The trip to the old renovated building with Henrik's at the bottom and posh living at the top was a quiet one. By the time they made it out of the Underground, Rose's many small injuries were being irritating enough to feel like one big injury. Everything hurt just slightly. Not only was she crashing from the adrenaline of really, finally being chased again by aliens—or what was probably aliens—she was also hungry, bone-tired, and thinking so much her head seemed to scream. She'd quickly lost the energy necessary to convince Will she was not interested in visiting his flatmates at a time like this. Instead, she went on thinking and thinking.

A tiny part of her was trying to work out exactly what they'd learned and put it together in a way that made everything easier to fix. A tiny part. Because it was in her job description and she should be trying anyway.

And then the rest of her was hormones and hope. Because she was human.

Rose's pointer fingernail tapped hard, restless, against the frame of her seat on the train. The Doctor. If they had been aliens, those statues, there was a small chance they were from the Doctor's universe. Her universe, the proper universe. And that meant one of two things as far as Rose could see.

One: they were left over somehow from Canary Wharf. And two, the bit that made her feel like she was choking and flying: the Doctor was here. He was back, he was somewhere nearby. He'd found a way. Him and his wide eyes and his growly smiles and his gorgeous hair. That dazzling brain, the poncy stupid suits. She wanted to break right through the train car's doors, go racing off into nowhere in particular, and not stop running until she slammed right into him and was home. Back where she belonged. Back following a crazy, wonderful alien man who could take her everywhere and hug her like nobody else.

Sometimes she was sure she'd give anything for that. Anything at all. Just anything, only please let her have the Doctor back.

This line of thinking, this swimming in desperation and hope—it was easier to indulge than the mystery they'd stepped into. And not just because trying to solve an otherworldly problem on Earth without a Time Lord was very, very difficult for humans. Or a tired twenty-something whose stomach surreally kept rumbling.

Will was not immune to Rose's agitation. He sat beside her on the train and watched her nail tapping, watched her eyelids flutter as she fixed her gaze on one inanimate object and then the next. He had stopped shaking when the doors had closed and they'd started moving, and even though they both seemed wary of sudden movements in the corners of their eyes, he hadn't taken his off of Rose since they'd sat down.

But he didn't say anything. For once, he was dead silent as they made their way back to the city centre.

It was nearly evening when they entered Henrik's and Will led her to the aging, rattly little lift. There wasn't much room inside; it was from the seventies or sixties or something—all renovated retro—like everything else in the building's bones. Neither of them minded the tiny space. It was, at least for Rose, a relief to be able to see her surroundings without having to turn her back on any of the corners. Silly as it seemed outside of Hettie Row, she half expected to see a stone crying lady appear round every bend.

As they rode up past each floor, Will still didn't speak, taking the spot beside her against the rail, but he kept lingering on the blood drying on her knee and the cut on her cheek. His green eyes were dulled, foggy almost. Couldn't seem to focus on what he was looking at. Evidently, he was just as uninterested in the world around them as Rose was at the moment.

"Just here," he said when they left the lift, pointing gingerly toward the sixth door on their right. A big brass 11 was nailed into the center. When he tried the handle, it was locked, and instead of going for his hoodie pockets, he rapped smartly on the door. "Rory, mate, open up!"

Rose tried to look alert when he turned to her apologetically.

"Never have my keys," he explained quietly. "Always forget."

She didn't have time to tell him that was all right, or shrug, or take the next breath really, because the door swung open so hard and fast they both jumped. Besides, someone else was already talking.

It was a woman with blazing red hair and blazing angry eyes. Scottish and snarling. And she was only looking at Will. "And just where in the Hell have you been?"

Will pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "Larking."

"Why d'you look like that? You're covered in sweat. Why are you covered in sweat?"

"Not just now, Amy, thanks—"

This was Amy, then. Nice cheekbones. Magazines must like her temper as well as her legs. The ginger wrenched the door further open so that she could better fill the frame.

"Yes just now, yes Amy, you are not welcome and where have y'been?"

"Could you not whinge in front of the injured, Mrs. Williams—"

"Ha—"

"—lovely, cheers, we can come in, can't we, it's my flat too after all, and—I haven't missed rent." Will pushed past her, gabbing in a way that was obviously meant to stall any more questions his flatmate might have. "Have we got any bandages?"

Amy turned and her thick wave of hair almost hit Rose in the mouth. "Oi—"

"Oi, bandages, where?" Will cut her off, wheeling around in what looked like a kitchen, raising his voice a bit. Like he'd had practice at this. "Blimey, use your eyes, can't you, we've got a guest. And she's hurt."

Then the thick hair swished again and Amy was sizing up Rose for the first time. It was like being scrutinized by an old Hollywood film. With freckles.

"Hullo." Rose pressed her lips together hard and twiddled a few fingers. Looking at the wall, the doorframe, the brass 11, anything.

Rolling round hazel eyes, Amy stepped aside and let Rose into the flat. For a place sat inside a building made decades ago, it had been very stylishly repurposed. Big and airy, definitely worth a lot. Jackie would have been salivating over it back when they'd lived on the Estate. She'd have made up all sorts of excuses to pop in for a visit and stay long past any agreed-upon time. The living room was down a level, leaving more space for an open dining room of sorts, to the north of which was a mainly-white kitchen. The walls were creamy, and there was a small hallway in between kitchen and living room, with several different-sized doors on either side.

Rose noticed a lot of clean furniture, but the whole thing was a bit colorless. There were no photographs on the walls, no flowers for the table. No stains on the carpet. The doormat didn't budge when she shuffled across it, and it was plain dull green. There wasn't even a smell.

Usually flats, even posh ones, had the smell of whatever meal had just been eaten, or whatever cleaning solution was used most often. Something. Something to tell you people lived a life there. Theirs on the Estate, No.143, had smelled most like Jackie's pomegranate bubble bath and take away. Rose missed that smell. You just couldn't fill a house as big as Pete Tyler's with one scent, not unless you bathed and dined in every room for years.

Will's flat had nothing much homey about it, but he seemed visibly more comfortable now that he was here. He was rummaging through cupboards and drawers, and little things like paperclips and receipts were being scattered along the kitchen tiles.

Amy was watching the mess from the tops of her eyes, head lowered like a bull.

"I'm fine," Rose said, more to her than to Will. "Really, s'nothing, just a bit banged up." She was edging backward, wanting to melt through the wall, be halfway to Torchwood in the next ten seconds.

At once, Will stopped rummaging and looked up, but before he could reprimand her or wheedle her further into the flat, Amy was stepping in.

"Oh, 'course you're not fine, look at ya," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Y'look like a cat tried to eat you."

Rose's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "Thanks."

"Here." Amy marched into the kitchen, practically shouldered Will into the cooker, and plucked a roll of bandages out of a bin in the cupboard under the sink. When Will reached for them, she jerked the roll out of his way like it was an open flame. Then, without any sort of change of face or posture, she shouted, "Roryyyy!"

A very startled-looking bloke with severe bedhead appeared like a knackered fairy godmother. He came bumbling down the hall, crashing into one of the walls on his way to them, saying mumbly things about how he was coming and not to worry.

Rory had a sharp nose and soft eyes and it seemed his mouth was perpetually open, even if nothing was coming out. He looked from his wife to Will to Rose. "What's happened?"

Amy took a moment to turn her glare on him, but Rose saw her shoulders relax as she met his eyes. She threw the roll of bandages at him. "You," she said in a voice that was definitely not matching her face, "have a patient." Then she pointed to Rose.

Rory caught the roll just barely, glancing again from person to person with that gaping mouth.

"And you," Amy added, grabbing the hood of Will's woolly coat with a hand that was more like a claw, "are gonna start answerin' me."

She dragged Will to the living room so that Rory and Rose had more space—or so that she could devour Will whole without making a mess in the kitchen. Hard to say which. Rose tried not to look at all amused by this, still wishing she could dematerialize.

Rory stared at her in a jittery way that made her think he could relate. "Hi."

"Hi."

In the living room, they could very clearly hear Amy whispering, "Where were you and who is that?"

"I'm Rose," Rose offered, looking at Rory but saying it loudly enough that everyone could hear.

Will agreed, "She's Rose."

Amy side-eyed Rose and stood stock-still, waiting for an answer from Will, who was also glancing at Rose with a much different sort of expression. Like he was sidelonging a new car or an old favourite playmate.

"Sorry—" Rory wagged his head as if water had got in his ears. He began tugging one of the dining room chairs out for Rose to sit in. "You're Rose? The Rose, I mean—" he blinked over his shoulder at his wife and Will, and made a silly little huffing noise. Like a chortle. "The policewoman?"

"M'not a policewoman," Rose was saying, and at the same time Will was blustering, "I never said she was a policewoman!"

"Sorry," Rory said again. "Er—er, hang on. I mean, 'scuse me."

He went out of sight then, down the hall somewhere. Rose didn't want to keep standing there like an idiot while Amy glared at Will and Will stubbornly slid his hands into his pockets and avoided the glare. So she sat, lips pursed, and pointedly did not watch them. She flipped her hands palms-up over her legs, examining the little scratches and checking for any splinters. All the light in the flat was helpfully cold and white, so it wasn't hard. Nothing looked broken, and she couldn't see any splinters. She was terribly sliced up, though, in the tiniest, most frustrating ways. In between fingers—and the one on her face was really stinging now.

Rory returned seconds later with a proper First Aid kit, and then to Rose's surprise he took a detour into the living room to whack Will upside the head with it.

"Ow!" Will doubled over, hand flying to the point of contact.

Amy's mouth twitched.

Rory met Will's indignant stare with a flimsy look of reproach. "That," he said, "was for thinking you can patch up cuts without cleaning them first, how many times have I tried to explain to you about infection? Honestly. Because it—" Then he caught the look his wife was giving him and quickly added, ruining the effect, "A-And…for leaving without saying where you're…going. I guess."

"You guess?" Amy repeated, eyebrows up.

"I'll um." Rory gestured with both hands and the whole kit back to the upper level. "I'll just see to…"

Then he returned to Rose, while Amy went back to interrogating Will.

Amy didn't bother keeping quiet now. She seemed to decide it wasn't worth it. Or it could have been that she liked raising her voice. "You swan off early in the morning, no phonin', 'cos you heard there's people vanishing and you think, oh, sounds like fun, let's see—"

"Amy—"

"—next thing we know, you turn up here with a stranger, a bleeding stranger, a stranger who is literally bleeding, and y'won't say where you've been or what you've got up to, that is not normal flatmate behavior. That isn't even decent, now start talking!"

"Oh, I can talk now, can I?" Will's head came up and he gave Amy a thin smile Rose had not yet seen on him. His voice was much quieter than the ginger's. His eyelids were lowered and his hands were still in his pockets. That smile was obviously not a happy one. It was like a smirk. Or a scowl that was hiding behind a smile.

This did not stop Amy. "You went out to explore a crime scene."

"I went to help a friend."

"Y'never can just explain anythin', can you? Always gotta be mysterious—"

"Amy, what," Will said, emphatically, exasperatedly, "are you talking about?"

His flatmate looked between his eyes, mouth drawn into a tight little bow. She seemed flummoxed.

"Look, even if I could explain, which I definitely can't and definitely won't, you'd never believe it, so let's leave it there, shall we?"

"No," Amy hissed, "we are not leavin' it, what do you mean I won't believe you? I always believe you, that's the problem!"

"Amy," Rory suddenly said. He was kneeling, his back to the living room, applying the last of the bandages to Rose's wounds. It was a warning of some kind. She could hear it in his tone, loud and clipped. Neither of them had tried for their own conversation, nor pretended they weren't interested in the one taking place a short distance away.

At Rory's tone, Amy finally paused, mouth still open to complain, and seemed to take in Will's expression. Will, on his end, was looking at her like she had started speaking gibberish. Rose was equally confused, but probably not for whatever reason he was.

Amy was like an apprenticed Jackie, just flown from the Jackie Tyler Nest of Lectures. A fledgling. She seemed to tower over Will, though he was definitely taller, and Rose could tell just from looking at her she had spent a long time, maybe all day, feeling very anxious indeed. Exactly like her mum. All that anger came from fear. Why did Will's married model flatmate talk to him like he was a big kid she had to look after?

"Always believe me about what," Will raised his eyebrows, voice still low in lieu of actual privacy, "exactly?"

Amy let out a breath she had apparently been holding. "Nothing. Just—I meant that, I do, I would always believe you, if—if there—" Then she broke off with a little grunt. "Never mind what, this isn't about me, this is about you, about you and her and gettin' mixed up in things y'shouldn't—"

"Amy," Rory said again, faster, "I really think we should leave it."

It was a rescue, that was obvious. Amy did not have to like the life preserver, she just had to grab hold. Rory, Rose decided, must be the household mediator. The Pete Tyler of the flat. Janie coming in with biscuits just as Jackie's tone reached dog-whistle levels.

She wanted to laugh at all of them, one of those stupid, inappropriate laughs like the one she'd done with Will in front of 310 Hettie Row. She couldn't help it. She found the comparison to her mother endeared Amy to her, even in spite of the legs. And she liked Rory, too. It was hard not to like a bloke who said "off we go" under his breath every time he applied Neosporin to a wound.

There was a moment of cold silence and Will, with a face like the weekend had finally begun, stepped up to be on level with Rory and Rose, joining them in the dining room. Amy came too after a minute, arms folded so tightly her leather jacket creaked and sent a wave of nostalgia through Rose.

"This bit," Rory said authoritatively, lifting her right foot by the shoe with two careful hands, "is the bit you're gonna watch out for. It's the deepest one."

"No…stitches though, right?"

"Shouldn't be," Rory surmised. "It's not that deep, but. Yeah, watch it. And uh, I'm Rory," he added as an afterthought, offering a hand.

"Cheers." Rose shook it, grinning.

Amy leaned down a bit to insert herself into their eyelines, arms still crossed, but her tone was lighter. "Amy."

Will had been sort of shuffling about in Rose's peripherals, either bored or lost in thought. Now he surged forward. "Right, yeah, good we all know each other, now—is she fixed yet?"

"Is she—" Rory looked up at him, blinking a lot. "Yes. Yeah, she's fixed." He scoffed, stood up, and began packing things back into the first aid kit. Then he paused. "Sorry, does anyone else hear some sort of…beeping?"

"That's me." Rose dived into her bag, which she'd placed beside her feet. She unraveled the Void detector and its alarm filled the room.

Beebeep. Beebeep. Beebeep.

"What is that thing, some sorta calculator?" Amy leaned closer, inspecting the detector with her nose wrinkled.

Rose sucked in her top lip at the detector, narrowing her eyes. It still beamed out a little green light, beeped louder than ever, and the little screen was blank now. Hitting it so far had not done any good, but it made her feel better to knock it about a bit. Three pairs of curious eyes watched her fiddle with the thing, watched her hitting its power switch off and on again with the same result. It was never going to work properly. One more piece of this world she couldn't really count on.

"Does this mean they're here?" Will asked, eyes shooting toward the door like he thought he'd better check outside.

"No," Rose snorted, half chuckling. She kept watching the green light. No change. She was going to have to have a long chat with the techies at Torchwood after all this was over. Or, if her most self-interested theory about today's adventure was right, she could have the Doctor himself give them a talking-to. "Think it's still broken. Might as well leave it off, not like it's gonna help us now."

She switched it off for good, dropping it back into her bag with less care than she'd shown the banana.

"What's not here?" Amy demanded.

Rory glanced at her and she got looser, swinging her arms, almost really pouting now.

"Oh, come on." Amy looked at Will, looked at Rose. "Out with it! We won't tell, we promise! We're good at keepin' secrets, isn't that right, Rory?"

Rory rolled his eyes, but he swallowed and Rose saw what looked like genuine interest in the way he held his mouth. "That is fair, actually."

"You really won't believe it," Will warned, smirking at Rose. He leaned with his hands gripping against the table, as if he could hop up and sit on it any moment, the way he'd done in her mum's kitchen.

Rose didn't think there was much funny about what they'd been through, but some little trickle of excitement did shoot through her anyway. Everybody loved telling a good story. Everybody loved feeling as though they had something interesting to share, something that made the room hold its breath. Something that made them cooler, wiser. Human nature.

She couldn't resist smiling back. Will was probably just as exhausted and nervous as she still was, sitting there on that chair with her body all bandaged up. But if he was anything like her—and it seemed he was—it started to seem fun after the fact, after surviving. In spite of the fear, or perhaps because of it. Maybe that was human nature too. The Doctor would call that thick, turn his nose up—but he'd like it, too.

"Try us," Amy said, breaking their little moment. When Rose's eyes turned to her she saw Amy was slack-jawed and looking worried again.

"Right." Rose took a long, slow breath. "Um. See, I work for this…big place, sort of—detective type stuff, you know, and thing is, we've been looking into this stuff about people goin' missing…."

Rose began explaining how they'd gone to the house on Hettie Row, looking for clues about Stacy. She left out the bit that she had been moving against direct orders not to get involved in the mystery. She also left out the bit that she worked for a discreet alien-hunting, Earth-defending organization that had just barely gotten off the ground. Not only because it would take too long to explain, but because she'd signed papers that said she couldn't. Instead, she let them think whatever they liked—maybe that she was mad, or a P.I., or some nutty student looking for a thrill and had dragged their flatmate along with. Didn't matter.

Will chimed in every few sentences, mainly for dramatic effect. When they got to the bit about the statues moving, he glanced at Rory and Amy and lingered, like he was really itching to get their reactions.

Amy was milky before, but now she seemed sickly pale. All her freckles got sharper. Rory was opening and closing his mouth, faster and faster, like a cow having a really good chew. They were both staring at Rose as she talked, but she got the creepy feeling neither of them were even seeing her anymore. Maybe everyone living in this flat had a thing about statues.

"Look, I know it sounds mad, right," she quickly added, "but I swear it's real. And we think it's them stealing the people."

Rory kept opening and shutting his mouth, wobbly, but sometimes a few words got out in between. "And—so that's—I mean, how did—did they—"

Amy cut through it. "How many?"

Will's eyebrows came down fast. "How many?" he spluttered. "Moving statues, statues that can move, and you want to know how many there were? Rory, say something else, do that again."

Rory, obligingly, "It—it, it—"

"That's better!"

"D'you believe us?" Rose asked, heart starting to pick up speed. This was always the best bit for her. Not the figuring things out, not the realization that the world was madder than ever, not even the saving-the-day. The part where you made friends, learned people were better than you'd ever expected. The part where ordinary people were the most surprising thing of all.

Amy's lips had stretched thin. "Yes we believe you, get on with it, how many were there?"

"Er." Rose lifted a hand, letting it slap back down on her thigh. Ignored the stinging. "Three."

"But could be more," Will said, raising both hands. "Only three after us, and you should've seen, bonkers, one of them had claws—"

"And y'just thought you'd muck about in a huge empty house where people go missing, did you'?" Amy suddenly snarled, back to being absolutely furious. It was like flicking on a tap. It was all turned on Will, the Jackie Tyler affect in full force.

"Yeah, but look at us," Will replied brightly, waving a hand between himself and Rose. "Back in one piece."

"Oh my god." Rory ran a hand through his sandy hair. "That was really—really—" Then both hands went to his face, dragging at his eyes. He finally managed to complete a sentence, croaking it out. "—just—stupid."

"You've no idea what you're doin', do you?" Amy went on asking more questions that didn't want answers. "None at all! Y'big stupid useless—"

"Ohhhh, my god," Rory was moaning. He turned round, still rubbing his face like an old man.

"—don't even know what they are—"

"Yeah," Will suddenly said, rocketing away from the table, gesturing with both hands at no particular target before Rose, "Yeah, what are they, d'you think? Or is this all some dreadful awful nightmare we're living, am I gonna wake up in my bed any minute?" He snapped his fingers. "Hallucinogens, that's it, maybe! Yes? Did we go down the pub, rowdy night, and that's what this means, eh?" Then he made a face. "No, I hate the pub, never mind, but still—"

They were all three making so much noise. Amy was yelling at Will, Will was deliberately not addressing that, and Rory was just groaning under his breath with a lot of rubbing and wrinkling. Like a pathetic melody underneath the other two. Rose couldn't keep up. She wanted to laugh. Or clap really hard, shout louder than Amy and make them stop. Or just get up and leave, because she was so tired and they were nice but there were so many other things she ought to be focused on. Like alerting her team. Or calling her mum. Or jumping out the nearest window and finding the Doctor and never looking back.

But now she was good and properly involved with them. Now the Williamses knew about the disappearances and the Angels. She had to stay, she had to give back to them. They'd mended Rose's wounds and given her sanctuary, and Will had been there when her foot went through that step, and he'd gotten her out of her bedroom and into Stacy's old manor in the first place. She couldn't just up and leave them squabbling. That wasn't what the Doctor would do. He'd employ them, quarreling all the way through. Or else he'd shush them and help them to see what he saw.

Plus, Will was very cute, the way he was babbling faster and faster about what might be going on, all anxious and flappy. And this Rory was a good nurse. And Amy was—well, she was married to Rory, so there had to be something good about her outside the Jackie-ness. Hard not to want to include them, even just because it felt good not to go through this alone.

"Whatever they are," she said, and to her surprise they all froze and quieted down to listen, "they're not from here. All right? S'not students or anythin', we're not drugged," she added, rolling her eyes at Will. "Look, it's hard to explain, but I've seen this stuff before."

"Really?" Amy turned fully to face her, hip jutting out like a sword. Her eyebrows bounced, once, the picture of skepticism.

Rose stilled, trying to be mature about the hip and the bounce. Trying not to frown too obviously at the ginger. "Don't think you'd understand, actually. Bit complicated."

She should have tried harder.

Amy's mouth opened in a slow wet scoff. "You'd be surprised what I'd understand, thank you very much."

Rory pulled his hands away from his face and said thuddingly, "So your lot, sorry—you said you're not a police…person—your lot, whoever they are, they deal with this all the time, then, here? I mean—I mean, here, in…er. Er, London."

Amy directed her glare at her husband and shook her head. Rose could see Rory received that reaction quite often.

Rose blinked, in danger of giving the nurse the same treatment. "Sort of. Not much lately, these things're like…well. S'the first I've seen of 'em, but—"

"Ooh, good, love a test run, how excitin'." Amy grunted. "Baby's first monster hunt, is it?"

Before Rose could respond, or maybe haul off and slap her, Will jumped in. He seemed eager to return to the point. "First you've seen, right, cool, but what makes statues come to life? Can a house actually be haunted? And if it's them got Daniel Barnes, Stacy, how? How did Laura get that letter, how do statues fit in with that?" He raised his eyebrows at Rose. "Maybe they're ghosts."

"Ghosts," repeated Rory, dully. He was exchanging some weird glance with his wife, looked nauseous.

"S'not ghosts, don't be stupid," Rose grumbled, reaching down to her bag and checking her mobile because she didn't want to look at Amy anymore. There was more than one Jackie temper in the room, and now was not the time to stoke one another's fire. She was better than that.

Well, no she wasn't, but she could pretend.

"Aww, that's right, Willie, don't be stupid," Amy whinged.

Rose's head shot up. "I know what I'm talkin' about."

"Do you, 'cos you said this is the first you've seen of 'em."

"First of them, yeah, but I've seen all sorts, and I know whatever we're dealin' with, it's not ghosts, so d'you mind?"

"I mind when it's almost got my friends killed, now you mention it, yeah!"

"D'you know, I—I really don't think now's the time," Will began, but both women shot him identical glowers and he snapped his mouth shut. "Sorry."

"All right then, if you're so clever, tell us what they are." Amy's arms were back to being folded, face aflame.

Rose hesitated, jaw working. She couldn't say aliens. She couldn't, not to three civilians. If that was indeed what those things could be called. Maybe they weren't. Maybe they were some sort of ancient beings from this exact planet—she didn't know. This wasn't home, she couldn't answer anything for certain yet.

"I don't know," she said slowly, hating it when Amy pursed her lips, "but it don't matter, really. 'Cos whatever it is, it's gotta do with time, and that's what's killin' people—"

"Um," Rory said loudly, lifting a finger, chortling, "that's…ridiculous. Isn't it?" he added, glancing at Amy at a speed which must have cracked his neck a little.

"Totally." Amy bounced her eyebrows again, but she was looking through Rose now, same as before, and her knuckles tightened on the leather. Some part of her believed Rose; that was the only explanation for that face. Had to. "Will's probably right, anyway, they're ghosts. Or y'just imagined it."

"Imagined it?" Will huffed.

"D'you think?" Rose snapped, lifting her injured ankle and wiggling it.

"Don't do that," Rory muttered somewhere in the background.

"Come on, how can statues be doin' anything with time?" Amy asked.

"S'what I've gotta work out," Rose told them, sniffing. She stood. "We've been followin' this for weeks, right, and now we've got a proper lead. Thanks to Will." And she turned to give the lanky bloke a big, genuine grin.

Will grinned back, twinkling.

Amy, looking between them, threw up her hands and stormed down the hall. They heard a door slam and that was it. Rory, still fussing with his hair and face and looking a bit staggered, hurried after her. The door shut much more nicely that time. And then Rose and Will were on their own in the dining room.

It was all wrong, all of it. Amy thought she was going to absolutely explode. She hadn't felt this way since she was ten. She'd give anything to have a nice, fat psychiatrist's arm to sink her teeth into. Or a glass she could throw against somebody's head. The blonde's, maybe. These were the sorts of impulses she could never tell anyone about—anyone except Rory, anyway.

Oh, and here he came, slipping into the bedroom soft and sweet as a feather.

"It's okay," were the first words out of his mouth.

Amy whipped around. "How can it be okay?"

Rory didn't shush her, though she knew she was being too loud. He took both her arms, rubbing up and down, and she saw by his ears and feet he was frightened too. "Look—it—it's bad, yeah, but—"

"He saw them, Rory," Amy whispered, practically whimpering. "He actually saw them. He can't have seen them."

"I know."

"D'you know what that means, that means they definitely saw him!"

"I know."

"He's bein' stupid. He's bein' stupid and he's not listening to us," she murmured, pacing again. Couldn't just stand and let Rory caress this all away, didn't work like that. "He never listens to us, never trusts us."

"Amy," Rory said, and something in his voice made her stop and turn round. He was looking at her with a face like granite. The Roman face, she'd started calling it. It was hot. And annoying. "You really can't keep talking like that. Especially not with him."

"Like what, what d'you mean."

"He's not the Doctor." Rory's eyebrows climbed up, up to his hairline. "Remember? He's just…Will. He doesn't understand."

She didn't want him to be right. She wanted to be angry.

"And the Doctor did trust us." Rory approached her again, slowly, but he didn't take her arms. "'Cos we're here, and…'cos now he's human, yeah?"

"He's an idiot."

"Yes," Rory agreed, and his chortle relaxed her heartrate a bit. "Yes, he—he is an idiot, thanks, been trying to tell you that for months, actually—even when he was a Time Lord—"

"D'you remember when he got himself stuck in a giant kite?"

"Or when he ate that purple stuff that made him talk backwards for half an hour?"

"Couldn't even ask for directions—"

"Not that different from the usual, really—"

A minute or so passed where they were just giggling together. Amy didn't miss how her cheeks hurt and it took away some of the boiling that had been going on inside her head. She watched Rory's smile and admired his teeth and tried to let go of the last of the volcano. When she did, a deep aching sadness, a ripple of worry, was what came surging up from underneath. She met Rory's eyes and knew he had some of that, too.

"I miss him," she said as their laughter petered out.

"Yeah," Rory replied, quieter. Smile gone. "Yeah, I know." Then he cleared his throat, blinked a lot. "Look, it's fine. I-It's not like they know where we live, is it? And—I mean, even if they did see him—they can't have followed him all the way here without…you know. Being seen. And then they'd have to stop, right? So—we're safe."

He didn't sound like he believed that. Amy couldn't blame him.

"D'you really think they can do stuff with time?"

Rose looked up from her mobile, pacing in the Williams's living room. Her phone remained oddly silent, no messages. She wondered briefly if the Angels could have done something to their electronics—maybe that was why the Void detector was on the fritz, maybe it had been them all along. Then she chucked that idea because it didn't make any sense. She was grasping at anything, anything she could understand so far, and coming up with precious little. Will, bless, was trying to help. He hadn't even checked himself for injuries yet.

Will was sitting on the coffee table with his hands behind him for support. He watched her with half-closed eyes, mouth slightly open, slightly smiling. Friendly even in anxiety.

"I dunno. Maybe. 'Cos Stacy's sister, she got that letter from the fifties, you said, so—s'gotta be." Rose snorted, half a laugh, letting her phone drop against her side. She added numbly, half to herself, "Can't believe Mickey was right."

Will's smile fell, and he looked at his shoes for a moment. After a bit of silence he said, head bobbing, "So you've done this sort of thing before?"

"Um, yeah." Rose blinked, sighing. "S'like I said, bit of travelin'. Long time ago."

Will picked up a silvery coaster holder, turning it over in his hands. He glanced back up at Rose out of the tops of his eyes, under all the fringe. "I believe you."

"Yeah?"

"Amy did too, I think," Will assured her. "Sorry, by the way."

"What for?"

"For letting her wind you up."

"Nah, s'all right." Rose shrugged, blowing out between pursed lips. Fixing her eyes on the dead television screen, on her reflection. "Wasn't bothered."

"No?" Will raised his eyebrows, nodding some more, shrewd.

She looked at him then, surprised to see that twinkle was back. And the smile. It was mischievous. What was he getting at? Cheeky lad. And it was only mildly embarrassing to be caught out as just another competitive, silly girl at heart after all that adventuring before. Had to be the best in front of any blokes, had to be the one. Worse, Will still had an odd way of reading her, knowing things just with a glance.

And he could stop that right now. Rose let her jaw go slack and she shook her head at him, an eyeroll in everything but her eyes. Forcing back a laugh out of pride. "Shut up."

Will snorted softly, smile opening.

"Is she always like that, though, I mean—" Rose resituated on the couch, bringing her legs up so she could pull against her good ankle with a hand. "She was all sort of—scared."

"Was she?"

"Yeah, and for you." Rose grunted, smirking at him when he looked up. "C'mon, don't act like you didn't notice."

Will spread his hands. "She is, now you mention. Nags like anything, and not just about the big stuff. Never really sure why. Though," he added, glancing at the ceiling with a kind of scoff, "I suppose this counts as something finally worthy of actually being scared. For me." He mimicked her tone. "Still. Made it out."

"I shouldn't have brought you," Rose mumbled, not really thinking.

When there was silence in response, she met his eyes. He was blinking at her in confusion.

"S'nothing personal," she assured him. "It's just, I'm used to it, right? But you're not. S'like…maybe she had a point. Worryin'." Rose shrugged, looking away. "You were only there 'cos of me. Could've been you next."

"Or you."

"So?"

"I wanted to come."

"Yeah," Rose huffed, "but it's only 'cos you're mad."

"No, it is because I like you," Will said, very slowly, like she was thick. He kept his eyes on the carpet, fingernails digging into the coffee table, but his tone was sure. "You worked it out about the house long before I did, and you didn't do it 'cos it's your job, you did it because you wanted to help people. I saw it. And then I wanted to help you." Green eyes darted up to her. "You're an inspiration. Don't let anyone tell you different."

Rose snorted, but she preened too. "Are you tryin' that charmer thing on me?"

"Is it working?"

"Might be."

"Good." He settled back on the coffee table, tongue rolling around against his cheek, she could see it, and oh dear, his eyes were going glassy and soft again. Like on 310 Hettie Row's dangerous stoop. With the banana. It was cute, the usual unfortunate cute he carried around with him, not his fault he had a good smile.

But that did go on a little too long. No, ta. He was nice and they got on brilliantly, but he was following an impossible act. Plus she wasn't her mother. So Rose dismissed any fluttering straightaway. It had been too weird a day; things were bound to feel unsteady. Trauma was like that, she'd learned.

She went back to old faithful, the mobile, pulling it out of her pocket and flipping it open. Checking again for any messages, anything from Jackie. From Pete. Mickey, Sally, anybody. With all the bigness that had happened in that old manor, it felt like everyone in her life just had to know it. Somewhere in their subconsciouses. It felt like they should have all been calling and texting, leaving frantic voicemails. Blabbing at her across the city. No such luck.

Thankfully, Will broke the moment himself, quite comfortably. "What'll you do now then, eh? Finally call for some of that backup?"

"Could do, but…" Rose squinted at the mobile, trying not to let out another sigh. Might get annoying. "There's no point, might as well just go—"

"What, go home?" Will scoffed. "Back home, back to bed, after that? Blimey, you have got used to this if you can sleep a wink after the time we've had."

"No," Rose's palm came up as if to forestall the idea. "No, not home, definitely not goin' home."

Will's eyebrows rose. "Trouble?"

"Big trouble." Rose blew out her cheeks. "Seriously. Y'think Amy's bad, just wait'll you see Jackie on a roll." She grinned when Will started chortling. "Be nothin' left of me by morning."

"Stay here, then."

"What?"

He wasn't put off by the sharp glance, the wide eyes she gave him.

"Go on, spend the night." Will flapped a hand at the general area around them. "Couch's comfy, lots of extra blankets. I'll even nick a toothbrush for you from the shops downstairs, hey? What d'you think?"

"Don't think your mates want that," Rose surmised, clicking her tongue.

"Oh, they're not the boss of me." Will stood up, clapping his hands. "Or you, for that matter, we're grown-ups, do what we like. I said I was a sweet-talker; I can have them both come round in a jiffy. Anyway, you can't go home looking like that."

"Gotta report back sometime." Rose nodded to her phone, indicating Torchwood. But there was no strength in it. The longer she sat there, the less she felt like getting up.

"Then why haven't you?" Will slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, looking archly down at her.

"'Cos…" Rose did sigh, then, long and halfheartedly. She hadn't called because there would be more trouble there, too, if Pete caught wind through the grapevine that she'd disobeyed a direct order. He wasn't her department's head, but he'd been right when he said he did rank higher. Woe at home and woe on the job. And Will knew it.

"Gotcha." Will's smirk was back.

"I haven't said yes," Rose argued, but her reluctant grin was confirmation enough.

"Yeahhh, you're staying." He went darting up the dais, spinning on a heel to point at her. "Right. I'll tell them in the master. Slumber party at No.11!"

When he headed down the hall, Rose leaned back against the couch and shut her eyes. Long day. Weird day. Weird people. But here she was safe, at least. Here, she could process what they'd found, process Will's soft eyes, work out what she'd tell Jackie. What she'd tell Pete, how she'd explain to Torchwood. What to send Sally, how to keep Mickey from dancing a jig when she told him he'd hit the nail straight on the head. She could try not to feel the cuts from the manor's wood, she could stay off her bad ankle and appease the nurse with the pointy nose and the kind voice down the hall.

And she could lie on someone else's couch and think about the Doctor. Because there was still that hope, and it was real. It was more, now, because of the Angels. No one would hear the hope, no one would know or reason or tell her to live her life and get on with it. She could think and think and think of the Doctor to her stupid old heart's content. As if, somehow, that would bring them together again.