Written for the dw100's prompt: 'armor.'
If Rory had the time, he might have protested that he's Roman, but he knows his Homer so he'll let it pass this time.
‘You don’t spit polish that,’ complained Rory as the Doctor’s hanky fluttered past his face, over the dented breastplate. ‘I’m playing along, all right? Don’t make it worse.’ The Doctor rubbed intently at an old scuff mark on the metal, then flourished the hanky and returned it meditatively to his pocket.
‘That’ll do, Rory,’ he murmured appreciatively.
‘Okay, so the bronze will deflect those beams, but I don’t understand why the cape–‘
The Doctor quirked a small, rueful smile and placed his hands on Rory’s shoulders. ‘You’re my Trojan lamb: tough, metal outside, squishy fleecy softness on the inside!’
‘That’ll do, Rory,’ he murmured appreciatively.
‘Okay, so the bronze will deflect those beams, but I don’t understand why the cape–‘
The Doctor quirked a small, rueful smile and placed his hands on Rory’s shoulders. ‘You’re my Trojan lamb: tough, metal outside, squishy fleecy softness on the inside!’