Notes: First chapter (and fic post of any kind) for the 2019! Happy belated New Year everyone! Hope it's been a great one so far.

So, yes, here's the next regular chapter. I apologise for the delay; there were quite a few gift fics to dish out around Christmas and now things should ease back into rhythm, I hope. Some exposition and relationship development in this one - it seemed inevitable to wait a bit before jumping straight to action, considering that one of the two characters in this fic had the time travel equivalent of a mental breakdown just a few hours ago.
Hope you enjoy it and, as always, feedback is most welcome!


The sharp streetlight seeping through the less than pristine windows of the Angel Detective Agency and its contrast to the darkness that otherwise reigned around her was just about the only thing keeping the Doctor awake as the night stretched on. At first, it had been easy – she'd been busy with her work if all too quickly distracted every time River made a remark to herself or tossed something in the bin by her desk if she found it to be unnecessary. She'd smoothly returned to the collected exterior from before and if she'd been a lesser being, the Doctor was sure that it would have fooled her, but as it were, she had still been able to see the frantic energy that prompted her wife's every move; the time and possibilities that had taken over her mind still lurking at the edges of her consciousness.

In the end, she'd essentially passed out mid-investigation at about three in the morning. In the many, many years they'd known each other, the Doctor had never once seen her fall asleep voluntarily and now had been no exception; if anything, she could bet that River hadn't even realised how exhausted she'd been while she'd been fighting to stay awake just a while longer. She had been unusually agitated right before that, but the Doctor hadn't had the heart to question why – it was a surer way than any other to keep her distracted from the sleep she'd so clearly needed. So she'd focused on her own supposed assignment, all too eager to fix this as soon as possible.

Or at least, she had been – it was the desperation to get home that had driven her to the agency of a complete stranger who was unlikely to be able to help her in any way. But now, sitting here, sorting through River's paperwork, watching her get her well-earned rest on top of half of their evidence, the idea of home had changed one more time. Nothing ever disappears, River had said back in Central Park, but it gets misplaced sometimes. Perhaps that had been misplaced too – her longing for the time on her ship and her friends but without the woman on the opposite side of the desk had melted away somewhat, leaving pure concern and the hint of nostalgia behind. For all of River's reassurances, there was a good chance that they wouldn't be able to do it and what then? The TARDIS would take care of everyone, but that wasn't the point. If they were stuck somewhere just outside of this time and place, she'd trapped them forever because of an experiment. It had been nothing but a whimsical attempt to return to a city that was better left ignored and she could have just told them, she supposed; could have taken them to one of the many New New Yorks instead to show them what a proper attempt at a restoration of the ancient human cities of Earth looked like, but it would have felt too much like purposeful evading. Sooner or later, they'd notice and the Doctor wasn't sure that she'd be able to handle it.

It was, of course, far from the only issue. She'd been stuck on the slow path before, but this was the worst possible time for it – she was constantly on the edge of overstaying her welcome and running into herself and eventually fracturing the already fragile lines that their relationship had wrapped around all of time and space. River had been the one to tell her, all those years ago, that it was time to step back into the shadows, but she'd made no such effort of her own. They'd made themselves too important to the Universe's continued existence for her to jeopardise it, or she'd have done it ages ago.

Not those times, not one line. She'd made it sound like the Doctor had a choice and the reveal of the opposite had been slow and bitter – still was, centuries upon centuries later. Don't you dare. But she would have, so many times, if she hadn't known that the person she'd done it for would have resented her for the rest of their doubtlessly short, splintered existence.

For the first time in what felt like years even in her non-linear days, the Doctor reached for the diary tucked away in her coat's pocket.

It would have been so easy. She dragged a fingertip over the rough, time-worn cover and imagined it as relatively new and only halfway full as she'd seen it in River's hands just this morning. She had done it so many times; taken her by the hand and told her to run and never look back until they were safe. It had always been easy because the stakes hadn't been quite so high, but the more she looked back, the easier it was to see that she'd never been able to save her when it mattered. Even back when Amy and Rory had been trying to stay in touch, asking about a child the Doctor had known they would never see again, the flow of time had had him by the throat and even if he'd wanted to (and a part of him had, rather desperately, while the rest of him had flinched away from the possibility of losing her in the only way he'd known her until then), he couldn't have saved her. She had singlehandedly stopped him from doing it back in the Library, as well as at Darillium when he'd tried to bargain for some more of their time together once their night had neared its end because she'd remembered his first lesson better than he had at that point. Never run when you're scared. She'd always been excellent at running away, but staying when it mattered – keeping history as true to memory as she could – was something she was just as talented in.

It made sense, the Doctor supposed. If she'd had her freedom taken away in as many ways and as many times as River had, she would have liked to organise every little detail of the rest of her life on her own as well. Forcing it all to follow a different path would have been worse than all the unforgivable things that River had already forgiven her combined.

Really, she hadn't had a choice in the matter from the start. The Doctor chanced another look in her wife's direction – still asleep, fingers clutching her old screwdriver in her fist like it was a weapon – and pulled the diary out of the depths of her coat. She'd never dared to read it. Even back before and after Manhattan, when they'd been linear and then afterwards on Darillium, River had snatched it away every time and it had always made him wonder; what she could possibly hide at this point. There were no more secrets left between them on her side and it had taken a while for the answer to sink in, shortly after Nardole had come to scold him through echoes from her general direction – it was a diary. Not a spotter's guide, not a quick recording of all their meetings so that they could keep track of each other; just a personal version of the story they'd pieced together over the years.

The Doctor hadn't insisted after that and had never really opened it after he'd lost her for good; it had never felt right, even back at the very start when Donna had wanted to know the truth of her own future. It had shifted from genuine caution into something that resembled reverence too much for her own good and she could never, ever let it slip in front of River; could never even reach for it when they were together. This brief moment of respite had proved to be more therapeutic than she'd expected it to be.

With another quick check to make sure that River was still out of it, the Doctor turned the night light off and headed for her own room. She wouldn't get much - or any - sleep, she suspected, but it was the only escape plan that she could think of. For decades, she'd thought that she'd already endured the worst of losing River. The crushing, stifling pain and the loneliness that had followed had been the only proof she'd needed, but now, it was easy to see how wrong she'd been. It had been a failure of imagination, she supposed; not realising that if saying goodbye to her on her way to her death had nearly destroyed her, then seeing her here, curious and slightly lost and so very alive, might just have been the last push she'd be able to take.

o.O.o

Much to the Doctor's dismay, the pain burning its way under her skin since the night before hadn't ceased by the next morning. River had been the one to wake her up, her ceaseless onslaught on the Doctor's bedroom door forcing her out of the tangled-up horror of the nightmare she'd been entertaining until then, and she'd been brought fully back to consciousness by the sight that had greeted her once she'd opened the door.

"Good! You're up," River said, tone far too innocent for someone who had likely managed to rouse the entire neighbourhood by now. She looked like she'd been up for at least an hour and her cheery tone was more than the Doctor thought she could handle just now. "I thought of another place we could go. It might not get us to your ship quite as fast, but it'll help with pinning down the pattern that the Angels are making. There was a loose thread I left behind before— but never mind that. I'm going to need you to dress up. Or, now that I think about it," she added at the doubtlessly incredulous grimace the Doctor's face had morphed into, "just put on what you usually wear and button up your coat. It'll have to do."

"Thank you." River herself had done much more than button up her coat and what little of her clothing actually was buttoned was strategic enough that the Doctor could tell that she was just as prepared to go into battle as she had been with her military uniform the other day. It was one of her wife's many specialities, she knew, but it was still somewhat startling given the weather outside - the muted gold of River's dress was brighter than the morning sun and it was one of her more anachronistic choices since the Doctor had arrived, although it was difficult to say whether it leant more towards the past or the future. She'd done her hair up again, taming it into the sleek, heavy curls that seemed rather popular at this time, at least with most of the movie stars. It dawned on her, then, what she'd done – it was another one of those disguises that weren't really all that mandatory but that River still paid attention to because she enjoyed them far too much. "Does this have to do with— sorry, what was it— the 'artistic sector of the city'?" The Doctor ventured, inordinately pleased by the surprised but approving smile that lit up River's face.

"That's exactly it. I'd like to investigate some more if possible in the light of our recent discoveries. It could be a one woman job if I tried, but," a quick, appraising glance, "it doesn't have to be. And I doubt you'd like to miss it."

"Not at all," the Doctor hurried to say. It hadn't been quite so easy to sway her so far, so she was going to take any chance she could get. "I'd like to help."

"Glad to hear that." The beam from before had morphed into a rather unsettling grin. The Doctor resisted the temptation to take a step back, but knew better than to fight a losing fight – whatever River had just thought of, she'd make sure to follow through. "We'll just need a few— alterations first."

o.O.o

Never again, the Doctor swore as she dragged herself to the passenger seat of River's car (they were going for inconspicuous today, it seemed, although the vehicle was still most definitely stolen). It didn't matter how linear or non-linear they were, she'd never once trust River where anything appearance-related was concerned.

It was a lie, of course, from any and every point of view, and the reluctant admission of that fact didn't make her indignation lessen in the slightest. She'd sat quietly – well, as quietly as she'd been able to force herself to be – while River had launched into an impromptu speech about the film studio they were preparing to visit and, without giving her the opportunity to protest, she'd decided to help her blend in.

The promise (threat, really) had sounded suspicious enough, but even more so once the Doctor had realised that it was a code expression for her wife doing her very best to doll her up. It hadn't gone quite as far as she'd been afraid it would – everything here would look ridiculous on you, dear, River had declared after one look into her own wardrobe, but I can improvise – and it'd still managed to make her nearly unrecognisable.

She'd somehow turned her coat into a trench coat, the Doctor noted now as she fiddled with the too-tight belt layered on top of it, and then she'd played with her hair until it was pinned back on one side and tickling her face in small, stiff shiny waves on the other. She'd insisted that it was a perfectly simple process, but the Doctor hadn't been fooled – there had to be alien tech involved. There was no way her wife inflicted this upon herself every single day without manipulating it into existence and she voiced her doubt soon enough.

"It's not that much of a hassle, really," River assured her, the small, satisfied smile from before still curling her lips. "I enjoy it. And now no one's going to give you a second look. Well," she amended, the fleeting glance her general direction making the Doctor squirm as much as it had in her last few bodies – pleasure mixed with a little bit of apprehension. It was ridiculous, of course, and River couldn't hold her up to a set standard when she didn't know who she was, but it didn't seem to matter. "Not in the way we should be afraid of, at least. Plenty of people would notice you either way, but that's got nothing to do with me."

That odd flutter had risen in her hearts again and, despite her better judgement, the Doctor leant in closer to the driver's seat and pulled the sun visor down to familiarise herself with the changes she could see in the small mirror. River's alterations hadn't been too dramatic – just a little makeup around her eyes that felt like it had stuck to her eyelids as soon as it had dried. It hadn't changed much, or at least nothing that she could put her finger on, but it would definitely serve to make her fit in a little better. And if it was something River loved indulging in, then, well, "I suppose it's not so bad."

"Of course it isn't; I'm the one who did it." River had turned yet another corner and, with it, had taken another plunge deeper into the outskirts of the city. The Doctor had long since given up trying to guess what their final destination was apart from a film studio, but she'd still been trying to memorise the way there, not entirely successfully. "I've spent a while in this time period even before setting up the agency. Always liked it. The style, that is, not the poverty, although that's been getting a little more bearable these days. Well, as good as it ever gets in this city."

The Doctor sank back into her seat as quickly as physically possible. She didn't want to push, but River had evaded the question so many times before and she'd always been better at sharing what bothered her when she thought people didn't care. The Doctor had managed to pry some of the stories of her earlier years out of her, but it had been a painstaking process. "Is this where you grew up?"

"Yes and no." Even through the champagne-coloured satin of her gloves, it was easy to see the tension in River's grip on the steering wheel. "It's— complicated. Nothing for you to worry about," she hurried to add, as if somehow afraid that what little she had shared would ruin her reputation. The Doctor suppressed a smile. She has a good heart, too, I think, not that you would know it, her guide to River's services had told her, but at this point, anyone who had used said services had likely been able to see that despite her detective's best efforts. How could they not? "Where I am now is much better, I can assure you."

"You mean your office." The Doctor had thought it to be a dark, crowded little place when she'd first visited, but for River, there must have been comfort in crowded after decades of barely being allowed any personal possessions. That, plus the flat attached to it were exactly the kind of fascinating chaos that the Doctor had always imagined River's home to be – any home she could have outside of the TARDIS, that was.

"That, among other things. I never really forgot, though, how miserable this place can be when you're alone and desperate for help." River's smile had turned sardonic. "It's large and noisy and it scared me to death back then. No wonder I ended up here for this project."

"You think the Weeping Angels are a project?" She wasn't supposed to know how terrifying they were, the Doctor reminded herself – she only had River's short description to go by – but she'd somehow become upset enough to forget what her script had been supposed to be.

"That's what they were meant to be at first, but I guess that's changed. Again." River lingered at the crossroad they'd ended up at and then took a steep turn left. The Doctor clung to the handle of the door, more to ground herself into where and when they were than to keep herself steady through her wife's questionable driving habits. "Time distortions can be a funny thing when you first encounter them somewhere; it's like an itch that you just can't get rid of. I couldn't resist. But it's got worse since then and I'm not sure— sometimes it's just so easy to dip into time and determine the general air of all the possible outcomes, but here—"

"City making things difficult?" She could almost see the cogs of River's mind turning, scattering in every direction possible in less than an instant. The outbursts from the theatre yesterday had startled her, but it had been easy enough to handle; she wouldn't be able to control it while she was driving.

"Not the city; it's them." River chanced a glance in her direction. "It's the Angels that throw me off. It makes sense – I'm a bit of a freak of nature to them, I'd guess, can't imagine how they'd feed on my future of all people – but it bothers me. It's all connected one way or another, but how? Suppose I'll have to wait some more to find out. At least I know I'm not going to end up stuck here."

Coming from anyone else, it would have been insensitive given the Doctor's situation, but, "How?" she asked, starved for whatever little piece of additional information she could claw out even if she already knew that River was right. "Accidents happen all the time here. How can you be sure?"

"I happen to the accidents, not vice versa, remember? Plus," she continued when the Doctor kept her stubborn silence, "it's not like this Universe would ever let me die on Earth." It was one of those things she tended to say sometimes; a joke except not really, a deep conviction buried in a cryptic remark. "There's someone out there— He wouldn't let me die on Earth, either. Even if there's nothing else certain in this world, I can always rely on that."

She'd got that right, at least. Without any palpable change around them, the car suddenly felt far too small for the Doctor to be able to draw in a breath. "Dying on Earth," she echoed, voice tight as she were about to cry. Perhaps that was the case – she hadn't got around to recognising the symptoms for this body yet. "Would it really be so bad?"

"Yes." She hadn't had to think about it, it appeared. Or she had, and she'd given it far too much thought already. "Look around you, Miss Smith. All of time and space, every single place you can imagine, and this is the best this city has to offer. Who would want to be stuck on the slow path here?"

This particular remark had stung far more than the previous one and River had no way of knowing how accusing it would sound without the weight it would have later and yet, It's not the same, the Doctor reminded herself, she's River, she's nothing like her parents, they've always had an easier time finding happiness, but there was no point in disagreeing – not when the Doctor had always been terrified of the exact same thing.

o.O.o

By the time they'd reached their destination, River's fatalistic mood had reached its usual, and far more bearable, levels and the Doctor had used her temporary distraction to study her some more. She'd always been rather unpredictable, her River, even on the best of days. It had always felt like a mix of nature and nurture and just a sliver of time itself, but she wasn't quite sure about the rations of each ingredient anymore.

Perhaps it really was just the Angels getting to River's head more she realised, but she was even more aware of the twists and turns of the Universe now than she usually would have been. Her head had never failed to be a chaotic place to live in – the Doctor had seen it firsthand through the physic link they'd sometimes established enough times to know for sure – but it had never been quite so bad as she described it to be this time. And considering what was coming, it was only bound to get worse. If they still hadn't managed to get the TARDIS back before the moment when he and the Ponds would start showing up, River would sense it, there was no doubt about it now, and the fractures along the skin of time and space would never be able to heal from the damage that would be left. Worse than that, the Doctor would face precisely the same fate and at this point, it would definitely be more heartbreak than she'd be able to take.

But then again, who knew? River had that ability, it seemed; stretching the Doctor's grief out with her bigger-on-the-inside life and her endless wandering around every star and planet to her hearts's content. She'd always managed to make space for herself everywhere she went and the Doctor's own hearts had never been an exception. The TARDIS must have sent her here as a reminder, she supposed, as if she didn't have enough of those already whenever she dipped into her own memories. Why would anything change now?

She only realised that she'd slammed the car's door shut with a little more strength than necessary when River's curious gaze caught her eye. "Everything all right?" She ventured tentatively. The Doctor offered a sharp nod in return, fully aware of how unfair she was being – here, now, her wife had been nothing but helpful. Although, of course, it would have been unfair to blame her even out of the time and place they currently inhabited. She was always just there, racing her way through life in the only manner she'd ever known, and it wasn't her fault that the Doctor had ended up loving her quite so much.

"It's fine." She felt awfully exposed all of a sudden. They were standing in front of a high metal gate and a fence that stretched on for what seemed like miles – the only things separating them from the rows of warehouses in the field beyond and the identical buildings and sets right behind their backs. It didn't look quite as glamorous as she'd expected it to, but oddly enough, they did look like they belonged here. The people coming in and out of the several studios around them had opted for a similar style. River had definitely found a way to ingrain herself into the atmosphere, just like usual, and now that she pulled her closer by the arm and fished the sonic out of her trench coat to force the door to open despite the obvious lack of security to man the entrance, the Doctor realised with a start that she'd successfully done the same to her too. Here she was, away from everything even remotely familiar with the exception of her wife, and River had done her very best to make her part of a world that she'd have to survive in for the time being.

Well. Turnabout was fair play, she supposed.

She didn't have long to dwell on that particular train of thought before River tugged her along through the main entrance. It had been a clever enough manoeuvre for the Doctor to wonder just how many times she'd been here already – one moment she'd been standing aimlessly among the half-built sets that cluttered the open space around them and in the next she had disappeared behind the corner in a swirl of her skirts, self-assured enough in what she was doing that no one would second guess her right to be here despite the obviously abandoned state of her destination. Humans were ready to turn a blind eye to just about anything as long as you were confident about it, but without the psychic paper that usually helped the Doctor along, River had to make do with her natural charms and a tube of that lipstick of hers.

Thinking of which...

"What happened to this place?"

River grimaced. It was an answer enough – or it would have been if the Doctor had had the opportunity to talk to her openly – but she waited for her to voice it all the same.

"I'd prefer not to go into that."

"Then I'd prefer not to go into that." The Doctor nodded towards the nearest warehouse. "You said there was something wrong here. The kiss of an Angel. Whatever that is, if it's the same thing as it was back at that hall, but completely intact, it could be dangerous. And if you took them down, then someone might definitely want revenge—"

"Oh, they always do, dear." River had left the sonic back in her pocket in favour of a torchlight that was really better off away from the eyes of civilians. The fact that they'd need it in broad daylight was more than slightly unnerving. "Doesn't mean they'll get it. Trust me, there's nothing left here. There was really only one thing I left unsolved and now must be the time for it." River's smile would have been infectious if the circumstances hadn't been what they were. "I understand if it's intimidating. You can stay here if you like."

"Miss Malone," the Doctor started, trying to school her voice into its strictest version possible, but when had that ever really worked? Only one of her faces had managed it and he was time-locked away from this place for now. "I'm not worried about myself here. I thought we talked about unnecessary dangers."

The look River gave her in return was withering enough to almost make her turn away, but her wife's recklessness had lit up something inside her; had made her stand her ground where Joan Smith – or any other being in their right mind – would have budged. "And I thought we talked about which one of us was the client."

"We did." They'd had a rule about touching and the Doctor hadn't forgotten, but really, River had started it first and she couldn't not use her grip on her wrist to pull her hand lower; intertwine their fingers and hold on as tightly as the limitations of River's knowledge would allow. She could feel the double beat of River's hearts underneath her fingertips and she was one wrong move away from the sensation going both ways, but she couldn't pull away when she'd finally made her listen. It was worth it for the startled, if not a little outraged, spark in those green eyes. "And I'm not going back on my word, I promise, but— what happened here?"

River was at the edge of her patience; a sure sign that she was about to give in. "Why does it matter so much?"

"Because I'd like to know what you've been through." Just for this, she could be honest. It was only an instant, but enough for the Doctor to feel more relieved than she had been at any fleeting mention of recovering her TARDIS. "And what you're about to go against now."

"It's a long story," River warned. She hadn't flinched away from her touch this time and even if she hadn't done anything to reciprocate either, the Doctor was ready to count it as a victory. "And not a very pretty one."

"I'd still like to hear it."

"All right." River pulled her by the hand and the Doctor let her, all too willing to follow her now that she'd been given at least the impression of a balance in the fragile relationship they'd established. "There's not really much to tell, if you go by the evidence left behind. It's nothing but dust now."

"Most of history is," the Doctor said, picking her step up a little until she was by River's side again, "doesn't make it unimportant."

River's laughter, when it came, was just on the verge of incredulous. If there was anyone used to everything falling apart and turning to dust right before them, it was her. She'd turned it into a living, eventually, but had never really lost the passion for watching it happen in real time even if it made her hearts ache. It was yet another painfully familiar thing for the Doctor to face when they looked into each other's minds and the reminder that she couldn't do it now – to show sympathy if nothing else – was just as painful. "You don't even know how right you are about that, Miss Smith."

I do, the Doctor thought, and this time, she couldn't even manage the resentment from before. You taught me a long time ago.