, he makes a sharp left turn into an alleyway.
It’s the late afternoon, so the shadows have started forming and have begun to crawl over the objects around them. All there is to see are dark shapes and garbage scattered on the ground.
But just in between to large garbage bins, Rory sees it.
It’s a light.
And not just any regular light, its words lit up in a straight line. He looks over to the Doctor, who’s grinning again. The alien nods and walks towards the lit up words, hands searching his pockets until he pulls out a small key. Rory follows behind him.
It’s a police box.
“What’s this thing doing here?” Rory asks, looking the thing up and down. “Shouldn’t it belong in a museum?”
“Oi, she’s very sensitive about her age,” the Doctor protests. He pats the box lovingly. “Hello, old girl. You miss me?”
Rory points to the box. “That’s her? The ‘she’ you’ve been giggling over?”
“Of course,” the Doctor says. “Almost every TARDIS is female, except for the occasional black sheep or two.”
“This is the TARDIS?”
“Come on, darling, do I have to repeat everything?”
“It’s a police box.”
“Yes. And?”
“And is that all?”
The Doctor cocks his head to the side. “‘Is that all?’” he repeats with a bite. “What, were you expecting, a planet?”
“No, but…” Rory shrugs. “Just thought it would be bigger, from what you said. Not this.”
The Doctor’s scowl turns into a lopsided grin. “Oh, Rory. You haven’t even taken a look inside.” He slides the key into the slot and it clicks. He nods towards the door. “Go on. Have at it.”
Rory glances at the Doctor before walking up and pushing the door open. His jaw drops.
“Well,” he says, “this um…wow.”
“Come on,” the Doctor says, walking in behind him and closing the door. “Say it. They all do.”
“It’s…”
“Yeah?”
“Larger in here. Much larger.”
The Doctor scowls. “I prefer ‘bigger on the inside’,” he mutters. He walks up to the console and begins flicking switches. “Still works like a charm.”
“So this is your ship?” Rory asks.
“All of time and space,” the Doctor boasts. He holds his arms out and gestures to the entire room. “All right here.”
Rory looks around and the situation settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “You’re leaving,” he realizes.
“Obviously,” the Doctor replies. He tinkers with a couple knobs on the scanner. “No offense to you—Earth is a wonderful place filled with wonderful people—but it’s time I stretched my legs. There’s so many places to see, Rory, so many faces to talk to.”
Rory gulps. “Oh.”
“And you, you haven’t seen anything. Not really. There’s restaurant planets, shopping mall planets, pet shop planets, things you’d believe to be impossible just outside those doors with just a flip of a switch.” He laughs. “I can’t wait to see your face.”
The nurse blinks. “I’m coming along,” he states.
The Doctor stops his tinkering. “You didn’t think you were?”
Rory shrugs. “Dunno. I mean, you’re brilliant and interesting and I’m just…me.”
“Just me?” the Doctor reiterates. “Just you, just Rory Williams. You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“You talk about all these people who did these things, saved the world. And I haven’t. I’m a just a nurse.”
The Doctor slumps and shakes his head. “Rory, Rory, you are so much more than that. You’re intelligent, you’re forgiving, you’re caring. Kind, brave. You are, in an essence, the best of humanity. And I only choose the best.” He looks up and smiles. “And you are, hands down, the best of the best. You deserve a medal.”
Rory smiles. But there’s work to be done. “But what about everything else? My job, the rent? The cat?”
“It’s a time machine, Rory. We can spend months here and return to not five minutes from now.”
“It’s that simple?”
“You have nothing to worry about.” He walks down the stairs and holds is hand out to Rory. “How about it?”
Rory takes it.
He’s led up to the console, where the Doctor works the controls with his free hand, twisting and pulling and pressing as the console beeps and buzzes. His fingers wrap around a rather large and official-looking lever and he looks over to Rory with a smile.
“Rory Williams, it’s time you saw the universe.”