June 12th, 1994

"So what exactly are these 'Weeping Angels'?" Mark asked.

The Doctor sliced his sausage and skewered it with his fork. But rather than eating it, he waved it in the air for emphasis. "The most malevolent creatures in the history of the universe," he answered. "Nothing gives them greater pleasure than to watch a lesser species suffer. And to them we are all lesser species."

"And they feed by sending people back in time?"

"Usually." The Doctor took a bite of the sausage. "But these Angels are different. They feed on time paradoxes. The more potential ramifications, the better. Ramifications, love that word. Rory, could you write it down for me?"

"Still not your secretary," Rory reminded him.

"Vacancy's still open." For a few moments, they all sat in silence in the hotel restaurant they had decided to congregate at, the only sound an occasional clatter of cutlery from the kitchen. "Which is why," the Doctor announced, finishing his breakfast, "which is why, we have to take you home, Mark Whitaker."

"But if the Angels want a paradox," Amy jumped in, "why go to all the trouble of bringing Mark here? Why not just change history themselves?"

"Because that would make them a part of the paradox, they'd end up feeding on their own timelines."

Alex pushed the remains of her sunny-side up eggs around her plate. "They need someone else to do their dirty work for them," she elaborated before sticking a piece of egg in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed it down before adding, "That way, they remain outside the chain of cause and effect." She looked at the Doctor expectantly. "Am I right?"

He smiled. "You haven't been wrong yet, Ally."

"Except for what made the Siren appear."

The Doctor made a dismissive gesture. "Don't blame yourself for that, it was both our faults. All worked out in the end though."

Alex smiled softly, remembering the stellar chocolate-filled kisses they'd shared. "That's true."

"What if I can't go back?" Mark interjected, bringing them back to the matter at hand.

The Doctor wiped his lips with a napkin while Alex placed her fork down and raised an eyebrow. They leaned forward. "What do you mean, 'can't'?" they demanded.

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

The supermarket bustled with Sunday shoppers, mothers with pushchairs and fathers with trolleys. None of them paid any attention to the blue police box parked beside the Fireman Sam ride. But Mark couldn't take his eyes off it. It was the same police box he'd seen flying through the air after his train. The Doctor's time machine.

"Let me get this straight," the Doctor said, leaning proprietorially against the door, Alex curled into his side. "You received a letter sent from your future self?"

Mark nodded. "I received it the day I traveled back, just before I met you and the Angel."

"How do you know the letter came from you?" Amy asked.

"Because my name was at the bottom."

"Oh."

"And it was in my handwriting."

"In your handwriting," the Doctor repeated, mulling over each word in turn.

"And so was the name on the envelope."

"Can we see it?" Alex requested. "The letter?"

"I-I don't have it anymore," Mark stammered.

The Doctor and Alex's jaws dropped. "You LOST it?!" they shouted. How stupid was this guy?!

"I put it in a safety deposit box. In London. Didn't want it falling into the wrong hands."

"How very public-spirited of you," the Doctor quipped dryly. He gave Mark a dark look. "So what was in this 'letter' written in your handwriting?"

"A list of instructions, telling me things I should do, investments I should make, and things I should do to make sure that history remained on track."

"Such as?" Alex prodded.

"Such as. . . Well, when I was 22 or 23, I went on holiday to Rome. While I was there, I lost my wallet. It had all my money in it, credit cards, everything. I retraced my steps, but I couldn't find it anywhere. But when I got back to the hotel, it turned out that somebody had already handed it in."

"But anybody could've done that," Rory argued, skepticism wreaking his voice. "What makes you think it was you?"

Alex immediately figured it out. "Because there was no way anyone other than him would know which hotel he was staying at."

"Exactly!" Mark exclaimed, pointing at her. "I didn't really question it at the time, I was just glad to have it back."

"So this letter," the Doctor said, his tone making it clear that he wasn't a hundred percent sure that a letter even existed, "tells you to be in Rome, on a certain street, on a certain day, so you can pick up your former self's wallet and deliver it to his hotel?"

"Yes!" Mark spoke defiantly. "That's it, that sort of thing."

"A Sally Sparrow survival kit," the Doctor muttered. Amy and Rory raised their eyebrows in confusion, but Alex simply nodded in agreement. The Doctor had told her about Sally Sparrow and his first encounter with the Weeping Angels. And they had been just as evil and menacing then as they were now. The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "And if you're not there to do it, you'll be changing your own past."

"Exactly. Which is just what you said I shouldn't do, because—"

"Because it would create a paradox," Alex finished. She leaned her head back against the TARDIS doors, smelling just the lightest whiff of smoke. As if sensing her frustration, the machine hummed beneath her reassuringly.

The Doctor thrust open the doors of the police box and gestured for Mark to step inside. "I'll take you there now in the TARDIS. Sorry about the smoke smell. There was a slight incident."

"Hardly slight," Rory grumbled.

Mark hesitantly peered in. Within, he could see an impossibly large, orange-lit Aladdin's cave, a central altar with a glass column and stairwells leading off into vaulted antechambers. It hummed with energy. Mark was tempted to enter but held back.

"That wasn't the only thing I had to do," he revealed. "There were others."

"What interests me," the Doctor began, narrowing his eyes, "is why you'd even want to stay here in the past."

"Why I'd want to?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that what anyone would do, given the chance?" Mark looked to Amy, Rory, and Alex for signs of support, but failed to get any.

"No," Alex deadpanned. "I rather like laptops and iPods and Castle marathons on TV."

"She's right," the Doctor agreed. He paused to examine the Fireman Sam ride, having only just noticed it, before continuing. "That isn't what anyone would do. Oh, I grant you, everyone would like to go back into the past for a day or two. Check out some bands, see a few shows, pick up a few first editions. The past is like a foreign country. Nice to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there."

"So why do you?" Alex inquired. She narrowed her eyes, the copper irises turning into ominous, threatening slits.

"I just do," Mark replied, shifting slightly under Alex's gaze. He paused to decide how much he should tell them. "Look, in 2011, I don't exactly have a lot to live for, all right? So, I think I have a chance of a happier life if I stay here. It is my choice, after all."

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

The Doctor leaned over the console, staring at the central column. He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then slammed his palm against the console in anger. "Humans," he griped, muttering under his breath. He turned to Alex. "You're the same species as him, what do you think?"

"He's lying through his teeth," Alex said promptly. "It was so obvious."

"I don't believe him either," Amy chimed in. She glanced out the TARDIS doors, to where she could see Mark sitting on one of the wooden benches by the fire engine ride.

"And you?" the Doctor asked Rory.

"I agree with Amy and Alex. I don't trust him either."

"Nevertheless, he was right. If he isn't here to fulfill all the tasks in that letter he sent himself . . . that would be another paradox."

"If there even is such a letter," Rory reminded him.

"Yeah," Amy agreed. "He was obviously lying. It was written all over his face."

"Perhaps," Alex mused. "But I got the sense that the story about the wallet in Rome was true. It . . . just had that grain of truth to it." Having been in theater for so long, she could tell when things sounded rehearsed or not. Mark's voice wasn't flat like it had been practiced over and over again. It wasn't much, but it was all she had to go on.

"Yeah, I got that too," the Doctor admitted. "And only he knows precisely where and when to be." He flicked a couple of switches in irritation. "We've got no choice. He has to stay."

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

The Doctor, Amy, Alex, and Rory emerged from the police box, the Doctor looking subdued. "You can stay," he announced. "Under certain conditions."

"What conditions?"

"Number one. Only follow the instructions in the letter you sent to yourself. You are not to influence history in any way. Even the slightest deviation could be disastrous."

"Okay, I understand."

"Not finished yet," Alex told him. She eyed him closely as she said, "Rule number two. You are not to talk to, approach, or communicate with your younger self. You keep out of his way at all costs."

"And the same goes for any friends, relatives, colleagues, or lovers," the Doctor finished. "You cannot have any contact."

Mark felt a twinge of guilt. "Not to make contact. Right."

"We mean it. Just one word, one telephone call, one postcard, and you'll alter the course of your own timeline. No. Wait." The Doctor groaned. "Who was it? Who did you speak to?"

"No one."

"No, you must've spoken to someone. I detected wibbliness."

Mark raised an eyebrow at him, absently wondering if this man was sane or not. "Wibbliness?"

"It's what first attracted the attention of the Weeping Angel. Who was it?"

"I may have . . . visited my mother."

"Your MOTHER?!" the Doctor exclaimed, opening his mouth wide in astonishment.

"Just to say hello."

"Just to say hello?!"

"Yes."

"In his defense, Doc," Alex jumped in, "he didn't know about the conditions then." Though common sense should have taken care of that in their absence.

"Well, I hope that's all you said. Because if you didn't. . ." The Doctor stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What I think is, you've had a very lucky escape, because whatever you said, it can't have made any significant impact. Or you wouldn't be sitting here right now."

It took a few moments for Mark to realize the implications of the Doctor's words. What he'd said to his mother, trying to convince her to make his father get a check-up, it hadn't changed a thing. His father would still die in three and a half years' time.

"I recommend you stay as far away from your younger self as possible just to be on the safe side," the Doctor advised. "Get out of the country if necessary. Belgium, I recommend Belgium. And I never thought I'd say that."

"Any more conditions?"

"Condition number three." The Doctor clapped his hands like a university lecturer warming to his theme. "You are not to tell anyone you are from the future. Not even as a joke. As far as anyone from this time period is concerned, you were born . . . how old are you, Mark?"

"Thirty-seven."

"You were born thirty-seven years ago. You can keep the same birthday if you like. But you have not traveled in time. If anyone asks, you think the whole notion is just science fiction."

"Right."

"You'll need a new identity. I'll leave the details to you. Keep your head down. Don't do anything to arouse suspicion. Don't get married, don't have children."

"I don't see why—"

"Isn't it obvious?" Amy interrupted before Alex could. "Because if you end up getting married to some girl, you might be changing history because she should've got married to somebody else."

"All right, I agree, I agree!" Mark cried, so loudly that passing shoppers turned to look at the disturbance. "Don't get involved."

The Doctor patted his jacket pockets. "Do you need money?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Like you ever have money."

The Doctor gave her a glare and was about to retort when Mark spoke up. "I have money," he revealed. "The envelope I sent to myself contained six thousand pounds."

The Doctor whistled in admiration, then frowned. "Sorry, is that quite a lot?"

"Yes," Alex sighed, rolling her eyes once more.

"It's enough to last me a few months," Mark reported. "Is it okay for me to get a job?"

"So long as it's not Prime Minister, yes," the Doctor confirmed, breaking into a smile. "Speaking of which, that letter of yours. You have to remember to send it to yourself."

"I won't forget. I'll keep it safe, and then send it—"

"No. You mustn't send the original letter. That wouldn't make sense."

"You need to copy it," Alex informed him. "A handwritten copy, identical in every way and detail. Then you send yourself the copy."

"The copy, right."

The Doctor tapped out a rhythm on the top of Fireman Sam's fire engine. "Well, I think that's everything. Oh . . . and one last thing."

"Yes?"

"Watch out for the Angels. As long as you behave yourself, you should be quite safe. The Angels are only going to be drawn to you if there's the possibility of a paradox. And if you do see the Angels, that means you're on the brink of creating a paradox, so whatever you're doing, stop."

"You're sure they won't come after me?"

"They won't waste energy chasing you unless there's a meal for them at the end of it," Alex assured him.

Mark wasn't convinced but didn't want to press the point. "If you say so."

"Good luck." The Doctor shook Mark's hand and waited by the police box with Alex. Rory gave Mark an encouraging slap on the back while Amy gave him an encouraging kiss on the cheek.

"Be a good boy," Amy said to him, before following Rory into the police box.

The Doctor and Alex lingered on the threshold. "Don't draw attention to yourself," the Doctor reminded him. "Don't contact your former self. And don't, whatever you do, change history." Alex gave him a slight smile, but Mark saw the uneasiness in her eyes as she tried to figure him out. Then, without another word, they disappeared inside, shutting the door behind them. The lamp on top of the box flashed and, with a wheezing, groaning sound, the police box faded from view.

He'd convinced them. Well, Alex seemed skeptical of him, but that was okay. She'd never figure out what he was really up to. Mark patted his coat pocket, feeling the reassuring weight of the padded envelope. He opened it and checked the list of instructions, reminding himself what he had to do. First, get a fake ID. He had ready cash, so it shouldn't be difficult.

The fingers of his right hand tingled for the first time since the previous night.

"Thanks for coming with me, Mark," said a familiar voice. Mark turned to see Sophie and his younger self emerge from the supermarket, both laden down with plastic bags full of groceries. Mark ducked behind the Fireman Sam ride, keeping out of sight.

"Don't mention it, good to get out of the house," Mark's younger self replied. "Besides, I feel bad about abandoning you last night."

"You're forgiven," Sophie assured him. "But don't do it again."

"Okay, cup of tea, then back to the exciting world of contract law," Mark's younger self joked. His older self watched him walk out into the parking lot with Sophie.

The tingling in his hand faded until there was no sensation at all. Suddenly there was a brief flapping sound from overhead like the sound of a large bird taking off. But when Mark looked up at the supermarket roof, there was nothing there.

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

April 2nd, 1995

Mark poured the last of the white wine into the plastic cup and lay back on the blanket. Above him, vapor trails crossed the sky. Trees rustled in the breeze and ducks flapped and quacked on the river. In the distance, Warwick Castle rose from the woodland, imposing and ancient.

Becky – she no longer liked to be called Bex – lay beside him, tickling his neck with a grass stem. "So, where's Sophie today?" she inquired idly, rolling over to lean on her elbows.

"Gone home to her parents. No reason."

"What do you mean, no reason?"

"I mean, we haven't had an argument or anything."

"Wasn't suggesting you had."

Mark took a sip of wine. He hadn't had an argument with Sophie because in order to have an argument, you had to be speaking, and at the moment, they weren't. He'd sent Sophie an apologetic email from the computer center but had yet to receive a reply.

A couple of joggers bounced past, listening to portable CD players. "What about Anthony?" Mark asked. Anthony was Becky's latest boyfriend. He had a face that, in Mark's opinion, resembled a pink potato.

Becky leisurely thumbed through her battered copy of Captain Corelli's Mandolin. "Rugby match. Said he might join us later, but he won't."

"Right." Mark stretched back, trying not to think about Anthony, or Sophie, or work, instead trying to lose himself in the blueness of the sky.

Becky gave up on her book. "Forgive me, none of my business, but you're not getting on with Sophie, are you?"

"Yeah, you're right."

"So what've you done wrong this time?"

"No, you're right that it's none of your business."

Becky pouted. "I don't know why you put up with her. Sorry to be blunt, but she makes you unhappy, Mark. It's like, on your own, you're quite a nice guy, but whenever you're with her, you just sit there, glowering."

"Do I?" Mark asked, even though he knew Becky had hit the nail on the head. He didn't enjoy spending time with Sophie anymore. It had become an obligation to be endured.

"You should find someone else. Someone you actually get on with."

"I would, but you're taken, alas, alas," Mark said mockingly.

"You had your chance, as I recall. That night, on the roof of the union. . ."

"I remember." Mark finished his wine. "God, if Sophie knew I was talking to you like this. . ."

"What?"

"Oh, she has this idea in her head that I would rather be going out with you."

"Well, obviously," Becky joked. "I mean, I'm sane, she's a control freak. Is that why she's always so unfriendly?"

"Yo, dudes," Lucy called, clumping up to them with a smile and a clinking carrier bag. Despite the heat, she wore her usual black t-shirt, jeans, and combat boots. Her girlfriend, a shy, bookish girl called Emma, followed in her wake. "Did you miss us?"

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

February 17th, 1996

"Well, this is embarrassing," Becky groaned.

Mark was lying in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. On the opposite wall hung a Monet print and a corkboard pinned with Polaroid's of parties, pets, and holidays. A window looked out onto the cold, drizzly morning. And Becky was sitting on the bed beside him. He could see her back, so smooth and pale, her shoulder blades, her spine. Then she pulled a baggy t-shirt over her head and tugged on a pair of jeans. "I suppose, civilized thing, do you fancy coffee? Or tea? We're out of milk."

"Black coffee's fine." Mark blinked, his eyes stinging as he'd slept with his contact lenses in. "What's embarrassing?"

"What do you think? Last night."

Mark remembered. "Oh."

Yesterday had been a bad day. He'd gotten fired from his job in telesales, a job which he loathed, but that wasn't the point. He'd never been fired from a job before. After splitting up with Sophie – at long last, hallelujah – he'd moved in with Rajeev. While he had yet to get a placement with a solicitor since graduation, all his friends still lived in Coventry and the surrounding area. But while they studied for PhDs, he drifted from one dead-end job to another.

He'd gone to Becky's for tea and sympathy. They'd talked for a while, about Anthony, and how Becky hardly ever saw him since he'd gotten a job in Manchester. Then Becky had boiled some pasta, he'd popped out to the off-license, and they'd spent the evening curled up on the sofa watching Cybill, Friends, and Frasier. By the time Channel 4 got to The Girlie Show, they'd gotten to the kissing and unbuttoning stage.

"What are you saying?" Mark asked now, feeling his stomach churn. "You regret it?"

"Of course I regret it. Hello! Don't you?"

"No."

"Thanks," Becky said sarcastically as she inspected herself in the mirror. "Thanks a lot, Mark. Make it complicated."

"Look, I know you're with Anthony, it's just . . . well, I don't think he knows what he has." Mark was aware he was echoing something Becky had once said to him. "Don't worry, it'll stay just between us."

"There is no us. It was just a, just a silly—"

"Mistake?"

"Your word, not mine. I was going to say 'one-off'. Let's just try to forget it ever happened, okay?" Becky whipped the duvet from the bed. "Now I don't want to be rude or anything, but I think you should go. I've got loads of stuff to do today and I don't need you hanging around."

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

Mark ran the conversation over and over again in his head, trying to work out where he'd gone wrong, what he should have said. He sat alone in the kitchen, drinking instant coffee, watching The Chart Show on Becky's portable television. Apparently, The Lighthouse Family felt 'Lifted'. Mark didn't share their optimism and turned it off.

"When you're finished," Becky told him, pausing on her way to the door in a thick coat, scarf, and beanie hat, "make sure the door locks behind you."

"Don't you think we should talk?"

"About what?"

"About what happened."

"There's nothing to talk about," Becky dismissed. "Goodbye, Mark." She left, the door slamming shut behind her.

Mark finished his breakfast, washed up the mug and bowl, pulled on his jacket, and braved the outside world. Speckles of snow fluttered in the blustery air. The snow wasn't settling though. Instead, it was just melting and making the pavement sludgy and gray.

Something had changed between him and Becky. The warm feeling of trust, of private jokes and shared confidences had been replaced by a feeling as cold as this February morning.

Mark huddled his hands into his pockets and headed for home, thinking about the fact that he'd lost his best friend in the world.

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor cranked the dematerialization handle and darted around the console, making an adjustment here, typing in a new setting there, all the while glancing at a folded sheet of paper.

"So that's it?" Amy said, trying to attract his attention through the glass of the central column. "You're just trusting him, leaving him in the past?"

"Not quite," the Doctor replied, grimacing as he pulled a particularly stiff lever. "I'm slaving the navigation systems to the contents of Mark Whitaker's CV."

"What does that mean?" Rory asked.

"Curriculum Vitae. It's Latin. Would've thought you'd have known that."

"No, Doc, he meant what 'slaving the navigation systems' means," Alex clarified.

"Oh. Thank you, Ally. It means the TARDIS is going to follow Mark through the course of his life. Young Mark, I mean. Wherever he is, the TARDIS won't be far away. Multi-dimensionally speaking."

"You're using the TARDIS to keep tabs on him?" Amy summarized.

"Which means that if there are any disturbances in his timeline, the TARDIS will put us down nearby."

"Disturbances?" Amy repeated. "You mean if old Mark doesn't behave himself—"

"Exactly," the Doctor nodded. "If at any point he crosses his younger self's path or attempts to change the course of history . . . we'll be there to stop him."

"But hang on," Rory frowned. "You said that whenever there's a build-up of potential time energy, the Weeping Angels will be drawn to it like moths to a flame."

"He did," Alex said solemnly. "Which is why we have to get to him first."

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

December 16th, 1997

"Mark!"

It took the 24-year-old Mark a couple of seconds to register that someone had called out his name. He turned, searching the shopping precinct for a familiar face. There were pensioners in heavy coats, young families with pushchairs, teenagers with Santa hats and rucksacks, all of them wielding bulging shopping bags. A brass band pumped out a festive carol.

But even with the brisk sense of excitement in the air, even with the silvery webs of lights overhead, even with the combined efforts of Slade, Wizzard, and Wham!, Mark didn't feel full of Christmas cheer. He felt numb, miserable, and anxious.

Until he saw Becky stride out of the crowd towards him, her face beaming. She wore a fluffy cream-colored hat and scarf, her cheeks flushed from the cold. "Mark!" she repeated before hugging him. "What are you doing here?"

Mark lifted his two bulging shopping bags. "Guess."

"Me too. God, Christmas is a nightmare." Becky studied his face. "Something's different about you. What is it? Don't tell me. No, I give up, tell me."

"New glasses," Mark answered, though they weren't new. He'd got them six months earlier.

"They suit you," Becky said earnestly. "Groovy, baby! Look, do you fancy going for a coffee? I think that if I don't get out of the crowd, I might literally murder someone."

"Yeah, sounds great," Mark agreed. Becky guided him through the crowd, past Woolworths with its cardboard cut-out Teletubbies, and past the large, stone fountain, where the rushing water glittered in ever-changing colors.

Becky paused at the fountain, disconcerted. "Hey, since when did they put the statues here?"

Mark shrugged. He'd never really noticed them before. Six stone statues of angels in robes had been placed around the edge of the pool, facing outwards. Except they were all covering their faces with their hands.

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

They stepped into the steamy warmth of the coffee shop, greeted by the chorus of 'Never Ever' on the radio. "Coffee?" Becky asked. "Let me remember. Black, no sugar?"

"Yep," Mark confirmed.

"Grab us a seat, can you? I'll get these."

While Becky paid for and collected the two cups, Mark found a couple of padded seats in the corner by the window.

"So," Becky said, carefully placing the coffees on the table on top of a discarded copy of The European. "News. Tell me everything." She shrugged off her coat and took the seat opposite. Mark studied her for a moment. She looked different. She'd had her hair cut short and dyed red with a blonde streak, like the girl from This Life, and wore more lipstick and eyeliner.

"Not a lot, really," Mark told her. "Still working for the housing association. Boring, but it pays the rent, just about. Still looking for a practice that'll take me on. You?"

"Oh, you know, dissertation rumbles on. Okay, that's work out of the way. What about everything else? Are you still with that girl, what was her name?"

"Jenny. Yeah, we're still together." He'd met her on his first day at the Housing Association. They were both temping in the same office and found they both needed someone sane to talk to. Jenny was very . . . determined. It had been her idea for Mark to change his glasses, along with most of his clothes. Mark sometimes wondered if she even had a sense of humor. Whenever he made a joke, she would just look at him as though he had let her down somehow.

"And it's going okay?"

"Yeah, it's good. We haven't moved in together yet but it's, you know, inevitable."

"Wow. Sounds serious. How long has it been, then?"

"Nearly a year."

"A year? God, I'm so out of date." Becky blew the foam off her coffee and took a sip. "When I last saw you, you'd just started going out. She is the one with no sense of humor, right?"

"Yeah," Mark laughed. Becky had met Jenny, very briefly, at Lucy's birthday party in March. He could still remember the argument he'd had with Jenny on the way home. It had been their first big argument. The first of many.

But while that had been the last time Becky had seen him, it hadn't been the last time he'd seen her. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been chatting with some people he didn't know at Rajeev's going-home party in July. He'd watched her from the other side of the room but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to go up to her. What would he say? After that night in February, they hadn't had a proper conversation. He always felt self-conscious and resentful, and she always gave the impression she would much rather be somewhere else.

"And what about you?" he asked. "Still with Anthony?"

"Oh, yeah. He's still keen, bless him. We're doing Christmas at his parents." Becky grimaced. "Which will be agony. I don't think they regard me as daughter-in-law material. What about you, what are you doing?"

"I'm going home, to spend it with my parents."

"Oh, that sounds nice."

"Not really. My. . ." Then it all came out in a rush. "My dad had a heart attack two weeks ago, he didn't die, but they've had to take him into hospital for observation, because it might happen again, and so . . . and so I've taken as much time off work as I can, I'm going down tonight, it looks like he's going to be spending Christmas in the hospital, and so I have to be there for Mum because, on the phone, she sounds like she's trying not to cry and, so, yeah, that's what I'm doing this Christmas." Mark picked up a tissue and rubbed it into the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, my God. I'm so sorry." Becky gave him a sympathetic smile, and suddenly, Mark felt like he was with the old Bex again.

"Mum was always on at him to go for a check-up. Apparently some relative in Canada had a heart attack when they were his age. But he never got around to it, always too busy. Anyway, Christmas shopping." Mark swallowed the lump in his throat. "What a nightmare, eh?"

"Yeah," Becky said, rubbing his fingers. "Look, if you ever need someone to talk to. . ."

Mark felt the touch of metal and looked down to see the engagement ring on Becky's finger. Becky saw that Mark had noticed it and withdrew her hand.

"'Not daughter-in-law material'," Mark repeated. "I should've picked up on that. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"So when's the wedding?"

"Oh, not for ages. Anthony's parents want to organize this massive do. They've actually been watching Four Weddings on video and taking notes. I think they're waiting on St. Paul's Cathedral becoming available. You're invited. Obviously. You and what's her name, Jenny. If you're still together."

"What is it with you and trying to split me up with my girlfriends?" Mark joked.

"I just think none of them are good enough for you, that's all."

"Yeah. Which reminds me." He dug in his pocket for his new mobile phone and switched it on. One missed call, one new message. From Jenny, telling him to meet her at her office at four, that she loved him and not to be late, x. Mark checked the time. Half past four.

Mark finished the rest of his coffee. "Look, I've got to go. It was lovely seeing you, Becky."

"Lovely seeing you too, Mark. One thing you should know before you go, though."

"Yeah?" Mark pulled on his coat and grabbed his shopping bags.

"No one calls me Becky anymore. It's Rebecca." She stood up as though to shake his hand. But instead, she laughed and gave him a stiff hug. "And what I said, about phoning me, I meant it. Oh, and you left your paper." She handed him the discarded copy of The European.

"Not mine."

"Oh," she said, taking it back. As she did, a lottery ticket slid from its pages. Rebecca examined it. "Hey, it's for tomorrow." She pressed it into his hand. "You have it. You never know." She put on the deep voice of the television advert. "'It could be you'."

Mark slipped the ticket into his pocket. "Yeah. Anyway. Have to, you know." He walked over to the door and out into the chilly, damp, and oh-so Christmassy shopping precinct.

But he couldn't help looking back at Rebecca, sipping her coffee in the window. And then he noticed a tingling sensation in his right hand, the same feeling he'd had on the night they'd first kissed.

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

Rebecca drained her coffee, thinking about Mark. He looked like he hadn't slept for days, his eyes were red from crying and, God, those glasses really didn't suit him. She'd wanted to kiss him and tell him everything would be all right, but she'd held back.

And then she noticed the man standing at her table.

For a moment she thought Mark had come back, until she realized it wasn't him. The man looked familiar, but she couldn't place where from. He looked about 40, with a deep tan and tinted glasses. "Forgot my paper," he explained, collecting The European and turning to go.

"Hey!" Rebecca called. "There was a lottery ticket, I'm sorry, my friend took it, we thought—"

"It's okay. He probably needs it more than I do." The man smiled and left, just as the coffee shop radio began to play the opening chords of 'Angels'.

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

After their mad escape from the Angels, everyone on the TARDIS was tired, even the Doctor, though he wouldn't admit it. Therefore, Alex had managed to persuade the Doctor in allowing them a little time to rest and recharge before they went back to help Mark. Being so wrapped around her finger, he'd agreed.

"See you in a few hours," Amy waved as she and Rory headed into their room.

Alex nodded and went back down the hall to her room. She ran a hand through her hair. She was pretty tired, thankfully not as much as she had been after her little fit on Vivuldi. She shuddered slightly, remembering the cutting, tearing pain that had run through her body like a wild-fire.

Don't think about that, Alexandria, she scolded herself. She turned the corner that led to her room and the control room. As she'd expected, the Doctor was leaning against the doorframe to her room.

Alex smiled and hurried over to him. His arms automatically opened, and Alex curled into them. She rested her head against his chest, the double heartbeats sounding soothing against her ear.

"You okay?" the Doctor asked as he kept his arms wrapped around her. She was so small in his grasp. It was like a gust of wind could blow her away and his arms were shields keeping her in place.

"I'm fine," Alex dismissed. She knew that he was worried about her having another attack. She'd only had two so far, and that had been weeks ago. Still, that didn't stop him from constantly examining her before and after they left the TARDIS and trying to find the calmest, most peaceful planets possible to take them to so she wouldn't have to worry about having an attack when they were running for their lives.

"Promise?" he checked.

"Promise. May God strike me down dead if I'm lying."

The Doctor laughed. "Let's hope He doesn't do that. I'd be very cross and out for revenge."

Alex giggled and pulled away from his grasp to open her door. The lights in her chandelier had been perfectly dimmed and the bed covers already turned down. She patted the wall in thanks and went in, not bothering to close the door. The Doctor continued to lean against the doorframe, content to watch her.

She kicked off her heels and stuck them in the walk-in closet. She pulled her jacket off and laid it on the dresser before removing her earrings and bracelets. As always, she left the sonic necklace on. She then walked across the room and climbed into bed, pulling the sheets and comforter over her. Alex closed her eyes as her body relaxed into the mattress.

She looks like an angel, the Doctor thought. He was aware that this was completely and totally sappy, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was the truth. She looked beautiful when she slept. Actually, she was beautiful all the time. It didn't matter what she looked like on self-proclaimed bad hair days or when she grumbled about having a zit; to him, she always looked effortlessly put-together, eternally perfect.

"Okay, are you being purposefully stupid right now, or did you really not get that the sole reason I left my door open was so that you could come join me?" The Doctor jumped as Alex spoke. She opened her eyes, exposing brilliant copper irises that twinkled in the dim light. She scooted to the other side of the bed and patted the free space beside her.

The Doctor didn't need any more encouragement. Quick as a wink, he entered the room and shut the door. He shook his jacket off and tossed it onto the leather couch. He kicked his boots off and tugged his bowtie off, placing it on the nightstand next to a copy of Infinityglass by Myra McEntire. He frowned and picked it up.

"Is this the same author who wrote that atrocious time-traveling story you read me?" he asked as he sat down on the bed.

"Yep. Same series too."

He quickly flipped through the book. "Wrong," he scoffed. "All of it. Though that Hallie's quite a character, isn't she?"

"I'm partial to the romance," Alex confessed. "All whirl-wind, intense, and passionate. . ." She raised an eyebrow. "Sound familiar?"

He chuckled and set the book back on the nightstand. "Yes, but maybe not the whirl-wind part."

"No, that took time." Alex snuggled closer to him as he fully laid out on the mattress, tugging the sheets and comforter over him.

"Yes," he agreed. He wrapped one of his arms around Alex's waist to pull her closer to him. "Glad it did though." Smiling, he placed a kiss on her forehead.

Too bad it was your death that finally got us together, Alex thought, but didn't say. Trying to distract herself from these unpleasant thoughts, she laid her head on his chest. "When do we visit Mark again?" she asked as she closed her eyes and concentrated on the soothing beats of his hearts.

The Doctor ran his hand through her hair. The mild tension he'd been carrying around all day lifted at the feeling of her soft hair against his rough skin. "Probably in Rome. Make sure the wallet stealing and returning goes off without a hitch."

"I don't trust him," Alex confided. "He's up to something. He has an ulterior motive. I know he does."

The Doctor sighed. "You're not alone in that feeling, love. Mark Whitaker's planning something alright."

Alex smiled and giggled a little. He frowned. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Alex said, though since she was still giggling, her answer wasn't very believable. Knowing this, she paused, thinking of how best to phrase her thoughts. "It's just. . . I like you calling me that. Love. You should do it more often."

He smiled down at her. Ever so carefully so as to keep her from moving, he bent his head down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Deal."

"We seem to like coming up with nicknames for each-other, don't we?" Alex observed. He had started calling her 'Ally' the day they met, and she had started calling him 'Doc' the first time she'd encountered the Weeping Angels, with the Byzantium crash and River. Now that she really thought about it, she had probably started calling him 'Doc' to make it seem like she was closer to him than River. Oh well, she thought. Nothing like a little jealousy to promote personal nickname calling.

"It's a thing of ours," he agreed. "Like simultaneous speaking."

"And finishing each-other's sentences."

"Yes," the Doctor chuckled. It was quite amazing that he had such a deep connection to Alex. He'd never had this with any of his other companions before, not even Rose, and they'd been very close, sharing private jokes and stories and often getting so caught up in each-other, that they failed to notice anyone else around them. Rose's connection with him paled to the one he had with Alex.

Alex snuggled into him even tighter, her body meshing into his side. She fit there perfectly, like a puzzle piece. The Doctor was fairly sure this body had been made for her and he couldn't help but wonder if his other bodies had been too, in case she showed up back then. He'd have to have the TARDIS dig out the photos she stored of prior incarnations and check.

This kind of thinking quickly led him to the mystery of Alex being a fixed point. His brow furrowed. What could it mean? He was drawn to her, unlike with Jack, which he was glad about. But why was he so drawn to her?

"You're thinking very loudly," Alex commented, her voice a soft murmur as she began slipping further into the Land of Nod.

"It's nothing, Ally."

Had she been fully able, Alex would have raised an eyebrow at him. "Doesn't sound like nothing."

He sighed. He didn't really want her worrying about her fixed-point status, not until he figured out what it was anyway. "Really," he said in a quiet but firm tone. "It's nothing."

"If you say so."

"Go to sleep, love."

~The Pros and Cons of Silence~

A/N: Aw! Alex finally told the Doctor how much she likes him calling her 'love'! :D

Notes on reviews. . .

NicoleR85 - Glad you liked the chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one! :)

bored411 - Yeah, but I think we're starting to get into the stretch of things. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)

Thank you to everyone that reviewed, followed and/or favorited this story! Please review and see you tomorrow! :)