Word Count: 300
Summary: Rory watched Amy sleep, because he could, because she was safe.
A/N: Written for a prompt from ljgeoff - Rory having flashbacks of being a Roman.
He watched Amy sleep, because he could. He could get lost in imagined patterns amongst her freckles, the shifting shades of red where muted light danced across her hair. He could smile as he watched her eyelids flutter as she dreamt, wondering at what flights of fantasy she found herself caught in. He could take comfort in the soft caress of her breathe against his skin, because she was here.
She was safe. Alive. The ghost of her limp, lifeless body in his arms nothing more than an impossible memory of things that never happened.
She was safe.
Rory closed his eyes, trying to settle into sleep without disturbing Amy. Sleep rarely came easily these days, the slide towards restful blackness thwart with hidden traps and detours. Most nights he bypassed dreams of work, school, nursing, Leadworth and his otherwise normal life. Most nights his dreams were filled with the glint of sunlight off armour, the feel of a sword pummel beneath his fingers, the smell of leather, and the ever present need to protect, to wait.
He was Rory William, but he wasn't at the same time. He was a collection of memories. He was the boy who grew up knowing he wanted to be a nurse, yet he wasn't, he was a weary soldier with calloused hands from gripping a sword. He saved lives, he had killed, felt blood slick his hands. He'd barely begun, yet lived through countless years that piled up on top of each other to weigh on his shoulders.
Rory drifted into light fitful sleep, muscles never quite easing, vigilance soaked into every fibre. His hand moved, fingers brushing against Amy's cheek, feeling her warmth, seeking solace from her presence, reassuring himself even in sleep that she was still there, safe, alive.
The last centurion, standing guard.