A/N: I've wanted to write an Eleven fic for a while now, but this is the first idea that I felt to be worthy of the endeavor. This is also the first thing I've ever written that I fully outlined first. It was quite an adventure, and worked very well. Helped me keep me on track. And now I'm cross with fourteen-year-old me, who insisted that outlines were an unnecessary hassle. (Not if you do it right!)

So anyway, this fic will have nine fairly short chapters, and — for the first time since I joined FFN — I have an update schedule set up. I will, if nothing tragic happens, be posting a chapter every Tuesday evening, and every Friday evening (or possibly Saturday). So the whole thing will be up in a little over a month.

The TARDIS was still silent when River woke up the morning after the day of Weeping Angels in Manhattan. She picked herself up off of the couch where she'd fallen asleep a few hours previously and made her way to the console room, part of her hoping against all evidence that maybe something would have changed overnight.

She found the Doctor lying on the floor, half underneath the console. He looked as though he had gone under with the intention of fixing something and then stopped short of actually doing anything.

She let out a small, sad, inaudible sigh, then cleared her throat to announce her presence.

After a moment, he slid out and stood up in front of her. "Morning, River," he said, conspicuously leaving the 'good' off of the beginning of his greeting. "Did you sleep well?"

She ignored his attempt at pleasantries. "What were you doing under there?"

He looked down at the console. "The wibbly switch wasn't working."

"Which wibbly switch?" she asked, completely prepared to call him out on his evasion. "I used the green one last night, and it was fine."

"The… yellow one," he replied vaguely.

"The one that you only use when you go near the French revolution or Kansas?"

"Yes…?" He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "Alright, I wasn't fixing anything. But you knew that before you asked me."

"Yes, I did." Her gaze followed him as he walked over and sat down on the seat by the staircase. "Which is why I asked you what you were doing."

"Nothing," he replied, staring down through the floor.

"Well," she said lightly, "I think that's a problem, wouldn't you agree? Where shall we go?"

He looked up at her, preparing to argue the idea that they go anywhere, but changed his mind when he saw the look on her face. He knew better than anyone that there were some things you just didn't argue with River Song about. "Somewhere new."

She knew what that meant — he didn't want to encounter any old memories. Honestly, she couldn't blame him for that. Not now.

She turned around and set the coordinates.

A/N: Does anyone else get a tight, unhappy feeling when they think about the fact that we only get two more episodes with Matt Smith?