Rumors had proliferated in the Academy regarding the Angels---that they worked for the mysterious Division, and worse: that to become one was one of the worst punishments set aside for unruly Time Lords.
For the longest time, the Doctor scoffed at such rumors. No one could truly contain a Time Lord in that manner; the very attempt to fossilize would trigger a regeneration, wouldn’t it?
Startled by a rush of wind, the Doctor turned her head and caught sight of herself in the mirror.
Her blood ran cold.
There, with stone hands hovering in front of her face, stood an Angel---shorter than the Doctor by a good inch or two, with medium-length, wavy hair and life-like eyes.
Don’t blink, the Doctor told herself.
“You don’t belong here!” she shouted, keeping her gaze level with it. “You---” she shook her head slightly, swallowed back a wave of bile, and continued, “You---why do… this is paradox sickness…”
Don’t go, the Angel thought. If you do, eventually, they’ll---
“All I have to do is point this at you and you’ll stop moving, yeah?”
“Rory—”
He snapped the mirror open and started to turn it, prepared to leave the Angel as naught but a statue, when her next words cut him to the core.
“Roranicus Pondicus, stop that this instant!”
The Doctor had called him that, back when they traveled together, after he’d spent 2000 years guarding the Pandorica; had the Angels begun raiding his memories, intent on luring him into another trap?
He hesitated. “How do you know that name?”
A sharp, inhuman scream emitted from the Angel.
He could only watch in horror as the stone began to flake away, revealing patches of flesh beneath, until it melted completely, leaving a woman cowering on the pavement, her arms held over her head, her whole body shaking.
at @basiltheta's request, here's the full WIP of the Ponds encountering angel!thirteen! it's a bit under 700 words
Every day, Rory walked home from the hospital, breathing in his surroundings as he went. He waved to the grocer, and the elderly women who sat on porches, and to the small children who ran around without a care.
Four years ago he lived in the not-so far future.
Now, having lived through the horrors of the Second World War, Rory took every chance he could to appreciate life.
Life post-Angels.
Every statue became suspect in his mind; any one of them could spring to life, sending him once more away from his darling Amy and their son.
One in particular stood out for its difference to the others.
It was more life-like.
Its hair fell just above its shoulders, its coat seemed to flutter in the wind, and the corners of its eyes were cracked, as if constantly subject to tears.
He saw it outside work, outside the grocer’s, even in the park while playing with Anthony.
More
“Rory!”
He glanced around, his heart pounding at the sound.
The voice was rough, gravelly, and yet he was alone on that street.
He stopped suddenly.
There, about ten feet away, stood the angel.
They had come back for him, after all; all it would take was one touch, and he would be dissolved, or else sent back in time far away from his family, unable to reach them except via letter, and they had just settled into a rhythm.
He blinked despite himself.
She crept closer.
“Rory! Rory, I need—”
It was the Angel. It had to be. Her expression had shifted to one of anguish, both arms extended in a pleading gesture.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a pocket mirror, and fumbled with the clasp, keeping an eye on the Angel the whole while.
“No—”
“All I have to do is point this at you and you’ll stop moving, yeah?”
“Rory—”
He snapped the mirror open and started to turn it, prepared to leave the Angel as naught but a statue, when her next words cut him to the core.
“Roranicus Pondicus, stop that this instant!”
The Doctor had called him that, back when they traveled together, after he’d spent 2000 years guarding the Pandorica; had the Angels begun raiding his memories, intent on luring him into another trap?
He hesitated. “How do you know that name?”
A sharp, inhuman scream emitted from the Angel.
He could only watch in horror as the stone began to flake away, revealing patches of flesh beneath, until it melted completely, leaving a woman cowering on the pavement, her arms held over her head, her whole body shaking.
Rory swallowed.
“Doctor?”
She moaned.
“What happened to you?”
She slowly pulled her arms down and stared at her hands, flexed her fingers, and winced as her bones cracked.
“Doctor?”
Hazel eyes lifted to stare at him. “I—I--”
He reached out, took hold of her hands, and helped her to her feet, letting her lean against his side as he nudged her forward. “Come with me. I’ll put the kettle on and you can warm up, yeah?”
She nodded.
“Good. Okay. It’s not that far—”
Back at their flat, he led her up the stairs. They had to stop every few steps as the Doctor doubled over in pain more
“Rory!” Amy screamed.
“What?”
“Behind you!” she pointed.
He turned over his shoulder and sighed. “Oh. Don’t be alarmed, Amy. She’s harmless. Well—mostly harmless.”
“It’s an Angel!”
“No, it’s—it’s the Doctor.”
“What?!”
“Doc—”
“I can’t control it,” the Angel spoke. “I’m sorry. I—” The stone facade melted away once more, leaving the Doctor in a crumpled heap on the floor.
“—oh, my god,” Amy breathed. She let out a choking sound. “I—”
“She can’t control it,” Rory explained, bending down to wrap his arms around the Doctor.
