River

You might want to find something to hang on to.

-River Song

One thumping, bumping, lurching, groaning time ride later, Clary and Jace found themselves waiting apprehensively as the Doctor fiddled with the controls of the Tardis, checking that it was properly locked in place, as it had been known to "wander off to the Middle Ages" on more than one occasion. He gave it a good whack before turning to face them, and then smiled broadly, like the boy he always appeared to be. Clary felt her heart beat a little faster as her eyes trained on the door. What was waiting out there for them?

"So, you two shadowhunters think you've seen it all? Think the world doesn't have any more secrets?" he was joking with them, they could tell; he had long since revealed the kindly man behind the soldier. "Or, do you think you're ready for one more adventure?"

Clary grinned like a little girl. "It'll never hurt to find out."

"Love the spirit." The Doctor clapped his hands together, contemplatively. "So, there are a few rules I need to go through with you two. One, try not to make history before it happens. I know everyone wants to be famous and all, but it really messes with the flow of time, unless of course, you were supposed to do it. In that case, do it." Clary and Jace smiled at each other. "Next, if I say go back to the Tardis, get back in the Tardis. I don't know what's out there, but if it's dangerous, I don't want you two getting hurt. And three," and here he paused, and his face was very serious and Clary thought that maybe his games were over. He drew closer to them so he could lower his voice. "If you see a fez, pick it up."

"A fez?" Jace couldn't keep the disgust from his voice.

"Fezzes are cool," confirmed the Doctor, mistaking, or ignoring, Jace's disgust for amazement. He then dashed past them and threw open the doors to the Tardis.

Bright sunlight and the strong smell of sunflowers met Clary and Jace as they emerged from the Tardis interior. Clary covered her eyes, trying to peer into the blinding light, and her hand reached out and snatched up Jace's. At her side, Jace was just able to make out a dirt road bordered on all sides by towering sunflowers.

"Where are we?"

"Provence, France, in the year 1885. Tell me, Clary, since you're a little artist, which famous impressionist lived in Provence, France in 1885?" The Doctor was glowing with excitement.

"You can't mean Van Gogh?" Clary peered about as if she expected him to emerge from the flowers.

"The very same. We've been here once before, so I guess a little check in on Vincent can't hurt. He seemed to fancy Amy. Why don't we see just how he's been since we were here?" The Doctor took off at a jolly pace, Amy and Rory behind, while Clary fell into line next to Jace, her mouth agape.

"Van Gogh? He's not serious, he can't be. He was one of the greatest painters of all time." Clary still seemed highly suspicious. "Maybe I've gone mad."

"Then me with you because I'm seeing the flowers as much as you." Jace laughed and hurried her along.

They carried along the dirt lane awhile, enjoying the sunlight, when they crested a small hill and looked upon a quaint house. On the porch was a small table with chairs assembled around it, a vase full of blooming flowers in the center. The door was propped open, and from inside, could be heard singing. Clary felt her heart jump at the voice and she was taken by an urge to run down the hill side.

"Vincent!" cried the Doctor as they descended the hill. "Vincent, come out! It's me, the Doctor!"

The singing stopped abruptly just as they reached the stairs of the house. They heard a chair being shoved against wood haphazardly and then frantic footsteps. Clary craned to get a better look, and even Jace, though uninterested in most Mundane art, peered a little closer. The door almost flew off its hinges as a small man with red hair came bursting out, his face split in a grin. Clary had only a moment to take in his shirt, covered in a tattered, paint splattered over shirt, and loose pants, before he rushed down the stairs and threw himself at the Doctor.

"You've come back, Doctor!" he cried, sweeping the Doctor up into a hug. "A visit no doubt, to tell me all about the wonders of the universe? And you've brought Amy," he said, turning to her next and hugging her as well. His eyes found Rory, who seemed uncertain and a little awkward. "And who's this?"

"This is my husband, Rory," Amy said, pulling Rory forward.

"Married?" Vincent said, his face a mixture of sadness and intense joy. "Why that's wonderful, Amy." He shook Rory's hand and faced Jace and Clary. "Much time must have passed if you've gotten married, had your children, and watched them grow."

"Children?" Jace blanched.

"Oh, no, Vincent," said Amy quickly. "They're not our children, just some friends we picked up and thought we'd show them around. This is Jace Lightwood and Clary Morgenstern."

"Jace and Clary," said Vincent, and came forward, taking Jace into a one-armed hugged, and kissing Clary on either cheek. Clary, for her part, was too stunned to move, and stared up at him with wide eyes. "Friends of the Doctor's are welcome here always. Come in, come in and see what I've been working on lately."

He ushered them into his small home, Clary practically dragging Jace in her excitement to see. The inside was as simple as the outside, but for the color bursting off all the walls. It was sparsely furnished, though the chairs and tables it did have were well worn. It was, however, the art work that made its home within the walls that drew Clary onward.

There were paintings everywhere. Scenes of the country side, of rivers, of flowers, of grassy slopes; but there was more: street lined with shops, a girl and her dog, butterflies, deer, a winter landscape. So much color, so much emotion; Clary had dreamed of a place like this. She and her mother had used to toy with the idea of living as starving artists, selling their work and living in a small house, just the two of them. They would spend most of the day painting, drawing, sketching.

But the reminder of her dream brought back her mother, and she turned from it quickly.

"This place is beautiful," Clary announced, cutting Vincent off mid-sentence as he explained a painting he had just sold to an elderly gentlemen for his wife's birthday. "Your house is beautiful."

Vincent smiled. "Why thank you, but you don't need to flatter me. I know it's just some walls and floors."

"A true artist needs only that," Clary agreed.

"You paint?" Vincent asked at once. "I caught you admiring a few things."

Clary blushed. "I wish I could paint like this. I've tried to learn all my life the things you do so naturally, but I just can't. I remember looking at books of your work in school. And, on the weekends, my mother and I would go to the art museum and we'd spend hours looking over your work." Clary stopped suddenly, looking down. "I suppose you don't want to hear me going on and on, though, you want to talk to the Doctor."

"By all means, Clary, come and join us." The Doctor waved her over. "She's the reason I wanted to swing by, Vincent. Clary is an avid artist, she's just a bit out of practice. I thought perhaps talking to you might help her out of her rut."

Vincent looked honored. "I would love to help a fellow artist. And you, Jace? What about you?"

Jace, for once, was silent about his passion for war. Clary got the sense that here, in the presence of both the Doctor and a gifted artist, he felt awkward in his skills. Maybe he felt fighting and killing was not so excellent after all. "I'm not really talented that way."

Vincent, for all his kindness, sensed a soul in pain. "We are all talented in our own ways, and all poor in other ways. Maybe you should try your hand at it? Clary seems happy with it."

Jace looked fondly over at Clary, who was already peering closely at a depiction of a beautiful butterfly perched on a flower. "I do not think my hands are the hands of an artist."

Vincent frowned, but then his eyes smiled. "You may not have the hands of an artist, but every man has the hands for a glass of wine. Would you care for a cup?"

"That sounds excellent," Jace said and went to join Clary. She was running her fingers gingerly over the image. "You really like this?"

"Jace," she breathed in awe. "I've spent my life dreaming of being an artist, I've admired men like Vincent since I could walk. To come here, to meet him, to maybe even talk to him, is like a dream come true. And after everything we've been through…Can it stay like this?"

Jace was surprised. "You want to keep traveling with the Doctor?"

"Not quite, I just want to be this happy, this amazed," Clary explained. "Can we live like this once everything is over? Once Valentine is gone and the world back to normal, will you come with me, even if I wanted to live like this?"

"Of course," Jace said at once, not even thinking. He had long since accepted that wherever he went, it would be with Clary. He wasn't going to lose her now. "If you want to live in a little wooden shack in a field of flowers, I'll follow you there."

Clary took his hand in hers. "With the Lightwoods too."

"Wine!" Vincent proclaimed, breaking up the conversation they were having. Jace was pleased to have something taking his mind off his lost siblings. "Here, here, Jace, have a sip. Good wine, French wine! Where did you say you two were from? Or should I ask when, seeing as you're here with the Doctor?"

Jace took the wine and sipped it. It was certainly much stronger than he was used to. "I'm from New York, in the United States, and we're from the year 2005. Clary and I are, well, we're living together and the Doctor found us."

Vincent smiled sweetly. "True love, there is nothing so fine, but for the woman herself." He winked at Clary. "Tell me, Clary, would you like to paint with me after our little talk? I was going to go up the hill a bit and see if I couldn't landscape the town below."

"I'd be honored," Clary whispered. "I haven't got the paints though."

"You'll barrow mine," he assured, and then went to join the Doctor. "Doctor, where did you find these two?

The Doctor had his own wine, which he tasted and then spat back out. "I always hate wine," he muttered to himself, and then returned his attention to Vincent. "Well, they were in a bit of a way, and my Tardis brought me to them. I couldn't leave till I fixed them up."

"What was the matter?" he asked, dropping his voice and watching the young couple go from piece to piece.

The Doctor's face fell and his eyes darkened. "It's a bit of a mess still, in fact, we're going back soon. I just thought they could use a break from it all. Clary's father has proven to be quite a problem, and until I sort him out, I can't go anywhere."

"And Jace?" he asked, eyeing the boy with the fair hair and deep, sad eyes. "I've never seen a face so drawn and fragile before."

"Fragile?" asked the Doctor. "You think he's weak?"

"No, just fragile," Vincent shook his head. "He seems constantly on the verge of falling apart, because of his love for Clary, or something else, I can't tell. He just seems tired and ready to quit. Are you helping them, Doctor?"

"I'm doing all I can for them," said the Doctor, but his mind was on Max, on the boy who should be dead. "It's going to be a little difficult to balance the whole thing out. For now, I'm just trying to take their minds off things."

Vincent shook his head, but his eyes were glowing. "So you brought them here? I'm honored, Doctor, but I don't know if I'm going to be all that much help."

"Clary seems happy enough to meet you," the Doctor motioned for her to come over. "So, to paint, or not to paint?"

Clary had already tucked a paintbrush behind her ear, and she looked quickly over at Vincent, trying to judge his reaction. "I'd like to, if you're still interested in sketching the hillside."

"Yes, yes, of course!" Vincent clapped his hands together and raced to get his things.

Clary glanced back to the Doctor, and she felt a sudden bust of emotion for him. "Thank you for bringing me here. I could never, in my wildest dreams, have come here."

The Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels, looking embarrassed. "Yeah, well, I thought it might be good for you to have some fun. Now trot along, Clary."

Clary didn't need telling twice, and a minute later, she was stomping up a hill beside Vincent Van Gogh, carrying two easels and a can of paint brushes. She couldn't seem to find words to speak with, and would just stare up at him, her eyes wide and her mouth always slightly agape. He would speak with her, tell her things about his recent works or the people who were interested in them, even tell her about himself and his love of the country. Clary could only watch him in wonder, never speaking.

When they reached the crest of the hill, Clary found herself looking down on a quaint city, tucked perfectly into the valley. She could see specks of people and red-roofed houses, a river that snaked through the city, and a small market area of wood and cloth carts. "I love sitting up here and watching the city."

Clary blinked as she set up her easel and tried to find her voice. "It's beautiful."

"Well, it's more than that," Vincent said, pulling out a paintbrush and dipping it in his usual blue. "It's just so much going on, so many lives, so many people, so many thoughts, and to just drown them all out and see it all. It makes me happy and sad at the same time."

"Sad?" Clary asked, wishing she could think of more interesting things to say.

"Sad because I'll never really be one of those people, but happy because I'll never be one of those people. Do you understand? Vincent gave her a penetrating look.

"You're an artist," Clary reasoned. "You have to see the world from the outside looking in, that way you can paint it. If you were one of them, you could only paint what's out. It's a curse and a blessing, I guess."

"And have you always seen the world that way?" he asked, sitting himself down on a low wall and beginning his strokes over the canvas.

"I used to," Clary admitted, feeling slightly sick. "Back when I lived with my mom, I always felt like I was on the outside. But, then I met Jace and the other shadowhunters, and I learned about my father. I was on the inside then. And I hate it."

Vincent glanced over at her and saw her face was sharp with grief. "You shouldn't hate how you live."

"I wish I could just go back." Clary didn't know why words were pouring out of her to this man she knew so well but didn't know at all, but they were, and she couldn't stop them. "Everything is so horrible now. I thought, once I was where I belonged-on the inside-life would get better, but it just got worse. Don't get me wrong, I have Jace, and I wouldn't trade him for the world. But everything else is just miserable and painful and I'm afraid I can't go back to how I used to be." Clary clapped a hand over her mouth, surprised by how much she had said.

It seemed, though, that Vincent was not shocked at what she has said. Instead, he placed his paint brush down and leaned back on his seat on the wall thoughtfully. "The worst thing in life is not to get your desire, the other is to get it, so they say. But tell me, Clary, do you think if none of this had ever happened, if you'd never met these shadowhunters, do you think you would be happier?"

Clary paused and stared at her canvas, wondering: she certainly wished she had never met her father or her brother, but this life had brought her to Jace, and she wasn't willing to let him go. "I guess I am happier."

"Another way to think of it," Vincent said. "Do you think the people you have met would be happier without you?"

This time, Clary knew the answer; it was almost as if her earlier conversation with Jace was resounding in her ear. "No, no they like me."

"Then just hold strong to that," Vincent said bracingly. "I'll tell you something Clary: I despised myself. Not long ago, I couldn't care less if I lived or died, for I had nothing and no one. Even now, in my loneliness, I could very easily sink back into my darkness, but then I met the Doctor." Vincent's eyes grew bright. "He showed me who I really was, he showed me how the world saw me. That's what you need Clary, you need to see how the world views you. Hold on to that."

Clary measured Vincent and felt tears pricking at her eyes. "It's been so-so hard these past few months. I can't explain, but, I just wanted to die, and it seemed like everyone else wanted me to too." Clary heard a sob escape her and Vincent drew closer, his hand resting on her shoulder. "I had nothing, just my father, and he wanted me dead, and my brother, and he hated me, and my mother, and she ignored me. All my friends were gone, they might even be dead, and all the while, I just kept thinking, what did I do wrong? Why do so many people want me to hurt?"

Clary's voice was drowned out by her sobs and Vincent took her in a warm embrace. Her small body shook in his arms. "Oh, Clary, don't cry, crying never gets us anywhere. You said you had something?"

"Jace," Clary whispered miserably. "But I'm more a burden to him. I got him in so much trouble."

"I don't think you're the cause for his sadness," Vincent said. "I think he's quite in love with you, and he's in pain only when you are. If you want him happier, you might just try a smile yourself."

Clary shuddered and drew a deep breath, gathering up her remaining strength. "Sometimes, I think I just forget how. It's been so long since I've done something I liked."

"Painting is something you like," Vincent pointed out, nudging her in the direction of the easel. "Come along, Clary, pick up your brush and paint for Jace. Show him how happy you are."

Clary's shaking hands curled around the paintbrush handle and she began the now unfamiliar strokes of an artist. As she worked Vincent split his time dabbing his own paint and helping Clary with her own. The evening set in and Clary drew back from the canvas, and before her was a small but accurate depiction of the city below. It had been so long since Clary had last painted that she forgot the rush of excitement that followed a completed piece. She gave a gasp.

"What do you think, Vincent?" she asked softly.

"It's lovely," he said, and glanced over at his own half-completed image. "Let's take this back to the Doctor and the Ponds and Jace, and have a proper dinner. I insist."

When they returned, they found the Ponds seated at the table outside on the porch, cups of wine in hand, deep in conversation. They waved merrily when they spotted Clary and Vincent coming their way, and called out. In the distance, Clary heard the whoop of the Doctor.

"Where are Jace and Doctor?" Clary asked, ready to thrust the painting into his hand. "They're still here, aren't they?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "The Doctor can't stay in one place for more than five minutes. He and Jace took off almost as soon as you left, muttering something about Beethoven. How was the painting?"

"Wonderful," Clary breathed. "What do you think?"

Amy plucked it and spread it out on the table before her and Rory. "It's beautiful. You really are a gifted an artist. Just wait until Jace sees this."

"Are they coming back soon?" Clary asked, feeling a pang of longing associated with Jace.

Amy and Rory shrugged. "God only knows what they'll get up to."

"This is your fault," Jace hissed, pressing himself as flat as he could be against the brick wall, eyeing the Doctor with as much dislike as he could.

"This is entirely not my fault," the Doctor denied, fiddling with his bowtie. "How was I supposed to know the man was a duke?"

"I don't know?" Jace shot back, lowering his voice to a whisper as he heard the sound of distant horse hooves. "Maybe when he was introduced as Archduke Rudolph, patron of the arts? But no, you were too busy messing with the half-finished sonnet, going on about strings and keys, to pay attention."

"First off, it wasn't a sonnet, it was symphony; and second, what type of man expects you to kiss his ring when you meet him? I was under the impression that you kiss cheeks when you meet!"

"I was under the impression you weren't an absent minded, time-traveling, lunatic, but I suppose I was wrong, wasn't I?" Jace heard the horses draw nearer. "If they find us, we can say goodbye to our heads."

"Did he really call for the police?" the Doctor asked, unable to help himself.

"Yes, he really called for the police." Jace rolled his eyes and peeked around the edge of the building they were currently hiding behind. "And they're coming our way now, so, do you have any more bright ideas to get us out of this one, or should I just have Clary find me a nice casket? A little short maybe, don't want her getting ahead of herself."

"Oh, ha ha," laughed the Doctor. "You really are overreacting. All we need is a little distraction for the time. Something to keep the soldiers off us while we make a run for it. The Tardis is just around the bend."

"A lot of good it does us there," Jace grumbled, and then snapped back around. They were at the end of line, trapped in an alley way, about to be arrested and executed by German police all because the Doctor had poor etiquette skills. Jace watched him fumble around with the screwdriver, whacking it against his hand and sighed. "Is this the sort of thing that happens often around you?"

"No," said the Doctor, and then a cry went up in German, and the men came rushing down the line. The Doctor blinked and then smiled uncertainly. "Well, yes."

"We're dead," Jace said faintly as a group of four men rounded the corner and came upon them.

"Hello!" cried the Doctor, sweeping his arms around. "What can we do you for today?"

"You are the Doctor," said the lead man. "And you, boy, are his companion."

Jace flushed. "I am not!" he snarled.

"Silence. You two are under arrest and sentenced to death by beheading-"

"Well that's a bit extreme, don't you think?" the Doctor said loudly. "I mean, all because I kissed a man."

"Poor choice of words," Jace muttered as the soldiers stammered their angry replies.

"Ah, yes, sometimes I don't think things through," admitted the Doctor, and the soldiers drew weapons. "Now, Jace, I'm no big fan of fighting, but I hear you're handy in a good brawl. Any way you might be able to…?"

"Save our asses?" he finished with a sharp smile.

"Well, yes," said the Doctor.

Jace readied himself for a fight as the Doctor looked on, half excited, half exasperated. As the first of the men drew closer, though, that was a sharp sound, like wind being sliced in two, and the sword the soldier was carrying shot from his hand, flew through the air, and crashed into a wall, shattering from the force of it. All six spun about to see the new attacker, and were faced by a woman.

"I think as far as the Doctor's behind is concerned, I'm the only one with an interest in it," she said, aimed a gun in her hand, and fired again. The soldiers fell back in horror, having never seen a weapon like hers, cast a last, threatening look at Jace and Doctor, and fled.

Jace blinked up at the woman as she approached. She was tall, curvy, with a head full of hair so wild he thought she could be part wolf. As she drew nearer, he saw she had a warm, heart-shaped face, lovely, round hazel eyes, and a pair of full lips, currently moved up in a smile. Jace was about to ask who she was and how she knew the Doctor, but the woman spoke first.

"Hello, sweetie," she said to Jace, and then turned to the Doctor, winking roguishly. "And, hello, sweetie."

Jace flipped about to demand the Doctor explain, but he found the man busy slicking back his hair and straightening his outfit. "Who is she?" Jace said loudly, pointing a finger in her direction. "I thought we were going for anonymity here, and suddenly she pulls out a gun?"

The woman laughed and winked at Jace. "I'm River Song, I'm the Doctor's wife."

Clary was just starting to get anxious when she heard the whooshing of the Tardis. Her heart gave a leap and she rushed toward the sound, followed closely by Amy, Rory, and Vincent. As they rounded the house, the Tardis was materializing. Clary prepared to leap into Jace's arms, but when the door was thrown open, a woman came stomping out, head high, defiance in every line of her body. The Doctor came rushing out after, looking incensed.

"You can't go stealing things, River. It's history!" he cried.

"Exactly. I'm a archeologist, I'm just doing my job. Besides, it wasn't anything important," River said, glancing around and then holding up a scanner. "Hmm, France, 1885. What are we doing here?"

"Nothing important?" the Doctor demanded. "It was the Guttenberg Bible!"

"Ah, well, it's a bit of rubbish anyway, isn't it? Completely out of date with the real world," she said, laughing a little.

"It wasn't out of date then!" the Doctor shouted.

"Time is an illusion," she said indifferently, spotted Amy and Rory, and gave a cry of joy. "Hello, Mum, Dad!"

"Mom and Dad?" Clary asked just as Jace came stumbling out of the Tardis. "You're their daughter?"

River gave Amy and Rory hugs, and turned to find Clary looking up at her. "I am, and you're Jace's little girlfriend, right?"

"Jace?" Clary asked, feeling like nothing was making sense-again.

"Yeah, you know Jace. Blond, handsome, temper, not bad with a knife-I like that." River smiled broadly.

"How do you know Jace?" Clary asked again.

"Saved his life, don't think he appreciated it, but then, what's a girl to do when her husband's in danger?" River glanced over at the Doctor. "You never did say why those men were going to cut your head off."

"Nonsense about kissing a man, that's not the point!" the Doctor said, making huge gestures with his hands.

River blinked. "Seems a big point to me, as we're married. Next time you want to kiss a man, let me know."

"River, you're being impossible," he said, coming over and pulling her towards him.

River smiled, all dimples and glowing eyes. "It's what I do best," said River, and promptly, kissed the Doctor.