-Wedding Crashers-

Don't Blink

Sally Sparrow could not believe her eyes. She was trying to take another photo of the happy couple, fawning over each other and brushing Clara's incident with the waitress under the table where it belonged (Clara had gone to lurk in the bathroom) when she had glimpsed it. There was no mistaking the outline she had seen outside, the wings and the folded arms, but in the second it had taken for her to lift the camera away from her eyes it had disappeared into the night. She was fixated on the space outside, the same gloomy forest where Esther and some of the others were – would they be safe? She ought to call them, warn them about what she had seen, about what she had been seeing all day…

But she couldn't manage it. Frozen to the spot, Sally's mind was racing. Could she trust her own eyes? She didn't know anymore. She knew the new medication she was taking for her insomnia had side effects, that it had the potential to make things worse, extremely worse if she had an adverse reaction, and it had only been a few weeks. Was a hallucination completely out of the question? A hallucination of something intricately linked to significant trauma in her life? Her heart was beginning to race, and she felt like her innards were made of lead, sinking through her body and dragging her into the floor.

"Sally?" James Elliott, who had been consistently keeping her company since the wedding breakfast had ended, asked, cutting through the noise of her consciousness, "What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost." Close to it.

She shook her head, made some noises – couldn't formulate words. Squinting at the frosty darkness she tried to make out shapes in the shadows; it almost looked like something was moving, writhing around out there on the cusp of her periphery, but she couldn't be sure. James touched her arm. "Seriously, you-"

"I-I-I saw something," she stammered, "I think. Maybe, I… I need to… I can't…" She didn't even care if she made a scene at that point, almost dropping her camera as she took off out of the large reception hall. A few people watched her, but when James pursued they assumed the two of them were having another argument about their relationship – or lack thereof; Christina de Souza hadn't exactly been keeping her nose out of other people's personal lives, especially now she had a few wines in her.

The cold air of the corridor hit her once she left the hall, doors swinging behind her until James pushed through seconds later. But Sally didn't stop moving, cutting into the nearest door and into a function room full of stacks of chairs. There were large windows on the opposite wall, dim moonlight drifting through on a cloudy, December night. It was so late in the month that night had fallen in the last hour since the speeches wrapped up.

"What's the matter? What did you see?" James asked, coming to her aid. The camera slipped from her hands and he caught it, putting it down on one of the nearby chairs. She was hyperventilating. "Okay, it's gonna be alright, you just have to control your breathing. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth," he advised, but Sally could barely hear him. Her vision began to cloud, and her knees buckled. James caught her and steadied her as she sank to the floor, making sure she didn't hurt herself. "You need to concentrate on your breathing, try and slow it down, alright? Do it with me. Breathe in… hold it… breathe out. Breathe in… hold it… and breathe out." He didn't relent, talking to her clearly and calmly until she had no choice but to follow his instructions as she curled up on the floor. Slowly, she started to breathe in sync with James as he kept his arms around her and continued to talk. "Just keep breathing… You're doing a great job, really."

"I thought I saw something," she stammered, "Outside."

He looked out of the windows of the deserted function room, "I don't see anything except trees."

"They – they move quickly, you wouldn't see them if they didn't want you to," she said. She had started to cry and hadn't noticed until she started choking on her words.

"They? Who's 'they'?"

"I'm not crazy. You think I'm crazy."

"I don't, but you need to talk to me, tell me what's wrong. I can help, or if I can't, I can find someone who can," he said softly.

"I thought it was… I thought I saw Angels."

"Angels?"

"Weeping Angels."

"They're… those statues, right?" he asked, "Sorry, I haven't had a chance to read through all of Undercoll's files yet."

"Yes, they're statues," she said after a pause. James glanced up and looked out of the window while she refused, burying her face against his chest instead.

"I still don't see anything. They'd have to smash the window to get in, though, right? In here, at least. I'd see that," he said. That did make sense, she thought.

"Just don't leave. If you leave, they might-"

"I won't leave. I'm right here." He fumbled and drew something out of his pocket. "Here you go."

"…Is this a handkerchief?" she asked, a little amused. She sniffed. "How old are you to have a handkerchief?"

"You're never too young to have proper manners. That's what my mam says, anyway," he said. She blew her nose on the handkerchief.

"…Sorry."

"Nothing to apologise for. Now… could you tell me what you saw?"

"It was only for a second. But it… the camera, give me the camera." He picked up the camera again and handed it to her. She took it and detached herself from his arms, shuffling over so she was leaning against the wall; she had the door and the windows in her direct line of sight. James joined her, sitting at her side. She was glad she'd been using a digital camera, able to pull up the last picture she had taken. But she saw nothing in the dark background. "No, no, it… I didn't…"

"It's okay, it's okay," he assured her, "I believe you. Even if you didn't get a picture, I believe you." She felt tears welling up again and covered her eyes with her hands.

"Maybe you shouldn't believe me," she said. "I don't know if I trust my own eyes."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just… these tablets I'm on. They have side effects."

"They make you see things?"

"No, not…" she paused, then sighed. "Not yet. They could. It's on the warning leaflet."

"They have to put everything on those leaflets. Do you have any other side effects?"

"Drowsiness."

"That's good though, right?"

"Yeah…" She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, fixating on the windows to try and find strange shadows in the night.

"What do these Angels do, exactly?"

"Warp you back in time," said Sally.

"I mean, that's not so bad. Not when you have a bunch of time travellers on call."

"They can't bring people back. Some weird reason, I don't… I don't understand it."

"What's the story with them?" he asked. She didn't say anything initially, debating whether or not she wanted to tell him. It wasn't a secret or something she particularly cared about divulging, but she didn't know if she could stomach bringing up those memories again.

"It was how I met the Doctor. I broke into this old house-"

"Careful, I could arrest you," he joked, but it didn't land.

"…It was called Wester Drumlins," she resumed, "Lots of missing people cases connected to it. I broke in, and there were the Angels, in the garden. I pulled off all this wallpaper and there was a message there: 'Beware of the Weeping Angels, Sally Sparrow. Love from the Doctor, 1969.' Told me to duck, as well."

"And did you?"

"Yeah. They lobbed a rock at me, I only just dodged in time," she explained. "Anyway. Came back the next day with my friend Kathy. Kathy Nightingale. And they got her, the same time a bloke showed up at the door with a letter to me from Kathy dating back decades; she died in 1987. Met a man, Ben Wainwright, married him."

"When did she get sent back to?"

"1920. But it happened twice. I went to the police about it, met this detective, Detective Inspector Billy Shipton. And he…" she laughed a little as she recalled this, "He asked me out, actually. And I gave him my number."

"You've got a thing for detectives, then?" he quipped.

"I deny any and all accusations levied at my romantic interests."

"What if I come up with some evidence?"

"Then more power to you." He smiled.

"What happened next?"

"Oh. Well, they got him. They had the TARDIS in the police station, and I led them to it and Billy was in the way. He landed in the 60s, found the Doctor and Martha. Then he called me in 2007, and he was… he was dying. I was with him, in the hospital. He told me it was raining when we met, and I said it was the same rain…

"Anyway, Larry was the only person who knew what had happened, knew everything," she said, "And he was the one who showed me the DVDs-"

"What DVDs?"

"The Doctor was leaving messages, to me, on DVDs. He left one on every DVD I owned, with Billy's help. Larry was Kathy's brother. It's funny, we went to uni together for a bit, Kathy and I, but I didn't even meet him until that week. We opened a shop together, I sank all of my money – my inheritance – into buying it, and then into planning this wedding, and barely a year ago he dumped me because I'm… 'too obsessed' with 'spooky stuff.' I left everything behind and followed Dylan to Hollowmire and found a shit lease with a worse landlord."

"Who's Dylan?"

"Oh, just another amateur paranormal investigator. Not a professional paranormal investigator," she made fun of James a little, "He owns the bookshop Clara Ravenwood works at. You wouldn't like him, he's kind of a wanker."

"Why follow him across the country if he's a wanker?"

"It wasn't like that, it was just… I knew him. And he knew what was going on with me, and he didn't like Larry. So I can trust him not to tell Larry where I've gone."

"So all that stuff, with Kathy, that's why you have trouble sleeping?"

"Oh, um… no. No, that started when my parents died."

"…Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine," she sniffed again, tears threatening to bubble up at any moment. "Nothing spooky about that. Car crash. I was twenty. Dropped out of uni, never finished my degree, and I've had no direction ever since. Are you really telling me you haven't looked all this stuff up?"

"I wouldn't do that, I have integrity," he said.

"Integrity? Don't they beat that out of you when you join the police?"

"It's an honest profession. More honest than Undercoll."

"Meaning what?" she pried.

"Just… I disagree with the methods we use sometimes. Carrying guns, seizing evidence, unlawful custody… ah." He noticed something. Sally panicked, turning her gaze to the windows again, but that wasn't what he was referencing. "D'you hear that?" When she strained her ears, she heard the beginnings of 'Super Trouper' in the next room. "I'm missing ABBA to be here with you, I hope you understand the poignancy of that gesture." She laughed. "You see, that's the problem with straight people. They don't understand ABBA."

"I don't have a problem with ABBA," she defended herself, "Go try your luck with a boy if you're sick of me."

"Is Adam Mitchell straight?"

Sally was about to retort that, to her knowledge, he was, and at the very least he definitely had a girlfriend, when the girlfriend in question came stumbling into the room. Light poured in from the hallway and the music volume increased as Oswin limped along with her cane and her prosthetic leg.

"There you are," she said, looking at Sally, "Do you know where Esther is?"

"Just dealing with a thing," said Sally, "Why?"

"Helix is picking up massive electrical interference in the area, and I thought she might have some insight," Oswin explained.

"She's on the case. They just left, like, less than half an hour ago," said Sally, "That friend of Mickey's from the parallel world said there's a Cyberman presence."

"Cybermen!? Shit – we should tell someone," said Oswin.

"It'll be fine, seven of them went to investigate it," said Sally, "I'm sure they can handle it."

"Right…" Oswin nodded, "Um, are you two having a moment, or can I hang about in here? Clara's being very embarrassing with the karaoke – you know how queers can be when they get a whiff of ABBA." Didn't she just.

"Where's Adam?"

"Taking a call about something or other. Every time he leaves the TARDIS he gets bombarded; I told him to stop putting it off and just ring them back, so he's lurking in the toilets now," she explained, sitting down on one of the nearest stacks of chairs. Then she took a closer look at Sally and frowned. "Have you been crying? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Sally, whose eyes were red. "Just thought I saw something."

"Something like what?" asked Oswin very seriously, leaning forwards. "Not to alarm you, but you know there's been a lot of weird shit going on. Daleks, Slitheen, Sontarans, and now you're saying some of the others detected a Cyberman presence? I don't think anything is off-limits today."

"Honestly, it… it didn't even show up on the cameras."

"Sally," Oswin warned, "If you think there's a threat, you should tell me. I might be able to help – I'm a genius, you know."

"Because you definitely don't mention that every ten seconds…" Sally muttered. Oswin looked at her imploringly; Sally was surprised to detect genuine concern in Oswin, whom she generally assumed was too busy thinking of disgusting things to say to develop much compassion. "Fine – I thought… I thought I saw a Weeping Angel. I've been thinking I've been seeing them all day. In fact, since I got here last night."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"I thought I imagined it. I probably did."

"But it clearly spooked you." Sally looked at her. "No pun intended… look, if there are any out there, it's not that bad, alright? The paradoxes that usually keep people trapped in the past have started to break down ever since the Dimension Crash happened six months ago. That's the only reason the Ponds are here at all; they were sent back in time by the Angels."

"Were they?"

"That's how the Doctor lost them. Besides, running an intertemporal trace on a mobile phone is not that hard. And they probably wouldn't even be after you; if I was a Weeping Angel, I'd go for Rose. Or at the very least, the TARDIS. And you haven't even got a TARDIS key for them to-"

"Shit!" Elliott exclaimed.

"I don't know enough about them to tell you about their toilet habits," Oswin remarked.

"There, there!" he was shouting, getting to his feet and dragging Sally up with him, pointing out of the window.

Her heart stopped and her skin turned ice cold.

There were three of them. They were lined up, teeth barred, claws out, outside the function room's window, and they were very hard to see in the dark. It didn't help that the moon was obscured by clouds.

"Get the light," Sally hissed. Oswin was closest and reached over to feel around in the dark until she got the light on. That didn't exactly help though – it just made their reflections in the glass much more vivid, so vivid that the Angels were obscured from view enough to unlock them. This only lasted for a few seconds until their frantic shouting persuaded Oswin to turn the light back off again, but it was enough for the glass to shatter on all three windows as the Angels broke through. Glass shards littered the floor and glinted in the moonlight, Angels frozen again. The music was still blaring so loudly from the other room that nobody heard all the commotion.

"Didn't realise they could do that," said Oswin, "Then again, I've heard stories of them snapping people's necks."

"They what!?" Sally demanded.

"Stay calm," said Oswin firmly, "It all depends on you two."

"What!? Why!? There are three of us and three of them!"

"I'm a hologram, I don't count," said Oswin, "Not as far as their quantum locks are concerned."

"How could you not count!?"

"In the same way a camera doesn't. If you catch an Angel on camera, unless someone's looking through the lens or at the feed, they can still move," she said. She switched the lights back on without the reflection to worry about.

"You said they wouldn't be coming after me," Sally continued to argue with her. Her eyes were already burning from trying not to blink.

"I don't think they are, but they wouldn't say no to a snack or to," said Oswin, "They'll want me. They can't send me back in time, but I have a TARDIS key."

"So, teleport away and maybe they'll leave us alone," said Sally.

"Or they could break your necks and forget all about a meal," said Oswin, which wasn't very comforting. "No, I can't go anywhere."

"Why not? Why don't you contact Clara with that stupid connection you two have, get more eyes in here?" Sally implored. James didn't say anything, he was standing at her shoulder with his eyes rigidly fixed on the Angel closest to them, on the left.

"I don't think more eyes is what we need," said Oswin.

"What?"

"I've got a hunch. Do you see that one on the right?"

"Yes, of course I can bloody see it, I'm looking right at it!"

"It's got three shadows."

"It – what? What does that mean?" Sally looked at the base of the Angel and found that Oswin was correct. There was the regular shadow coming from the overhead light, and then two more, unusual, bulbous shapes fanning out in different directions.

"It means there's a very clever boy in the room with us right now."

"Oh my god, are you incapable of explaining anything?"

"Sorry – it's just that I think very quickly, makes it hard to form sentences that really track. It's quite maddening. Do you trust me?"

"Right after you just said you were mad?"

"Mm."

"I don't know – why? What do you want?"

"I need you both to close to your eyes."

"What!?" they both shouted.

"Yeah, just for a few seconds."

"So they can kill us both!? Snap our necks!?" Elliott argued.

"Not if I'm right, if I'm right that won't happen. And I usually am."

"Usually!?"

"Mostly! Shut your eyes when I turn out the lights."

"Don't turn out the-" But Oswin didn't need to turn out the lights, because there was another blackout, the same blackouts they'd been having since yesterday. They were plunged into darkness, the moon overhead too obscured by clouds to produce much light at all. In the panic, Elliott turned towards the door and tried to pull Sally with him, but she was startled and stumbled. He refused to leave her behind, turning back to help after she lost her balance.

"Just go, run," she pleaded.

"No chance," he said.

Sally was prepared at that moment to either have her neck twisted or be wrenched out of time and space and dumped somewhere a million miles from home, but neither happened. Instead, the lights came back on, and Oswin laughed.

"Ah, I knew it!" she said. Where the Angels had been just moments ago there were now three piles of dust. "You see? I'm a genius. I didn't even need to interrupt Clara's bad karaoke to get everyone to rush in here and spoil the party."

"I don't understand, what happened?" asked Sally.

"Vashta Nerada," said Oswin.

"And what does that mean?"

"Piranhas of the air," she said, "Tiny little organisms capable of consuming the flesh of a person in seconds. And apparently the flesh of a Weeping Angel, too. And here's the man of the hour!" She pointed at a darkened corner behind the curtains where they were pulled open, by the shattered windows, as a tall, humanoid figure stepped out. They were like nothing Sally had ever seen – a person in a black suit of some kind, a darker black than anything she had ever seen, as though it repelled light itself. "This is the Shadow."

"Hang on, I've heard about the Shadow, from Christina," said Elliott.

"And I've heard about you, Detective," said the Shadow. His voice sounded robotic and strange. "And Spooky Sally Sparrow – it's a privilege."

"The Shadow is a sentient swarm of Vashta Nerada," said Oswin, "Previously employed by the Shadow Proclamation as an elite assassin and bounty hunter, until he went off on his own. Sometimes helps us out."

"You'd think that would be enough to earn me an invitation to the event of the century," the Shadow remarked, "I even brought a bottle, but I think it got emptied onto your sister's head."

"Yes, that was quite unfortunate…" said Oswin.

"So what happened to the Angels?" Sally persisted.

"Ate them," said the Shadow bluntly. "Had to wait until they're not quantum-locked to do it; even I can't eat stone."

"Do you not have any eyes, then?" Oswin asked.

"We have a keen sense of smell. But I'm going to have indigestion for weeks, and you haven't even thanked me."

"Thank you?" said Sally, confused.

"Consider this pro bono," said the Shadow, "Normally I'd charge for dispatching three of those things."

"Are there more?" asked Elliott.

"Nope. Just them."

"Have you seen any Cybermen?" Oswin asked.

"In the woods. But I saw the Lightning Girl and the other one – the Fleshkind weapon – going to investigate. I'm sure they can handle it," said the Shadow. "I'm more useful here. It certainly would have been more convenient for everybody if I was invited, though."

"Get a grip," said Oswin, "Those two weren't invited, either," she indicated James and Sally. "Besides, your catering would be a nightmare. What do you eat? Whole rooms full of raw meat?"

"More or less," said the Shadow. "I just thought my friendship was more valuable to the Doctor and Rose Tyler."

"It's very valuable to me," said Oswin, "I'll make you a friendship bracelet if you do me a favour."

"What favour?"

"I was going to see if Esther would help me, but I suppose you're just as proficient a stalker."

"I gather intelligence on persons of interest, it's not my fault if everyone at this wedding is such a profoundly interesting person," said the Shadow, walking past Sally and James to open the door for Oswin, who struggled to do such a thing herself, "As long as you don't take advantage of my friendship. My therapist says I should cut out toxic people."

"How can you have a therapist? You're a swarm in a suit," said Oswin as they left.

"I'm taking some time to work on myself." The door swung closed and the conversation was cut off, Sally staring after them. Then she turned her questioning gaze on James.

"That thing is a swarm of microorganisms?" she asked.

"The suit – it's transparent," said James, "The darkness, that's the swarm. A living shadow. I've never met him before. He helped Christina write that book about the Doctor."

"Christina wrote a book about the Doctor?"

"It was mostly porn. It didn't get published."

"Christ, is everyone I know a lunatic? How does it talk if it's a swarm?"

"It's a hive mind, I don't really know the particulars – look, are you okay?" he touched her shoulders.

"No, I'm not bloody okay, this is completely… and I have to go back in there, I have to keep taking photos, and I'm not – this shouldn't-" she didn't know what she was trying to say and kept stammering, feeling tears welling up again.

"It's alright, they've gone now. Eaten alive." He pulled her into a gentle hug. "Do you want to go somewhere else? It's getting cold in here."

"Is that your best attempt to get me to let you come back to my room?" she said through a sniff, trying to joke despite the overwhelmingness of the last few minutes. She never wanted to see a Weeping Angel again, and now three of them had nearly displaced her at best or killed her at worst.

"And make another mistake like last time? No. I just want to make sure you're okay." She didn't say anything else for a while, trying to calm herself down just as much as he was. "You definitely don't want to leave?"

"I want to keep those things where I can see them," she said, referring to the piles of dust. They were getting blown across the room by the wind coming in through the broken windows; whoever had to hoover them up was going to have a difficult time of it. He let her go – which she wasn't too happy about – and picked up two chairs from one of the stacks, setting them down so they could sit. She was shaking, so was grateful for this. "Thanks…" she mumbled.

"Happy to help; serving the community is what I get paid for."

"Is that what you think of Undercoll? You're doing a public service?" By the way he paused after she asked that, she sensed she had unknowingly touched a nerve. "Sorry, did I-"

"I'm just having doubts, that's all. About my career."

"How come?"

"Feels like we're always playing catch up to you lot."

"What does 'you lot' mean?"

"People on the TARDIS."

"I don't think I count. I've only been on it twice, and one of those times it left without me. I'd have no way to communicate with any of them if it wasn't for Esther, and none of them replies to my texts. Well, except Clara, but I try not to text her."

"Because she fancies you?" She didn't say anything. "Does that bother you?"

"…I'm not a homophobe."

He laughed, "I wasn't implying that."

"She's just weird about it sometimes."

"Because she's bisexual? Wow."

"No, don't – stop that," she said. He was amusing himself, but his smile soon faded and he paused, thinking.

"…Honestly, I just feel like Undercoll doesn't do much to help, or that they need me. I was thinking of going back to the police; I'm in London now, I could join the Met."

"You wouldn't go back to Wales?"

"Nah. London has a better drag scene than Cardiff."

"Is that true?" she asked, remembering something he'd said earlier about his 'drag license,' "Are you a drag queen?"

"Only for fun; moonlighting, you know. Still, I bet I have more pairs of stockings than you."

"I don't doubt that."

He paused, deliberating what to say next. "For clarity's sake, is this the talk you promised, or do we still have to have that one?"

"…What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Nothing, I took the day off anticipating a hangover. I didn't even bring my car."

"How did you get here?"

"Christina offered to drive. I'm her plus one, after all. Not that there's anything going on there," he added quickly, "She's not emotionally available for a relationship. Too invested in her porn books."

"I think they prefer 'erotica.'"

"I can get the train back into London."

"I'll come with you. We can go for coffee." She smiled and made to stand up.

"You mean like a date? Just so we're on the same page."

"Yes, like a date. Unless you don't-?" she started to joke.

"I do," he said quickly.

"Maybe tone down the desperation a smidge."

"You've cheered up, then." She picked up her camera so she could go get photos of the cake cutting, which she suspected would happen any minute and if she wasn't there someone would come looking for her.

"Yeah. Thanks. You were…" She stopped and looked at him for a few seconds as he, too, stood up. "Thank you, James," she said as sincerely as she could.

"Anytime. And I do have a room of my own tonight if you need anything."

She shook her head, smiling, "You've got some nerve."

"I don't know what you mean," he shrugged, opening the door out of the function room for her, "But, really, I don't say that with ulterior motives. I'm not trying to be blue. And you've got my number, just in case."

"I appreciate that. I do need to go, though. I'm going to faint if I don't get some of that cake soon."

"You and me both…"