It was late 2003, lukewarm in the air, wet leaves stuck to her shoes, the day Jimmy Stone called her a cow and drove off with Rose's secondhand laptop in the backseat of his car. Ruined, furious, mascara running, she'd pelted after the car and seen him throw his gorgeous head back in a laugh. Told him one day, he'd come to no good, and he hadn't even been listening.

They were supposed to have been made for each other, the two of them. He was in a band, rugged, older, smarter. Rose had been young and desperate to move, go anywhere. Smiling easily, wearing his chunky plastic rings on one hand, wrapping his old shoelace around her wrist in front of all her friends. She'd thought it was proper love, and if it wasn't, at least it was different. At least it was new. She'd been absolutely convinced it was worth dumping Mickey, worth leaving school, worth getting out of No. 143. Absolutely convinced life would always be this, now, just her and Jimmy, fighting the world and the boredom off together, forever and ever.

And then everything changed and fell apart so quickly, so suddenly, after just a year of dating and sharing a bedsit, Rose had been dizzy for weeks. On and off blubbing, the rug yanked viciously out from underneath her, she'd gone back to the Powell Estate and Jackie had been waiting with open arms. Tipped all Jimmy's rings down the toilet first thing. Of course there was an I-told-you-so, but after that, the first night back, Rose sat in the tiny living room with her mum quietly listening, and she stared into her mug of tea and thought she never wanted to feel this sense of disorientation again.

"He just left me," she'd sniffled. "Just up and left, Mum. Took the money and he—" A big swallow. "And what do I do now? Now he's gone, now it's all over—I'll never—god, I'm so useless. It wasn't supposed to be like this!" And she'd slapped her arm down on the nearest throw pillow.

Jackie had watched her with a big, lipstick-faded frown on her face and lines underneath her eyes and said simply, "D'you know what, sweetheart, that's life. That's just life, that is."

Then she'd reached over and brushed sticky hair out of her daughter's eyes and blinked like she was somewhere else. Did that sometimes. As if she were blinking herself back to a churchyard in 1987.

"You're never ready."

Rose had been sixteen years old.

And stood now in the flat behind No. 11, in an entirely different dimension, watching a pointy nurse try to decide where to put a table lamp on a stack of furniture pushed up against a rattling door that seemed all too thin, Rose wondered why she was remembering that particular evening at the Powell Estate. The human mind was weird, pulling up odd things at all the wrong times. If she survived today, she might wake up later tonight in her bed and understand and laugh. Or roll her eyes.

But at this moment, it was just annoying.

"Where is it?" Amy demanded, dragging Rose's focus off of the door.

She was shouting at Will, which was not doing anything to make him look less nauseated. Pressed up against the cooker, hands gripping its handle, he shouted right back. "Where is what, what're you on about?"

"The watch!" Amy strode into the kitchen to stand bow-legged in front of her flatmate. "Where's the watch?"

Will looked at her like she had something in her nose. "What d'you need a watch for?"

The door shook harder. Rory let out a yell. "Can we hurry up, please?"

"Here—" Rose ripped her eyes off of Will and Amy and flung herself toward the couch. She helped Rory by lifting one end of the bit of it that remained, carrying it to the door as extra insurance. She had to be doing something other than standing there like a fool.

When they'd finished, though his gaze was glued to the entrance, Rory called over his shoulder, "I gave it to you, remember?"

Amy called back, "Yeah, and I gave it to him to look after, 'cos it's gotta be him, hasn't it? Oi—pasty—" evidently she was still staring Will down, "—little silver watch, where?"

There was a silence in the kitchen, a brief one. Rose looked back and saw Will gaping at Amy, utterly confused. Then the lights flickered and she jumped, exchanging a horrified look with Rory.

"What's doin' that?" Rose breathed as the light over the table did it again.

"I think it's them," Rory muttered.

"What, they can change the lights?"

"Um. Yes, I'm guessing they probably can."

A noise like a pair of headphones being plugged halfway in sounded above them. The bulb hanging over the door was waning, glow going in and out, slowly, as if it were some kind of white-cold alarm. Rose found herself transfixed by it, breathing fast.

"Right," Rose mumbled. "Maybe we should move."

"Maybe we should."

She and Rory backed up as one, staggering together with their faces pointed toward the creaking door, halting halfway past the living room. That level of the flat was now looking ridiculously empty and messy, like the Williamses really were moving house soon, what with all its larger items being used as a barricade.

Amy let out a frustrated exclamation that made both her husband and uninvited guest jump. She appeared round the corner of the kitchen's hall-sharing wall and stormed down said corridor, into Will's room. Rose and Rory, as though hypnotized, kept watching the door. Rose had the vague sensation she should be doing something else, but every time the door rattled, she couldn't think what that might be.

Both the dining room light and the entryway light began buzzing and flickering at the same time.

"Could someone," Will shouted from the kitchen, "please tell me what's going on!"

Rose felt her feet moving before she knew what she was doing. When she entered the kitchen, Will was still white-knuckling the cooker, eyes darting from one light to the next. He was shaking and his hair looked an absolute wreck, like he'd been roughing it up with both hands instead of swooping it to the side as usual.

Rose stooped, trying to gain eye contact. She put both hands round the nearest arm and tugged, firmly. "It's okay," she said, talking over the rattling. "S'all right, just—"

"Stop saying that." Will looked at her cagily. "Clearly everything's not all right, clearly I am losing my mind, will you get off—"

And he pulled free of her again.

Rose bit down hard on the indignation that pulled her eyebrows together. "No, 'cos you can't just stay in here, we need help!" She gave a great heave at his arm once more, yanking him with all her might away from the cooker, where he seemed as vindictively self-cornered as a frightened cat.

He started raising his voice louder with every step she made him take.

"What did I say, d'you remember I said I can't help, I've told you, I can't—do—any of this—"

Rose ignored that rubbish and continued to pull him, drag him out of the kitchen and into the main area, because letting him panic in a different room than everyone else was as close as the group might get to splitting up. Not a good idea in any dangerous situation; he'd been right at Hettie Row.

Of course, she wasn't about to risk life and limb executing the same force against Amy, who had not yet emerged from down the hall and could be heard throwing things about back there.

This stick-together mentality meant drawing Will, very temporarily, a bit closer to the door on their way to Rory, where he definitely did not want to go. His trainers scuffed the kitchen tiles and then left darker lines in the carpet; he was resisting her with everything he had and covered in sweat. It was also very difficult keeping hold of a person who was trembling so violently.

They must have looked a sight, twisting and tugging at one another in a half-empty flat, but the blurred stick-figure that was Rory in Rose's peripherals did not seem to have a glance to spare for them.

Her voice rose right back at Will. "Come on—"

"No no, stop, stop touching me, you're making it worse!" Will snarled, voice cracking, and he gave a great big heave—he was physically stronger than she was—and crashed against the right-hand wall of the corridor, Rory having now been passed by a few steps. His breath was coming in gasps, and he pushed both palms against his temples.

Rose, having finally got them all in some sort of haphazard group—all except Amy—let him go. Mainly so she could gawk at him. "Makin' what worse?"

Will straightened suddenly as if yanked upright by an invisible force, but he still pressed at his own head. "It's like I can't see," he whispered.

"Sorry?" Rory tore his gaze off the door. "Like you what?"

"You," Will said, only looking at Rose. As though he were accusing her. "I can see you, keep seeing you. Only you're different—it's all—all—golden and…burning, and-and-and these…creatures…" He winced, made a growly sound, sliding down the wall a bit like someone had pushed him. "Blimey—"

"Are you okay?" Rose asked stupidly, mouth floundering as she watched him, uncomprehending. Something was really wrong with Will and it was almost scarier than whatever was happening out in the building's corridors.

("Got it!" came Amy's shout from the back bedroom.)

At the same moment, Will blinked blearily across at Rose, licking his lips. "Probably just partial transient processing, bound to do some damage on the rebound—" He let out a frightened yelp. "No—what—what? What's happening to me? Rory?" He made an effort to straighten up like a normal person, but it really did seem difficult somehow. He fixed watery eyes on Rory. "Why does it hurt—"

Rory shut his own eyes hard for a moment but did not answer. Rose faced Will, stuck. She had no idea what to do now. She wanted to help, but he flinched when she got near him; clearly he was having an absolute attack, incoherent with fear. Spouting drivel. Had he always been this way? How had he got through Hettie Row, did he think it had all been some sort of game?

Well, he couldn't think that now.

"M'sorry," Rose told him, gulping, head jerking from the door to the young man shaking up against a wall. She meant it, too. "I—I'm really sorry, I never shoulda—"

There was a slight crash, not from in front of them but behind them, and Amy came hurtling down the corridor. Her hands were cupped.

"I've got it," Amy repeated, breathless. "Got it. Here, quick!" She dumped a small shiny object into Will's lap.

Then all of the lights in the flat turned off simultaneously. Like a power outage. Amy let out a cut-off shriek. So did Rory. Rose thought her heart missed several beats at once. It only lasted two seconds, just about, but when the lights zapped back on, things were exponentially worse.

A great big crraaack sounded in the entryway, and when vision was restored, everyone could see a stone arm had split the wood of the door and was frozen halfway into the flat. Another arm—no, just a hand—was higher up than that, and for some reason Rose's mind fixed on the fact that both visible hands were left ones. So two of the Angels, at least, were outside, and those two had nearly got in.

"Okay, open it, open it, open it now," Rory was gabbling.

Amy sounded choked somewhere behind Rose. "What're you waitin' for, do it!"

"Do what?" Will yelled. "Tell you the time?"

While they were bellowing at each other, it hit Rose like a flash of lightning. She knew what she was supposed to be doing. She was supposed to be, finally, like Will had been telling her to do for days—call for backup.

"You watchin' 'em?" Rose puffed out to Rory. He was closest to her.

"Yep." Rory said it in a strangled sort of way.

Without wasting any more time, Rose dove for her cloth bag, which she had thrown on the sofa at some point in the last fifteen minutes. It was now tumbled in a heap on the floor of the living room level. She took out several items, trying to get to her mobile quickly enough. Sunglasses, lipstick, Void detector in a towel, magazine, where was it?

"Please can you open that now?" Rory asked tightly.

"Tryin'," Rose barked, thinking he meant her phone, but when she glanced at him there was no sign he had been talking to her. Didn't make sense. Back to business.

Then she heaved out a mildly hysterical little laugh, kneeling on the rug. It wasn't in her bag. It was in her pocket. She'd had it this whole time, all the way up in the lift and into the flat, and it was in her bloody pocket; she'd stuck it there during the chaos so she could use both hands. On autopilot, practically.

The lights flickered again. Furniture flew, Rose ducked. Amy screamed. One of the Angels was wholly inside now, teeth and claws and straining eternally toward the Williamses and their friend. Rose nearly bit off her lower lip, trying to get to Mickey's number at the speed of sound.

Ringing. Ringing.

Off to her right, up a level, Amy was shrieking at Will and Will was rasping back, both voices edged with terror.

"Open it!"

"Sorry, haven't we got bigger problems!"

Ringing. Ringing. Mickey, come on!

"For once in your stupid life, do as you're told!"

Rory interrupted the shouting. "Look—look, if we can get around them—"

"What?" Will protested.

"I can't do this forever!" Rory went on, ignoring him.

"I've got it," Rose said, and saw Amy and Will start and look round at her. She locked her eyes on the Angel in the entrance. "Got it, lookin'."

She heard Rory give a loud sigh of relief. Then his voice said, scratchy and shrill, "They've left it open; we can get to the car park!"

"Why? No. Car park—car park, what are you talking about?" Will's dim shape near the wall struggled to its feet. Something hit the floor between his feet. "Have you all gone totally, completely mad?"

Suddenly Rose could hear hissing. Right over the sound of the phone ringing. Something slight and echoed and weird…just at the outskirts of her attention…like in Will's room, before…

And just as before, she asked to the general room, distracted, "Can you hear that?"

Nobody answered her. Just as well, it really wasn't important—

"Keep me safe….keep hidden…."

Rose felt her brow furrow, head twitching, trying not to look away from the Angel. "What is that, where's it comin' from?" she demanded.

"What?" Amy asked, a blur of red crouched somewhere by Will.

"That—noise, that's—s'like it's talking…"

"You can hear it talking?" Amy's voice jumped. It sounded louder, like she'd turned toward Rose now.

"You are mad," Will decided, words wobbling. "Yep, mad. All of you. Utterly, utterly bonkers, that's—"

But Rose was distracted, trying to focus on too many things at once. She decided the phone should be top priority, the phone and reaching Torchwood. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. Voicemail message. Rose resisted the urge to chuck her mobile at the face of the Angel leering at the group.

The lights did it again. Faster. The Angel moved, mouth open wider, but not by much. Rose's eyes watered, but she set her jaw and did not waver.

"Pick me up…." There it was again. "Time now. Time come…."

It sounded warm. Sort of familiar, but too quiet. Nobody else seemed to notice it. Was it the Angels doing it? Like a siren call? Rose made an effort to stop listening.

"Amy—" Rory began.

"I know," Amy cut him off.

Rose tried Mickey again, studying the Angel's snarl and breathing slow to steady her heartbeat.

"Will," Amy said in a low voice, "just please, please, please open the watch!"

"No, stop! Stop with the watch, can't you, hello, there's a…a demon statue in the dining room, in case you hadn't noticed!" Will seemed to have disregarded any sort of pain he'd been feeling in favor of his frustration toward Amy. Like a security blanket for him, Rose reckoned.

"Hold it!"

Rose heard another dull thud; Will must have dropped whatever Amy had handed to him. He made a sound like it had burned him.

"What—w-what was that?" Will demanded. "What is this—"

"You have got to trust us!"

"Trust you? Amy, stop it—"

"Just—"

"—I don't know what you want from me!"

"Shut up, you two, there's no time! All right? We've gotta try," Rory insisted. "Amy, it's the only place. He can open it there. If we can get to the Tardis—"

Rose's phone fell from her hand.

If we can get to the Tardis.

The Tardis.

(White noise. Amy's voice. Amy's white noise. "Don't be daft, not without him, that'll lead 'em right to it!")

Rose's head snapped so quickly toward the group near the hall, it was a wonder she hadn't hurt herself. She spoke as though sedated, falling asleep, groggy. "What did you say?"

The Angel.

Just in time, Rose saw Rory turn toward the creature, as if by instinct. When she glanced back at it briefly, guiltily, it had passed the remaining dining room chairs and all the scattered barricade furniture. Now it stood ridiculously close to the others. One hand outstretched, its monstrous looks had been replaced with a demure expression, normal-shaped stone lips. Its fingers were inches from Rory's nose.

"Right." Rory swallowed visibly. "All in favor of getting out of here?"

"Me," said Amy.

"Aye," said Will.

"Yeah," said Rose.

Feeling numb, no, tingling all up and down her arms, Rose stuffed her items haphazardly back into the bag. While the Williamses half-dragged Will with them toward the door, someone always keeping an eye on the Angel in the room, Rose stilled. Her eyes snagged on the Void detector, on its light flashing through the cloth of the towel wrapped around it. Its power button must have been nudged in all the rummaging; it was on again.

And the light was green.

It was like a nightmare. Everything was slow motion. Why was she fixated on the light being green? It was because of the Angels. Surely. Hadn't she already worked that out? But she watched her own hands slowly unwrapping the detector anyway, kneeling there in the living room. Heedless as the others called her name. Her body seemed to understand something before her brain caught up.

The little screen continued to read, just as it had in 310 Hettie Row, POSITIVE.

Positive, Rose thought. It was all she could think for a moment.

"Rose—" That was Will's voice, pulling her out of her trance. Desperate. Terrified. "Stop, get off, we can't leave her!"

"We're not!" Amy told him, and Rose looked up and saw Amy bodily shoving Will through the cleared doorway. She glanced exasperatedly behind her, making eye contact with the blonde on the floor. "Hi there, yeah, in your own time, but could you maybe get up and get out here, we're in a bit of a bind, case you hadn't noticed—"

Rose scrambled to her feet, shoved the godforsaken detector back into her bag, and hurried to slip past Rory. He stood guard at the door, feet planted firmly. Almost looked like he ought to be holding a weapon or something. He was evidently planning on being the last one out. Rose carried her bag loose, swinging, like it was a lot heavier, and felt it hit him slightly as she went, but he barely reacted.

Right outside the flat, Rose immediately came face-to-face with the next Angel. It was monster-y, roaring, the first thing you saw when you got out into the corridor. Rory was not far behind them as they all went pelting down the hall, toward the big twitchy green Exit sign. They each seemed to take turns, shouting one-word warnings at one another, twisting as they ran to look at the Angel they could see.

Lights went in and out of power. Two Angels pursuing them, getting closer with every drop and bob of the electricity. Rose began to feel dizzy, and not just because of the strobe situation. Positive, said her brain sluggishly. The Tardis.

As they entered the stairwell, Amy resumed trying to push what Rose could now see was a dented silver fob watch into Will's hands.

"You have to take this," Amy told him, panting. "Just don't, okay, just don't ask questions."

Will did not listen to her. He stopped to catch his breath on one of the concrete landings, swiping hair out of his face. "Amy," he said haggardly, "what is it with you and this watch?"

He didn't take it; he resolutely kept his fingers curled into his hands, attempting not to touch the silver at all as Amy kept pushing it on him. He didn't look much less panicked than he had upstairs, but now he seemed at least steady enough to talk and think. There was a definite speed in everything he was doing, like closing the door on the Angels in the corridor, breathing in the stairwell, was pressing fast-forward on his faculties.

Rory barreled into Will's shoulder as he came down the steps, instantly turning his head to stare at the upper entrance to the stairwell. Rose followed his gaze to see the face of one of the Angels in the window of the door.

"We need you," Amy was saying now, and she sounded younger than Rose had yet heard her. "Nine months gone, we were so close, and I'm sorry but they're here. They've found us, and I know it's early but it's time, yeah, so please, please—"

They've found us, Rose registered, but she couldn't catch up. Her head was spinning. The green light beeping on the Void detector, Rory saying Tardis, Amy learning so quickly, so quickly with the Angels, what was happening? What was this, where was she? It was difficult enough, focusing on the aliens above them. She didn't have the brainpower, only adrenaline. One thing at a time.

Will backed up against the next floor's door on the landing as Amy advanced, both sets of his fingers splaying out hard against the wood. He looked so sickly, eyes bouncing from Amy to the watch and back again.

"I've told you we haven't got a choice—"

"Leave him alone," Rose burst out agitatedly, pulling her bag tighter up on her shoulder. "S'no use now, they're comin'—"

"Yes, I know they're comin', that's why we need—" Amy snatched one of Will's hands and shoved the watch inside it. "—him!"

"Mad watch, catch." Will immediately tossed the watch, without looking, at Rory.

"No. What?" Rory fumbled to catch it and, like they were one person, Amy fluidly took a turn glancing at the Angel up the stairs while her husband was distracted. "Can we get going?"

"Not yet, we need him," Amy said.

"But—"

"You are impossible!" Amy snapped, and she had to be saying it to Will, because it sounded exactly like he was her kid brother.

"I don't want it!"

"Why?"

"Because you keep pushing it on me, and we are running for our lives, that's why!" Will gestured wildly with two clawed hands, shaking harder than ever. Staring at Amy's back like she was growing dragon wings.

"I am really hating today," Rory muttered under his breath, to no one in particular.

Rose decided to seize this opportunity where they were all dormant in the stairwell, getting their oxygen back, to lean imperceptibly toward Rory. "Before," she said mutedly, "earlier—you said something, you—y'said—"

But Amy took hold of Rory's sleeve, distracting them both, and tugged, batting him with one hand vaguely in Will's direction. While Rory offered the little silver fob watch in an upturned palm, Amy was his mouthpiece, urging Will more fiercely than ever.

"Take it!"

"Not until you tell me what's going on!"

"I won't have to if you take it!"

"Take it," chimed Rory, much more pleadingly.

Will seemed to get enough control over himself now to officially lose his temper. Appeared to be clinging to the simple act of engaging in an argument like it was a lifeline. "Amy, you want me to trust you, yeah? Then start talking, talk, come on, tell me why! Because my head's pounding and every time, every time Rose touches me it's like I am splitting apart, we are being chased by alien monster ghost…things, and if I'm not dreaming, and oh I really, really want to be dreaming, well, then—prove it! What is it with the watch, eh? Start making sense!"

This raging did not impress his flatmate. Amy didn't turn around, but her voice turned for her. "There's no time, you idiot—"

"All right!" Rose bellowed, shoving past Rory and getting between him and Will. "Now stop it, I said leave him!"

"But—no, she's right, we do need him. And he needs this," Rory told her, raising the watch.

Rose found she, like Will, had very little patience left. She wanted answers as much as her friend did, but now was neither the time nor place. At least she and Amy were clear on that point. "What's he s'posed to do?"

"Thanks," Will grumbled.

"Sorry—"

"No, I mean I agree."

"He's not Will," Rory said slowly.

"What?" She wasn't sure who said it first, herself or Will.

"Och, budge up, Rose, y'wouldn't understand. No offense—but—y'just wouldn't. Gimme that!" Amy whipped around, snatched the watch out of Rory's hand, and shook it in Will's face. "Listen. Properly listen now, okay, because if you don't get this and you don't open this stupid little bloody watch, we are all going to die and it'll be our fault. Yours and mine. Listenin'?"

Will licked his lips. "Yeah."

"Good."

Rose jerked backward, getting out of Amy's way. Rory took his turn watching the Angel, staggering around to face it.

Amy began her plea again, this time quieter, faster, looking straight into Will's eyes. "D'you know like we were sayin'? About your life, about how you felt like it's all just…incorrect, yeah?"

Slowly, in a fragile way, Will nodded. Listening intently, true to his word. Rose found herself leaning in, too, also listening.

"Well." Amy sucked in through her nose. "That's because it is." She raised her voice. "Rory, watching?"

"Yep." Rory kept his eyes glued to the Angel in the window above them.

"I don't understand," Will whispered, looking between Amy's eyes. What little color that had come back was now draining from his face.

"This," Amy said, unblinking, holding the watch up to nose-level, "is your life. Your real life. Everything here, it's wrong. Me and Rory, we're real, we're part of it, but everythin' else, it's just a decoy. Got it?"

"A decoy." Will let out a terrible little snicker, but Rose could see he found nothing about what Amy was saying funny by the way he starting trembling again. His eyes were on the watch, full and wet and slightly red around the edges. He'd stopped looking sick. Now he only looked scared. The snicker left and was replaced by a deep frown. "Right. You're cracked. Mental. Crazy."

"Stone Angel at the door, lights poppin' on and off, d'you really wanna debate crazy with me? Now?" Amy cocked her head. Rose felt herself smiling and quickly subdued it.

Will fell silent, waiting for more.

"Inside this watch is who you really are. Y'told us to wait, you told us to get it when we needed you. When it was time. Well, thanks to your ruddy sleuthin' and your showin' off—" Amy glanced pointedly at Rose, who schooled her expression as best she could into perfect nothingness, transfixed by whatever complete nonsense was streaming intensely from the ginger's mouth. Like she was speaking Greek. "Time's up."

"Open it, then." Will huffed, nearly in another whisper. "Show me."

Rose found she was holding her breath.

Amy opened the watch, just for a moment.

The hissing started louder than ever.

"Time now…take hold…time…"

Not hissing. Whispering. Rose gazed at the watch, fancying she could see some kind of golden light inside it, reflected in Will's green eyes. Will had said something earlier, something about gold, about her, maybe. She couldn't remember. Everything was happening too quickly. What was this? Were this lot aliens, too? Part of the Angels' world? The Doctor would know. He'd work it out. He always worked it out. And he had to be here, had to, somewhere, because Rory had said Tardis.

Oh my god, Rory said Tardis.

But she couldn't track it all. She didn't have room in her head, not with the chaos around her. Instead, she was stuck raking her eyes over every detail, trying to force herself to understand. Too slow, two steps behind, monsters at the gates.

The funny thing was, Will was looking at the watch and its glow like he could hear the whispering too. And if he could have pushed himself through the wall, through the door he was leaning against to get away, Rose got the feeling he would have.

"You can hear something, can't you?" Amy asked, eyes glittering.

"That's nothing," Will murmured, staring and staring into the glow. "Just. Nothing. I don't know what you're talking about. Really. It's not me, it-it-it—it can't be."

And the longer he stared, the worse the shaking became.

"'Course it's you," Amy began, earnest and kind, nearly gentle, nearly fond. Like someone pityingly trying to convince a child they really did draw a very good castle in crayon.

"Amy," Rory broke in, voice wavering.

Amy didn't respond; she shut the watch with a snap, Will's shoulders slumped in obvious relief, and offered it to him for fiftieth time. Now there was a tiny smile on her face, though.

"But nothing happened," Will said, trying and failing to scoff. "D'you see, I'm not—"

"Oh, give me a break, nothing happened because it's yours," Amy said. "It's your watch. Your life. You've gotta open it."

Positive. Tardis.

Rose was beginning to feel she hated today much more than Rory did. But her addled brain was interrupted in its jumbled, anxious journey to understand by Rory saying Amy's name again, louder this time.

"Uh—Amy—"

"What, Rory—"

Amy, turning around, was choked off. She nearly dropped the watch. Rose looked too, toward Rory. To her shock, the Angel up at the door had come through to their side. Rory must have glanced away. But then she saw where he was pointing, and there it was.

The third Angel. It wasn't above them like the rest—it was below them. It was on the next landing. An Angel at the door they'd come into the stairwell by, and an Angel blocking the way down. The way that let them keep going until they were shot of this ruddy building, of Henrik's of flat No. 11, of the Angels themselves. Looking at it, Rose realized its hair was just slightly longer than the hair on the other two. Less curled.

With Amy keeping her eyes on the Angel down the stairs, and Rory keeping his on the one up the stairs, Rose took charge. She forgot about the detector and the watch and the confusion for the moment. Time enough later, if she could help them get a later.

"Right. M'not gonna die in a stairwell, come on!" She lunged forward and yanked Will by the hood away from the door he was plastered against. Then she tugged it open and pushed him through it.

Will went obligingly, clumsily, glancing around as Amy and Rory came too, both walking cautiously backwards. They were all in another hallway now, just like the one they'd left, same carpet, same color on all the doors, same brass numbers. Lights flickering weakly above them—almost lazily, with the Williamses making sounds back there to alert the other two they were indeed being rapidly pursued—Rose led the way down the corridor, not noticing she'd taken Will's hand and was pulling him at breakneck speed behind her until he spoke.

"You keep doing this," he said, hand tense and at the same time limp in hers. His eyes were foggy, squinty, like they were running through bright daylight.

Rose glanced down at his hand and let go immediately, impatiently. "Sorry."

"No," Will muttered, fog easing, "not—not that, not—you keep—helping me. Saving me, just…"

"What?" Rose distractedly began trying every door they came to, looking for somewhere to hide.

Chiefly, she wanted another stairwell. There were no exit signs, no lifts. Nothing but doors, doors, doors. Anything without a number was fair game. But she chanced a slight half-smile at Will, because somewhere in the corners of her chest she still felt sorry for him, for getting him into this. Especially if they didn't make it out.

"S'been you helpin' me," she reminded him. "Could do with a bit of that now, actually—"

There. There was a door at the end of this corridor, no numbers, different paint. Promising. And it was unlocked. Rose paused with the door open, waiting for both Amy and Rory to come, and Will waited with her, to her surprise.

"You do, though, you save me, you…" Will looked her up and down and up again, and there was a very odd rise in the corners of his mouth. It was a smile, but it was confused and a little awed. Like a sleepwalker's smile. He exhaled, mouth open just slightly, blinking a lot. "Always do. Always, it's…"

And then the smile whipped away. The fear was back.

"I don't know what's happening," he mumbled, pinching the spot between his eyes. "Like I'm half-awake, like—like you're not really…"

"It's the watch!" Amy shouted, and then she didn't have to shout as she continued because she and Rory had caught them up, still backward. "It's the watch, it's reachin' you."

"Maybe less talking, yeah?" Rory ordered, clearing his throat loudly. "Like, less talking, more getting out, thank you!"

"I've got it," Rose muttered to him, meaning the Angel. She stared at the one he pointed to, the one with its arms raised several doors down.

Rory understood and gave Will an enormous shove through the door, stumbling in after him.

Amy joined Rose and for a moment, the two of them stood in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder.

"So," said Rose, sniffing. "Good at this, you are."

"And you," Amy returned, elbowing her.

"Sorry." Rose stared into the Angel's cold, ash-colored blank eyes. "For…bringin' 'em here an' all."

"Doesn't matter now." Amy sucked in. "They were always gonna find us. I just didn't wanna admit it."

"What d'you mean?" Rose felt her breath hitch. Positive.

"I'll explain it to y'later. If we get outta this."

"Yeah?"

"I reckon you deserve it." Amy gave a little snort, a light one. "Didn't wanna admit that either. Big day for me. Growth."

Rose let out a puff of laughter, marveling at how easy it was for a moment. Then she capped it and gulped in again. "Ready?"

"Ready."

They walked backward together, and Amy reached out and pulled the door tight shut in front of them.

But when Rose turned around, they were not in another stairwell. There were no lifts. There was only the four of them, a huge empty conference room, a few dozen tables pressed against all the walls with stacks of chairs, and the door Amy had just closed, leading out and in at the same time. The only entrance. The only exit.

And there were at least three more Angels in this room. All of them had their hands down, away from their faces. And all of them were standing side-by-side before Will.

"Oh my god," Rose breathed.

"What is it—"

There was a cracking, a scream, a splintering behind her. Like in No. 11. A glance backward told her that Amy had turned at the sound of her exclamation, and the two Angels that had been out in the corridors with them had now broken into the conference room. The door was scratched; it had been ripped off its hinges at mind-boggling speed, thrown down on the shag-carpeted floor in front of Amy.

One of those stone arms was pointed up. And the lights were flickering.

There was a lot happening then. Amy was moving, but Rose couldn't be sure in what direction because the Angels were moving too, and it was hard to tell which was which as the world went black, white, and black again. Over and over. Rory moved, called his wife's name. Will made a noise, something halfway between a shout and a cry, and Rose whirled around to ensure he wasn't alone in watching those three new Angels.

The flashing stopped almost as suddenly as it began. Rory was on Rose's left, staring down the statues behind her. Will was in roughly the same spot, but on the ground, knees up and hands behind him, supporting him, the three Angels looming over him with serene expressions. One of them even had its hands folded sweetly in front of itself. Another was stretching down toward him. The third was covering its face.

And Amy was all right. Rose hadn't been sure of that at first because she couldn't see the other woman anywhere, but then she didn't have to look because Amy hurried into her eyeline, heading straight for Will. Rory had the Angels in back. Will had the Angels in front. And Rose—Rose was backup. Rose was sweaty, frightened, confused backup. More confused still as Amy began with the watch again.

Amy crouched on Will's level; Rose could tell by the red of her shirt. "Okay," she gasped. "There is literally, definitely no other way out of this."

She didn't say please this time. She just held it out.

Will took the watch. He stared at it, and then back up at Amy. Rose heard him say, quietly, more evenly than he'd said anything so far, "I'm frightened, Amy. I don't understand."

"I know y'don't. You will though."

"I don't know what'll happen."

"I do." There was a new smile in Amy's voice. "And—you might need this." A little sniffle. A clinking, metallic sound. Rose saw the creamy blur of Amy's hand fishing something out of her back pocket. "Good job I had it on me, yeah?"

"Right." There was an awkward pause. "What is that?"

Amy gave a small grunt of laughter. She sounded stuffy, like she was holding back a big wad of emotion in her throat. "Don't worry. You'll be proud in a mo'. You better be."

The lights flickered again. Once, only once. Rose heard Rory moving, saw Will's shape on the floor scrabble backward, Amy shuffling out of reach with him, but the Angels above them hadn't moved because Rose was trained on all three. None of the rest of them made a sound. It seemed the whole room was yawning, closing up around Amy and Will and that watch. Like those were the only things in the whole world that mattered now.

"It's fine," Amy was saying. "It will be fine. I promise. But Rory's right, you're not Will, y'never have been. Open that watch and you'll be someone who's taken on much…much scarier things than a couple of scabby statues." A chortle.

"Someone who's faced down vampires," Rory added. He sounded almost reluctant, no, resigned. Amused. "And—dream lords. Whatever that means. Never can be subtle—"

"Someone who can fix everything." Amy's voice grew stronger, but even softer. "Save the world. I've seen him do it. In twenty minutes I've seen him do it. He can frighten armies, solve any problem. Save people. You'll be him. You'll be you."

Tardis.

The lights flickered again. Rose kept watching. Kept watching, might have stopped breathing. All she could hear was Amy. All she could see was the Angels.

"And who is that?" Will whispered, but they heard it. They all heard it.

Positive.

"You'll be the Doctor."

The Doctor.

For a single heartbeat, Rose was back on the couch in the Powell Estate. No. 143. This was why she'd remembered Jimmy. Because that day—that was the last time she'd felt like this.

"You're never ready."

The lights switched off. Back on. Off. On. Rory yelled. Amy got to her feet, looked back, eyes wide, looked at Rose—why did she look like that—why did—

Everything that happened next happened in exactly seven seconds. And it all seemed too slow.

The lights came on again, brighter. A harsh buzzing—one of the bulbs popped—Amy was running at her—

"Rory—"

"I can't see them all—"

Something tall was moving behind Rose, but she couldn't look, she couldn't, she had to watch those ones—

Amy let out a scream. Things went dark. "Rose!"

Rose just had time to see a flash of golden light explode in the center of the room. Will's outline was encased in it, unmoving. No, writhing. It was terrible. Awful. Until he stopped. The light faded.

Next moment, he was on his feet, back straight. Facing the Angels with his head held high.

The fob watch fell to the floor.

Open.

And then something very hard and heavy touched Rose's shoulder.