Well, folks, this is it. And let me just say, it's been a hell of a long time coming. Thank you all so much for the support.

Rory and Larry clung to anything available, including at one point each other, as the TARDIS hurled through the time vortex with unusual violence. It seemed the Doctor, in his haste to reach 1942, neglected to activate any sort of stabilizers, and both he and his passengers were tossed about like stray socks in a dryer. At least the Doctor seemed to be enjoying the sensation of being pitched up like a tiny boat in a hurricane; he grinned broadly as he hung onto the careening TARDIS' control panel.

"Doctor, you're going to get us killed!" Rory shouted as the TARDIS gave a particularly nasty lurch.

"Killed? No, this is fun! Besides, we're almost there," the Doctor replied.

"Brace for impact!" Rory and Larry clutched the railing and wished the TARDIS came equipped with airbags.

With an unmistakable, breathy vworp, the TARDIS reentered normal time and space and landed with a slight bump. Rory and Larry released their white-knuckled grips and stood up, thankful just to be alive and in one piece. The Doctor bounded by them, unperturbed by all the jostling, rolling, and listing. He flung open the doors to reveal a day as grey as the one they'd just left.

"Welcome to London, circa 1942. If you find anything that looks like a bomb, please don't touch it," the Doctor said.

Rory and Larry stepped out of the TARDIS behind the Doctor. In what had to be his most accurate piloting expedition in centuries, the Doctor had landed precisely where and when he wanted. He'd parked the TARDIS is the gardens behind Wester Drumlins, and had even managed to hide a majority of the blue box behind some ornamental horticulture.

"Right place, right time, so where are they?" the Doctor asked aloud.

"Are you looking for the funny people I found in my garden?"

Three heads turned simultaneously towards the source of the question: a young blonde girl in a knee-length red dress and matching boots.

"Er, yes, probably. Were there five of these funny people, and did they appear out of nowhere?" Rory asked.

"Are you the Doctor? The nice boy, he said a man called the Doctor was going to find them and take them home," the girl replied.

"No, he's the Doctor." Rory pointed to the Time Lord in question.

"I'm glad you're a doctor. One of them threw up," the girl said. "I had to put the newspaper over it."

"Unprotected temporal travel will do that to you," the Doctor said.

"Right, I'm sure it will. Can you take us to see these people? They're friends of ours. One of them is my wife," Rory said.

The girl nodded. "We're having tea by the fountain."

The girl skipped ahead and the men from the future followed. As they walked, Larry whispered to Rory and the Doctor, "I know that girl."

"You mean she's still alive in 2012?" Rory asked. "How'd you recognize her?"

"I don't mean like that. Sally and I did research on Wester Drumlins to see who owned it and who disappeared here over the years. That little girl and her whole family vanished in 1944. They were the first, I suppose, but over the years, there were tons more," Larry said.

"There's nothing you could do, Doctor, to stop all that from starting, is there? I mean, we couldn't go to 1944 and, I don't know, trap the angels?" Rory asked.

"Of course we could, if you don't mind a time-line-shattering paradox that threatens the very fabric of reality. I do tend to mind those things, though, so my hands are tied," the Doctor replied.

"What if we just warned her?" Larry asked.

"Then she'd just be more frightened when the angels did come for her. I'm sorry to say, but time is fragile enough when weeping angels are involved. You know she disappears. That time-line is set, and there is no way to safely change it," the Doctor said.

Larry and Rory asked no further questions. They also found it difficult to look directly at the vibrant, skipping, doomed girl, and averted their eyes to the sky, ground, or nearby greenery.

The girl came to a halt in front of an ornate fountain that had either been carted off or destroyed sometime in the interim years separating 1942 and 2012. Despite the threat of rain, the child had arranged a tea party on a spread blanket, and sitting either on the blanket or resting against the fountain was everyone the angel had misplaced.

"I brought the Doctor!" the girl announced. She then pointed at George. "He's the one who threw up."

Five heads swiveled around to stare at the girl. Then, in one unified, fluid movement, five bodies leapt to their feet and threw themselves at their rescuers.

Bob moved like a missile and the moment he reached the Doctor, he launched himself at the Time Lord, tackling him to the ground in a move that was equal parts hug and takedown maneuver. The Doctor grunted as his injured back was acquainted with a particularly rocky patch of soil. Bob, unaware of the damage the Doctor had received, continued to squeeze him as tightly as he could.

"I knew you'd save us," Bob sobbed, burying his face into the Doctor's jacket. "I knew it, Doctor Bowtie."

A moment later, the Doctor found another thankful admirer plastered to him. Since Bob was directly atop the Doctor, Eleanor had to settle for grabbing one of the Doctor's flailing arms and locking it to her bosom in a vice grip that cut off all circulation from the elbow onward.

While Bob and Eleanor mobbed the Doctor, Amy and Sally did the same to the men in their lives. Larry somehow managed to brace himself before Sally leapt into his arms, but Rory never stood a chance. He was flattened by an undisclosed weight of pure Scottish joy, and wouldn't have had it any other way.

George was the only one left without a hug-buddy or two. There was no way he was going to intrude on Amy and Rory or Sally and Larry's reunion, and the Doctor did seem sufficiently smothered. Though, George noticed, only one of the Time Lord's arms was pinned to the chest of a young woman. That unclaimed arm could be his.

"Who's got my other arm? George, is that you? I hope it's you," the Doctor said.

"Yes, Doctor, it's me. Thank you so much for not leaving us here to rot," George said.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Well, I might, but they'd definitely be nightmares and I'd feel very disappointed in myself afterwards."

"Personally, I… why've you got socks on your hands?"

Eleanor examined the arm she was clutching and discovered it, too, ended in a hand wrapped in socks.

"I thought they might appreciate some fresh air," the Doctor said.

That explanation might have been acceptable if George didn't take a good, hard look at the sock and notice the blood. He released the Doctor's arm and scooted away in a sort of crab-scuttle.

"It's nothing, really. A torch and I had a disagreement. We decided to call it a draw."

"How can you have a row with an inanimate object?" George asked.

"Don't tell me you never shouted at your car or computer."

"Well, maybe, but I didn't punch them or whatever you did to yourself."

"What's a computer?"

In all the hugging, tackling, and weeping, the little girl who had assembled the castoffs from the future and invited them to tea (not that her mother knew she'd taken the last of the weekly tea rations) had been forgotten. She was quickly brought into the conversation.

"It's a sort of machine you use to learn, or play games, or listen to music," Bob said.

"Like a radio?" the girl asked.

"Uh-huh, but with pictures. They're, uh, not very common yet."

"Why do they make people angry?"

"Because sometimes they don't work, and it costs an arm and a leg to get them fixed or buy a new one," George said.

The girl nodded. "That's what Daddy says about everything."

At the mention of the girl's father, a new sobriety descended on the time travelers. A child viewed strangely-dressed visitors to her garden as an adventure. An adult male in charge of protecting his family in the middle of a world war would view the same people quite differently, especially once he learned they appeared out of thin air, lost their lunch on his footpath, carved their initials into a wall in his house, and drank all his tea.

"Your dad, he's not going to find us anytime soon, is he?" Rory asked.

"He won't because he's in Manchester all week. But Mummy should be home soon. Do you want to meet her?"

"We'd love to, but we've got to be going before George throws up anywhere else. Oh dear, I think he's starting to turn green again," the Doctor said.

"I am not!" George protested, but the littlest resident of Wester Drumlins, having seen quite enough puking for one day, thank you very much, was already running for the house.

The Doctor, once he'd extricated himself from Bob and Eleanor, hopped to his feet. Or tried to. The hop became a stumble and the Time Lord ended up leaning on Bob for support while Eleanor held his arm to steady him.

"You're hurt, and I don't mean just your hands," Bob said.

"It's nothing. Once we get back to the TARDIS—"

Twelve-year-old boys were not famous for their ability to let a subject drop, or to wait. Bob ducked under the Doctor's arm and circled behind the Time Lord. The Doctor was too unsteady on his feet to play keep-away with his own body, so he could only hope Rory had managed to hide the worst of the damage.

"Bloody hell!" Bob exclaimed.

"How bad is it?" Eleanor asked.

"It looks like he was attacked by those dinosaurs with the big claws, the ones from Jurassic Park."

"For your information, it looks nothing like that, and yes, I do know from personal experience," the Doctor said.

"You were really attacked by raptors once? That's brilliant! You gotta tell me about it!" Bob cried.

"I'm not telling you anything. You're nosy."

"Please?"

"No!"

"PLEASE?"

"Nope."

"PLEASE?!"

"Oh, fine. It all started 65 million years ago, in the middle of—"

"Later, Doctor!" George interrupted.

"Hmm?"

"There's a woman coming this way, and she's got a shovel!" George exclaimed, pointing towards the house.

"Ah. Don't worry, I've got a plan... Run!"

It was a merry chase through the garden that ended when, with mere seconds to spare, the Doctor slammed the doors of the TARDIS closed. There was a storm of dull thuds, and some rather uncouth words, as the shovel-wielding woman banged on the doors with her gardening weapon on choice. The Doctor paid the threats and curses no mind and settled at the control panel. Those not responsible for flying the TARDIS lingered closer to the doors and listened in horrified wonder as the woman outside continued her barrage. Bob was particularly enthralled by the woman's creativity with four-letter words, and filed some of the best away for later use.

"We didn't find anything about her mouth in our research," Larry said.

As the TARDIS began to dematerialize from 1942, the woman, startled both by the noise and by the increasing transparency of the police box, backpedaled. She tripped over her own feet and landed on her bottom, bruising her tailbone. Not that she noticed. She was too busy staring at the miraculous departure of the group of home invaders (and possible German spies) she'd cornered.

"And don't you dare come back!" the woman shouted once the TARDIS vanished completely.

Now safe in the time vortex, the TARDIS crew drifted away from the doors and toward the control panel, where the Doctor was still making adjustments and fiddling with the console. He finished playing with the TARDIS' settings and, upon turning from the console, found himself surrounded.

"This isn't an intervention, is it? Because I did stop experimenting with the custard, just like I promised," the Time Lord said.

"No, it's not an intervention. There are some things we've got to talk about, that's all. Oh, and you are so lying about the custard. Rory and I know it," Amy said.

"Fine, I've been experimenting with the custard less. And what have we got to talk about?" the Doctor asked.

"I think we've each got our issues, Doctor, and this is mine: I can't go home. My wife is…gone…I'm sure someone's reported me missing as well, and my house is destroyed," George said. "There's no way I can explain what happened without spending the rest of my life in prison or a madhouse."

Whatever bones to pick or grievances to air anyone else had, they decided George's problem was far more pressing. There was also instant and unspoken consensus that George deserved some privacy as he sorted out matters including a wife who had been murdered by alien angels from the dawn of time. Everyone not George or the Doctor wandered off a distance.

"I'm sorry, George," the Doctor said. "I can't fix any of that, but there are options. Have you ever wanted to live on another planet? Or in another time period?"

"Yes, when I was seven and my favorite program was Star Trek. I can't leave Earth. I don't want to live on some planet where the sky is green and everyone looks at me like I'm some sort of pink weasel or something horrible like that."

"It's mostly Sontarans."

"What's mostly Sontarans?"

"That think humans look like pink weasels."

George moaned. "That isn't the point! I like Earth, I like 2012, and I like Britain. I don't want to live on Mars, I don't want to live in the year 3000, and I don't want to move to Mexico!"

"In other words, you don't want to change anything at all. Which isn't going to work! Something's got to change, or you're going to be asked to answer impossible questions," the Doctor said.

"I know, Doctor. But I was happy. I was married, I had a house, a job I liked. Now all that's gone. I can't just move on. I'm not like Molly's sister. That woman, last I heard, had a passport in three different names and… Oh Christ, I think I've got to see Molly's sister."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather live on Io in 2904?"

"Not entirely, but we should try this first. I suppose I've got to tell her what happened to Molly, anyway. I've got a duty, haven't I?"

The Doctor clapped George on the back. "Alright, give me an address and I'll take you."

"I will, but I'd rather wait until you sorted everyone else out first. I'm in no hurry."

The Doctor looked at the rest of his companions, who were spread out around the control room and trying to look inconspicuous. Bob and Eleanor's mother would be returning within a day or two, and would definitely want to have her children there when she arrived. Larry and Sally, asides from having their full-time lives, had appointed themselves caretakers of Wester Drumlins, and the sooner they were returned, the better. And Amy and Rory…they hadn't said it yet, but the Doctor was sure they'd like a break from traveling.

"Sit tight, George," the Doctor said. The Time Lord then set off to make his rounds.

Bob and Eleanor were the first pair the Doctor reached. Before he even asked, Eleanor said, "We need to go home."

"Not that it hasn't been brilliant, because it has been. But I think I want to live to be thirteen, and either aliens or my mum will kill me if I'm not where I'm supposed to be," Bob said.

"Never mind Mum, I'll kill you!" Eleanor said. "Even if that means I've got to take care of your bitey hamster."

"Reggie! You don't think he's forgotten me, do you?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Doubt it. Hamsters have very long memories. Almost as good as elephants."

"How would you know?" Bob asked.

"I speak hamster."

"No way."

"Yes way! I also speak horse, cat, baby, and I'm trying to learn bat but it's very difficult."

"Bollocks."

"Time Lord's honor."

After convincing Bob and Eleanor that a Time Lord's honor was not something to be doubted, the Doctor approached Sally and Larry.

"I like traveling in a time machine much more than without one," Sally said.

"Yeah, horrible, isn't it? That's why the TARDIS isn't a convertible," the Doctor said.

"Your ship, it's different than when we last saw it. Just like you're different."

"New Doctor, new tastes."

"But at least you're still good at saving us," Larry said.

"Some things never change."

The Doctor promised to return Sally and Larry to their correct spot in space and time, and then, with reluctance, dragged his feet over to where Rory and Amy were sitting on the stairs.

"You'd like a holiday, wouldn't you?" the Doctor asked right off.

"Yes. But a short one! A couple of weeks, maybe. Just long enough to convince our parents we haven't died or left them forever," Amy said.

"And long enough to stop having nightmares about all this," Rory added.

"That might be more than weeks," the Doctor pointed out.

Rory sighed. "Honestly, I won't mind the nightmares so much. I'm just glad we're alive."

Amy let out a shaky laugh. "When we do see you again, Doctor, I think we should stay away from anymore angels. Next time they will kill us!"

"I'll put that in my day planner, every day. 'Avoid weeping angels.' Sounds good."

The Doctor clambered up the stairs and, on the off chance his clopping feet hadn't attracted everyone's attention, he clapped his hands. Once all eyes were on him, the Doctor said, "Before we all say our good-byes and return to our hamsters or parents or nice little shops, I did promise fish and chips. But since I haven't got any actual cash, Rory is going to pay. Sorry, just joking. Stop giving me that look or you're not getting anything."

One perfect lunch of fish and chips later, the Doctor and his friends parted ways. He landed the TARDIS in front of Bob and Eleanor's house. As the Time Lord and Bob exchanged hugs, the Doctor reached into his pocket and, after making sure Eleanor wasn't watching closely, passed an object to Bob.

"Don't point it at dolphins; it offends them," the Doctor whispered. "And don't, under threat of eternal grounding, tell anyone what it is or where you got it."

Bob tucked the sonic screwdriver into the pocket of his jeans and then drew his shirt down to completely hide it. "I won't, I promise. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Wait! One more thing! Don't use it on windows unless you want your mum to murder you."

Bob nodded. He then turned and made his way towards the door, where Eleanor was waiting for him.

With one last wave, the Doctor returned to the TARDIS. He still had three more stops to make, and he hoped his hearts could take it.

Sally and Larry were up next. The Doctor, as much as he didn't want to so much as think about Wester Drumlins for the rest of his life, had no choice but to drop them off at the front gate of the house. They'd driven their car to the angel-haunted building, and they preferred to return home the same way. Also, somebody needed to make sure all the doors were locked, so no curious trespassers discovered the possibly apocalyptic surprise in the cellar.

"We'll miss you, Doctor," Sally said.

"You should come and visit us again," Larry added.

The Doctor grinned. "I'll be there for the wedding."

Sally and Larry exchanged open-mouthed stares.

"How—"

The Doctor winked and drew the TARDIS' doors closed.

Saying goodbye to the Ponds, even temporarily, was agony. Judging by the shiny wetness in their eyes and the constant nose-rubbing from Rory, they felt the same about leaving the Doctor.

"Three weeks. No, two weeks. Just two weeks," Amy said. "Or thirteen days. We can get a lot of therapy in thirteen days."

"Alright, thirteen days it is then. That'll give me plenty of time to clean your room and—"

"No, no! Please, uh, stay out of our room," Rory interjected.

"Are you sure you don't want new sheets at least? I found this fantastic set with walruses on them."

"Oh my God, can you imagine trying to do…anything…with a flock of walruses staring at you? No thank you," Amy said. Rory was too busy hiding his shame to add anything more to the conversation.

"See you in thirteen days. You don't mind if I show up at midnight on that thirteenth day, do you? Didn't think so," the Doctor said before Amy or Rory could beg for a final decent night's sleep.

Delivering George into the capable, though likely criminal, hands of Molly's sister was the last job the Doctor had. And he was so good at it he nearly got killed.

The TARDIS materialized in a tiny flat with a ceiling so low the beacon atop the box touched it. The Doctor stepped out, and, before he could marvel at how incredible he'd been at piloting of late, he found himself pinned to the wall and threatened with a cricket bat.

"I used to have one of those," the Doctor said brightly, pointing at the bat.

"You're going to have a cracked skull in exactly five seconds if you don't tell me who you are, what you are, how you found me, and what David Cameron sent you here to do," the woman holding the bat growled.

"That's a lot to tell in five seconds. Also, Dave and I? Not friends."

"Melissa, Christ, you've got to stop doing that to people," George cried, emerging from the TARDIS.

Molly's infamous anarchist sister, finally given a name, spun around and raised the bat in a way that was decidedly hostile. George stepped back into the TARDIS and prepared to slam the door (and abandon the Doctor to his head-cracking fate) if Melissa came any closer.

"George? There is no way you're working for the government," Melissa said, lowering the bat slightly. "So what are you doing here, and who's the genetic experiment?"

"Oi! I am not a genetic experiment! I'm an alien!" the Doctor protested.

"That was my second guess," Melissa said.

George reluctantly crept out of the TARDIS. "I've got a lot to tell you, and most of it's awful. I don't think even you can believe all of it, but I'm sure you'll believe more than most people."

Melissa dropped the bat to her side. "I knew this day was coming. When's the invasion?"

"Not today! We already stopped it," the Doctor said.

"So you're a good alien?" Melissa asked.

"He's a fantastic alien. He saved my life, and the world, too, I suppose," George said.

"And nobody thought to call me? How long have I been waiting for this?" Melissa demanded.

"All your adult life. But it's not fun, like you think it is. It's horrible, and terrifying, and people die," George said.

"Who died?"

George and the Doctor looked away.

"Who died?" Melissa repeated.

No answer was answer enough. Melissa lost her grip on the cricket bat and fell to her knees. George was beside her in a moment and hugged the sobbing woman to his chest.

The Doctor stood there, useless and awkward as a deformed third leg. George, looking up from Melissa for one moment, motioned with his hand for the Doctor to leave. The Time Lord nodded and silently departed.

All alone again, the Doctor set the TARDIS adrift in the infinity of the time vortex. He sat down with his back to the central console, and felt the gentle vibration of the TARDIS seep into him, soothing him like a childhood lullaby.

"Hello, Sexy. How are we going to occupy ourselves for the next twelve days, twenty-two hours, and eighteen minutes?"

THE END

In the words of The Grateful Dead, what a long, strange trip it's been. Thanks eternally to all those who've read, favorited, and reviewed over these last two years. I couldn't have completed this behemoth without the encouragement I received.