A/N: Recently I've had lots of Plot Bunnies but not enough to create full stories, just scenes. So, my solution was to just write short drabbles and snippets and post them up here. I might continue them, I might not, but the chapters won't be connected and I have no clue how many chapters this will be. Enjoy!

Oh, also, if any of you want to take any scene and run with it, feel free and I'd like it if you credit me or at least tell me so I can read your story!

Also, also, if you want to see a specific scene or have any requests, I'll take them 3

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize as belonging to the BBC or someone-high-up is not mine, obviously. Plots are mine though.

Frozen Heart

The room was dark as the Doctor crept through it, his sonic screwdriver providing just barely enough light to see where he was putting his feet. He was in a dilapidated manor. According to the locals, it was haunted by a lonely vengeful angel seeking her lost lover. Anyone who ventured into the house disappeared to become her servants.

The Doctor didn't put much credit into the romantic story, but a vengeful angel and disappearing people? Sounded an awful lot like something right up his alley.

A delicate swish echoed around the house and he spun, casting the gentle blue light over his surroundings. The only material was a ratty deep red curtain that might once have been very beautiful. A large armchair stood by a fireplace, which was long since disused. The manor reeked of wealth, yet an air of sadness lingered about the place, as though a tragedy had occurred for the previous inhabitants.

Perfect for a melancholy angel, the Doctor mused as he stepped out of the room. He stepped out into a landing, and the floor had crumbled away to the side.
"Watch out," he called before catching himself. For all of his 'lonely-god' façade, it was disconcerting to not have a companion with him, not have someone to watch out for and show the universe.

He edged around the door frame, his converse just barely brushing the gaping hole at his feet.

When he stepped into the next room, he flinched at the bright sunlight streaming in through the enormous floor length windows. Letting his eyes adjust to the sudden light, he saw that it was a large library. The books were molding and decomposing. Spines littered the floors where they had fallen after tearing from their books. Cobwebs stretched across the shelves, untouched and flourishing.

But the most interesting thing in the room was the wall facing the door. It was not remarkable on its own; the wallpaper had faded into a nondescript grey, part of it hanging torn off the wall. However, gouged into the sturdy wood was a large message:

HELP ME

The Doctor whipped out his glasses, scanning the marks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Fresh marks," he muttered. "Well, fresh compared to the rest of the house, and made by what looks to be like claws." The letters were neat, done with great patience, not desperation, as though the writer had all the time in the world as long as help came eventually.

Another swish. He turned around once again, and his eyebrows shot up. The door was swinging gently – someone had just come through. He peered around, trying to find the creature (at least he assumed it was a creature).

"Hello?" he called. No reply. "Alright, look. If you clawed this message here, then I will try to help you, but I can't do anything if I don't know who or what or even where you are." Another swish but this time, a thought accompanied it. A soft tendril of another mind reached out to nudge his own cautiously.

The Doctor only caught a single plea. Close your eyes. He frowned. That was such an obvious trap line, although – the presence did seem exceptionally desperate.

"I'm getting senile in my old age," he murmured to himself. Then louder he said, "Alright, I'm closing my eyes." He shut them and instantly became aware of a physical presence in the room. Instinct took over and forced his eyes open. In front of him, its back turned, wings folded, stood a weeping angel. Shock ran through him, but he took a deep breath to calm, forcing himself to think rationally.

The angel had clearly stalked him through the house and yet had made no attempt to attack – a pacifist? He shook his head. No, this angel wanted him to be here, in this library to read this message. Going against every fiber of his being that was screaming at him to run, he shut his eyes once more.

The angel sped toward him, stopping only a hairsbreadth away. When he felt it still, the Doctor opened his eyes and started shocked. The angel's hand was poised beside his face, the back of its fingers near to stroking his cheek in a caress but tense with restraint.

He knew that hand, had held it so many times, had been wrapped in those slender arms more than he could say. He knew the curves to that body better than he knew himself, knew that face, that wide mouth that would curve into a playful smile, those lips he had touched with his own countless times over. The golden locks that had curled gently around his fingers were now frozen in stone; the sparkling hazel eyes that had flashed in his direction reproachfully when he was being too rude-and-not-ginger were now deadened. Her face was a mask of sorrow and longing and the slightest ray of hope.

The Doctor could hardly (refused to) believe it – she was gone she was trapped she was safe in another universe with her mum and pete and mickey – his mouth moving soundlessly until a single hoarse, despairing, word escaped him.

"Rose…"

OK, so I stole the title of this chapter a bit. What can I say? It was playing on my iPod. ;)