Rory’s never been a headturner.
She’s been plain as anything and back when she had first started dating Ames, one of the first things he’d said was, “you know, your Mum could’ve named you Jane,” with a teasing smirk and it’d taken Rory a moment to figure out the whole Plain Jane joke, plain as day. You’ll have to forgive her if she doesn’t laugh. She stopped laughing at that joke exactly two seconds after someone told it for the first time. She’s not exactly the life of the party like Ames is, which annoys her for years until she realizes that she doesn’t want to be popular like him, she just wants to be with him.
Except, she doesn’t think she stands a chance. Jenn is prettier than him by far and it’s not like Leadworth is bursting with men, so when they all turn sixteen, Rory just assumes that she’s absolutely shit out of luck.
She’s still not sure what caused Ames to look at her for a second longer than he usually does and say, “Williams, you and me, picnic,” and walk off like he’s not going to change his mind. Then, Amy – an old nickname from childhood when a strange patchwork raggedy man, half out of his mind, patted Ames’ long red locks and called him a girl and Ames had taken to it far too happily – had always been a stubborn bloke.
Stubborn and mercurial. Stubborn and mercurial and prone to running off with an alien at the drop of a hat.
And, apparently, if the Doctor is to be believed, Amy is stubborn, mercurial, and has been kissing other men overnight in time or space or…she can’t really comprehend all of this. She’s barely holding it together as the Doctor tweaks her mousy brown hair and drags her away from the hen party. “Listen, Rory,” he consults, very seriously. “Something is going to happen tomorrow. Something big and important and according to every possible sign I’ve been reading, I can’t let it happen.”
“Are you telling me I’m not allowed to get married?” Rory asks warily, twisting the hem of the novelty t-shirt that the entire party is wearing – some of her friends have adapted it to be a little sluttier than Rory would really think of wearing it.
The Doctor’s eyes widen with worry. “What! No! In fact, it’s the most important thing in the universe that you do! Well, that, and you need to come with me. Amy’s very insistent on kissing me and he hasn’t shaved in three days. I’ve never looked good with stubble rash on my cheeks and there’s also the fact that you two are getting married in the morning!” he shouts, loud as can be. “Your husband-to-be should not be going around kissing strangers. Hence, I am taking you two and sending you off to somewhere romantic. Is Scotland romantic? Siberia? No, I’m going in the wrong direction,” the Doctor muses, half to himself, snapping his fingers in a mad rush. “Venice! Venezia, yes, that’ll do,” he calmly ends, turning to Rory to give her a dubious look. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Rory asks, absolutely lost.
“Are you coming or not?”
“Venice! Honestly, does no one listen to me?”
Rory should really have known better than to accept offers from strange men, but when the Doctor brings her around to his blue box, she sees Amy leaning out the door and staring at her with a fond smile on his face. “Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” Amy remarks, tugging Rory closer and sliding his hands up the hen-night shirt.
Rory barely manages to keep the squeak to a minimum. “We’re being watched!”
“Oh, it’s only the Doctor,” Amy mutters on dismissively. “Apparently he has no sex drive.”
“I am a better person,” the Doctor remarks absolutely calmly, “for not listening to my wanton and raging libido like certain redheaded men in this TARDIS.”
Amy rolls his eyes and slides his arm around Rory’s waist, pulling her inside the TARDIS and rambling on about raggedy Doctors and endless libraries with pools and rows and rows of clothing that always gives something new and interesting. Rory stares at this new world in wonder, but can’t help the worried look over her shoulder at the Doctor as she wonders what’s so very important about tomorrow.
She died and woke up a Roman. It should be strange that she died and woke up a Roman soldier’s wife, but at least Rory had the good sense to marry a commander, apparently. She tries to recall the wedding, but can’t. All she knows is that she is there at the outpost in Britain with Stonehenge a ride away and there are visitors from the sky talking about two men.
One has hair the colour of flames and suddenly Rory knows that they’ve come back for her. She sneaks away after the call for volunteers goes out and that’s why she’s able to pluck up a sword from one of the Roman soldiers near her and stab the strange metal creature before it can pound through the door.
When she opens the door and sees Amy there, standing tall and strong as ever – although maybe a bit more woozy than she last recalls – everything in her heart lifts up and stays high until the Doctor rushes in, clasps her by the cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead before adding a very grave, “How can you be here?”
She looks at him, adjusting the linens of her clothing and stares right back at the Doctor, not sure at all. “I don’t know,” is her honest reply. “I died and woke up a Roman.”
“But you didn’t just die, you never existed, you were never born.”
She waits a moment, feels the awkwardness inherent in that, and then says, “…okay?”
It’s a rush of events, but between Amy waking up and not remembering her, the other soldiers turning on the Doctor, and Rory’s hand turning into a weapon, she starts to believe that maybe, maybe the Doctor isn’t lying. Maybe the Doctor needs to be trusted and that’s roughly the moment that a blip in the universe happens and Rory is being tasked to revive Amy.
First, though, she’s got a little while to wait.
She’ll wait forever if she has to, for Amy. He means the world to Rory. She’ll do absolutely anything in the world for Amy.
“Amy…” Rory tries to beg, plead, tries not to look like a fool in her simple wedding dress with no beading or décolletage that tries to do something with her lanky frame. In the end, it manages to make her look vaguely like a princess (though why does she keep thinking about an ancient roman wedding is the real question she can’t solve).
The guests are starting to stare at the groom with thinly veiled looks of worry, like he might have cracked and lost his mind.
“And something so, so blue.” And then there’s a gushing and rushing of wind and out of nowhere, Rory’s assaulted with a thousand memories striking her all at once. She remembers. She remembers. She knows why the roman wedding and she remembers lizards and vampires and the Doctor jumping out of her hen-night cake.
“I was plastic,” Rory says, confused at first, but quick to lift up the skirts of her dress and hurry after Amy, nearly colliding with the Doctor in his gorgeous tuxedo, just in time to see the Doctor turn Amy away. “To the Ponds,” he praises. “Mrs. Pond,” he says with a secretive smile, leaning in to press a kiss to Rory’s forehead. “Most important day in the world, today. More importantly, all of Amy’s kisses belong to you.” It’s said sternly, almost like it’s an order, and it’s one that makes Amy pout. “Will I get a dance with the beautiful blushing bride?”
Rory is still opening and closing her mouth in what feels ultimately like great shock. She doesn’t even know how to begin processing this and finds it best to simply go with it because when she follows Amy out into the garden and into the TARDIS, she can quite honestly say that she craves the adventure as much as anything.
Even if she still barely knows what to say around the Doctor.
“We need a plant,” the Doctor had said.
Rory doesn’t understand how this has ended up with her in a grass skirt and a little bikini top, but apparently it has. Amy keeps groping her bottom and the Doctor keeps throwing her looks that Rory can’t exactly comprehend.
“He likes you, you know,” Amy whispers excitedly against her ear, his Scottish accent playfully jumping all around the words. “He told me that with a fond and funny little look on his face. He likes you.”
“Well,” Rory sputters as she’s delivered to a group of god-worshipping tribesman who are about to take her in for some kind of virgin sacrifice – if they even believe her. “That’s good,” he continues, trying not to drag her feet too much in the sand. “Because I like him about half as much as I love you.”
And Rory loves Amy to the ends of the universe – whether it exists in all its infinite glory or whether it simply boils down to the Earth and a starless sky.
“On you go!” the Doctor shouts from the door of the TARDIS, waving away cheerfully like the mad uncle he purports to be. “Have a nice time at the sacrifice.”
“You’re going to save me, right?” Rory demands worriedly. “Right? You will make sure to save me.”
“We need a proper woman’s influence around the TARDIS,” Amy assures, leaning in for one last kiss and grope. “Don’t worry,” he promises in a whisper. “We’re coming to save you. After all, one of us likes you and the other’s mad about you, Rory Pond of Leadworth.”
And, well, she never quite expected that, plain old Rory Williams with her mousy brown hair and her lanky frame. It’s not a half bad situation to be in, posing for virgin sacrifices and all.