A/N:
• This takes place before the end of season 2, but after Owen's "death".
• This is my first fan-fiction, so please review. Even if it is negative in a way(that just means it is constructive criticism) :)
• This is Part 1. It is also a rough draft and may be subject to change, depending.
• Please leave ideas and help, if you don't mind :) I want to make it as close to the series as I can.
• I'm American, so I don't know much about British currency and slang, so please help me if you either know it and/or you are British :D

Roger Esselman stared at the statue. It was gray stone, an angel. It was odd. It had its hands up over its face, as if it were in a game of hide and seek. Roger walked all the way around it. It was sturdy, for sure. It was also taller than him. Probably about six and a half feet, if he had to guess.

"I'll take it," he said to the shop-keep next to him. "How much will it cost me?"

"Three-hundred twenty-one pounds sterling," the shop-keep replies.

"That's all? That's grand cheap, that is. Why so low?"

"Well, because no one wants to buy it. They say it moves. The previous owner also practically gave it away. Well, he did, actually. Came in here and said he had a statue. He was frightened. He said it wanted to kill him and he'd be glad to get rid of it. He didn't ask for anything, but I talked him into taking five-hundred pounds."

"I'll take it. I was expecting to spend more on it, but that's cheap. I'll buy it for five-hundred, so you don't lose any money, at least. Look great in my garden, it will."

The two of them walked into the other room to make the business transfer complete. The angel turned its head and watched the men. Its blank eyes just looked. They just stared before it moved back to its original position before the men turned around and caught it.

The two men came back in. The shop-keep carried a dolly with him and they wheeled it to the parking lot where Roger had parked his truck. They loaded it into the back and Mr. Esselman sent leavings to the shop-keep.

The drive home wasn't that long this time around. He lived out on the edge of Cardiff, but the excitement of finally having a real statue for his garden instead of the plastic ones he had been using was enough to make hours seem like only seconds. He pulled into his driveway and practically skipped the whole time he was setting up the angel in his garden out back.

The sun had fallen by the time he was satisfied. He turned on the back light and grabbed a camera. He took several photos from various angles. He printed the photos afterward, a total of nineteen. After setting them on the counter, he headed to his room. He opened the door, but vanished before taking one step forward. He was dropped back in time by the Weeping Angels, the polite killers.

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Forty-eight hours prior, a somewhat older man bumped into Captain Jack Harkness. "I'm sorry, sir," he apologized, about to leave. Then he realized something and turned back around. "Sir, are you Jack? Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood?"

The captain looked the man in the eyes and told him to follow him. They went to an empty booth in a cafe. The man sipped on a coffee, black with no sugar, while Jack drank down a glass of water.

"Tell me who you are and how you know about Torchwood," the stern captain demanded.

"I am Roger Esselman. I used to work with Torchwood back about twenty years ago. I was trying to figure something out, but never could. You see, I need Torchwood's help because... Well, because I can't do it."

"You are an ex-Torchwood employee? How is that possible?"

"The others were all... They were all killed. Killed in the same way I was. Or rather, in the same way I will."

"Which is how, Mr. Esselman?" interrogated the captain.

"By a stone angel. They were taken literally in the blink of an eye. They were dropped. Dropped back in time. I don't know where either."

"By the sound of it, you're dealing with what is called a Weeping Angel. They are the scariest creatures in all of existence with no way to kill them and, as a friend of mine would say, the only psychopaths to kill you nicely. They are the polite killers, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Captain, you've got to help the world. In about two days, I will get the angel and I will disappear. I cannot stop that, but after those two days, you and your team can come with me to my house and stop it."

"What do you mean you get it in two days time?"

Roger took another sip of his coffee. "You can't and shouldn't change the past. My time in Torchwood has taught me that much, Captain. However, I was twenty-nine when I found it. It was a deal at only five-hundred quid. That night, I was going to bed and it took me. Dropped me in the year 1975."

Jack looked at Roger and said nothing. After a brief moment, he put the glass of water up to his mouth and drank the last swig of the glass's contents. He stood and put his hand up to his ear and pressed down on his communicator.

"Owen, Gwen, Tosh, and Ianto. Prepare the base. I've got a guest with me. A member or ex-member of Torchwood coming home with me."