The Time of Change

The Angel

I snap to attention and squeeze the Doctor's hand lightly to convey that I understand now. With an uncharacteristically level voice, I say, "Daniel, you and your parents need to stay calm and very slowly make your way out of the house. Right now, it doesn't matter where you go. You just need to go."

Mr. Ralph turns a bit, a mask of bravery plastered over the fright he feels, and I apply terrified pressure to the Doctor's hand. "Don't look behind you!" he vociferates. Mr. Ralph whips back into place, shocked at the yell. I've never heard so much power in his voice, nor have I experienced him do anything other than raise it slightly. While the majority of me feels a renewed sense of panic, another traitorously distracted part is a little turned on.

When he speaks again, it's a whisper to me. "The sonic."

I could slap myself. I forgot I still had it on me. Keeping my gaze on the Angel, I sever my hand from the Doctor's, reach into my jacket pocket, and pull out the so-called screwdriver (which, I realize dimly, looks absolutely nothing like an actual screwdriver). With shaking fingers, I slide it into his hand. I hear the click of the button on its side, and a comforting high-pitched whirring fills the air. Out of the corner of my eye I see him lift it so that it's pointed at the Angel.

The statue violently spasms like there is an earthquake or like it is in pain. The stone robe begins to crumble away, the slicked-back gray hair breaking away from the head. Chunks of rock fly toward us, and at the sound of my involuntary scream, the Ralphs duck, just barely missing the ten-pound pieces surging at them from behind. As it dies, the thing's hands never fall from its face.

I shut my eyes tightly when it's gone, letting moisture sink back into them. I hear the Doctor sigh beside me, and with my eyes still closed, I throw my arms around him. He relaxes against me and holds me close. "I thought you said no normal method could kill an Angel," I breathe shakily, my voice muffled by his shoulder.

He laughs a little. "You've been around me too long if you're starting to think that a sonic screwdriver is normal."

Filled with pure relief, I kiss his cheek as I pull myself out of his arms, and I see his cheeks flush with a muted pink. The overly-sentimental section of my brain prods at me, saying that that was technically our first kiss, but I try to blink it away in annoyance. "I don't think two thousand years is too long, do you?" I reply, beaming.

He smiles, but it isn't his usual sparkly, confident grin. It's drawn and sincere in a way that suggests he is not entirely sure what to feel. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, fingers brushing softly against my cheek, and says, "Not nearly long enough."

A gruff voice decimates the (admittedly inappropriately tender) moment. "What the hell just happened?" Mr. Ralph demands, his face white as a sheet, putting a protective arm around his wife and son. The Doctor and I look at him uncertainly. "What was that thing behind us? Why couldn't we look at it? What is that in your hand that you blew it up with? Who are you people?"

"Dad, shut up!" Daniel yells. Surprisingly, his father falls silent, and his eyes drift over to me. The same dim light flares up behind them as he looks me up and down, but the stare no longer makes me feel uncomfortable. After seeing the photos of Alex, I think I understand.

Taking a tentative step toward him, I say, "I was shocked when I saw her, too. As far as I know, I have no relation to Alex. I'm really sorry."

He lets out a breath of air he seemed to have been holding. "Don't apologize," he quietly answers. "It's by no means your fault."

After a beat, the Doctor claps his hands once. "Now, if everyone is done shouting," he says, "we may be able to get something done." He holds up his index finger as if to say Hold on a moment, grabs my hand again, and pulls me through the front door. The frigid daylight burns my eyes as we enter it. My breath mists before me.