Rory's feet ached and his spine was tight and his mouth was dry. His feet had been cold all day, his fingers hurt, and there was now an unexpected craving for something fried. Bread, maybe. Amy-style. This was how he felt every morning coming home from hospital after an all-night shift.

And he loved it.

You could say all you liked about the thrill of running from outer space monsters. About the mandatory vomiting you might have to do hours after meeting long-dead figures straight from your history lessons in primary school. About the hours you could spend sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with your spouse in the Tardis doorway, feet dangling above galaxies until you felt your eyes weren't there anymore. This sensation, this consequence of being an ordinary nurse on an ordinary work schedule—this was better. This was important. This was hard work and a regular old life and coming home knowing the missus would be in later that night with a joke and a kiss. The best.

The best extended honeymoon he could think of, actually.

Or it would be, if it wasn't temporary. If it wasn't basically a sabbatical from time and space itself.

Just as the old, vintage lift doors were about to close and take Rory up to his flat, a hand stopped one of them and Will stepped in. His face broke into light when he saw his roommate.

"All right, Rory?" Will asked, with a happy and mildly-fuzzy glance of greeting. He settled himself beside Rory, back against the rail. Under his chin and in his arms, he was holding a toy helicopter.

Rory took one look at him and said, "You didn't sleep, did you?"

It was strange, seeing total exhaustion etched in the few lines of the Doctor's face. The Doctor had two hearts, a respiratory bypass system, and probably never needed eight hours of sleep. His biology was, Rory had discovered in bits and pieces, utterly different from a human being's, no matter what his outer shell looked like. Rest, for the Doctor, looked like piloting the Tardis on a slow path through the Vortex, or tinkering under the console in a swing seat. Or eating fish fingers and custard (surprisingly delicious) in the ship's kitchen and spinning a very long yarn about planets where people communicated with their eyebrows. It never included sleep.

But now he needed sleep exactly as much as the rest of them did. Remove one heart's functions, rewrite his DNA, and convince a Time Lord he was human and that was all it took, apparently. Will was knackered, and knackered easily. When he slept, he slept. It was nigh impossible to wake him, like his body was remembering past traumas and close escapes and centuries of not sleeping and trying to make it all up. And when he neglected that need, it was poignantly visible.

Will was wholly focused on the helicopter. He was doing something to the wires inside with both hands, pressing it hard against his chest with his chin to keep it from falling. "Not really, no. Too busy."

"I've told you you can't just skip a sleep," Rory said, rolling his eyes.

"You did."

"I'm a nurse, I get paid for it."

"You can pay me in corn flakes, if you like." Will reached over and nudged the correct floor button with an elbow, somehow miraculously maintaining the toy and its wires. "I'm absolutely starved."

That was the other thing, the one that drove Amy mad most often. 'Wilfred' was hungry all the time. If it wasn't nailed to the cupboard or expired in the refrigerator, it wasn't safe from him.

"Do me a favor," Rory ordered, "don't tell Amy you've been up all night."

"Definitely not, she'd only fuss at me. Anyway, I'm fine, look at me."

"No," Rory sighed, "you're not. If you keep this up you're gonna crash. I mean it. Hallucinations, all sorts, and she'll blame me for not warning you off."

"Give me some credit, mate," Will chortled. "Tougher than I look."

Tougher than I look, me.

"You need sleep," Rory emphasized, looking him over again. When Will didn't meet his eyes, parking them on the toy, Rory focused on the lift screen counting down the floor numbers. Trying not to sigh again. "You're only human."

"It's me."

"What?"

"This, Rory, this, is me."

The Doctor had held up a silver fob watch and wiggled it about, right under Rory's nose. The Tardis was blaring alarm bells of some kind, the lights were going haywire, everything was shaking. Through it all, the Doctor was calmly flicking switches and punching buttons on the console with a free hand. Amy and Rory clung to each other, to the railing, the jumpseat, anything to keep balance. It was worse on board than it ever had been.

The Doctor said it was because the Tardis was being made to go where it shouldn't. He had specifically set the coordinates for somewhere "impossible", somewhere the things hunting them would definitely be unable to survive. Something to do with cracks. Or one crack, one crack in the universe that "hadn't closed yet", the Doctor had told them.

He never did say anything clearly. Always like it was a poem. To sound impressive, probably.

They had just begun traveling with him again, it had been maybe two days. Or a week, hard to tell. They'd been trying out honeymoon destinations, never able to agree on a location. And then the statues had appeared, Amy knew them, the Doctor knew them too, and the chase was on. Everywhere they went. No rest. No honeymoon to speak of. Somehow, these creatures were following them through time and space and the bits in between. But the worst part was that the Doctor himself couldn't shake them.

"You said we're hiding!" Amy had shouted over the noise.

"We will be!" The Doctor shouted back.

"Well, this doesn't feel like hiding!"

"More like crashing," Rory had agreed.

"Listen to me, both of you." The Doctor slammed down a lever and the Tardis got a little quieter, just enough so that they could hear themselves think. It did nothing to alleviate the lurching about. The Doctor had stepped over to them, turning that dingy little watch over and over in one hand. "When I say this is me, I mean this is me...when I'm hiding."

"Right," Rory said, tired and sweating, slapping down on a rail for balance. "When I'm hiding I'm usually me, but. Maybe that's a human thing."

"Exactly." The Doctor took one of Amy's hands, pressed the watch into it, and folded her fingers over it. "A human thing." Then he grabbed Rory's free hand and pulled him over in one move, clapping it on top of Amy's. "I'm not human, but when I am, everything left over will go into this watch. It's me."

"Doctor," Amy snapped, and she always got more Scottish when she was snapping, it was cute, "if there's a point, you're not gettin' to it quickly enough. We're frightened and you're not makin' sense and that's usually the part where you really explain, so start with the really explaining, please."

The Tardis shook in a particularly bad wave and they all got pitched to the floor. The Doctor was up first, sea legs—time legs—well intact. He watched Rory help Amy to her feet, spinning around and heading back to the console until the ship calmed a bit. The lights still flashed, the alarms still sounded, but at least they could stay upright.

"I need you to trust me. I've never needed you, either of you, more than I need you now, do you understand?" The Doctor stilled at the console, coming around it slowly to look disarmingly between the two of them. Right into Rory's eyes. That almost never happened.

"Still not explaining," Amy complained, but she was staring back at the Doctor, eyes big and round like they got when she was about to get emotional. Or very angry.

"You said when you are, like," Rory began, blinking, "when you are human, what—what did you mean by that?"

"You can't be human," Amy scoffed. "You just—can't, you're not...built for it. You're a Time Lord. You're alien."

"Not after this."

When the device came lowering down, it swung so violently in the rocking ship that Rory was sure it would snap right off and go crashing to the glass floor, and everything would be ruined. But on the positive side, everything confusing might never get started. Silver lining and all.

It wasn't much weirder than anything else in the Tardis. It looked like a nasty headband crossed with a helmet, sort of sharp and silver like the watch. Both objects gave Rory the creeps, especially as the Doctor went on explaining.

He said it was a Chameleon Arch. He said it was Time Lord, he said it would rewrite him. It would remake him. He said the Doctor would go into the watch, the stupid little fob watch in Amy's hand that probably didn't tell a tick of time, and someone else would wake up needing them.

"You'll be like us?" Rory demanded. The Tardis wobbled again and he staggered, not taking his eyes off their friend. "Your whole physiology, you said, but wouldn't that—sorry, wouldn't that be really painful?"

Then he snapped his mouth shut because he saw Amy's face.

The Doctor did too, but obviously ignored it. Rory was never clear on how he was able to do that. "Oh, yes, definitely. Incredibly painful, sure." He wrinkled his nose. "Probably won't even feel it. Not like last time. Tougher than I look, me."

"Last time?"

But Rory didn't get an answer. The Doctor began situating the Chameleon Arch around and against his own head, matting down the brown mop and getting some of it in his eyes. Amy gripped the watch with knuckles that were whiter than usual. She was entirely trained on the Doctor, on every movement of his hands as he set up the device, on every time he blinked or licked his lips. Even on the shuffling of his feet as he got into whatever position was required for the machine to work. Rory had edged in beside her, taking her free hand and holding it tight.

The alarms seemed to get louder.

"Don't worry," the Doctor was saying, twisting some kind of knob that looked like it was tightening the Arch. The next time the ship juddered, he kept perfect balance. "I've left you some to-dos. Voice interface. Shouldn't last long, maybe a few months."

"I think you probably ought to land before you do this," Rory pointed out, floundering with a hand behind him to grip the edge of the jumpseat for support. Amy was rigid beside him.

"The Tardis coordinates are pre-set," the Doctor assured him. "The old girl knows exactly what to do, I assume she's even picked out the perfect leeching spot."

Rory's teeth ground together. "Leeching—"

"Somewhere to dry them up, go hungry. Bleed them out, that's our plan. It's all in the to-dos, voice locked specifically to you lot. And do me a favor, when I wake up, make sure it's not here, because it won't make any sense and we don't need anything coming back right away. Really don't want to experience this twice in one day, to be frank. Ooh, maybe that's who I'll be. Frank. No, don't let me be Frank." The Doctor made a face, then snapped his fingers at them. "Right. Stand back—"

"But you can't," Amy spluttered, suddenly loud, suddenly desperate. "Doctor, y'can't do this. Okay? We can work something else out, yeah, something that...just—something else, but not this. You can't." She was shaking her head, over and over, getting quieter, and Rory knew she was really scared then, and not for herself. "It's not possible."

"Have you not been paying attention, Amelia? Anything is possible." The Doctor met her gaze. Met Rory's. "See you on the other side."

Then he activated the Arch.

Rory was in the medical field. He had seen a lot of pain, a lot of people struggling, a lot of writhing and screaming and crying and fighting through. This was different. He had never had to watch a friend in pain like that, nor anyone else in pain like this. Watching someone's physiology get rewritten was like watching a building full of people explode on television. It couldn't be real, it couldn't last that long. It couldn't be as bad as it made you feel just to see it.

Amy lost control right away. She pressed the watch hard into Rory's free hand and tried to jerk away from him, took one single horrified step toward the Doctor, but Rory held her back.

It wasn't fair. They didn't really know, then, what was actually happening, and he had made them stand and watch it anyway.

When it was over, the Arch had released him, and the Doctor immediately crumpled onto the floor, lying on his side like a rag doll. Rory dove down and checked his pulse, just on instinct. His face and hands tingled as he found it. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Rory looked up at his wife. She was crying, and she looked as if she hadn't noticed it yet. "There's only one," he said, numbly. "But he's okay."

Amy shook her head. For several tense seconds of the Tardis shaking and flashing and screaming at them, she didn't respond. When she finally did, her voice was low and unsteady. "What do we do?"

The Doctor was limp as Rory lifted his head, checking the pulse again, this time with two fingers on his neck, human-style. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. It was the first time in his career that a regular heartbeat had felt completely wrong. His stomach churned. He might be sick, and the flying police box was not being considerate of that.

Next second, everything in the Tardis went dark. It gave one almighty jerk, throwing Amy back on the ground, and went dark.

Then the lights flickered back on, and everything was still.

"I…think we're here," Rory whispered, because whispering felt right. "Wherever here is."

"Yeah," Amy sniffled. "Yeah, I think we must be. D'you think they are too, I mean—could they follow us that quickly?"

Neither of them had an answer for that one. She sank down onto the floor beside him, eyes still fixed intently on the Doctor. She looked like every bedside loved one he'd ever seen in hospital. Except prettier. For his part, the Doctor was still covered in sweat, breathing steadily but faintly. If not for his pulse, Rory might have been seriously concerned he was half dead. In truth, from what he could tell, the body between them was simply spent. Completely exhausted, from pain or DNA-related exertion or both. It was like he had no energy left. Wherever they took him, since it couldn't be somewhere here on his mental ship, he'd have to be carried.

Rory was not looking forward to that.

"What are we meant to do now, Doctor?" Amy said again, this time to the mess in tweed slumped beside them. Her hands flew to her temples. "Please. Oh god, they're comin' aren't they, any second now and you're just sat there, please—"

"Didn't he say something about…to-dos?" Rory blinked at her, reaching out to thumb away a few tears from that freckled, round face. Didn't notice he was using his nurse voice, smooth and gentle like nothing but a sunset was happening around them. "Yeah? About our voices?"

She looked back at him, lifting a hand to cup the one he had on her face. She didn't smile, but she got firm in her eyes and her jaw, and she nodded. Rory felt his own heartbeat pick up at the sight.

Amy got to her feet and cleared her throat, and said in her best lioness tones, "Voice interface."

There was a whir and a click. And then a transparent, grainy hologram of the Doctor, robotic and wavy, flickered into life in front of them.

"Voice interface enabled," it said.

Rory got up too, facing the façade. Amy pointedly glanced from the man on the ground, a Pond on either side of him, to the hologram standing over it all.

"Tell us what to do."

Remembering it was almost funny when he watched Will. As they came into the flat, the sun was just barely up outside, everything light blue, and Amy had already gone off to work. Rory saw Will head straight for the kitchen, dumping the broken helicopter down on the table. He didn't walk like the Doctor, sideways and intentional. He practically stumbled everywhere he went. Soon, perhaps they'd both get to catch up on some sleep, but it took a bit of time for the night to wear off first. Rory went to the living room.

Will broke open a bag of crisps and slumped down beside Rory on the sofa. "Why d'you always go for the news?" he asked with his mouth full.

Rory had switched on the TV right away, sliding off his shoes and tucking them with his ankles under the couch, out of sight the way Amy preferred. He gladly partook of the snacks as Will offered him the bag. "Not sure," he said, trying to sound casual. It never quite came across that way. "It's interesting."

"S'just people talking," Will complained between bites.

"Yeah, but," Rory replied distractedly, trying to focus on the telly, "you never know."

He watched the news because he was living in a parallel universe and everything was just slightly off, and the more he knew about it, the better he could acclimate to it.

But of course, he couldn't say that.

The newscaster was pert and brunette, and she had a face a bit like porridge. She was already halfway through a developing story, standing on a street somewhere with lots of long grass and a short stone wall behind her. Rory snatched the remote off the coffee table, turning up the volume. Televisions in 2006 were not something he had missed. You had to really jig about with the remote, waving it until its signal caught just the right angle with the TV before it started to work.

"…and if you've just joined us this morning," the newscaster was saying, and Will elbowed Rory hard and smiled teasingly big, gesturing with a chip between themselves and the pert woman. That's us! "Forty-one-year-old Daniel Barnes was last seen Sunday morning around 11 AM, driving a small black Estate here, according to a voicemail to his wife, one Cathy Barnes, transcribed for us just moments ago."

The camera panned backward a bit, but still all you could see was a bit of overgrown weeds and that low, moss-covered wall.

"Mr. Barnes has been missing for a full twenty-four hours now, and sources say this is not the first, but actually the latest in a list of people who have begun to mysteriously vanish. There have been at least three others. I'm here at what we are now being told is Mr. Barnes' oldest property, a home legally owned by a family called the Campbells—"

Beside him, Rory felt Will sit bolt upright. Chips went everywhere.

"What is it?" Rory asked, feeling that sucking in his chest he always used to get when the Doctor would sharpen up and pay strict attention to something very-not-good. "Campbell, isn't that—"

"Stacy Campbell," Will breathed.

"But that's—"

"Shh." Will's hand slapped vaguely at Rory's face.

It was exactly like the old days, then. Being shushed while something important was happening. Like the alien was the only one allowed to speculate.

"Mr. Barnes was scheduled to evaluate this property at noon yesterday at the family's request. Built sometime in the late sixties—"

"Seventies," Will murmured.

"What?"

"Sh."

The camera zoomed still further back, to reveal a dilapidated old heap of stones, ivy, and rotting wood behind the wall.

"—can see, with respect, the home is certainly looking a bit run-down. Police are nowhere near the area, and say there is no connection between the disappearances and the property behind me, though local sources insist the house is haunted. We regret to report that Mr. Barnes never came home from this evaluation, and has been gone a full three days. His wife and children urge the public to call the number on the screen below if you have any news on his whereabouts. The names of the other missing are as yet unreleased—"

Rory stopped listening, because Will had flung down the chips and scrambled over the back of the couch, lunging for his phone on the table.

"What are you doing?" Rory asked, twisting uncomfortably to watch him.

Will didn't respond, dialing and pacing, hunched over like a turtle. He pressed the phone hard to his ear, waited, and then let out a short growly huff. Then he said, as if winded, "Rose—it's Will—the house, the house on Hettie Row, it's the house, and it's happened again! Phone me when you've got this, yes? Good morning, also. Sorry. Okay."

He snapped the phone shut and Rory sincerely regretted having gotten him one in the first place.

This was bad. This was worse than bad. People really were going missing, just as Amy had said, and worse, Will liked it. Well—no, he didn't like it, but he liked the mystery of it. Rory could tell by the way Will suddenly could not sit down or remain still. He was always like that, but now it was manic, now it was fresh. The Doctor's gangly, lithe body went knocking into corners on the wall and upsetting a dining room chair and upturning the doormat as he moved, moved, moved around the flat in a fit. The only difference between the Doctor and Will, actually, was that Will wasn't thinking aloud. He was just messing his hair, staring into space.

"Rose, that's the girl you mentioned," Rory said slowly, catching up. "Why'd you wanna call her?"

"'Cos she needs to know."

"But you said she's with the law, so—doesn't she already know?"

"Maybe. Possibly. But just in case—" Then Will's eyes lit up in a way Rory did not enjoy at all. "Just in case…"

Then he shoved his phone in his big, open hoodie's woolly pocket and sprang for the door.

"No—" Rory launched himself off the sofa, diving between Wilfred and the exit. "Stop. Wait. What are you up to?"

"Gonna go see about a girl." Will smiled, like he'd just said he was going to get pancakes. "And a house."

"But," Rory lifted his eyebrows and tried to act like their hands currently fighting each other for control of the doorknob was not at all odd. "You can't."

Good. To the point. Smooth.

"Why not?"

"Because."

Very convincing. Good job he only worked in hospital.

"Because why?" Will asked, fighting now with both hands to get the doorknob.

Rory went for a bluffy chuckle. "It's nothing! None of our business, is it? And—besides—I mean, didn't you say she's law, so she'll know what to do, won't she?"

"But I gave her the tip," Will interjected. "I should follow up, s'my responsibility. Plus I like her. Plus," he added, raising a finger, "you can have the kitchen all to yourself, easier this way, eh, make some of that sausage you're so fond of."

"Will," Rory said, sternly, because it's never too early to practice being a dad, "we should leave it to the professionals."

"One more plus for you, then," Will said, and a little of the Doctor's fire glittered in those squinty green eyes. His voice even got quieter. "I really really want to go. And the last time I left something to the professionals, they sold a toy train that wouldn't chug, now what sort of train doesn't chug, Rory me old mate, I ask you?"

"The toy kind?" When Will didn't answer, finally wrenching Rory's hand off the handle, Rory let out an exasperated huff. "I don't think we should get involved!"

"Yeah, I know, so you're not. Just me." Will flashed him another maddening smile. "Bye now."

He slid through the door like a bloody eel. Rory's forehead clunked down against the wood when the nutter was gone, utterly defeated. The man making his way back to the lift outside might not be the Oncoming Storm anymore, but he was still more than a match for Rory when he wanted anything other than Amy Pond far, far away. There was no way he'd be able to get Will back into this flat until he'd seen this Rose and told her the news.

And there was no way Rory would adequately be able to explain this to his beloved wife when she got home.

Beebeep. Beebeep. Beebeep.

Rose's hand slammed down on the alarm clock beside her bed.

Beebeep. Beebeep. Beebeep. Beebeep.

She sat up, hair everywhere, duvet half off the bed. It wasn't the alarm clock. It was the Void detector. She had taken it home with her to fiddle with, last night on her way back from seeing Sally. It was lying on her vanity, beeping away. She wanted to throw it out the window. Rose was on call for Torchwood today, which basically meant she wasn't doing anything unless they needed her for it and specifically asked her to come in.

Not that they would. Not after Pete's decision.

So she'd slept in, at least until eight, because she hadn't gone to bed for a very long time last night. Fighting with Jackie always left her a sort of blob the next morning, like a hangover. Her best friend in the world was at odds with her, and on top of that her favorite person in the world—in any world—was still gone. Still not here. Still somewhere else with great hair and no one to hold his hand. And her new dad wouldn't let her go out and play with the aliens.

Therefore there was no point in getting up.

Except to destroy Torchwood's stupid broken machine.

Rose swung her legs down and marched to the vanity, glaring at the detector before whacking it, once, on the side. She pushed down the antenna and pulled it back up. She hit the off switch, the on switch, the off switch again. It wouldn't shut up. It must still be broken; it hadn't done this at all yesterday.

It beeped and beeped and beeped, light flashing green, and Rose opened her wardrobe, tossed it in, and shoved a pillow on top of it. Why was it so loud? Apart from anything else, it was going to wake Tony any minute. She put another pillow on and shut the door, scoffing and pushing down her hair where it got frizzy in the back.

The floor and air were freezing, even in the mansion, and she was only in sweats and a tank top. Barefoot. Rose was about to go back to bed when she heard Jackie laugh downstairs.

It was a very specific laugh, the kind Jackie let out when someone good-looking was in the room with her. It could be anyone. Any age. It could be her husband wearing her favorite tie. But then more came, Rose's mother gabbing away, and it just had to be company. Company this early in the morning.

Irritated, knowing she wouldn't get back to sleep, Rose padded out into the hall. Sunlight, early and wintry, poked through the bars of the big wooden banister on the landing. Rose could hear her mum long before she reached the top of the stairs.

"But d'you know what, all that money and it still squeaks when you lift it. I said to Pete the other day, I told him, we can get one half price down at Hamley's quiet as a church, but he still won't go in for it. Says it's a waste of time, only my friend Bev, back home—back where I'm from, I mean, ooh it's a long way—she used to tell me when my Rose was little, she said there were all sorts of little places that could fix baby rockers for nothing, just nothing! Little places on corners, you know, not these big names. I ought to go to one of them, d'you want any tea?"

"Oh, not for me, thanks," said a voice that was absolutely Will's. "Actually just came to see your Rose, is she here or shall I come back later?"

"Aw, she won't be down for ages, luv. Go on, lemme fix you a cuppa!"

"Well, if there's any left." Will's voice floated amiably from the foyer into the kitchen. The whole mansion was open and airy, just the way Jackie liked it, so Rose could still hear everything.

"Plenty! You have a seat there, I never let the maids do the tea, they can't get the steepin' right. Don't know what it is."

Rose's brow furrowed, unable to see them from where she'd stopped just inside the hall at the top of the stairs. They couldn't see her, either, thankfully. Will had made a house call. He hadn't come here since the night they'd met; she was surprised he remembered the way, only having been here once. But maybe everyone remembered the Vitex property once they'd seen it.

Why hadn't he phoned first? Now the poor bloke was trapped in the kitchen with her mother.

She never checked her messages. Maybe he had phoned, and she'd been too busy feeling sorry for herself to pay any mind. It was her fault he was down there, being forced into tea and talking with the biggest aficionado of both in the galaxy. Jackie was right about her.

Below, Will and Jackie's chatting filled the corridors.

"…and I told her, believe you me. I said you seemed nice, you ask her and she'll say the same. Only I dunno, lately she's been sort of hard, well. You'd've seen. Life's not been kind, I'll give her that. Mind you, she's always had barmy taste in friends, but men, ooh, that's worse! She likes a Jack the lad, but maybe that's age, what do I know? And with Mickey, too. Mickey Smith, that's his name, nice smile. I always said he's a bit slow for her, but that's Rose, does what she likes, doesn't she? That's got better though, he's got his good points, but even with him…"

Rose, rolling her eyes so hard it hurt, descended the stairs as quickly as she could.

When she swung her way around the kitchen doorframe, full of momentum, she saw Jackie pouring hot water into a mug and Will seated on the edge of the little, round wooden table. His feet, trainers still on, were in one of the chairs, but he himself was sitting on the table, and Jackie didn't seem to mind. Maybe she hadn't noticed yet—it was hard to pay attention to anything in that room other than the running commentary the lady of the household had on Rose's love life.

Will was listening to her, or perhaps half-listening, hands and eyes examining the napkin holder that was usually on the counter. His knees were up close to his chest, and that was surely the open scratchy coat he'd worn at the crosswalk the first time. She recognized the fabric.

"Rose and Mickey, all that time. S'been that way since they were kids," Jackie was saying.

Will's eyes flicked up, blinking with undisguised interest in the one-sided conversation. He looked very sleepy, but Rose could see he was definitely listening to Jackie now.

"Thought I hated him at first, but we never know what'll grow when we give it time, do we? That's how it was with Pete—" Jackie turned around with the mugs and saw Rose, and her stream of chatter quickly folded into a greeting, any trace of the fight from the night before gone. "Oh and here she is, you great lump, thought you'd be in bed for hours yet!" A click of the tongue, chastising. "Didn't you sleep at all? You look awful, doesn't she look awful?"

Will had caught sight of Rose the same time her mother did. Green eyes were already parked on her, wide with her entrance and lit like Christmas morning with her continued presence. His gaze travelled up and down her frame briefly, slack-jawed. After Jackie's question went unanswered for a heartbeat too long, he snapped into speech.

"Oh, yeah, awful. Awful, definitely, actually—" He spread his hands, leaving the napkin holder in his lap. "I think half past eight in the morning rather suits her."

Rose pursed her lips in a smile at him for that one. She would've grinned, because he deserved it, but she felt her mum's eyes on her and pressed it back.

Will's hooded lids flicked toward her hair. A little smirk turned his mouth up. "Share your bed with a badger?"

"Shut up," Rose muttered, rolling her eyes again. She stepped into the kitchen and went to get her own mug, shooting a warning look at her mother on the way. "Mum—"

"No need," Jackie said loudly. "I'm just off to wake Tony. Give us a shout if you want any scones."

Rose wanted to throw the kettle at her mother's head for being so painfully obvious. Jackie swished out of the kitchen and presumably up the stairs, and Rose waited until she could be sure they weren't heard before saying anything to Will. She poured herself some tea and turned, back against the counter, to appraise her newest friend.

She was no good until after tea. And though she was more and more aware of her bare feet, old sweats, and vibrant tank top the longer she stood there, she couldn't bring herself to care. Will wasn't the sort of person you could be embarrassed around. Probably because he spent so much time being embarrassing. She found that was the kind of company she was most used to, really.

"Mornin'."

"Good morning," Will said, dipping his head, leaning back on his palms on the table. The formal greeting felt like playing a game between them. "Get my message?"

She glanced at her feet. "Sorry. Rough night."

"And me. So. Care to guess why I'm here?"

"Well, s'not Jackie's scones," Rose muttered, taking another sip of tea.

"No, although we can come back to that if there's time, love a good scone." Will slid off the table. "It's the house."

"Is that like code for something?"

"No—Rose—the house. The house, 310 Hettie Row."

Rose blinked at him, trying to catch up. It wasn't easy with the lack of sleep. But the moment the address was out, she nearly dropped her mug. "What about it?"

Will's smile got bigger. "It was on the news. New kidnapping. Or whatever happened—new missing person. Not Stacy, Stacy's landlord, the Campbells' landlord. He's gone. Last known location 310 Hettie Row."

Rose gazed at him, mind racing. "It's the house."

"It's the house," he repeated, doing that excited-breathless thing again. "Whoever's done this, whatever happened, it's all got to do with that big old ivy-covered house. Stacy's house."

"That's what Sally said," Rose mumbled, almost to herself. She felt Will staring. "All those people. They all went to that house, didn't come back."

"Sally, is that your…backup?"

"No, researcher," she replied, not really focusing on him anymore.

Sally had been dead right. It was no surprise; she really was that good. But now there was a new victim, a new person not going home to their family because of whatever was going on inside the stone mansion. This was more than a lead. This could be exactly what they needed to fix things, make things right again. Keep people safe.

Rose left her tea to get gold and crossed out of the room and up the stairs, two at a time as usual. Will was right behind her the whole way. He was so close he almost bowled her over when she slowed down.

"Rose? What now? Plan, yeah, good plan? Going for evidence?"

She ducked into her room and Will followed, stopping politely short just inside when he realized it was her bedroom. He kept talking while she rooted through her things, looking for her phone. She found her mobile in her bag, which she'd kicked under the bed last night. Stupid. Tantruming like a baby while people's lives were at stake.

Will was looking around her room as he spoke. "Are you calling for backup now, or d'you have a special phone for that? Also, your window is open, thought I should mention." Blankets, clothing, and one teddy bear flew past him. "Rose? Look, we can't wait, police aren't there now but judging by Miss Stiff News Lady's speech, they're going to be there fairly soon, so we should probably start out straightaway—"

Rose stopped pacing, phone up to her ear as it rang and rang, waiting for anyone at Torchwood to pick up. She looked at him in confusion.

"What?" Will swung his arms innocently. He jabbed a thumb backward. "D'you need to change first, I can stand outside, or…"

"I can't go," she said, as if it should be obvious.

"Why not?"

"'Cos I can't."

"D'you need a special warrant or something? I could get Laura's say-so, ehm, maybe, might take a while—nothing if not a sweet-talker, me—"

"M'not allowed," Rose explained, sullen, and felt younger than ever.

"Sorry?"

Why couldn't he stop asking questions? She could hardly get more pathetic, or feel more ridiculous. She was in her jim-jams, for heaven's sake. He was standing in her eye-bleedingly pink bedroom, in front of the door to her wardrobe, where a broken hanger was swinging on its handle. Her stuffed bear was upside-down on his foot. But he was still looking at her like she could cope with anything, seconds from rushing out in a cape to save the city. In a tank top.

And it wasn't making her feel any better that the Void detector was losing its little electronic mind inside her wardrobe. Beebeepbeebeepbeebeep.

Rose stopped calling Torchwood and called it a second time, hoping a stop-start-again situation would get someone in the ruddy office to pick up.

"Boss's orders." She clicked her tongue, hating that it sounded just like Jackie. "Says I'm not s'posed to investigate. So here I am," she said, spreading her arms, grumbling the last bit under her breath as she turned back to her mobile, "under house arrest."

Her arms fell back against her side briefly, and she relished the little smack they made. A more subtle, grown-up version of slamming the door. Rose listened to Torchwood not answering the phone for a few seconds more, stubbornly pinning her eyeline to the opposite wall.

Will, in her peripherals, didn't move. "So that's it then?"

"Yep."

"Your boss says sit and you're sat?"

"Yep." Rose deliberately sat down, popping the p, on her bed's edge.

"Blimey, and here I thought you wanted to help out."

She glanced at him then, aching, thinking of the Tardis and what Will might say the first time he stepped on board. She couldn't help it. He was exceptional. He was an ordinary bloke, and he was exceptional. The Doctor would've given him a key first try. Will was watching her with hooded lids again, hands swinging a bit in his hoodie's pockets. She couldn't explain about Pete, or Jackie. She couldn't explain why her superior didn't want her in particular throwing herself into this.

"That's what you said, isn't it? The other day. Helping out."

"S'not like I wanna stay," Rose complained, trying not to whinge. "S'just…complicated."

"Is it?"

She looked at him more fully, stilling. Feeling a little flame of anger spark up again, the way it had at Jackie. At the way he was challenging her. She wanted to sit on the bed and be angry with her lot in life. Why couldn't everyone just let her?

"Look, mate—"

"If it's because you're scared, I'm scared too," Will offered, quiet. "But it's exciting and it's for Stacy and she was my friend, and I want to help, which, if you think about it, is entirely your fault. You made me want to help." He spread his palms, shrugging. "Maybe you're just that good."

Rose tried very hard not to thaw. She tried, but it didn't last long. And he saw it in her face because he smiled and clapped his hands together.

"Right then. Get your coat."