This chapter is a sort of interlude: not that important in the whole plot-developing category. However, it's a snippet of what the Doctor gets up to.

Disclaimer: (something I forgot last chapter) Despite my elaborate plans that I have made (don't believe me, ask Lady Mearle) I regret to inform you that I own absolutely no part whatsoever of the fantastic-ness that is Doctor Who. Or David Tennant.

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7 – Immortal Angel

--- Year: 1760 ---

So much for his low profile. He had quickly discovered that it was impossible for him just to do nothing, to sit and watch the years go by. Not when he had the ability to travel, even if it was only in space, and on horseback at that.

His stay in Versailles lasted until the beginning of March, when he decided that he'd had enough of the King's hostile glares and pointed remarks. Something else had been bothering him though; the woman he'd first seen in the shadows with Reinette, watching him, had been almost stalking him. There had been numerous occasions when he'd had a prickling feeling of being examined, only to find her gaze fixed intently on him. There was nothing malicious about it, as far as he could tell – she just…watched.

It had begun to get him riled up so much that he just wanted to leave and be out of range of her scrutiny. He appreciated people looking up to him if he'd saved their lives, or the planet they happened to be living on, but the un-called for appearance of adoration was more then he wanted, especially when he was trying to be inconspicuous. Not that he was succeeding.

Principally because of what he was doing – laying the groundwork for oh-so-many characters to come. The founder of the anonymous super-hero was generally agreed to be the character of the 'Scarlet Pimpernel', but he was ahead of that creation by a good 140 years. It was his nature to meddle and interfere, in the process saving as many lives as he could. But the nature of his plight was the strict necessity of remaining an unknown. Nobody was allowed to know any sort of a name to connect with him, not if it could link him with anyone. His connection to Madame de Pompadour and her championing of him was also forbidden knowledge. He had to be a non-entity to anyone he met.

And why was secrecy so essential? Because of what he was doing: playing the super-hero. There were always people that needed helping and he was doing what he could, as he constantly did. There were also minor alien threats that needed to be stopped before they made their mark in history. His intervention was critical; history hadn't recorded any such supernatural happenings in this era and so anything out of the ordinary had to be stopped, quickly.

Of course, while he was at it the Doctor also took the time to help in more mundane fashions, against those who weren't from the other side of the galaxy. It was this that first gave him the reputation of a mysterious hero.

The earliest time was soon after he'd left Versailles: he had been aimlessly wandering along one of the 'main roads' of the time debating the period's poetry with Arthur (or rather he was debating and Arthur was snorting in disbelief at him) when one of the clear sounds of trouble carried unmistakably through the air. A gunshot, the sharp crack disturbing the natural sounds of the undergrowth and leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

Arthur's head was thrown up and his ears pricked forward to the source of the noise before the Doctor gave him the go-ahead and he launched into a flat-out gallop. The terrain wasn't nearly as treacherous if they kept to the beaten track and the white horse maintained his top speed until his rider pulled him up slightly, so they could approach silently and hopefully use the element of surprise. To this end, the Doctor directed his mount off of the road and into the undergrowth so they wouldn't be instantly detected.

The still tableau was revealed as they slowly crept up to it: the traditional travelling carriage was turned sideways across the path and a man on horseback was covering the driver with a pistol. The lack of bodies sprawled on the ground led the Doctor to infer that the shot fired earlier had only been meant as a warning and not to seriously wound anyone. The demand by the armed man was probably money or jewels; it normally was in these scenarios. He'd forgotten he was now living in the age where highwaymen were a real risk for travellers.

The Doctor wasn't quite close enough to overhear any of what was being said but he could quite easily guess the gist of the conversation. It was always the same, a combination of threats, demands and promises until the unfortunate victims complied with the highwayman. And from the look of it, that moment was not very far off.

All of a sudden, the carriage door opened as the passengers inside obviously felt the desire to be included in the discussion. This distracted the highwayman from his surroundings as he had to concentrate on two different angry parties simultaneously. It created enough of a disturbance that the Doctor felt able to utilise it. Time to save the day.

Slipping off Arthur, the Doctor carefully looped the reins loosely over the pommel, allowing the horse plenty of slack. For his master plan, the one that had literally just jumped into his mind, he needed Arthur mobile enough to play a major role. He didn't even need to explain to the animal, only point at the scene unfolding and give a significant look. Arthur dipped his head once in understanding and waited, giving the Doctor a few moments to prepare himself, before acting.

For the people in the travelling coach, the scene played out as follows: the first they knew of the highwayman was a tremendous jerk before their carriage slewed crazily across the road as a gunshot cracked, probably frightening the horses into their wild manoeuvre. Raised voices followed: their driver arguing with the aggressor. Finally Madame Noixelle grew impatient and demanded her brother throw open their carriage door to see the incident for themselves. A masked man on horseback clearly held the dominant position as he covered both the now-open door and the unfortunate driver with a pistol.

An absolute age seemed to pass where all the players in the drama held position and stared at each other. They were recalled sharply to themselves by a shrill whinny and the crashing of an animal blundering through the undergrowth to the side of the track. A moment later a white horse burst onto the thoroughfare, gave another panicked cry and, seeming not to notice the people staring at it, charged off up the road.

The highwayman, having spun around to level his weapon at the perceived threat, turned back to his victims. Only to find someone else entirely standing right in front of him.

Even the driver on top of the carriage had not noticed this new appearance until that moment and couldn't say where he'd come from. The new figure was reasonably tall with an untameable mop of brown hair and fathomless dark eyes, but the thing that really made them all stare at him was his clothes. The overcoat wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it hung open revealing the true oddity beneath. Plain and drab in colour, except for the bright off-white shoes, he stood out sharply from what was considered 'normal'. He appeared unlike any other fashion that had been seen yet in the world, but he wore them unconsciously as if he was unaware of the fact.

The sudden proximity of a total stranger caused the masked man to jump in surprise and allowed the stranger to skilfully help himself to the loaded pistol, which had been held in a slack grip. With the threat removed, the newcomer turned without a word and began to walk off in the direction the panicked horse had taken.

His path took him past the carriage and there was a moment where an errant breeze caught and lifted the lower half of his coat. For an instant the material flapped out, exposing a glimpse of pure white and in that second Madame Noixelle knew what had saved her.

An angel.

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Rumours of that day spread and grew with each telling. Neither the driver or her brother disputed Madame Noixelle's claim of their saviour's divinity, in fact both of them started telling their version of the tale too. And still it intensified, almost as if they were all trying to outdo each other in telling how magnificent their rescue was.

It started off as being a panicked horse that had probably escaped from a nearby inn which had appeared by luck and grew to being a spirit in horse-form, guided by divine will to provide a distraction. In the same manner the figure started off as a strange, homeless man with strange clothes who was in the right place to help out and grew to being a manifestation of an angel who helped the innocent.

Stories of that event spread throughout France and soon came to the ears of the court, where another spin was put on it by those who remembered the non-humans who had nearly killed the King's mistress and the strange man who had arrived from nowhere, from out of a solid wall, in order to save her. They remembered how he had soon disappeared, to wander and Madame de Pompadour's references to her angel, the being who she could love and yet not have or hold onto. Connections were made between them both and the story grew.

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"A divine being, an angel they say. A creature from beyond this world walks the Earth, in the form of a man. He's here to judge us and if he finds you unworthy…well, one look and you'll believe the very Devil had damned you. His eyes are ageless and filled with the knowledge of Time itself. One look and it could drive us mortals mad!"

"…What have I done?" the question was muttered in an undertone right into his listener's ear, which flicked at him in response.

The Doctor was trying his hardest to blend unnoticed into the crowd where the orator was holding forth and to that end he'd wrapped his duster tightly around himself so his out-of-time suit couldn't be seen. He was standing at the back of the large crowd, holding onto Arthur's reins as he whispered to the horse and listened in horror to what his growing legend had come to. The only good thing he could see of it was that they hadn't started accusing him of being a witch and that if he was careful, like now, nobody would mistake him for the epic creature being described.

He'd heard enough. Turning around, he tugged gently on Arthur's reins to tell the animal that they were leaving. He wasn't the only one, the mass of people fluctuated somewhat as some left and others arrived to hear more of the tale.

Once he was several streets away, the Doctor un-tensed slightly as he swung himself up on the white horse's back, the tight grip he'd maintained on his coat dropping to reveal his suit again. It wasn't like he'd be staying in this village long enough for anyone to notice him.

He was nearly out of the little town before he heard the unmistakeable sound of trouble: screams. And…assuming that most of the population of the area were in the square listening to the speaker then there was no one in range to hear except him. He sighed as he realised that he was going to have to go and prove his reputation as a defender of the innocent.

Arthur was perfectly willing and poured on the speed through the deserted streets until they arrived, puzzled, at the place where the screams were coming from. The only problem was there was nothing to see: no villains, no monsters, not even the person who was still screeching their head off.

Cautiously, the Doctor dismounted, leaving Arthur as he took a few careful steps up the street. One thing he had learnt in his 900-odd years was that everything was rarely as it first appeared and just because you couldn't see something was no indication that it did or did not exist. Oh yes, and that he really ought to trust the danger instinct that was making his skin tingle all over and his hair stand on end.

No wait, that was due to an electrical field permeating the cobbles beneath his shoes and imbuing the air itself with a dangerous amount of energy. Ok, so that was not normal for French village streets in 1760… He had found the problem, now what was causing it?

After a brief glance around checking that indeed he was the only person in the vicinity, the Doctor extracted his sonic screwdriver from his inside suit jacket pocket. Turning it on and off in short bursts; he swept the device from side to side, searching for the concealed source of the electrical power. A frown grew on his face when he failed to scan anything unusual. In increasing desperation, he started to wave the sonic instrument towards the cobbles on the street.

Triumph was established as the screwdriver started beeping insistently. The Doctor grinned: beneath the street? No wonder he hadn't caught it immediately.

Leaving Arthur out on the street, ostensibly to keep a lookout, the Doctor sonic-ed the closest house's door and headed for the cellar. The sounds of commotion grew louder as he raced through the building – it wasn't just one person in distress, it was just that the screamer had been the overwhelming noise until you were close enough to listen under it.

The door to the cellar was also locked, but that was no problem for his sonic tool. Flinging the heavy wooden door open, he dashed down the steps and burst through another door, this one unlocked. Then, as he looked around he wondered if he'd ever learn that just because he realises that it's a trap and that someone's in danger, it's no reason to run in without thinking. Because there's a very good reason why he shouldn't, and it's even one he's mentioned:

Because it's a trap.

And that doesn't just mean a trap for humans, little inquisitive apes that have no idea what could possibly be going on, no idea about the very real danger posed by extra-terrestrials.

It also means a trap for do-good aliens that think they know it all. An alien species for example, like perhaps a Gallifreyan Timelord. Whoops.

What he hadn't considered was that if the electrical field generated was strong enough to be clearly felt on the streets above the basement, then it was probably stronger nearer the source, exponentially so. Strong enough to maybe be used as a weapon, to injure intruders with massive jolts of lightning, powered by a machine that shouldn't exist on this world for another…four centuries?

His impetus from breaking the door down meant that he was a good three metres into the room before the machine reacted. This also meant that the bolt of crackling blue energy caught him side-on and instead of blasting him back through the entrance, it threw him bodily into a nearby wall. Deliberately letting himself go limp, the Doctor slumped down into a boneless heap. Panting slightly he lay still until the residual electricity had finished rippling over his form and grounded itself. Only then did he re-open his eyes and discretely scan the room.

The whole of the large basement-type area was buzzing as the air particles were forced as close as possible to their conducting point. Any more and the very oxygen would spark inside any humanoid's lungs and fry them from the inside out. This was a real worry as the Doctor was not devoid of company in the room; against the wall opposite huddled five people, obviously natives from the era. Some of the power provided by the generator was going into maintaining what appeared to be a small cell around the group with bars of pure energy. They were trapped there; the level of energy contained in the lightning was far greater then a human's body could sustain.

The other lifeforms in the room were the ones responsible for the generator. Even knowing that there had to be something there and being able to hear their chatter to each other it took the Doctor a good thirty seconds before he got the hang of determining which sparkles of energy hanging in the air were sentient. The trick was firstly in the way they moved and only after that could features be distinguished.

Whatever the electric-creatures were doing involved ramping up the output range of their generator and also required an uninterrupted feed from it. Which explained the automatic blast of energy that had targeted his moving form once he had entered the 'threat' range. It didn't want any disruptions.

Now however…he was probably well inside the radius and as such considered 'neutralised', an image reinforced by the glowing walls of his own personal electric prison. Those would make it slightly more painful, but the deed still had to be done. It took a much higher voltage level to come close to being dangerous for his physique; a fact he was as grateful for now as when he'd managed to overcome the Slitheens' electrical murder weapon back in his ninth regeneration.

So, priorities: get through the lightning 'bars' and shut down the electrical generator, hopefully permanently. The shock of losing such a powerful ambient field would probably injure the aliens enough so that they had to return to their ship to recover. And the generator itself didn't look like they could easily come up with another; if he destroyed this one it should eliminate the threat.

He had to act; now before the energy field grew too strong. Gathering himself, the Doctor surged off the wall behind him and tore through the energy barrier imprisoning him. Instantly his body was covered in raging, sparking lightning. He did slow from the attack, but not sufficiently enough for the aliens to stop him.

The five human prisoners watched in wide-eyed awe as the man leapt at the strange machine, in visible agony from the waves of electricity as he grabbed at the controls but continuing regardless. An instant later and the all-invasive hum was gone, the sparks of energy in the air unable to maintain themselves after the removal of their power source.

It took several seconds longer for the left-over energy crackling over his frame to ground itself and he retained a white-knuckled grip on the machine in front of him until he was certain the pain had diminished for good. Moving slightly stiffly from the overdose of electricity, the Doctor retrieved his sonic screwdriver and proceeded to scramble the remains of the generator, firmly ignoring the little group of people climbing gingerly to their feet. He wasn't going to talk to them if he could help it.

The instant he left, heading upwards and out they all followed him – staring with eyes full of wonder. Even then, none of them said a word to him – he wouldn't be surprised if their brains decided to go into shock and wipe the events from their memories. But it was more then just fear of him that held their tongues:

As he laboriously mounted Arthur, the aftermath of the lightning proving more troublesome then he'd have thought, the motion exposed the lining of his coat. It was only for an instant, but all of them saw it and the whispers began.

"It's the angel!"

"He saved our lives, we are blessed!"

And so the rumour spread. It told of the divine being that saved mortals from a fatal danger beyond their understanding. It told of a man who was not a man, one who would allow himself to be injured while saving others. An angel who wouldn't speak, but whose eyes told stories of time and pain and loss. And they who were saved by the angel, the rumour went; they were truly blessed in the eyes of the Lord.

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"Madame, it's finished," the woman's voice was proud as she prepared to display her latest masterpiece.

"You are certain that he didn't find out why you were watching him?" Reinette's tone was a little worried, but mostly it contained eager anticipation as she had waited three months for this to be ready.

"Of course Madame; I did not talk to him unless forced and didn't explain anything. If I may…" the artist reached for the cloth covering the frame set up on the easel. "Voila!"

Reinette could only gasp as she looked at the portrait of the Doctor, and there was no doubt for anyone that had met him that it was him. Aside from the clothes, the expression was truly his; such an intent look as he gazed out of the picture, his dark eyes focussed and seeming to actually meet the gaze of anyone looking at the portrait. He'd never posed for it, but he was so unforgettable that the artist had managed without a sitting.

Because of that, she'd taken some liberties: the background was the green grass of the top of a cliff, looking out over the ocean. The main subject was standing in an almost challenging posture, his hands shoved into his suit pockets, straight on from the viewer. The overcoat was the one Reinette had given to him and in the picture it was frozen in mid-billow, the white lining clearly visible as it fanned out to form a stylised pair of wings. Behind him on the cliff stood a white horse, obviously his and equally clearly not entirely normal. Its coat shone in the painted sunlight, making the animal seem to glow. At the bottom was an engraved plaque with the words

L'Ange Immortal

1760

written on it. After some internal debate Reinette had settled with Immortal Angel as opposed to Lonely Angel; she preferred to see as little of the melancholy that hung on him as possible.

Her portrait of him that he had refused, and now she wouldn't tell him of its existence. But she would keep her promise; to try and make sure that when she died and didn't need it any longer it was destroyed. She would leave instructions.

But instructions can always be lost…

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I enjoyed that one! But I do apologise if this interferes with anybody's beliefs. If this is relevant to you, I'd like to point out: fanfiction hence not real. Thanks for your understanding.

Now review?

Tai