MA

by itsbiz

for

16. Chapter 16

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/662322.

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

F/M

Fandom:

Doctor Who RPF

Relationship:

Alex Kingston/Matt Smith

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe

Stats:

Published: 2013-01-30 Words: 14624

River Song's Diary

by Jade_II

Summary

Matt accidentally assaults Alex Kingston - the woman wanted for the murder of Ralph Fiennes.

Notes

I wrote this in response to the following Mattex fic exchange prompt:

"AU-ANGST: Matt and Alex bump into each other by chance while one of them is on the run for a crime they did not commit. - Could work out being either of them. More details up to the writer but it would be less conventional to have Alex as the one on the run. "

...It turned out a lot less AU than I was expecting.

Thanks as ever to Charina for beta-reading :)

Matt hated rainy Sundays. Especially in the middle of summer.

He had been going to check out a beach somewhere, but when he had woken up to the sound of rain pelting against his bedroom window that plan had died a quick death. He'd stayed in bed for a while, cooking up a new plan and building up a real enthusiasm for it – he would make himself a proper full English breakfast and relax in front of the TV with the rest of the Doctor Who episodes he intended to watch before filming started next week. Yes. Yes, that sounded good.

Once he was suitably motivated, Matt jumped out of bed – a good jump always helped him to feel more awake in the mornings – and made his way to the kitchen. Getting dressed could wait, he decided. Perhaps even until tomorrow morning. Right now, he was going to have breakfast.

Pulling open the fridge, he grabbed a packet of bacon and threw it onto the counter, and then he looked for some eggs.

That was when his second plan collapsed as well.

There were no eggs.

Tossing the bacon back into the fridge, Matt slammed the door shut and pouted… and that was when he remembered that he had finished all the cereal the morning before, in a hurry to get to a read-through, and that the reason he had done that was because the bread had gone mouldy. So not only could he not have the breakfast he wanted; it was looking like he could not have breakfast at all.

He hated rainy Sundays.

He considered going without, but his stomach growled loudly at the mere thought. So, grumbling to himself, Matt went and got dressed after all.

Outside was wet.

It was not a short walk to the nearest place that would be open on a Sunday, but he refused to drive if he didn't have to. Especially in the rain. Bleurgh.

It was coming down in sheets and sideways to boot, making his umbrella completely useless and probably a liability, so he closed it with effort and walked down the street swinging it like a cane instead, trying to convince himself that he looked jaunty rather than downtrodden and bedraggled. By the looks he got from the few other brave souls who had ventured out on this miserable morning, downtrodden and bedraggled was probably closer to the truth.

The rain dripped off his clothes when he stepped into the brightly lit supermarket, and he left a trail of water all the way down the canned goods aisle when he went to find some baked beans to go with

what had better be a fucking magnificent breakfast after what he'd have gone through to get it. He hadn't in fact checked if he had baked beans after his discovery of the lack of eggs, so he had to buy some just in case. Sausages, too, and a new loaf of bread might not be a bad idea. Toast, that was the ticket to any successful breakfast.

Shivering with the cold and still dreading the trip back to his flat, Matt joined the queue at the closer of the two open tills. Prodding his basket along the floor with his foot, trying to pretend he wasn't thinking about football, he looked up to find a lady waiting for the other till smirking at him.

"I was almost a professional footballer, you know," he said, wondering what moves he could show her with the basket that wouldn't break the freshly-acquired eggs therein. Probably none, he decided glumly.

She didn't reply, but the smirk remained. It was all he could see of her really, under the rather odd combination of mackintosh hood and sunglasses. It was quite a nice smirk, though, all things considered.

He was about to try and think of something a bit more intelligent to say, but she turned away before he could do so, to pay for her shopping and then walk out of the door and, most likely, his life.

Matt sighed, and waited to pay for his own stuff.

The rain had calmed down just a bit when he stepped outside, for which he was grateful. Clutching his shopping bag in one hand and his umbrella in the other, he tapped it on the ground and decided to try the jaunty thing again.

He thought it worked out quite well, actually, all the way home. People were definitely staring at him in a different way, anyway, and when he reached his front door he fancied he could even see a tiny bit of blue sky.

Swinging his umbrella one more time before he searched his soaked pockets for his keys, he then accidentally hit someone in the face.

"Oh, God!" he exclaimed, realising what he had done and turning guiltily. "I am so, so, sorry, I'm a pillock, I'm…" he trailed off.

It was smirk lady.

She wasn't smirking any more, unfortunately. She had been knocked to the ground by his careless blow; her large shoulder bag had dropped to the pavement next to her, her sunglasses had fallen askew on top of it, and she was clutching her nose, tears in her eyes and blood dripping down between her fingers to mix with the rain.

Matt was horrified. "Oh my God, are you okay?"

"What do you think?" she said in a strangled voice, glaring at him.

"I am so, so sorry," he said again, flailing a bit before he regained enough sense to put his own bag down and offer her a hand up. "Here, here, let me help you."

She accepted his hand, albeit still glaring – glaring with an intent gaze no longer covered by those cumbersome sunglasses – and he helped her to her feet.

They both looked at each other, not quite sure what to do next.

Matt was spurred into action by the blood still oozing between her fingers. "Here," he said, reaching again for his key, "My flat's just upstairs, let me get you a hanky, or—or an ice pack or something."

"I'm fine," she protested, shaking her head and wincing as she did so. There was an ugly mark blossoming on her forehead as well, he noticed, and he couldn't help taking a step closer to examine it.

"God, I hope I haven't given you a concussion," he said nervously. Having found his keys, he dug in another pocket for his phone. "Maybe I should call an ambulance…"

"No!" she said quickly. "No, I'm sure I'm fine, I—" She removed her hand from her nose to gesticulate, but brought it back into place sharpish when it caused a fresh spurt of blood to escape. "I might take you up on that ice pack, though." A reluctant smile twitched on her lips.

"Right" Matt fumbled to put the key in the lock, and then wedged the door open with his foot while he gathered the assorted items which they had both dropped on the pavement and ushered her in.

His flat comprised the top two floors of a converted townhouse, and he struggled up the narrow stairs as quickly as he could to open the door for his injured guest, Having dumped all their baggage inside, he dithered for a moment over whether to run for the ice pack straight away or offer to take her dripping coat first; in the end he went for option one, directing her to the coat hooks on the wall in case she wanted to hang up her mackintosh herself.

And then, of course, there was no ice pack in the fridge.

He should have remembered that, of course – he'd had to take it to work with him after a particularly clumsy accident, and had left it somewhere – but he was now faced with the problem of what to offer her instead. The small freezer compartment didn't offer him much choice – two ready meals, a packet of fish fingers, half a bag of frozen veg and a small tub of ice cream.

He settled for the veg. Perhaps he could cook dinner with it, later.

Grabbing a roll of kitchen towel in lieu of a proper handkerchief, Matt hurried back to the hall to find his mystery woman holding her coat up in front of her contemplatively, as if trying to decide how much of his hospitality she really wanted to accept. On impulse, he took the coat from her unresisting hands and made the decision for her, hanging it up carefully and opening the door to his living room.

"Come in, sit down," he offered, restraining himself from taking her by the arm and physically pushing her down onto the sofa; she got the idea on her own eventually, anyway. "I'm afraid I've misplaced my ice pack," he confessed, holding up the frozen veg, "but I found these, they should work, right? As long as you're careful not to spill them, I suppose. Oh, and here." He handed her the kitchen roll. "For the… you know." He gestured vaguely at his own nose. "Mess."

"Thank you," she said, taking the bag of cold stuff from his hand and rolling up the empty end before pressing it across the bridge of her nose. Matt stood awkwardly, trying to wriggle his hands into his wet pockets and pretending not to hear the whimper of pain that escaped her lips.

On the one hand, he felt incredibly guilty about injuring her in this way. On the other hand, there was now a very attractive woman sitting on his sofa, even with half her face concealed by a bag of vegetables. Only her hair seemed… off, somehow, like it didn't quite fit with the rest of her. It was a shade of black he judged had to be from a bottle, cut in a straight, short bob – the straightness definitely unnatural, if the frizzy bits at the front where the rain had got them were anything to go by.

Hmm.

She looked up at him then and he realised that he was staring, so he pulled his hands out from their position half-inside his pockets and cleared his throat. "Can I get you a cup of tea, or something?"

The look of longing on her face said it all. "God, yes," she said, slightly muffled by the makeshift ice pack. "That would be wonderful."

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Neither." She looked like she was about to shake her head, but thought better of it.

"Coming right up," he promised, turning on his heel and escaping to the kitchen.

You will not flirt with the lady whose nose you may have just broken, he told himself firmly as he reached for the kettle. You will not. It will not be well received. Just make the tea, make sure she really hasn't got a concussion, and send her on her way.

Of course, it was never going to be as simple as all that.

She had removed the frozen vegetables from her face when he stepped back into the living room, two steaming mugs of tea in his hands, and deposited them on the coffee table. A couple of bloodied pieces of kitchen towel lay in her lap; she was dabbing carefully at her nose with another.

"How is it?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"I think the bleeding is finally stopping," she said, reaching for her tea. "Thank you."

Matt grimaced guiltily. "Least I could do."

"Oh, it wasn't your fault – I was looking behind me rather than in front. Silly of me, really."

His eyebrows climbing at this statement, Matt mentally reshuffled his interpretation of events. "What were you doing that for?"

"No reason." She shrugged and sipped at her tea, a wad of tissue still clutched in one hand. "This is just what I needed, thank you."

He watched her recline on his sofa and close her eyes, and tried to pretend he wasn't appreciating it a bit too much. "It's nothing," he said truthfully. "What's your name?"

"Alex," she said. Then, her eyes flying open. "I mean, that is…"

"I'm Matt," he interrupted, picking up the second mug and clinking it lightly against hers. "Nice to meet you."

Alex, as she was apparently called, if doubtful about it, sighed and inclined her head. "You too," she said, letting her eyes drift shut again.

Late night? he wondered. It was only ten-thirty in the morning. Or…

"Sleepiness is a sign of concussion, isn't it?" he said uneasily.

That made her laugh. "I don't think you can be concussed by being hit with an umbrella, darling" she said wryly.

"I don't know. It wasn't kind to your nose. Which I'm still sorry about."

"I don't think it's broken. I'll live."

"As long as you're sure. I could still call that ambulance."

Her eyes opened again and she looked at him pointedly. "No, thank you. Please don't."

That was… oddly fierce. Perhaps she had a fear of hospitals or something. Still… "Will you at least stay here for a while, then, so I can keep an eye on you?"

At which point he quickly gave up on the no flirting thing, because here he was inventing reasons to keep her around. Well, not inventing, perhaps, but certainly milking.

She looked nervous, but nodded after a moment. "Alright."

"Good." He nodded too. "Appreciate it."

They sipped their tea for a moment; he fancied the silence was companionable, but perhaps that was wishful thinking. She broke it, in any case, when she observed, "Your vegetables are defrosting."

He glanced at the bag on the table; it was starting to drip. Shrugging, he picked it up. "Maybe I should cook something."

"Veggies for elevenses?" She smiled.

"Breakfast, for me. I haven't actually eaten yet today." He'd also been too distracted to care, these last twenty minutes or so.

"That makes two of us," she sighed.

"Well then." He grinned, tossing the bag of vegetables in the air; he was going to give it a kick but changed his mind with his foot half-raised when he realised that the bag's contents were dropping onto the floor. Instead he caught it again, rather undignified, with both hands, and tried not to blush with embarrassment at this failed attempt at showing off.

Alex laughed. "Footballer, are you?"

"Nah." He crunched the end of the bag together clumsily, trying to prevent more spillage. "Might have been, but I did my back in. I'm an actor, now."

"Oh really?" she said, her interest clearly piqued. "Anything I might have seen?"

"Probably not." He shook his head. "Soon, though – I've just started work on Doctor Who."

She choked on her tea. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, you know." How to put this without bragging? He definitely didn't want to come across as bragging, he decided. "David Tennant left, so…"

"You're the new Doctor?" She sounded incredulous.

"Yep." He smiled. "Hi."

"But…"

"I know, I know, I'm young, yeah? But they seem to think I can do it, so you know… I'll give it a go, do my best, hopefully it'll turn out okay."

"Congratulations," she said weakly. Then, standing abruptly, "Can I use your loo?"

"Er, yeah," he said, caught off guard. "It's at the top of the stairs."

"Thank you." Putting down her tea, she swept from the room, the crumpled tissue still in her hand.

Matt scratched his neck, contemplating the vegetables and the woman whose nose they had recently been soothing. That was the second odd reaction in as many minutes. Maybe she didn't like Doctor Who. Or maybe she was just odd.

Pleasantly odd, he couldn't help but think. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed…

The sound of muffled swearing coming from the hallway broke him out of his reverie. Frowning, he

went to investigate, and found Alex holding an empty plastic bag with a big hole torn in the bottom, its contents scattered at her feet.

"Leaving so soon?" he enquired, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. "There's no need to sneak out, you know – I'm not holding you prisoner."

She looked up at him, knitting her brows, and sighed. "Maybe some of this will go with your vegetables," she said, poking a tin of tomatoes with her toe.

"Oh!" He brightened. "Sorry. Um, I thought you were running away."

"Not from you, darling."

"I'm very glad to hear it," he declared, reaching down to help pick up her shopping. It was an odd assortment of things – food, more black hair dye, a cheap pair of pyjamas and other clothing, and a phone, still in its box. He decided not to comment, carrying it all to the kitchen instead, where he found another plastic bag to put it in. He picked out an onion and threw it gently in the air before catching it again – no acrobatics, this time. "Can I borrow this?"

"That depends on what you plan to do with it." She arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, you know… chop it, sauté it, add my veggies and those tomatoes you've got, serve it with pasta?"

Alex nodded. "That sounds acceptable."

"Good." Matt grinned, and set to work.

The food was nothing special, but Alex dug into it ravenously and made very appreciative noises. Perhaps too appreciative, because they were doing things to him that they most certainly had no right to.

They seemed to have run out of conversation, so rather than endure the awkward and rather charged silence – did she feel it too or was it just him? – Matt picked up the remote. "Mind if I turn on the TV?"

Mouth full of pasta, Alex shook her head.

The television flickered into life, followed by the DVD menu screen a moment later. "I was just doing some research for my part," Matt explained, selecting the next episode he was due to watch. "Need to catch up on the rest of the show, you know."

Alex didn't reply, staring at the screen with wide eyes. Perhaps her mouth was still full.

Matt settled back into the sofa, spooning more food into his mouth as the episode began with a young girl, talking about a library.

Abruptly, Alex set her half-full bowl down on the coffee table and sprang to her feet. "I'll just be upstairs again," she called over her shoulder, half-way out of the room already.

"Okay!" Matt replied, surprised. He wondered if she was going to try and escape for real, this time. He wasn't that creepy, was he? Okay, he found her very attractive, even with her bruised nose, but he wasn't letting that show too badly, was he?

Maybe he was. But he didn't want her to leave, not before he had at least tried to extract a promise that she might see him again. He fidgeted indecisively on the sofa for a couple of minutes, wondering if he should go and check that she wasn't leaving, or already gone – he didn't want to make her feel like she was trapped here, but…

But he at least wanted to ask her to dinner first.

Decision made, he stood up and walked the few steps to the doorway.

Then he turned back to the TV, frowning. He'd heard something, something… odd.

The Doctor and Donna were surrounded by people in spacesuits and he was shouting orders at them; one of them was a curly-haired woman, watching him with a sort of amused affection. Something about her was kicking at the back of Matt's mind like he was stupid.

"Professor River Song," she introduced herself. "Archaeologist."

…Oh. Oh. Oh God.

The Alex upstairs in his bathroom was Alex Kingston.

They'd been meant to be shooting an episode with her – there'd been a script and everything, only—

The creaking of the top step made him turn again and look up.

Alex was standing there as still as a statue, gripping the banister like it was the only thing holding her up.

"Oh," he said dumbly.

She sighed, deflating, and slowly walked down the stairs. "Worked it out, did you?"

Matt glanced at the TV, where she was still conversing with David Tennant, and then back at the Alex in front of him. Her hair was different, her nose swollen, but her voice… Oh yes. She was definitely the same woman.

"Yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

She grimaced. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know!" he practically wailed, fleeing back into the living room, where he paused the DVD. "You're wanted for murder!"

"Yes. I am aware." She stood in the doorway, watching him.

"You killed your husband!"

"I did not," she said coldly, eyes flashing. "First of all, Ralph hasn't been my husband for more than a decade, and second," she folded her arms, "I haven't killed anybody."

"But you're on the run from the police!" he protested. "It's been all over the news!"

"I know. But I didn't do it."

"Well of course you would say that, wouldn't you? You're hardly going to confess to me when you haven't confessed to anyone else."

"Because I have nothing to confess." Alex frowned, looking at her feet, and when she made eye contact again she seemed to have reached some kind of decision. "Look, I can explain, if you'd like. You're going to have to stop interrupting me, though."

Exhaling, Matt waved his arms indecisively. He wanted to believe her, he did, but… well, he wanted to believe her. He liked her. What if she fooled him into believing some complicated lie? He'd be done for harbouring a fugitive, would probably be fired from Who before he ever shot an episode… He could just call the police now and let them deal with it; they wouldn't convict her of anything if she was innocent, right?

On the other hand, he really wanted to hear what she had to say.

Because he wanted to believe her.

Because he liked her.

"Oh, hell," he said out loud, throwing himself back on the sofa. "Go on, then."

Alex stayed stood in the doorway for a moment, scrutinising him. After a few seconds she shrugged and joined him on the sofa.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "No interruptions, remember?"

"No interruptions," he repeated, watching her closely.

"Okay," she said again. "Alright. I'm going to have to go back a few years to explain this properly, so bear with me."

Matt nodded, resisting the urge to speak.

"I was with Ralph for a long time, and we were married for four years." The way she said it made it clear that this fact was, to say the least, distasteful to her now. "And then he left me for another woman. I was distraught, as you might imagine – but even then, I never would have dreamed of hurting him." She paused, biting her lip. "Myself, but not him." Shaking her head as if to focus her thoughts, she went on, "Anyway, I moved on eventually, got married again, had a baby… and then my second marriage started falling apart. Nothing as dramatic as the first one, you understand, but… I was still pretty torn up."

Matt nodded again. It was all reasonably straightforward, so far.

"And then I was at this reception thing in London, and that smug little bastard had the gall to try and chat me up." The venom in her voice was unmistakable; it was quite clear which smug bastard she was referring to.

"You sound pretty angry with him," Matt observed hesitantly.

"No interruptions," she reminded him. "I am, in retrospect, but I'm just as angry with myself for letting him. I was… well, not in a good place, and here was someone familiar who was at least pretending to care, and… I should have just walked away, I really should."

She sighed, and Matt waited for her to continue. He made it a good half a minute or so before he gave in and prompted, "And…?"

Alex shot him a look, but shrugged and carried on. "We were staying in the same hotel, so I let him walk me back. And then we… lingered, in front of his door, and he pushed it open and there was this woman in the bed, and she started screaming at him, how she couldn't believe he would bring another woman back with him, 'Oh my God you bastard I'm going to kill you,'… I left before I could hear anything else, I was so embarrassed." Another sigh, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "I was sitting down to breakfast in the morning when that same woman walked up to me, started calling me names…

and told me that if she couldn't have Ralph, no one could. She was… intense, but it never even entered my mind that she could do something like this. I honestly thought that was going to be it – that she was just trying to scare me off, even though there was absolutely no need. I wouldn't have touched him again with a barge pole, but I suppose she didn't believe me."

"You haven't got to the part where you didn't kill him," Matt pointed out after a moment.

"Yes, I know, thank you." She opened her eyes and exhaled slowly, folding her hands. "A few weeks ago I was in a similar situation again. Ralph and I were at the same event, staying in the same place… not that he walked me back this time, but I saw him in the lift, and anyway, given what's been said about me since… But I checked out early. Before they found him, I suppose. I went for a walk along the river, had lunch in an empty little café… and my face was on the news, on the little telly they had hanging above the counter. MURDER, it said. I checked my phone and I had fourteen missed calls." She shrugged, just slightly. "I think I would have called somebody and tried to do things the proper way if two policemen hadn't come in right at that moment. I was halfway down the street before I realised I was running from the law – which is as good as an admission of guilt to most people. So I kept running. I've got to find proof that it wasn't me."

Apparently having finished her tale, she looked up at him uncertainly, absently tucking her hair behind her ear. It fell back into her face almost immediately.

"What kind of proof could you possibly find in Cardiff?" Matt asked, trying not to sound as sceptical as he felt.

To his surprise, she broke out in a grin. "Well, darling. My diary."

River Song's diary, to be precise, and Matt still wasn't sure that this hare-brained scheme was going to work, nor that it should, but dammit if he wasn't intrigued.

"They told me to write in it," Alex was explaining, a lot more animated now, empty pasta bowl on the table next to her cold cup of tea. "Whatever I wanted, you know – so I used it as a real diary, and I wrote down every last detail of what happened with Ralph, the first time. And I think – I hope – it will be enough to show that I didn't kill him, would never want to, and that whoever this woman is is a far more likely suspect."

"So you don't actually know that it was her," Matt stated.

"Well who else could it have been, darling, if it wasn't me?"

"I have no idea." He put his own bowl of pasta down next to hers, frowning. "Why do they think it was you, anyway?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "From what I can tell from the news it's simply that I happened to be there, and that we had a history. They keep talking about CCTV footage of us in the lift, so I suppose they haven't got anything more incriminating than that. Or any footage showing anybody else they would consider a suspect."

"So you don't think they've spotted this woman you think it was."

"They probably don't even know that he knew her. I didn't get the impression that they were in a long-term relationship."

"Bit possessive for a one-night-stand, wasn't she?"

"Perhaps she was hoping to be more. People often did, with him."

Running his hand through his hair for at least the tenth time in the last half an hour – he must look a right mess, he realised – Matt felt a distinct need to take a step back from the situation. Attractive women in trouble were all very well on TV, but in real life… well, he really wasn't sure what he should do.

"What are you going to do next?" he asked, trying to find his footing.

Alex flashed him a grin that did something almost electric to his insides. "I thought I might use your new credentials to get me into the props store."

"What? No! Why can't you just go yourself? You can't have planned on meeting me…" He paused, crinkling his brow. Could she?

"Well, I was going to ask Steven, but since you're here…"

"No," he stated. "No, absolutely not. No. And you can't go getting Steven into trouble either! Just go and ask them yourself!"

"I daren't. One of Ralph's cousins works on the props… if he knew I was looking for the diary, he'd make damned sure I didn't get it. Otherwise I wouldn't have come all the way to Cardiff – I'd just have turned myself in and let the police fetch it."

"You're making this up."

"Oh, if only."

The way she was looking at him was not helping, Matt decided. He crossed to the window on the other side of the room, turning his back to her so that he could think.

Two hours ago, his only problem had been the lack of eggs in his fridge. Now the number of problems he faced was big enough to make his head explode.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

He could call the police, and let them handle it. And possibly kill any chance Alex had of proving herself innocent.

He could call Steven, and let him handle it. And dump him in a legal tangle right when he was working on taking over the show. The press, if this got out… it could go very badly.

Or he could just take her to the props store.

His eye was caught by the reflection of the TV in the window. The DVD was paused on a shot of Alex, looking wide-eyed at the Doctor.

What would the Doctor do?

The answer was obvious.

Sighing, Matt turned back to Alex and let himself fall back onto the sofa.

"We'll have to go tomorrow," he told her. "They're closed on Sundays."

Which left him with an entire afternoon, evening and night in her company. He wasn't sure if he was terrified or thrilled.

She hadn't organised anywhere to stay so he offered her his bed for the night; he could sleep on the sofa and besides, it probably wasn't a good idea for her to show her face outside too much, no matter how different she'd styled her hair. Her bruised nose would draw attention to her, anyway.

But it was still only midday, and their late breakfast meant he couldn't exactly offer to cook lunch right now. What else could they do, cooped up indoors all day?

Well. He could think of one or two things, but he had a feeling Alex wouldn't be too receptive to any advances he might make right now. Besides which, did he really want to get more tangled up in her mess than he already was?

He looked at her sitting nervously on his sofa and couldn't help but think that yes, actually, perhaps he did.

"It'll be okay," he ventured.

She laughed, though it was without much mirth. "What will?"

"I mean, we'll get this sorted. We'll find the diary and we'll hand it in to the right people and everything will be fine."

The expression on her face was grateful, but he could tell his words weren't having much of an effect. "What if it's not?" she said quietly. "What the hell do I do if it's not? I could be in prison for the rest of my life, I… my daughter…" She stifled a sob and Matt flailed mentally – this was not what he'd meant to happen, he was trying to make her feel better, not…

"Oh God." She shook her head, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be crying all over you after you've been so wonderful." She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed carefully at her nose; Matt felt another twinge of guilt.

"No, no, that's okay," he reassured her. "Really, I mean, of course you're upset. Who wouldn't be? Everyone gets upset when upsetting things happen."

That made her laugh again, at least. "Wow, Matt. That's deep."

"Yeah. I should have been a philosopher."

"Maybe you should." She paused, turning to contemplate him. "Are you enjoying working on the show?"

He wasn't about to protest the change of subject – anything to keep her from dwelling on her situation. "Yeah," he told her. "Yeah, I am. We haven't actually shot anything yet, but everyone's really nice, and the first read-through was fun."

"I was supposed to be coming back," Alex said wistfully. "It was a great script. I was really looking forward to it."

"Maybe you still can. When all this is taken care of."

"That would be nice." She nodded. "But I don't know if Steven would want me back, after all this, even if things go the way I hope they will."

"Are you joking? Steven loves you. He was crushed when we heard what was going on with you – said straight away that it must be a mistake."

"Really?"

"Really really, I promise."

Alex smiled at that, and Matt wondered how, with her swollen nose and puffy eyes, she could still be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She went to bed early, clearly having had a long couple of days, and Matt wandered around the flat tidying up in anticipation of her waking up tomorrow morning. Thankfully he hadn't been living in the flat long and therefore hadn't had a chance to create too much clutter; still, if he'd known he was going to have a houseguest he wouldn't have left it in this state.

He washed and put away all the dirty dishes and gave the work surfaces a good scrub; he emptied the fridge of mouldy cheese and swept the floor. In the living room he picked up the t-shirt and jumper that were lying around and was then at a loss at to where to put them; his laundry basket was in the bedroom with Alex. Eventually he stuffed them into a plastic bag and hid it under the stairs.

He was going to vacuum, but decided against it at the last minute; he didn't want to wake her, if she was asleep already. For the same reason it took him a while to decide whether or not to clean the bathroom, which was right next to the bedroom; he did, in the end, reasoning that the sound of scrubbing was not likely to be too noisy.

Nearly two hours after the start of his cleaning spree, Matt collapsed on the couch with a bottle of beer and ran a hand through his hair.

Right. That was that, then.

He allowed himself a moment to relax before picking up the remote control and turning the TV back on. He'd not done any work today in the end, and besides, he was curious to see Alex in action.

An hour and a half after that he wondered if watching these particular episodes had been wise. Intrigued and attracted by Ms Kingston as he had been before, he now found his feelings verging on infatuation.

Oh God. This was so, so not good.

He watched several more episodes, just to take his mind off things, and when he felt sufficiently

exhausted he crept upstairs to the airing cupboard to find some blankets for his sofa bed. He was just wondering whether he really wanted to bother folding it out – it was pretty comfy just as a sofa, but perhaps something closer to a real bed would be a good idea – when Alex appeared in the doorway, dressed in the pyjamas he had picked up off the floor for her earlier.

"Sorry," he said, looking up with a blanket in each hand. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," she assured him, stepping into the room. "I couldn't sleep. I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"No, 'course not. I was just trying to work out blanket positioning." He held them up, demonstrating.

"Ah," she said sagely, stepping closer still and throwing a critical eye over the current state of his sleeping arrangements. "A difficult task, to be sure."

"Yep. It's a hard job, but someone's gotta do it."

Alex smiled. He liked it when she smiled.

"D'you want a beer?" he said, dropping the blankets and picking up the empty bottle. He made his way to the kitchen to find some more.

"No, really Matt, if you want to go to bed…"

"That was a rhetorical question!" he called over his shoulder. He deposited the empty bottle on the counter – so much for his clearing up – and took two new ones back to the living room. "Of course you want a beer."

She took it gratefully and made herself comfortable on the sofa, so he decided that it must be true.

"To River Song's diary," he declared, letting himself fall back onto the blankets next to her and clinking his bottle with hers.

"River Song's diary," she echoed. "And all the secrets therein."

"And may they do what we need them to do."

"Hear, hear."

They clinked bottles again and he realised that he was sitting on the remote. With some very careful manoeuvring he managed to retrieve it without emptying his bottle all over himself, or Alex, or indeed at all. No mean feat.

"Telly?" he asked.

"Go on, then," Alex tugged a blanket over her curled legs. "You were watching Doctor Who, right?"

"Yeah, but we can watch something else if you'd prefer. I've got lots of DVDs." He looked at the box in the corner which housed them, still unopened from his move. "Somewhere. And there's the telly, of course."

"Doctor Who is fine. Which episode were you on?"

"Well, I watched yours – you were fantastic, did you know that?"

He fancied he saw her blush. "Thank you, darling."

"And your character, ugh." He gestured emphatically with his beer bottle, unable to properly verbalise his intense adoration. "I love her."

"She is rather magnificent, isn't she?"

"Magnificent," he agreed. "That's the word."

"So which one's next?"

"Er…" He turned everything back on and squinted at the screen. "Journey's End."

"Isn't that the last in the series?"

"I think so. But there's more, after that – the specials, right?"

"And then it's your turn." She grinned. "Play it, then. You may need to hold me if I cry."

He tried not to show her his bemused but honestly quite eager reaction to that. "Um, that shouldn't be a problem."

Her grin widened, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

As it turned out, she didn't cry, because she was sound asleep half-way through the episode.

Sound asleep, snuggled into his side.

Matt didn't quite dare move; he didn't want to wake her if she had been having trouble sleeping earlier. So when the episode ended – and if he had cried, he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her about it – he turned off the electronics and pulled the blankets more firmly over the two of them.

He drifted off just as quickly as she had.

When Matt woke up on Monday morning he could smell eggs. Alex was in his kitchen, his sleep-muddied mind deduced; he was still on the sofa, sprawled across it with one leg hanging over the side and the blanket tucked neatly under his shoulders.

"Unf," he said groggily.

The sound of laughter came through the doorway to the kitchen. "Good morning!" Alex's voice called. He could just about see her shoulder, her hair – the hair was definitely wrong, now, undeniably so – and her leg where she stood at the stove. And arse, he most emphatically did not think.

Matt cleared his throat and struggled into a sitting position. "Morning!" he replied, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and grimacing when he found it standing several inches farther off his head than usual.

"I'm just cooking breakfast, I hope you don't mind!"

"If you think I'd mind someone cooking breakfast for me, you are sadly mistaken." He got to his feet, squinting as he looked around the room. "What time is it?"

"Six -thirty. The alarm went on your phone, but I don't think you heard it." Matt rounded the corner into the kitchen and Alex looked around, biting her lip. "Your ears were smothered by the blanket on one side and my hair on the other."

Matt laughed, trying to stop staring at her mouth. "I can't think of anything better to be smothered by," he said. Staring at the mouth was successfully halted; unfortunately replaced by staring at her chest, very nicely accentuated by the top she was wearing. "What's for breakfast?" he said quickly, stepping past her to inspect the frying pan on the stove.

"Every breakfast food you had in your fridge. I hope that's okay."

So, basically, all the things he had bought yesterday and never cooked. "Sounds amazing," he said honestly. "Er, did you want to take a shower? I can take over breakfast, if you like."

"Oh, I showered last night. Had to clean up the nosebleed," she said.

Matt couldn't help feeling a bit stung.

"Oh, don't look so guilty." Alex rolled her eyes. "It was an accident. You go and shower; breakfast will be ready when you're done."

"If you're sure…" he began.

She hit him with the fish slice. "Go!"

"Yes ma'am!"

He scurried upstairs, not pausing until he turned the water on to wonder at the cheerful mood of his unexpected guest.

Whatever was in that diary must be pretty big, if even the prospect of retrieving it had her rejoicing.

Matt scrubbed absent-mindedly, turning the last 24 hours over in his mind and trying to work out how something so serious – not to mention illegal – could feel like the best day of his life. Just waking up this morning smelling her perfume on his blanket had been like heaven; discovering that this beautiful woman had decided to cook him breakfast was just the icing on the cake. What was it she'd said? His ears were smothered by hair and blankets…

He found himself swallowing suddenly, recalling her words. The only way he could picture being smothered by a blanket on one side and her hair on another was if she was lying on top of him.

Quickly, he turned the water to cold.

He needed to take a step back. Desperately, desperately. What if his attraction was blinding him to the fact that she really was a murderess? What if he was next?

Okay, he really didn't believe that. Not even objectively.

But he could be arrested for what he was doing. He could lose his job. He could be arrested and lose his job. Was it really worth the risk, for some woman he had just met and who probably had no interest in him whatsoever?

…Fortunately or unfortunately, the only answer that seemed right was yes.

Half an hour later he was clean, dressed and shovelling the last of his food onto his fork, Alex sitting opposite him at the kitchen table and eating hers at a more leisurely pace. She had gone quiet again after she'd served breakfast, as though the enormity of what lay before her was starting to hit.

Even though what lay before her was mostly sitting in his flat waiting.

"There is no point in you coming too," Matt insisted, shaking his head vehemently. "What if someone spots you before we get the diary? It'll be much less conspicuous if I go alone. I have every excuse to go checking out props."

"You can't take it with you, though, which is what I need! Really Matt, you can't put yourself on the line for me. I'll be perfectly fine if you can just get me on set."

"Don't be silly. What if that cousin recognises you? You wouldn't have a chance, Alex."

Alex let a little noise of frustration escape her throat. "I can't let you do this for me!"

"Why not?"

"You barely know me."

"I know I like you."

That seemed to take her aback, for some reason; she looked at him askance, frowning. "Be that as it may," she continued after a moment, "You've got far more to lose than I have."

"I think just the opposite is true, actually." Having finished his breakfast, Matt leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "All I've got to lose is my job – which is a big deal, yeah, but not compared to you losing your freedom."

The grimace on Alex's face was almost painful to behold. "But I…" She stopped, shaking her head as though she was annoyed at herself, and started again more quietly. "I don't think I could ever do anything to repay you."

Matt licked his lips, his heart suddenly, painfully seized by a rather terrible idea. "'Course you could."

She looked at him sceptically, folding her own arms. "How?"

He couldn't quite look back, but he managed a shrug that he hoped would appear light-hearted. "Okay then. My price for the theft and return to you of one diary…" He took a deep breath, and made himself meet her eyes. "One kiss."

Her reaction was halfway between a gasp and a guffaw. "That's all?"

"That's all." He nodded. "No strings attached." Deciding to plunge right in, now or never, he extended his hand to her across the table. "Deal, Miss Kingston?"

Shaking her head incredulously, Alex laughed and took his hand in hers. "Deal, Mr Smith. You idiot."

Well. She was only saying what he was thinking.

The BBC studios were cold. Matt was really not impressed with this summer.

He was starting off the day with a costume fitting, to be followed in the afternoon by a photo shoot featuring said costumes.

Plenty of time to find a moment to sneak into the props store, he decided.

The next few hours were spent trying on various combinations of clothes that all looked more or less the same to him, but he was assured that the small differences were Very Important, and that it was Very Important that he look Just Right. He supposed he couldn't argue with that – some of these people had worked on the show for years, after all, and everyone always seemed to look good.

Even when they were wearing big bulky spacesuits.

Matt shook his head to push Alex from his mind – not without pausing for a moment to wonder what she'd been doing all morning, alone in his flat – and complained again about that cold as he stripped and changed for the umpteenth time.

"Looking good there, Smith." His co-star, Lydia, walked into the room and grinned at him. She was tall, slim and curly-haired – much like Alex was naturally, his brain put in – and dressed in a policewoman's outfit.

"Likewise, Gallagher," he said. "That your costume?"

"Oh, this?" She preened. "No. I've decided to join the police force. Hunt down criminals in my spare time." She barely got to the end of her sentence before she was rolling her eyes. "Of course it's my costume, numpty."

"Hey, joining the police sounds like a pretty good career move, to me." Especially as he was still bitter that she'd won the role of the Doctor's companion over his own favourite from the auditions; but he'd sworn himself to secrecy about that.

"Well, maybe it is, at the moment. They still haven't found Alex Kingston – you know she was on the show once?"

Caught by surprise, Matt found that his mouth was suddenly dry. "Yeah. Um. I watched her episodes yesterday, actually."

"Oh really? Any good?"

"Yeah, yeah. I liked her."

That made Lydia smirk. "Bit old for you, isn't she?"

Inexplicably offended, Matt spread his arms. "What can I say? Older women just do it for me."

"Even ones wanted for murder." Lydia put her hand on her hip, decidedly unimpressed.

Matt winked. "Especially ones wanted for murder."

Lydia was about to reply when she was called back to the other side of the room. Suppressing a sigh of relief, Matt decided to get the rest of this costume stuff done as soon as possible, so that he could take a nice long break before he had to interact with her again.

It would be highly unprofessional of him to admit it, but dammit, he hated that woman.

Thankfully the costume ladies were more than willing to help him hurry things along – he told them a little white lie about learning lines – and he left half an hour before he'd been scheduled to, leaving Lydia fussing with her nightie.

She winked at him as he left. Matt managed not to scowl.

Truth be told, and he was not completely sure that he wanted to, but what she had said about Alex was still getting to him. How dare she, really? She didn't even know her.

Neither did he, very well, but he wasn't the one going round saying that… that… wait, what had she said exactly? Only really that Alex was too old for him. And wanted for murder, but that was, unfortunately, true.

Well. Lydia was ageist, anyway, which was not a nice attribute.

Matt was too busy grumbling to himself to realise he'd reached the door to the props department until his hand had placed itself on the handle.

He sneaked a glance around him, suddenly conscious that he hadn't been paying any attention to who might be watching him, but nobody was looking at him suspiciously. Besides which, he had every right to pay them a visit, right?

After half a moment's hesitation, he knocked lightly and let himself in.

The room was empty except for the shelves of props and a distracted looking young woman with what

looked like a cyberman's arm in her hand. She glanced up briefly from whatever it was she was doing to it, but returned to work almost immediately. "You're the new Doctor, right?" she said after a moment.

"Yeah." Matt stuck out his hand. "Matt. Hi."

Again, she didn't look up right away; when she did, it was to slap the cyberman's hand into his and shake it vigorously. "Chelsea. Nice to meet you."

"You too." Matt laughed, releasing the arm. "What a charming appendage."

"God, I hope not. Charming is really not the impression it's supposed to make."

"Oh, its charm in no way effects its ability to strike terror into the heart of man."

"Good to know." Chelsea smiled, putting the arm down carefully on a workbench. "So what can I do for you, Doctor? Come to try out your sonic screwdriver?"

"Ooh, can I?" His mission was momentarily forgotten at the prospect of this shiny new toy.

"No."

"Oh." Matt felt his face fall. "Um, okay then."

"You'll have to wait til your photoshoot – they came in here half an hour ago and pilfered a bunch of stuff," she continued with distaste.

"Okay," he repeated, shuffling his feet. Hesitantly, he stepped farther into the room. "Can I take a look at this other stuff?"

"Sure." Chelsea shrugged. "Just don't break anything." Turning back to the workbench, she appeared to dismiss him completely from her mind.

"Don't break anything," Matt muttered under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets just in case. "Right."

The shelves were crammed with stuff, carefully labelled to infuse order into what might otherwise be perceived as chaos. The closest seemed to be things likely to be re-used, including an empty spot marked sonic screwdriver. Some shelves next to it were marked The Eleventh Hour and contained miscellaneous items he recognised from the script; an ice cream scoop, a phone, a pair of handcuffs and other things.

The next set of shelves was marked Time of Angels, and right in the middle, at the level of Matt's nose, was a TARDIS-blue book sitting above a label which read River Song's diary.

"Do you know what's happening with those episodes, now?" Chelsea asked from behind him, making him jump and turn instinctively to face her; unfortunately this combined with the fact that his hands were still in his rather tight pockets meant that he lost his balance, careening elbow-first into the set of shelves he had just been perusing.

It seemed like it would be alright at first; his elbow knocked some kind of futuristic device onto the floor but it didn't break, and Matt finally managed to get his hands out of his pockets and gripped the shelves tightly in order to keep himself from ending up on the floor as well.

Unfortunately they weren't built to take the weight of a clumsy actor, and he did. With half the shelves on top of him and props strewn everywhere.

He thought he heard Chelsea make a shocked noise, right before the diary fell corner-first onto his forehead.

"Ow," he squeaked, raising a hand to his head.

"Oh God," Chelsea said, rushing over and beginning to pick things up, examining them for damage. "Oh my God."

"Sorry," Matt managed, pushing himself into a sitting position. The diary was in his lap, and he lifted it up as he stood. "I am so, so sorry, God, I'm such a clumsy idiot…"

"It's okay…" Her tone did not sound convincing; she was kneeling in the midst of the mess now, staring forlornly.

"Here, let me help," Matt offered, lifting one end of a fallen shelf and trying to work out how to reattach it to the wall.

"No!" Chelsea protested, sounding panicked. She hurried to her feet and took the shelf off him, immediately setting to work getting it back into its brackets. "I mean, no, that's quite alright, don't you have a photo shoot to be getting to?"

"I do, but…"

"Well then, go on then." She looked briefly over her shoulder to give him a somewhat manic grin. "Really, you've done enough."

Seeing that he wasn't wanted, Matt did his best not to trip over his own feet as he hurried back through the door and shut it firmly behind him; it wasn't until he did so that he realised he was still holding the diary.

Unbidden, a laugh rose in his throat, and he tucked the book inside his coat.

The photo shoot went on forever, and it was dark by the time Matt got home. There were no lights on in the windows he could see from the street, and he wondered as he unlocked the door to the building and trudged up the stairs if Alex would even still be there – a stupid fear, surely, seeing as he was carrying her salvation wrapped in a plastic bag under his arm, but still a niggling worry. And then he opened his front door and a waft of something delicious assaulted him immediately, and the light was on in the kitchen beyond the darkness of the hall, and he felt, just for a moment, like he might be in heaven.

"Hello!" he called, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket onto a coat hook, from which it promptly fell to the floor. Matt decided that he didn't care, and padded into the kitchen in his socks, swinging the plastic bag from his fingers.

"Hello," said Alex's voice, and he rounded the corner to find her sitting on his kitchen counter sipping at a glass of wine. She was trying valiantly to look nonchalant, but her knuckles were white where she was clutching her drink.

"I got something for you," Matt said without preamble, tossing the bag onto the kitchen table.

Alex's eyes widened and she froze; when she moved it was to put down the glass with a shaking hand and lower herself carefully off the counter. She tried to walk normally towards the table but broke into a sprint for the last two steps, grabbing the bag and fumbling to remove its contents.

Freed of its plastic sheath, she held the blue book up and burst into tears.

"Thank you," she managed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It was no problem," Matt said, mostly truthfully.

"Thank you," Alex repeated, and closed the distance between them in two quick steps before grabbing him by the back of the head and pressing her mouth to his.

She tasted of tears and wine and something he couldn't discern but which he wanted more of, instantly, but…

He broke away, looking at her, trying to read her. "You didn't need to do that," he said, somewhat breathlessly. "I know what I said before, but…"

"I wanted to," Alex insisted, her hand still on the back of his neck. "My knight in shining armour." She smiled up at him, eyes still full of tears.

Matt shrugged awkwardly, suddenly uncomfortable – she looked good and smelled good and tasted good but he felt he would be taking advantage if he acted on his growing desire – so he ran over to the oven and knelt down to peer inside, escaping her grasp. "What's this?" he asked.

"Lasagne," Alex replied, strolling over to join him, still clutching her book. "To say thank you, you know. I wasn't sure what time you'd be back so I turned down the heat. It should be fine to eat, though."

"Ooh, can we?" Matt said, practically salivating already. He hadn't eaten properly since breakfast –

glorious, Alex -cooked breakfast, and could she just stay here cooking for him forever? He could employ her as his own personal chef…

Alex was already putting plates on the table, and Matt leapt to his feet to find some cutlery. He transferred her wine from the counter to the table and poured a glass for himself as well while she opened the oven and put the steaming dish on the table. When their plates were both heaped with copious amounts of food he raised his glass and cleared his throat. "To River Song," he said warmly.

Alex's answering smile was just as warm. "River Song," she echoed.

Matt was just about to tuck into his food when his phone beeped. He was tempted to ignore it, but a quick glance at the screen told him it was a message from Steven and so he opened it, vaguely hoping that it was a last-minute notification that tomorrow's early start had been cancelled.

It wasn't, of course. What it was was a slightly crummy picture taken with Steven's phone at the photoshoot that afternoon, with the caption 'team TARDIS, looking sharp!'. Matt sniggered at that, because in his opinion they were anything but; his stern expression somehow made his chin even bigger than usual, and Lydia was over-doing her pout to a point that was almost ridiculous.

"What's funny?" Alex asked, looking up from her plate.

"Here." Matt pushed the phone across the table for her to see. "From our photo shoot this afternoon. I hope the professional pictures turned out better than that sad effort."

A smile tugging at her lips already, Alex pulled the phone towards herself.

When she saw the screen she dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter; it was the only noise she made as she gaped at the picture, looking horrified.

"What is it?" Matt stood uncertainly, hovering by his chair. "I know it's a bad picture, but—"

"That's her," Alex squeaked.

He frowned, rounding the table to look over her shoulder at the phone. "What?"

"Her, her, the one who told me I couldn't have Ralph, the one who—"

"You're joking," Matt said, more shocked than he would care to admit. His legs were suddenly shaky, and he had to manoeuvre himself back around the table to sit heavily on his chair. "Tell me – no, she can't be – tell me you're joking."

"I wish I was." Alex's head seemed to be shaking of its own accord; clearly she was just as shocked as he was. "Oh my God."

She sat there silently for a few moments, her head still shaking, her hands clutching his phone like it could help her in some way if only it would share its secrets. Then she dropped it on the table abruptly, scrambling instead for the blue book and paging through it rapidly, her head still moving back and forth like it could change things if only it denied them hard enough. She grew more frantic as she turned each page, until finally she reached the end, slammed it shut and opened it again near the beginning, folding it open as far as it would go and running her eyes over the join in the middle. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no."

Her panic and despair were palpable, so much so that Matt almost didn't want to ask, but… "What is it?" He licked his lips nervously.

"It's gone." Alex slammed the book down in the on the table between them, running her finger down the middle. "The pages have been ripped out."

Gingerly, Matt picked up the book and held it up to the light, probing gently with his own finger.

She was right. The remains of several pages were there; pages removed neatly but not tracelessly.

"Holy shit," he breathed. His heart was hammering in his chest now, and he pushed the book back towards her with unsteady hands. "Holy shit, Kingston, what do we do?"

"I don't know." She was still eerily still, a glazed expression now on her face. "That was all I had. I don't know." With that, she burst into tears. "Oh God, I don't know."

"Hey, hey…" Without quite knowing how he'd got there Matt found himself at her side, on his knees with his hand on her shoulder.

With a sob, Alex wrapped her arms around him, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck. He felt hot tears drip past his collar and trickle over his skin as she sniffed loudly. He could think of nothing to say to comfort her so he held her instead, smoothing his hand over her back and making soothing noises.

He hoped she couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating. She was shaking like a leaf, gripping the back of his shirt like it could keep her from drowning – and oh, he wished it could, that saving her from this nightmare could be as simple as pulling someone from the water. He was utterly powerless in the face of what was happening, and he hated it.

Eventually she stilled and pulled away. Matt handed her a napkin to wipe her nose, which she accepted with a dim smile.

"Thank you," she said.

"Least I could do," he mumbled, quite aware that he hadn't done anything at all.

She put a finger under his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. "No, really," she said. "You've done so much for me, Matt, even though you barely know me. You have no idea what that means."

"I want to do more," he confessed. "I want to fix it for you."

"That's sweet, darling, but I don't think you can."

"Of course I can!" he protested, though he was well aware of the hopelessness of the situation. "There must be something – if we just think—"

His thoughts were derailed by her kissing him.

"Please," she said, breaking away. "Matt, the last thing I want to do right now is think."

Matt licked his lips. They tasted like hers.

"Alex…" he began uncertainly.

"I know it's a bad, terrible idea," she said, shifting closer so that he found himself kneeling between her legs. "But I…" she trailed off uncertainly, suddenly vulnerable.

"Me too," he confessed in a whisper, and kissed her again.

She was right, he decided, feeling her melt into him, hearing her gasp into his mouth. Not thinking for a while was the best thing they could possibly do. Everything would look better in the morning, right?

Actually, everything looked better already.

She was kissing him – voluntarily, enthusiastically kissing him, and okay yes, it was probably more a reaction to the extreme situation than anything else, but somehow that didn't seem so important right now. Something to sort out later, when the thinking came back. What was one more complication in this ever-more-complicated situation, after all?

His hands shifted to her buttocks of their own accord and he pulled her down off the chair to straddle him, one hand immediately snaking back up to tangle in her hair. Alex moaned, pressing against him, and regained her tight grip on the back of his shirt. Her fingernails dug into his skin as she moved her mouth from his to nip at his ear instead, her hot breath there making him shiver.

Pushing his fingers between the fabric of their shirts, Matt fumbled hastily with her buttons, a task she pulled back to help him achieve; meanwhile her hands wandered under his t-shirt to skate over his skin, lightly at first but soon leaving trails of sensation with her fingernails. The moment he had finished with her shirt she pulled it and then his off in quick succession, tossing them carelessly away and then pulling his hands up to push one firmly against each breast. He could feel her hardened nipples through the fabric of her bra; electricity seemed to spark beneath his palms and travel straight down to his groin, causing a low groan to echo up through his throat. Alex echoed him, bucking against him as she threw her head back, her hands still pressing his own harder against her chest. He began to move them in slow circles, rubbing firmly until she let go of him to unclasp her bra and then grasp him firmly by the shoulders when he pushed the material away from her skin and took one nipple in his mouth. He grazed her lightly with his teeth, applying his tongue to the spot to soothe the sting, and repeated the motion until she was whimpering above him, tossing her bra across the room to give him uninhibited access. His fingers pinched and squeezed at her other nipple before roaming down to unbutton and unzip her trousers; with only a second's hesitation he plunged them inside to stroke at her wet folds, his knuckles brushing against her soaked underwear.

Alex moaned loudly, cut off by a gasp when he found and pinched her clit. Matt chuckled, finally releasing her nipple from his mouth, and looked up to meet her gaze.

She was wide-eyed and vulnerable, the trails of her tears still glistening on her cheeks, and Matt's stomach suddenly tied itself in knots.

"Alex," he said, swallowing. He retrieved his hand from her knickers.

"Matt," she replied softly, raising a hand to his cheek.

He closed his eyes, taking control of himself, and stood shakily, grasping Alex's hands in his as he pulled her to her feet as well. "This is a bad idea," he said.

"A terrible idea," she agreed, echoing her earlier words – but the way she said it didn't make that sound like much of a deterrent.

"You're upset," he said, taking a step back. "And not in a good place right now, and just because I find you attractive it doesn't mean that—"

"Oh, I think it does," she countered, following him.

Matt tried to retreat further, but found himself backed up against the counter after only half a step. "I don't want you to regret this."

"I think I'll still have far bigger regrets to worry about in the morning, darling." Alex stepped closer, her fingertips dancing lightly down his arms. "But if you don't want to…" she said, an edge of uncertainty in her voice.

"That's really not it at all," he said – only half of it to her bare chest. He was quite proud of himself for that.

"Then let's stop making this more complicated than it needs to be." Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her whole body against him, her lips on his, her breasts flush against his chest, her pelvic bone grinding against his erection. Matt couldn't help a groan, his hands flying automatically to her hips to pull her closer still. She broke the kiss to shoot him a wicked grin when he did so, and licked her lips in a way

that was positively sinful.

Spinning them around, Matt pushed her back against the counter, assaulting her neck with little nips of his teeth as he fumbled to push her trousers and underwear down her legs. She hooked her thumbs in next to his and together they got the job done; he moved his mouth down again, down between her breasts to graze her hip with his teeth; down further to flick her clit with his tongue as his hands on her legs urged them farther apart.

He planted his tongue as far back as he could reach and licked back up to her clit; the noise she made was delicious so he did it again. Her hands came down to grasp him by the hair, urging him on as he repeated the motion again, and again, bringing his own hands up to pinch at her buttocks before smoothing them over her skin and back down her legs. Seized by a sudden impulse, he brought both hands up again to grasp the back of her thighs and stood, Alex giving a yelp of surprise as she wrapped her legs around him for stability and he deposited her on the kitchen counter, his mouth immediately finding hers again.

She was whimpering into his mouth now, her hands still in his hair clutching almost painfully as he ran his tongue carefully over her lips and past them to probe the inside of her mouth, brushing its roof and caressing her tongue with his. He pulled back to bite gently at her bottom lip and she sighed loudly, reaching down between them to tug insistently at his trousers.

Matt put a hand over hers, stilling it, and looked up to meet her eyes. "Protection?" he asked softly.

She shook her head and raised an eyebrow in question. He kissed her again in response, pushing at her hands on his waistband in encouragement. Alex got the hint and worked his trousers and boxers down to his knees before shifting forward on the counter and taking his hard length in her hand. Matt broke their kiss with a gasp, pulling back to look once more into her eyes and find her gazing up at him expectantly.

At this point, that was all the encouragement he needed.

Wrapping his arms around her and pulling her still closer, he let her guide him inside her. Her moan in his ear drowned out his own and he began to move right away, Alex urging him on to a fast, almost frantic pace right off the bat.

Her hair smelled of his shampoo and had regained some of what must be its natural curl since yesterday; one of his hands moved upwards of its own accord to bury itself in it the way she had grasped his hair earlier, his other hand clutching firmly at her lower back to pull her towards him with every thrust, eliciting louder and louder moans from her mouth by his ear which he found himself echoing fervently. Her arms wound around his neck and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, her

moans growing breathless and higher-pitched as he had to shift his grip from her hair to hold her across her shoulder blades, anchoring them both as best he could with her skin growing slick against the counter top.

Alex slid a hand down between them to reach her clit, letting out a choked whimper at the contact, and he wished he could see her face but it was still buried against him, her hair falling over her cheeks so that he mostly had a view of her shoulder, her clavicle protruding where it met her neck, and the smooth soft skin covering the pulse point throbbing rapidly beneath it, and a single bead of sweat sliding down from her temple over and across her collarbone to splash the side of her breast.

Everything tightened and contracted as she shouted in his ear, and he decided dimly that the view was more than good enough as he pounded into her until he too found his release.

When he slowed, it was almost to a standstill; the sound of their breathing was like a gale force wind in the stillness, the heaving of their chests like an earthquake. Matt was almost afraid to speak lest he deafen her; lest he break the fragile peace they had suddenly attained and which, he decided with a creeping suspicion, might well have been her purpose in seeking this in the first place. The moment either of them said a word they would risk all the weight of reality crashing back down and overwhelming them.

Presently however he noticed that she was shivering, and he reached behind her for his shirt which had fallen there and helped her pull it over her arms and fasten the buttons. She leaned her head on his chest when he was done, sighing and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, so quietly he almost didn't hear.

You're welcome didn't seem appropriate somehow, so he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. He wanted to tell her that it would be okay. Miraculously, he almost believed that right now.

Further ruminations on this topic were interrupted by the growling of his stomach and Alex pulling away from him, giggling delightedly and patting his belly. "Hungry, are we?" she said, grinning up at him.

"We never ate our lasagne," he pointed out.

Alex sighed. "It'll be cold by now."

"Ah, well," Matt replied, on firmer ground now, and bopped her lightly on the nose with his fingertip. "I've got this magical futuristic device called a microwave." He let go of her to pull his trousers back up, lest he trip on them, and picked up her plate with a flourish. "Shall I demonstrate?"

Her grin turned into a smirk, but at least she was amused. "Go on, then." She rolled her eyes good– naturedly.

"As my lady commands," Matt declared, and did as she bade.

They ate their lasagne in bed and fell asleep soon afterwards, dishes piled on top of Matt's script on his bedside table.

When he woke, he found that he had the small, wonderful and insane beginnings of a Plan.

But first, he had his first day of shooting to contend with.

They were filming his first scene with older Amelia – not that the Doctor knew that yet – and he was currently being handcuffed to a radiator by an apologetic props man while Lydia flicked through a newspaper she had swiped off somebody.

"They're still looking for Alex Kingston," she remarked casually.

Matt was quite glad he was handcuffed, he decided. He might have done something stupid, otherwise.

Lydia emitted a surprised squeak as she read further. "They say she may be in Cardiff." She looked up, suddenly pale. "God, do you think she is?"

"She didn't do it," the props man said decisively, not looking up from what he was doing. "Ralph was my cousin. I saw quite a lot of her, when they were married. Alex couldn't hurt a fly; not in a million years."

It was just as well that he drew Lydia's attention with that, because she sure as hell would have noticed the grin on Matt's face, otherwise. As it was, she seemed about to say something when the props guy stood, shrugged, and told the director they were ready. As he walked away, he grasped hands briefly with a camerawoman, the matching rings on their fingers clinking together.

Matt shifted into Doctor mode, but he couldn't help the gears turning in the back of his head.

He was knackered by the end of the day, but he had let Lydia elbow him into inviting her back to his place to learn lines – ostensibly, anyway. The way she grabbed his hand on the walk back to the flat and leaned into him led him to believe she thought it would be something else.

She was chattering on about the script she held clutched in her other hand – which Matt thought was pretty careless, out in public, but he didn't want to put her in a bad mood by pointing that out – giggling as she quoted some of the lines.

"Sounds like you know them already," he remarked, for something to say.

"Oh, most of them." She made a breezy gesture with the wad of paper, which looked worn and tatty already, as if she had indeed been through it many times. Lydia did take most aspects of her job seriously, he had to give her that.

Not that it made up for murdering Ralph and framing Alex for it. Matt ignored the fire which roared in his belly every time he thought about it; he'd been doing the same all day, so he was almost used to it by now.

He let go of her hand to fumble for his keys, glancing surreptitiously up at the window to his living room. There was a light burning behind the curtains, this time.

"Nice house," Lydia commented as they stepped inside.

"It's not all mine," Matt explained. "Just the top part."

"Oh, I always prefer to be on top." She winked, clearly thinking that her innuendo was the height of

cleverness.

"Me too," he said, smiling blandly, and led her upstairs.

The little hallway just inside his flat was dark, but light seeped past the half-open living room door as Matt kicked off his wet shoes. He flipped the switch to flood the hall with light just in time to catch Lydia's confused frown. "I didn't know you had a flatmate."

"Yeah." Matt ran a hand through his hair, doing his best to look casual. "She's new."

"She?" Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"She," Matt confirmed, gesturing for her to precede him into the living room. "Actually, I think you might know her."

"Really?" She sounded incredulous, but stepped through the doorway – only to stop less than a foot inside. "…Oh."

Matt sidled in beside her to find Alex sitting on the arm of his sofa, legs crossed and a glass of wine in her hand. "Hello," she said steadily, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," Lydia said again, and turned immediately to run back out into the hallway.

Matt caught her by the arms before she made it very far, and manhandled her back into the room, kicking the door shut behind them. "I think Alex wants to talk to you, Lydia."

"I have nothing to say to her," Lydia declared with a scowl. "She killed Ralph."

"Did I, now?" Alex sipped her wine, looking almost bored. "I have been wondering how I did it, you know. Do you think you can enlighten me?"

The scowl deepened. "If you think you're going to trick me into saying something incriminating, you're dead wrong."

"And why would I need to do that, when we both know you did it?"

"You can't prove it."

"I don't intend to."

"Then…" Lydia sputtered, "Then what is this?"

Alex shrugged, taking one more sip before setting her glass down on the coffee table. "I just wanted to point something out, really." She picked up a stack of books, dumping them unceremoniously in Lydia's arms. They were all an identical TARDIS blue. "You're a bit stupid, dear."

"I… what?"

"Did you think that was the only copy?" Putting a hand on one hip, Alex looked Lydia up and down. If Matt didn't know, thanks to a furtive phone conversation earlier, how painstakingly she had worked on this performance all afternoon, he might have thought she could be an ice-cold killer. As it stood, he merely thought she was amazing. "Everything I wrote was copied out into four other books, darling – making five identical props."

"There are only four," Lydia pointed out dumbly, looking at the load in her arms as if it might bite her – and it would, figuratively speaking.

"You don't think I would let you touch all of them, do you? When they're my ticket to freedom?"

"But… But I was so careful…" She looked about to collapse, all of a sudden, but it was Alex who took a seat.

"Not careful enough," Matt said from behind her.

It was as though Lydia had forgotten he was there; she turned with a start, dropping the books to the floor. "Matt," she implored, "Matt, help me…"

"Did you kill him?" he asked, crossing his arms and looking at her expectantly.

"I…" she began helplessly.

"Hesitation. Not a good start," he pointed out.

"Oh, of course she's not going to admit to it," Alex put in. "She's too much of a coward. That's why she decided to frame somebody else instead of stand up for what she'd done."

"Do you think I was going to sacrifice my freedom for an arsehole like Ralph?!" Lydia exclaimed loudly, whirling suddenly to face her. "I am not a coward. I can own up to my actions. But I wasn't about to take the fall when I didn't have to – that would have been like letting him win!"

"I doubt he feels like he's won," Matt said wryly.

"Won what?" Alex said. "Life is not a competition. He hurt you – that stings, I know. Murder is a rather extreme reaction, even so."

"It wasn't murder," Lydia protested vehemently, "it was justice. For all the women he's hurt – and like you said, you should know! I would've thought you'd be glad to be rid of him, that's why I chose you in the first place!"

"Darling," Alex said, stepping closer to her – dangerously close, Matt couldn't help but think, but it wasn't his place to stop her – "I was rid of Ralph a long time ago. It's called moving on. You should try it sometime." To Matt's surprise, she took a step towards him and squeezed his hand before turning back to Lydia. "You've got about an hour before this conversation goes up on the internet," she told her. "Make of that what you will."

Paling, Lydia turned again to run out of the door; neither of them tried to stop her this time. Matt heard the door slam and feet racing down a couple of stairs before the sound was interrupted by one of retching. He made a disgusted face at Alex, who seemed to burst into laughter and tears at the same time, falling against him and burying her face in his shirt.

"You were brilliant, love," he murmured, rubbing her back.

"Thanks," she sobbed, her voice muffled. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Without me, I think you could," he declared, letting go of her to kneel and pick the books up off the floor. He leafed through them; as expected, all but one was completely blank inside. "I can't believe he threw these together in a matter of hours."

"My boss will be wanting an explanation, mind!" a voice called from the kitchen.

Glancing at Alex to find a rather dazed smile on her face, Matt grasped her by the hand and pulled her into the other room, where they found Rob the props guy and his wife Carol sitting at the kitchen table, using a laptop to go over the footage they had just filmed using the three cameras secreted away in the living room. Matt didn't even know where they had been positioned, though he was sure Alex did.

"Did you get it?" Matt enquired, suddenly anxious.

Carol nodded. "Every syllable."

Alex gave a squeak of relief next to him and looked like she was about to collapse, so he made a silly face at her and gave her a high five. Breaking out the wine seemed to do the rest.

They watched the news of Lydia's arrest on TV together, curled up next to each other on Matt's sofa and drinking tea like any normal couple. Matt turned it off before it got into the boring details of how the arrest had come about – it wasn't as though either of them needed reminding.

"I suppose that's that, then," he declared, throwing the remote onto the table in front of him.

"Yep." Alex sipped at her tea, not looking at him… and he thought he knew why.

"When are you headed back to the States?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual. It was rather difficult, though, when the woman next to him had been sleeping beside him for over a week and he desperately wished she could continue doing so.

"Tomorrow." She wrinkled her nose, now fully healed.

"Oh." He tired not to sound too down-hearted.

"And then I'm back next week."

Matt frowned, replaying this sentence in his head just in case it didn't mean what he thought it meant. He thought it must do, but… "What?" he asked. "Next week? Back here?"

"Time of Angels? River Song? Ringing any bells?" Alex couldn't hide her smug smirk now, and Matt broke into a grin, quickly depositing his mug on the table so that he could cup her face with both hands and press a delighted kiss to her lips.

"Steven talked to you? Oh, that's amazing! Yes!"

"Yes, yes, I know," she said indulgently. More slowly than he had done, she leaned forward and put her mug down. "Besides which, he reckons the fans will, and I quote, 'faint with glee' when they find out we're an item both on and off-screen." She tried to stay casual throughout, but Matt noticed the tension as she reached the end of the sentence. It was the Question, wasn't it? The one he had been too scared to ask himself. He was glad he got to be the one who answered it, instead.

"Their glee is vastly overshadowed by my own," he assured her, kissing her again for good measure.

The way her face lit up told him that this had been the correct answer.

"Oh, and you'll get to meet Karen!" he realised. "She was always my favourite for the role, so I'm really glad she's got it… They've got to recast the character's younger self as well, but as far as I can tell that's well in hand… And you've read the script already, right? God, we're going to have so much fun…"

"Yes dear," Alex said, patting his knee.

He let her perform this patronising action without complaining, because he knew that he was right.

"Just you wait," he assured her. "The best is most definitely yet to come."

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