It took half an hour to get to Hettie Row. The Underground seemed slower than ever when you were trying to get somewhere discreetly. Rose reckoned she had about an hour or two before Jackie phoned her to make sure she hadn't gone off adventuring. She could hear her mum now. Twenty years of my life, I've given you, and this is your idea of a thank-you? All the grey hairs you've given me, no idea if you're dead or alive, night after night, and there you go missing again, behind my back again! No phone necessary, really.
Will was beside her on the train, leg bouncing, all eyes. Equally nervous, but for very different reasons. "D'you know, we could be walking straight into the lair of a serial killer."
Rose glanced at him, expressionless. She'd barely got on both shoes before he'd been halfway down the gravel path back at the house, only giving her time to change into a jacket over the tank top and a nice proper pair of jeans. Hadn't even brushed her hair. Now he still seemed miles ahead, even just sitting there. Softly, because she'd wrapped it in a dish towel to stop it being annoying, the Void detector in the bag between her feet went on beebeeping, as it had been doing ever since she'd woken up. She'd nearly left it behind altogether, but had decided it was better to be safe than sorry.
Will leaned closer to her ear, head facing straight. "Have you got a gun in there?"
His eyes darted to her cloth bag. There was no need to whisper; the train was empty apart from them. Not many people eager to go and skulk around the last place Daniel Barnes had been known to visit. Or it was just the Monday of it all.
"No!"
He turned; lids hooded. "Then did you send for backup yet, because this could get really dangerous. Proper dangerous. Like…" Flapped his hands. "Like an action film. Or sci-fi."
"Sci-fi?"
"Yeah, people disappearing, big crumbly house. Sci-fi."
Rose tried not to laugh at him. "Can't exactly phone 'em, can I? M'not meant to be out here. Anyway," she sucked in, sniffing, feigning nonchalance, "we're only gonna have a look around, y'never know. We might be wrong. Might be just…clues in there, nothin' else. Police aren't even about, you said."
"Or," Will speculated, eyes widening, "they were, and now they've been taken too."
He twiddled his fingers in a spooky gesture, nodding exaggeratedly.
She let out a short breath, strands of blonde hair flicking up at the exhale. "What, tellin' me you've got cold feet now?" Rose bumped him hard with her shoulder. "Will?"
Will smirked, huffing back. "Not a chance."
It felt good to tease each other. It took Rose's mind off of the impending lecture she'd get at home later. It also took her mind off of the idea that there might not be a later, not for either of them, if there were indeed otherworldly threats in this big crumbly house. Not that the idea was bothering her half so much as it seemed to bother Will. She could cope with a serial killer. When you'd dealt with Slitheen sniffing for you behind a flimsy drape, human psychos didn't really sound all that tough.
With her luck lately, the house would be empty. She'd have wasted the tax on Jackie's nerves, going to poke around an old haunted property with a new friend who seemed to be half mad and kept tugging at his shirt collar.
"Sorry you got stuck with my mum," Rose said, to fill the train car's silence. And because she hadn't addressed Jackie's kidnapping yet.
Will tugged again at his collar. "Oh, I'll brave anything for a cuppa. She's nice, your mum. Barmy. Talks a lot. Reminds me of someone."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, can't think who." He kicked his feet very slightly, watching one untied shoelace swing out. "I've tried to work it out but it makes my face hurt. Not sure why." He pinched his eyebrows, tilting his head up toward the roof. "Whoever it was, I get the feeling they're both worth the general…barmy…ness. And your Tony's baby rocker needs tightening; bit loose, that's all, tell her from me, eh?"
"Tell her yourself," Rose invited. "Drank her tea, s'like that old Greek story innit, like—pomegranate seeds or something. Sworn in, you are. She'd say come round any time."
"Really?" Will's head swung back toward her. "And you?"
"Me?"
"What about you, what would you say?" He raised his eyebrows. "I can come round any time?"
Rose met his gaze and smiled, genuinely. So it reached her eyes. "Yeah."
"Yes?"
"Yeah, s'all right with me," Rose laughed, looking away.
"Okay!" He said, nodding hard, once. Decisive. Like she'd just finished a countdown. "Good, then d'you know what, I think we'd really better survive this investigation."
"Why?"
"'Cos I've just been given permission to be an absolute bother to you and your household." Will bounced his eyebrows. "And there is no way I'm dying till I've properly worn out my welcome."
For a while they weren't sure they'd ever find the house on Hettie Row. They hadn't brought a map—poor planning on Rose's part, but she'd been so focused on getting out of the house without Jackie noticing. They wandered the area, up and down lines of little shops and along several dead ends, getting strange looks from people working in their gardens or kicking footballs around with their children. Will had reasoned that for every manicured, perfect suburban street they passed, they had to be getting closer to the outskirts, closer to the sort of acreage that might hold a broken old building.
Eventually, while Will was stretching on tiptoes to peer over a fence, Rose stopped and asked for directions. She'd been trained thus far by Torchwood to avoid that sort of thing, because if you asked people weird questions, they normally asked questions back, and that made it rather difficult to be a top-secret organization. But Torchwood protocol or no, she'd been trained even better—by experience and a pushy alien—that asking weird questions was the quickest way to work out what was going on. If you smiled and looked curious enough, people opened right up. Everyone liked having something to tell.
And anyway, it wasn't as if she were asking about blue skin or Floor 500. She just needed directions to a haunted house.
"What d'you wanna go there for?" a little old lady asked, pausing beside her open boot full of groceries. She made a face when Rose mentioned the house, like she'd smelled something rotting.
Rose opened her mouth to provide some vague excuse, like, just curious or the ever-reliable school report, because to the elderly she still passed for eighteen, but Will beat her to it.
He whipped around away from the fence and offered the lady a bright smile and a handshake. "We're in the market!"
Rose felt her entire face struggling to form the correct expression as the woman smiled back.
"But that's lovely! D'you know, I don't think you ever can be too young to start planning for the future," the lady rambled. Will's lolloping, eager frame seemed to unlock her gob right away. "And that's a nice big house, too, perfect for a family! Big family living there before, old, long time ago, you might have to settle it with the owners. But that's no trouble really, and it's worth it for a fresh start! Mind, I was telling my Charlie, that's my son, I said it's never too early either when it comes to kiddies."
"Oh, never!" Will clapped his hands together. He'd gone a bit red in the neck and ears, Rose noticed, but he carried right on, cheerful as anything. "That's just what I tell the missus."
Rose realized she'd better say something, something convincing, some confirmation, when the woman glanced at her then. "Yep."
It was all she could think of. If she said more, she might laugh.
"It'll be a lot of work, though, that house," the woman said. "You'll see when you've got it right up close, roof falling in, windows smashed, oh it's terrible. Children round here never go near it. Say it's haunted, but if you've got the money, I think it might make a nice home one day."
"Can't wait to find out," Will replied. "That's if we can ever find it, of course, but you certainly seem well-informed! Came to the right place, love." He elbowed Rose and she had to bite down hard on her lip. "So! D'you mind pointing us in the right direction?"
The old woman was all too pleased to be part of the happy couple's early days. They were actually quite near Hettie Row; they should've asked someone much sooner. All this time, the Void detector had been chiming in that muffled way in Rose's bag, but her mobile had been silent. She was almost afraid to check the message light.
As they headed away from that clean little street and off down the sidewalk, Will was being careful not to bump shoulders with Rose this time while they walked. And he was fiddling with his shirt collar more than ever.
Then he said, in a low voice, as though the elderly lady remained in earshot, "Was that all right?"
The laugh Rose had been holding back had died off and turned into a quiet, teasing puff. "Oh, and aren't you just a big charmer? She loved you."
"Am I? Lots of practice in the toy business. Just told her the first thing that came to mind, really."
"Y'know you could've said we were just…mucking about or something. Exploring?"
"Sorry. Got carried away."
"Thought she was gonna give us a wedding present near the end." Rose did go on and laugh, couldn't help it, fixing her eyes on a passing car.
"Well," Will said, sniffing, "Good job we didn't stay, then. Although," he added, walking backwards for a moment so he could look at her, grinning, "might've gotten a new rocker for your mum out of the deal. Life giving you lemons and all that."
"Nah, heard we've got someone for that now," Rose teased, smiling at him when he faced straight ahead again. "Wouldn't've said no to a new duvet, though."
"No?"
"Life and lemons."
He fell back into step beside her and she knocked deliberately into his shoulder. Will tossed her a smile in return. He didn't reach back up for his collar for the rest of the day.
When they finally got to the place, it was exactly as bad as everyone said. Rose couldn't think what Stacy Campbell had wanted with it when she'd been in the present. Not if it had looked like this, and according to Sally's research a few nights ago, it seemed to have always been in a state of disrepair.
There was something eerily pretty about it, though. The gate, sandwiched by a low stone wall, was wide open and slightly bent, but it was covered in browning ivy tendrils that made it look like a fairytale entrance. The aforementioned stone wall had clumps of moss on it. It seemed softer that way. The path to the door, though overrun with weeds, had little snowdrops dotted in between the cracks despite the cold. It was deathly quiet all around, and as they passed through the garden, the untidy foliage sort of gave Rose a sense of deep cover.
They reached the front step and Will stopped dead. He turned to look at Rose with big, restless eyes.
"Have we got a plan?" he hissed.
Rose's eyebrows knit together. She wasn't used to being the person who came up with what happened next. In Torchwood, that was Jake—he'd been doing this sort of thing longest on their team. Next was Mickey, because he'd pout at her and be generally unbearable if she didn't let him lead at least once every three assignments. Even dating Jimmy Stone, she had never been the one to decide where to eat or how long to stay. Hadn't even gotten to choose what to wear, some of the time.
And of course, the Doctor had always been three steps ahead back in the good old days. She'd only had to chime in every now and then when him with his big hair (or blue eyes) and big brain stopped noticing the smallest, most important details.
She stood up straight and tried to look like a trained professional. She was. She was trained by the best. And that didn't mean anyone at an organization that only got together because humanity had been duped by an ugly man with a silver obsession.
"Plan is," she said firmly, mimicking his whisper, suddenly trying not to find this whole thing very funny, "we scout about. Look for anythin' out of the ordinary."
"Like a dead body."
"Yeah," Rose nodded, slowly. "Right. Or, like—I dunno. Just…weird stuff." She rummaged into her bag, unwrapping and pulling out the stupid Void detector and wiggling it in front of Will.
Beebeepbeebeepbeebeep.
Will's eyes darted from the machine to the door. "Sorry, didn't you say that thing's sort of…very…broken?"
"Never know." Rose shrugged, brandishing the detector like a gun at the door. Trying to lighten the creepy sensation this silent stoop was starting to give them both. "Might come in handy, give it another chance. S'all we've really got at the mo'. Plus this."
She went back into her bag and her hand came up again holding the Tyler dining hall's banana. It was a few days old now, browning at last. She looked up at Will innocently, expectantly, tongue shoved hard against her cheek. Not hiding the grin.
It was working. Will's eyes were twinkling now, but his face was drooped with confusion, stuck in place. "And…why do you have that?"
"S'a good source of potassium?"
Will let out a jittery exhale, an anxious sort of laugh. "You," he said, hands flapping first toward his hair and then toward the banana, "you—are—are—totally mad, d'you know that?"
He looked at her with undisguised admiration. Rose burst into a chuckle, both because of the banana and because his eyes were getting too soft. They chortled together on the step for a minute, relishing a second of levity before entering the belly of the beast.
Then, in case there really was some sort of breathing hearing enemy inside, Rose put the banana back and wrapped the detector again in its dish towel. It continued to beep softly under the cloth, but it was white noise now. And she was pleased to see her mobile silent and dull as a grave in her bag, no pending messages or angry rings.
She squared her shoulders and pushed open the door.
It creaked like every bad horror flick she had ever seen. It was long and loud and she was surprised the door didn't fall right off its worried hinges at the slightest amount of pressure.
Had Daniel Barnes really been here? Who could think this old heap would ever be lived in again, by anyone? Especially not Stacy's sister. According to what Will had told Rose, she seemed altogether too confused by the whole thing and harried by the full-time job of being a single mother to even talk about taking it, surely. It seemed like far too much trouble.
That was even clearer as they entered the foyer. It was worse than the pictures Sally had shown Rose. Dust, grime, and crawling plants covered everything. Whatever furniture was left over from some version of Stacy Campbell's days was falling to pieces. There was something that looked like a grand piano in a corner, cobwebby and decayed and half covered by a big moldy sheet. Besides that and a chair or two, they couldn't identify much else. There was tiny wildlife everywhere, taking the place over.
Rose, luckily, had thought to bring a torch and tugged it out now, heading for the first room on their right.
"Oi," Will whispered.
Rose paused, glancing at him.
He was facing away from her, toward the piano, but staring back over one shoulder. "No splitting up," he said.
"What?"
He hurried to her side, nudging her ankle with the toe of his trainer. "Isn't that how people get killed in these sorts of things?"
Rose blinked once, unimpressed, before answering. "We're not in a film," she said. "S'probably nothin' here; cover more ground this way—"
"No chance." Will got close, almost nose-to-nose in his intensity, pointing sternly at her. "We stick together."
She stared at him, surprised by his tone. There was something hard and familiar in it, but she couldn't place it. Maybe she was thinking of Pete and his new tendency to go Dad on her lately. Whatever it was, it was nice. And a little ridiculous, given the sort of things she'd been through and survived in the past. Not that he could have known, or ever understood.
"Besides." Will leaned back a bit, self-conscious now, giving them both space. "What'll I tell your crazy old mum if you get your head chopped off somewhere upstairs? On my watch?"
Rose rolled her eyes. "Come on."
They went in to what appeared to be a dining area with a long, low table and a few chairs. It was covered in a sheet the way the piano had been.
"Smart move," Will decided, smirking as they explored the room. "You've got the only torch, after all."
"Only one who came prepared," Rose replied cheekily, flashing the light into his face briefly.
Every place they entered downstairs was empty. There was no one there, no indication of life apart from bugs and one rat that did not make Rose feel like screaming when it scrabbled past. No Stacy Campbell, no Daniel Barnes. No trace of the other missing people anywhere. Will kept looking down under old stools or along pieces of peeling wallpaper. Looking for signs of a struggle, he said. That, too, turned out to be a waste of energy.
When they returned to the foyer, Rose was on the point of deciding this entire venture had been a waste, actually.
Then Will slapped at her arm gently, quickly, backhanded. "Rose. Rose."
"What?"
"Footprints."
He was pointing, and Rose dropped down into a crouch to examine the spot he meant. It was right at the bottom of the big, once-lovely staircase (nothing to rival the one at the Tyler mansion, but she could tell a lot of work had gone into it). In the dust and general debris, there were indeed the echoes of about two footprints. It was a big shoe, definitely a bloke's.
Rose shined her torchlight on the area, trying to hold it still. "S'goin' upstairs." She let the beam of light follow the trail up each step. "Think they're recent."
When she turned to Will, she noticed he was shuffling a bit more than usual.
"Should we phone for that backup now?" he asked hoarsely.
"Not if I wanna keep m'job," Rose muttered under her breath, standing.
"Don't suppose that banana doubles as a gun, does it? Or a—really tiny flamethrower?" Will made what was possibly an attempt at a flamethrower sort of sound in his throat.
"Don't work like that," she said, a little louder. "No guns, not if I can help it."
"Right, yeah, but I just mean," Will licked his lips. "Hadn't we better be…more organized before we follow the creepy footprints up the creepy staircase into what is most probably the creepy murderer's creepy murdering room?"
"Hold on, wasn't this your idea, comin' here before the police?"
He didn't go for the teasing as quickly this time. "Yes, it was, yes, but I'm not always thinking clearly. Not before tea. And not around you, apparently, because it's only just now I'm thinking this might've been a really, really stupid thing to go and do all on our own, and where are you going? Rose?"
Rose paused on the fifth step up. "You can stay down there if you want."
Will turned toward the door, toward the nearest window, toward the opening to the dining room, all the while flailing his hands and making frustrated sign language like an agitated squirrel. Then he made a growling noise and sprang up the steps until he was beside her. When he stopped there, she watched his face warily, because he for some reason chortled at the ground and shook his head. Perhaps at a dust bunny.
Rose was doing her best not to laugh at him. "All right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Brilliant." He snorted, glancing ahead up the staircase. "Sorry, it's…I just realized you are a very bad influence."
She waited for him to look at her before pursing her lips in a smile. Then she led the way up.
At first, they thought the upper floor was empty too. It was certainly bigger than the half they'd been through. It had more rooms, for one thing, and half of them seemed to be bedrooms. Some of them even had tattered curtains still hanging over the windows, and a particularly large bedroom had what looked like its own fireplace.
Jackie had been thinking of putting a fireplace like this one in the master suite back at the mansion, and Rose wished for a moment she'd brought a camera with her. Jackie would have been smitten with the intricate carvings round the mantle, marred as they were by age. Had this been Stacy's room? Had Stacy Campbell really been shot back through time to build and live in her dream house? Or was it only her dream house because she'd been the one building it?
The Doctor would know. He'd understand the ins and outs of a problem that was making Rose's head hurt the longer she stood in that room thinking about it. He'd rake his hands through that brunette mane and talk through his teeth and it would be like he'd been Stacy herself, seeing it all through her eyes, wherever she was. Might even find her. Find them all. Or he'd scan the mantle with the sonic, big ears and a set jaw, dust settling on the leather over his shoulders, silently unraveling everything and explaining it to her later.
The Doctor would have solved this mystery by now. Instead they had to muddle on, find out for themselves the only way Rose knew how—getting up close and grimy with it all.
Will was at the window of the same room, tugging gingerly at one of the curtains. When Rose turned away from the mantle and joined him, something glinting in the noon light outside caught her eye.
She leaned closer, nose nearly touching the spotted glass. "S'that a car?"
Will peered out, following the direction she was looking in. She heard his breath catch. "Black Estate."
"What?"
"It is, it's a black Estate, look at it!"
"So." Rose glanced between him and the little glint between the shrubbery outside. "Car, then?"
"Yes. Well—no, not just a car, not just any car," Will said, and at first she thought he was going to do the bloke thing where he oozed about a specific breed of automobile, but then he followed it up with, "that's the car, his car. Stacy's landlord, erm. Can't think of his name."
"Daniel."
"Daniel. On the news this morning."
"Might still be here," Rose guessed, or rather, she hoped aloud. She took one last look at the peek of the car, just hidden in the back drive somewhere behind all those overgrown plants.
"What, here all this time and nobody ever thought to look round the back?" Will gave her a skeptical look, all hooded lids.
Rose blew out her cheeks, heading for the doorway. "Whatever's goin' on, with him it's recent. S'like those footprints, yeah?" She ducked out into the corridor, hair flying behind her. "Think we—"
Then she drew back with a cut-off yelp/gasp hybrid, hand clapping to her mouth. Her heart tried to tear right through her chest for a moment.
"What is it?" Will stumbled out of the bedroom like he'd gotten caught on something halfway there.
Rose tried to slow her own breathing, wishing she could kick something. "Nothing." She let out a low, long exhale, mouth an O. Her legs felt numb. "Nothing, just um. Statue."
She shone the torch toward the other end of the corridor, far past the top of the stairs. In front of one of the doorways, a stone figure stood, hunched slightly. It was maybe a woman, hard to tell with that kind of art, but it was definitely wearing a gown of some sort; she could see faux rock folds making shadows in the torchlight. It was covering its face with both hands.
Will looked at Rose and then at the statue. He didn't laugh at her. Instead, he gently tugged the torch out of her hand and got closer, examining it. She was right behind him.
"S'beautiful," Rose said, still trying to control her lungs and heartrate. "Has it got wings?"
"An angel," Will surmised, looking it up and down. "Stone Angel, looks to be. Nice bit of work, that is, that's…really…"
Then she noticed he was shaking. Not much, but it was there.
"Will?"
He was staring at its face, or what he could see of it. The torch light jittered.
"Will."
Will's head jerked toward her like he'd just realized she meant him. He stopped shaking at once. "Sorry." He handed her back the torch.
Rose kept it on the statue so she could look him in the eyes. "You all right?"
"Yeah. Yep. Always."
"Got me too," she offered, shrugging one shoulder and trying for a smile. "S'not real, though."
"No, no, no," Will shook his head, gaze on the floor now. His return smile was definitely fake. "Perfectly fine, really. Sorry," he repeated, "got a bit of a thing about…statues."
"Statues?"
"Nightmares, actually. Nothing to—"
As he was talking, Will glanced away from her and back at the angel. Then his words choked off and he lunged backward, as if his whole body were being tugged by the hair.
Rose turned and nearly dropped the torch.
The statue had moved.
It was the same statue, and it had moved.
Not only was it now facing them, its arms had been brought down so that they could see its whole head properly. There was a serene expression there, marbly blank eyes and a slightly-open mouth. Its hands were folded now in front of it. All peaceful and horribly different from before. Entirely different.
Without warning, Rose felt a fistful of her hoodie's shoulder being wrenched a few feet behind her until she was standing beside her friend. Will had yanked her back.
Rose felt her jaw go slack, gaping at the stone figure. "How's it doing that?" she demanded, as if the answer could be intimidated into coming out in the open.
Will's mouth was in much the same state as hers, she could tell from her peripherals. But it kept forming words and not letting them go for a while before he said, "I—I—I dunno, but I think maybe—maybe er—"
He didn't finish whatever thought that might have been. For her part, looking at the creature, Rose was afraid her breathing might actually never go back to the way it had been minutes ago. There was a familiar rush in her body now where normal oxygen intake ought to have been. The kind of thing that came when she knew things were about to change, change a lot. Hugely. Reality was about to get bigger. Again.
Not wasting any more time guessing, Rose slid her bag off her shoulder, dropped to ground to rifle through it, and produced an unwrapped Void detector.
Beebeepbeebeepbeebeep.
She held it up toward the figure, waving it back and forth like Jake had done with the Cyberman in Henrik's. Feeling like a complete idiot. Then, because maybe the fiftieth time's the charm, she took a look at the little screen. Never thought to use it before, when it wouldn't stop no matter what. The green light kept a steady green. And the screen read POSITIVE.
Perhaps it was still broken. It had to be; it hadn't ceased making noise like that since early this morning. But even if it was defective, the fact that the Angel thing had moved at all was proof enough for Rose.
"That's not a statue," she breathed.
"What?" Will glanced down at her, baffled.
Rose returned her attention to the Angel and shot to her feet, cursing inwardly. She dropped the detector; she heard it hit her bag with a little muffled thud. Will followed her gaze and grabbed for her shoulder again.
The Angel had moved once more. This time it was reaching for them.
"What?" Will repeated, so quietly it was almost as if he hadn't.
Rose's hands groped for her bag around her feet, sinking back into a crouch. Steady. Slow. "That's fast," she murmured.
"Too fast," Will agreed. "Very fast, sorry, am I dreaming right now? Pinch me."
"No."
"Good point, fair enough."
The Void detector, still beeping away, was tumbled into the bag. She didn't think she had time to wrap it up in the dish towel. The Angel might be made of stone, but something, some primal instinct, maybe from the Tardis itself in the good times—something told Rose not to dawdle. She didn't know exactly what this thing was, but it wasn't human, and it might not even be from this dimension. And if that was the case, at least she had experience on her side.
Not with this particular beast. Still. Something was better than nothing.
By this time they were both staring, wide-eyed and frightened, at the stretching figure.
"Will," Rose said, "C'mere."
She stood and flapped about with a hand for a moment until she found his arm. Then she dragged him with her toward the middle of the stairs. Will went silently; she could feel him trembling a bit more under his coat sleeve.
"What is it?" Will whispered. Like the statue could hear them. His gaze was fixed on what they could see of the second floor from there, where the Angel still lingered in the same reaching position.
"Look at me."
"Why?"
"Just look," she insisted.
He turned immediately to meet her eyes, the whites of his practically glowing in the torchlight.
One second passed, and Rose looked back up at the Angel. And wanted to scream. She was right, then. Now it was at the very top of the stairs, covering its face again.
Will looked too, and the trembling got worse. "That's not possible."
"Okay. Don't stop," Rose muttered, tightening her grip on his arm. "Keep lookin' at it."
"Right." Will let out an awful almost-laugh. "Right, yeah. It can't move when you're looking, of course it can't, that's it, I'm dreaming, I've gotta be. End of."
Rose ignored this and turned, carefully, to face the foyer. Her heart had another go at a jailbreak.
There was a second one. Another one. Another Angel, identical to the first, frozen curly hair, long robe thing, perched prettily at the entrance to that dining room downstairs. It was leaning out of the doorway, stuck there like its fingers had been carved into the very wood of the frame.
"What?" Will asked, twitching behind her.
"Don't," Rose ordered, sucking in. "There's two."
"Two?"
"There's two of 'em, no don't look back!" Rose raised her voice, eyes glued to the Angel at the bottom. She lifted a hand, as if to block Will from turning around. "It's them. It's these things, oh my god—"
"Yes, I'm getting that bit!" Will replied, voice also raised. "What happens if they catch us up, what do we do?"
"Run!"
Rose jerked at his sleeve and the two of them started barreling down the stairs, back-to-back. Then there was a massive ccrraack that echoed through the dusty old house, and Rose's left foot went clean through the wood of one of the rotting steps. She let out a cry that might also have been a curse, not because it hurt but because it was bloody bad timing.
"Rose—"
Immediately as she caught herself on her palm and elbow, halfway sitting and halfway kneeling, she looked back up at the Angel in the foyer. It was now stuck in a crawling position, like a toddler trying to scale the stairs for the first time. Its mouth was open in an O and one finger was daintily pointing toward Rose, only three steps down from her.
Will, bless him, was not turning around, but he did manage to reach down and back and help her out of the hole in the wood with the clumsy offering of a sturdy arm as a safety rope. Rose wasn't too careful about saving her own skin and sock. Hardly what mattered at the moment.
"Cheers."
"Don't mention it."
As soon as she was free, they were lurching around the Angel three steps down in jagged, unbalanced movements. Will dutifully kept his focus on the Angel above, making sure it stayed at the top of the stairs. It was almost too easy.
No, it was exactly too easy. A third Angel had at some point appeared, and they saw it now, face covered, on the other side of the foyer. Near the stupid piano.
They both had their backs to the front door. This was just enough distance to give their eyelines cover over all three creatures. There was a mad scramble as Will felt for the door handle and Rose jammed her shoulder hard up against the wood, determined it should just break off and let them out.
Eventually something in between had to have happened, because in a moment they were outside in the front garden, two pairs of very strained eyes on the open doorway. There had been another loud sound as they'd moved, like more wood splitting, and a stinging in Rose's arm and both legs, but she couldn't focus on that.
She also couldn't look round in case there were more in the trees or something. The whole place might be infested with extra-speedy demon statues and they wouldn't have any way of really knowing. Inside her bag, the Void detector sounded its alarm just as obnoxiously.
"Gotta check for more," she croaked anyway.
"More out here?"
Rose was already taking what she'd assumed was an opportunity to glance around their immediate outdoor vicinity, but Will had turned to look at her, maybe check on her, in that one heartbeat. He turned back to the house straight off, but it was too late.
One of the Angels from inside was at one of the windows. You might well think that this wasn't as bad as one of them being outside as well, but no. This was the worst yet, because that one last visible face had changed to a snarling, roaring monster. It had sharp teeth and its nails, up against the glass, had expanded into claws.
Rose felt she was backing unsteadily away from an overzealous Halloween decoration. And her hands hurt for some reason. She heard Will muttering something under his breath.
There weren't any others in the garden. Not that she could see, and if she'd had the space to think about it, she might have remembered they hadn't noticed any statues on the way in, either. But adrenaline sometimes liked to leave out things like memory and competence.
Finally, as if in slow motion, they reached the gate and staggered out onto the street.
Rose dragged the big metal door along with all her might, every inch of skin white and strained around the iron bars. With a shaky clang the thing was shut, and she slapped its lock into place. It echoed down the street. For a few seconds after that, there was nothing else to hear but the two of them trying to refill their lungs.
When they looked again, there wasn't an Angel in sight. Like it had never happened.
She could feel her heartbeat pulsing in the joints of each finger. There was still a sharp sting in her right knee and cheek, too, almost simultaneously. Harmonic. Her body was nagging her, the moment she stopped to breathe, saying there's something wrong, please fix that. The cold made everything hurt worse.
In that weird quiet, she thought of the Doctor. She thought of his deep blue eyes as he scanned her vitals with his sonic, and she could almost hear the leather creak of his sleeve. She thought of his hand mussing his tangle of brown hair, solid as he turned on his heel to check on the people who stopped when he stopped, ran when he ran.
She thought of the Doctor, told her body to shut up, and looked at Will.
"You all right?" she asked.
He was doubled over, hands on his knees. At the sound of her voice, he straightened. She was surprised to see him smiling—a weak sight, fighting to remain between gasps. His sniffed, hot air billowing out in a cloud when he spoke.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm always all right." He blew out his cheeks. "So they can't get past the gate, then, eh? I mean—" he sniffed again, nose wrinkling, "—what's to stop them coming out here?"
"Dunno." Rose looked him up and down, wishing she had a sonic of her own. (Wouldn't be the first time.) He was sweaty, and his wrists shook more than his hands did. Peaky and ghost-like in the afternoon sun. "S'just a guess. Wouldn't want anyone to notice, would they?"
"Right." Will pawed a few stray hairs out of his eyeline. "Yeah, makes sense. Loads of scary statue ladies. Claws and teeth. Keep a low profile."
"Right."
"Right," he repeated.
Then, after another pause full of just breathing, Rose added: "Blimey!"
"Cor blimey, even," agreed Will.
Then all the breathing turned to laughter—slow, ridiculous, barely-holding-it-together laughter. It wasn't even loud. They just stood there, trembling in tandem in front of Stacy Campbell's lost manor, laughing like teenagers in the back of the cinema. There was something in Will's gaze that made him seem smaller than her. Smaller, fragile, younger—Rose realized he was terrified. She wondered if she was hearing his real laugh. Maybe not. Maybe this was just the one he used when things got dark.
"Sure you're all right?" she asked, reaching out to take hold of and steady his arms.
When she did, his hands darted up and gripped her arms in return. "Are you?"
As he took stock of her then, she did too. Forcing open the door and breaking through the stairs, wood splintering everywhere—she hadn't got away unscathed. Will's green eyes went over the cut in her jeans, the blood trickling down her knee, into the denim. Up to her cheek, sliced and pink around the wound. Down, down to the rip in the hem of her tank top, up again to the shoulder of her hoodie and along her arms, finally resting on knuckles that were still too white.
Rose thought the concern in the green made it darker.
She shook her head, faintly amused. "M'fine."
"'Course you're not fine, look at you."
"Oi, you're one to talk!" Rose felt the laughter coming back, watched it float up in the cold. "That your knees knocking together?"
"I'm not the one bleeding." Will didn't seem keen on giggling away their troubles anymore. In fact, ever since he'd taken a good look at Rose, anything wobbly or light seemed to have left him. All he was focused on now was the state of his friend. His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, big and wet and sharp. Adult.
She swallowed, smile slipping away. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like that. Jackie almost never saw her in tense situations anymore, and pausing to worry about every scratch—well, that was something her Torchwood comrades had been trained out of. The heat with which she was being scrutinized now should have been embarrassing, but she found it was nice. Like standing near a candle.
Rose shook her head gently. "It's nothing." She dropped her arms, suddenly self-conscious about how tightly they were gripping one another. There were more important things going on. "Right, we gotta go—"
"Yeah." In a moment that seemed pure instinct, he grabbed her right hand and pulled her around the corner. "Yeah, come on."
Rose was distracted momentarily. Indignance and bewilderment were fighting for first place in her head. People didn't take her hand. They just didn't, not anymore. Nobody had held her hand in a year; she didn't let them. But Will did it with such ease, tugged her along behind him with so much purpose, Rose was startled into silence for a second. She didn't pull away. It was so smoothly done, like putting your socks on, or adjusting your walk so you don't brush against a stranger. Natural.
Then she got over it and yanked free.
"Where y'going?" she demanded.
Will turned slightly, impatient. "We," he said, snatching her hand again, "are going to my flat."
"What?"
"Because it's safe," he explained, before she could ask. "Because my mates are there and they'll be able to help patch you up—"
"No, I don't need patchin'—"
"—and because right now I'm knackered and frightened and I don't know what to do next," Will continued, louder, and he stopped dead to look into her eyes. "But I know I'm not going to your top-secret Torchwood place yet without tea. And you're not getting away from me, after that," he flung out an arm to point to the manor, now almost a block away, chimney sticking out above the trees, "without doing something about the…bleeding."
After a final flimsy gesture to her torn-up person, an exclamation point to punctuate the decision, he plowed ahead.
And Rose concentrated on that odd, easy feeling of hand-in-hand, letting Will take the lead.