Hello, hello! I'm Cam, and this is the start of what I think is going to be a looooong story. This is a really, really crappy time to start a story, considering I'm going on hiatus until November 30th and all, but I'll come back to this then. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to R+R! ;v;

For what seemed to be the millionth time that day, Donna Noble let out a great, heaving sigh. Her day had been full of disturbances, disappointments, and general boredom. First, everyone at the office had stared at her when she went to make her coffee (sadly, there was no more Lance to make it for her), because, according to them, she'd had a golden glow emanating off her body. Literally. ('Might want to tone down on the bronzer, dearie,' Nerys had said.)

Ridiculous. As if she could ever glow golden. She wasn't an alien. Although, speaking of aliens, they'd done a generous part in ruining her day, too. Actually, they'd ruined this whole entire month, starting with what she called the Pepper Pot Invasion, in which a bunch of planets had apparently shown up in the sky, and pepper pot-lookalike robots had apparently come down from them to demand that the human race become their slaves. Of course, the Earth had, God knew how, prevailed, but not all seven billion people on it came out unharmed.

Because that was the day Donna had lost a year of memories.

Her parents had insisted it had something to do with the evil pepper pots, despite the surgeons' denial. She remembered her first few days of work at H.C. Clements as if it was yesterday (notably, Lance, the head of Human Resources, making her coffees), but beyond that point, and until she had woken up to find an extremely skinny, strange man with hair that probably defied gravity in her living room, who was apparently named John Smith of all things, talking about flying pepper pots with eyestalks, all was blank.

Daleks. Daleks. They want supremacy. They kill.

Donna stopped walking toward the park, startled. There was that voice again… the one that ruined everything for her. It seemed to lack proper grammar, and apparently thought it was an encyclopedia for all things alien. Every time something odd popped up, and aliens were mentioned, the voice would chant a name, each stranger than the last, into her head, and belt out its characteristics.

Very surprisingly, the voice sometimes worked in her favour. When, last week, huge humanoid creatures with their brains practically popping out of their forehead flesh had strolled into her office, the voice had rung in her head: Ood. Ood. Slave aliens. Give orders, they'll listen.

Sure enough, when she'd told them to sod off, they had, not looking quite as manic as they had when they walked in.

(Still quite ugly, though.)

Shaking the voice out of her head, she continued walking, and stepped into the park. She knew Nerys had made a rather rude comment this morning about her eating too much, but she bloody loved the ice-cream shop across the park from here, and nothing would stop her from getting her daily fix of Neapolitan ice cream, so—

That's when she stopped dead in her tracks, because the voice in her head rang louder than ever.

Weeping Angel. Don't blink. Don't look away. Don't turn back. They kill.

She opened her eyes as wide as she could. She had no reason to doubt the voice, since it had saved her once before, and the other reason she had not to blink was that, in the square, a statue had laid its eyes right on her.

She didn't understand why it was called a Weeping Angel. Sure, the statue showed similitude to an angel, with its wings, but it wasn't weeping. It was staring. To be honest, it was getting kind of creepy.

You'll be weeping by the time I'm done with you, sunshine.

The voice called her back to attention with a shout along of the lines of 'You lost focus! Don't blink! Not now!'. A split second later, she saw why.

The statue—no, actually, it definitely wasn't a statue—was now only inches away from her face, its mouth half open, displaying a horrifying set of fangs.

It was all Donna could do not to scream and run, but somehow she continued staring.

She stared, she stared, and she felt like hours were elapsing. She struggled to keep her eyes open, forcing them not to close with her fingers.

Blank, stone eyes stared back, mere inches away from her face, the fangs still threateningly close.

Don't blink, don't blink, don't blink. Don't look away. They kill. Don't blink.

Then, Donna understood what it felt like to be weak in the knees, and, still unblinking, collapsed to the ground as she remembered.

As memories of Midnight and Pompeii and the Daleks and the blue box that had taken her farther than she could ever have dreamed of washed over her, crushing her, it occurred to her that she, Donna Noble, part human and part Time Lord, had saved the world. Clearly, when the Doctor had wiped her memory, he thought he was taking away her Time Lord mind, too, but no such luck – it had stayed, and the voice, the compressed alien-thing dictionary in her head was him! She still had all the Doctor's knowledge, and now, she had regained her own, too. She almost laughed out loud at the sheer joy of reuniting with her memories, minus, seemingly, the risk of frying her brains, but then she remembered the Weeping Angel that was frighteningly close to her.

Her fingers flying back to her eyelids, forcing them to remain open, she slowly got up and backed away.
"All right, rock alien thing from outer space," she muttered, "I'm sure we can work this out."
As she slowly walked backwards, going slightly right, her eyes never leaving the Weeping Angel, she bumped into something beside her, feeling the warmth of a body.

"Oi, git," she cried reflexively, "watch your ste—"

That's when the person next to her, who also happened to be her best friend/tormentor/whatever she was, also known as Nerys, screamed, and before Donna could see the other Weeping Angel dead in front of the blonde and cry don't blink, Nerys was gone. Vanished into thin air. Instinctively, she turned toward the spot where she had been, but it was as if she had never been there.

Her heart almost stopped when she realized she'd looked away from the Weeping Angel, but nothing happened. She was still staring at the same old Londonian cracked pavement below her, and when, slowly, slowly, she looked up, she found the two Angels staring at each other.

If they're staring at each other, they can't move. This is the end of two Weeping Angels.

The voice in her head seemed less rushed and clearer, now, and although it sounded like the Doctor, it occurred to her, her Time Lord mind working a mile a minute, that this couldn't be the Doctor – she had no mental connection to him. It might have been the other Doctor, but she couldn't see how he could still be overseeing her life – he was busy with Rose, literally a world away. As far as she knew, he was human and had no way to contact her. This left only one possibility: the voice in her head had been coming from her Time Lord mind, which had been repressed for the past year. Or, at least, if the ideas were not her own, they were the knowledge the Doctor had left behind with her. Suddenly, she had an idea – one that was genuinely and surely her own, this time.

"Oh, you're not getting rid of me that bloody easily, Spaceman," she muttered as she headed at full speed for her flat, in which she was sure she could find the solution to seeing her Doctor again.