Based on the song "Like a Stone" by Audioslave

The TARDIS landed on Earth's hard ground in the still of the cold winter night. The Doctor stepped out and examined his surroundings. It was a lonely sort of night, but a lit up house loomed in the distance. The Doctor already knew that was where he was headed.

Drawing closer, he could see it was a big, old fashioned sort of house. Though he had no intention of ever settling down in a house of any shape or size, he could almost see himself living there. He entered the house without knocking; feeling confident that the least of his worries would be the anger of whatever was inside because he'd let himself in. The inside of the house looked like it had been lived in sometime not very long ago. It looked as though it was frozen in time. Like it could have been lived in seconds, hours, days, any amount of time ago, and then suddenly purged of all residents. The Doctor looked around with an absurd amount of difficulty, as it was darker inside than it had appeared to be from the exterior. He stumbled into a room on the side of the house. There, he found there was just enough light to see –and he was glad he could see- a weeping angel statue waiting patiently in the corner of the room.

"There you are," he said aloud, fidgeting with his bow tie. He inched closer, but still kept his distance. He knew he should leave, and could leave. Standing a safe distance away, he didn't sense any imminent danger, for him or for anyone. This was just one lonely angel, lost and alone in this big empty house. And something, something drew him towards it. He felt that as long as he didn't get too near, it would be alright. And as long as he didn't blink, of course. But that wouldn't be difficult.

"How did you get here?" he asked the angel, when he was not more than a few feet from where it stood. "Where did you come from?"

Then, he didn't know why he did it, he wasn't thinking, or he wasn't thinking properly, he inched forward and reached out to put a hand on the shoulder of the angel. So hard it was, to forget that these creatures were anything but a simple statue. Except right now, when to the Doctor, the weeping angels, had never seemed more alive.

The Doctor stood there for a moment in silence, and it was seconds later that it happened. Something made him forget. Something made him not care. He closed his eyes, not to blink, but to take in the peaceful situation. He snapped them open when he remembered. It was no surprise that the statue had reached out for him. Its hand was on his shoulder, though its grip was loose. The Doctor couldn't help but wonder, wonder so much that the curiosity was all he could concentrate on, what would have happened if hadn't opened his eyes. He told himself he wasn't going to find out, but minutes passed, with him standing there beneath the angel's grip, though he could have easily slipped out from it, and he felt his eyes slowly closing them again. He tried to listen for sounds of movement. This time he could feel as the angel took his hand, and laced its fingers through his. The Doctor opened his eyes at last. He was beginning to understand.

"You're not going to hurt me," he said to the angel. "You're just lonely." He nodded. "I understand." He put his free hand gently on the angel's cheek. "I'm lonely too." The Doctor knew it was okay to close his eyes again. He knew he never had to open them again around this lonesome angel. He wriggled free of the angel's grip and carefully embraced its hard stone body. Once he was safe in the angel's awkwardly outstretched arms, he shut his eyes gently. The angel wrapped its arms around him, still loosely enough so that he could've slipped out if he desired, as if the angel were trying to reassure him that it wasn't going to hurt him. With his eyes still closed, the Doctor lifted his head and whispered in the angel's ear.

"You don't have to weep anymore," he said. The Doctor opened his eyes briefly and pressed his lips to the cold, hard lips of the angel. He shut his eyes again and felt the angel's lips moving against his. They stayed like that for another glorious moment before releasing each other. The Doctor took a small step back, but kept his eyes closed because it didn't seem fair. He didn't want to see his angel imprisoned in its stiff state.

"I'll never be able to see you move," he said, stating the obvious. He reached out for one last stroke of the angel's cheek.

"I'd better go," he then said. Still he refused to open his eyes. "I'll come back. Will you wait?" He felt the angel's head nod up and down beneath his hand. "If you'd like," he added. Then without another word, without another touch, he was gone.

Once the Doctor had left the house, once his back was turned, the weeping angel crept over to the window at the front of the house, watching as he shut himself inside a curious little blue box, watching as the box disappeared. The angel pressed a cold hand, a hard hand, to the window, and vowed to wait forever here. In this house, waiting for him here, alone. Waiting patiently, like a stone.