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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Doctor Who (2005)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/River Song, The Doctor/River Song
Characters: Thirteenth Doctor, River Song
Additional Tags: 13 saves her wife from the Library, river refers to 13 as her husband because that's what she is dammit, Reunions
Series: Part 1 of fic commissions
Summary:
Enough time had passed, she felt, to be able to do this. Not for her - never for her. But for River. Always River.Â
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
4: Stories
The thing about River Song was that she just turned up, in places, all the time. Â Well, to be more precise, he turned up where she was at least as often, but it was almost never on purpose. Â After all, he was trying to stay far away from her. Â All of time and space couldnât reasonably be that small. Â It had to be the Old Girl meddling. Â Or after nine hundred years, the Doctor was going to have to re-evaluate his stance on the concept of destiny.
So when he took a little side trip to the Luna University library somewhere about the 51st century to track down a particular knitting compendium, he wasnât even really surprised to spot her unmistakable curls protruding over the top of a heavy leather volume. Â No, the strange thrill tingling through his veins was something else entirely. Â He had no desire at the moment to work out what.
He could run. Â He could slip out before she saw him. Â That would be better. Â He was meant to be staying away.
âRiver?â he found himself saying instead.
She barely glanced over the top of her book, waving distractedly in greeting. Â âJust need a minute, sweetie. Â Did you make a booking?â
âA-a booking?â
âYeah, it was your turn to pick.â Â She jabbed her pen into her loosely pulled-up hair, where it immediately vanished. Â âOr did you get your weeks crossed again?â
âUm.  Yeah.  Think I might have uh.  Crossed⊠something.â
She finally looked up at him properly, her lips parting to speak, and froze. Â âOh my god. Â Youâre not him.â Â He must have visibly bristled at that, because she amended, âNo, obviouslyâ but youâre young. Â Just look at that baby face!â
âIâm older than⊠than most people in the universe, River Song,â the Doctor retorted, a bit weakly, as he realised he didnât actually know.  He was certainly older than her, right?  He hadnât really dared consider the possibility that she lived on a remotely comparable timescale.  Almost no one did.  If she were the exception⊠no, he did not need another reason to be tempted.  He had to stay away from her, regardless.
âOh, I could get into so much trouble with you,â she said, smiling wickedly as she laid down her book and leaned toward him, spreading her hands over the table. Â âIâve been very explicitly warned off you. Â Iâm not to come anywhere near you this young.â
âSays who?â
âWho dâyou think?â
He didnât know why, but that was even more irritating. Â Being ordered to stay awayâ which he was trying to do anyway!â by the older him whoâd been apparently coming round and taking River to dinners as a weekly routine? Â How dare he? Â âAnd do you always do what future me tells you?â he grumbled.
River blinked at him, then burst into derisive laughter. Â It carried on for just long enough for him to become extremely uncomfortable, but then she stood and gathered her books. Â âCome on,â she said, bustling past him. Â âJust need to stop by my room. Â Weâll go somewhere on campus.â
âWait,â he said, stumbling after her, âthatâs notâ actually, we shouldnâtââ
âWeâre both young tonight. Â No better time to do something we shouldnât. Â If Iâm really lucky, youâll give me a scolding for it later.â
The Doctor tripped over his own feet and just managed to avoid sprawling headlong over the floor. Â River laughed, and didnât stop walking, so he scrambled to follow her.
ââ
The other thing about River Song was that she always knew, even however relatively young she currently was, just how to push his buttons. Â It was maddening. Â All she had to do was not bother to hide her obviously intimate familiarity with him, and laugh as he squirmed. Â As if daring him to keep up the ridiculous charade that he didnât know exactly what they were to each other. Â Even without Amy here to point it out, it was never not glaringly obvious. Â It was just that he didnât do that. Â That was something no one would ever be to him again. Â But she was, and the more he sulked about the fact, the more she delighted in showing him how much he was going to enjoy it.
It wasnât as if there werenât plenty of others heâd been close to in his life. Â Extremely close and intense relationships, mostly with humans, were sort of his thing. Â All of them were better people than him; beautiful, magical individuals to whom heâd simply provided the opportunity to make a mark on the universe with their shining goodness in their short human lives. Â And someâ too manyâ had paid the price for it. Â Most of them had probably thought they knew him like no one else, too. Â
But that was just it: River really did.  There was no denying it.  He hated it, and he loved it.  It was terrifying, tantalising, dangerous and sweet and so, so tempting.  There was one other person in the universe who knew him like that, and things hadnât exactly gone well with them.  But River was different.  She understood him in a way no human ever could, and loved him in a way people who lived thousands of years, himself very much included, seldom had much taste for.  But to say she made him see the appeal was putting it⊠politely. Â
The fact that he was currently marvelling that he didnât technically know her species at the same time as he was wrestling down a barrage of very foreign impulses was fairly typical of the absolute mess she made of him just by existing in his proximity.
âI have my viva in a few weeks,â she was saying when he surfaced from his thoughts enough to decipher the sounds, âso Iâm just doing preparations. Â I was offered a position in the department, but I donât think Iâm going to take it now. Â Thereâs a lot of universe to see, and Iâve already been at Luna almost a yearâ they had to let me design an accelerated program, or weâd all have been wasting our time. Â And yes, sweetie, I know youâre just waiting for an opening to get in your dig at my choice of archaeology.â
âHah. Â Dig,â the Doctor said, in spite of himself.
âTold you Iâm clever.â
âWell, that much I already knew,â he admitted, as they stopped in front of what was evidently her door. Â She piled her notebooks into his arms without asking and fished out her room key.
âWhat else do you know about me?â Â River opened the door and proceeded into the room without a backwards glance. Â âNot much, right? Â Itâs so strange, Iâm used to you knowing everything. Â You and your spoilers.â
âMy spoilers!â the Doctor sputtered, indignation overcoming his hesitance to follow her into a bedroom the size of a broom cupboard. Â âYouâre the one with all the spoilers!â
âI suppose I am today, arenât I? Â A bit more than you, at any rate. Â Thatâs a fun change. Â Should we do diaries? Â Where are we in yours?â
âUm,â he hesitated, glancing around the tiny room and shuffling the pile of books onto her desk. Â It was comfortable but utilitarian; fairly standard student accommodations. Â âYouâve got the diary.â
âYes, I have mine,â River laughed as she rummaged through a drawer. Â âWhereâs yours?â
âMine?â
âYouââ she turned around and gaped at him. Â âYou havenât got one yet?â
âUm, no.â
âOh.  You⊠really are young.â  She looked crestfallen for a moment, and the Doctorâs throat tightened.  Heâd disappointed her.  And sheâ she was taking her shirt off.
He whirled around, his face burning hot, and directed his wide eyes at her bedspread (a deep blue, he half-noticed with a vague sense of approval.)  What was the matter with him, anyway?  Itâs not as if he had any qualms about nudity, that was just a silly human⊠His gaze drifted unwittingly over her bedpost, around which was knotted a dark purple bow tie that looked like it had seen some uncommonly rigorous use.
He needed to get out of here, immediately.
âDonât you just hate him, sometimes?â Â River suddenly asked, leaving him frozen in place as he was about to bolt for the door. Â âThe older you. Â The one who has all the answers.â
You have no idea. Â He glanced back at her, and thankfully, sheâd put another top on.
âI hate her sometimes,â she said, smiling wistfully.  âHate that Iâm her, but Iâm not her yet.  Sheâs this shadow over the future that Iâm meant to live up to, but what if Iâm just⊠not good enough?â
The Doctor swallowed through his dry throat, willing himself to speak.  He hated him.  He really did.  âItâs⊠pretty rubbish heâs made you feel that way.â
She looked up at him sharply, surprised.  âNo, itâsâ itâs not his fault.  Heâs⊠youâre good about that, actually.â
âAbout what?â
âAbout making me feelâŠâ  She trailed off and glanced down at her hands, pursing her lips slightly to cover a smile, and was it possible that she was actually blushing?  He could hardly believe his eyes.  It was painfully endearing, and warmth swelled up like a wave in his chest no matter how he tried to swallow it down.  What else could she have been about to say?  Enough.  Understood.  Loved.  He⊠made River Song happy. Â
Not those times. Â Not one line. Â Donât you dare.
âMaybe I didnât want you coming near me this young because Iâd scare you off,â he muttered. Â âSee what little you have to look forward to.â
River laughed. Â âI donât scare easy, sweetie. Â Youâre the one who was just about to run.â
He didnât bother denying it. Â âDidnât, though.â
âNo. Â Iâm glad you stayed.â
âMe too.â Â
Theyâd drifted closer without the Doctor noticing, and he let himself really look at River for the first time that day. Â There was nothing but patience and understanding in her smile, and it really was rubbish, wasnât it, that with him she never knew what she was going to get. Â Even young like this, though she had her fun at his expense, she was just good to him. Â And it was clear she was younger, though her face was much the same. Â There was just something a little less careful, less guarded. Â Or was that because she was used to him being the one to keep their secrets? Â Used to putting her trust in him and letting him care for her? Â He thought of the last time heâd seen her, at the Byzantium. Â Sheâd laughed and joked when he asked if he could trust her. Â Maybe she hadnât really found it funny at all that he wasnât sure.
âI do hate him,â the Doctor confessed.  âEven more than the rest of me, which is saying something.  Iâve hated him since the dayâŠâ  He exhaled, scrubbing the heel of his palm up over his face and through his hair.  His eyes half-focussed on a scuff mark on his shoe through the painful haze of the memory.  He vaguely realised he was just talking to himself at her, because she obviously couldnât know what he was on about, which was probably very annoying.  âI thought he was so⊠so unbelievably selfish,â he choked out at last.  âBut itâs me.  Iâm the one being selfish.â
âCareful, there,â River said, reaching up to brush some invisible fuzz from his shoulder. Â âThatâs my Doctor youâre talking about.â Â Oh, he hated how he loved the sound of that. Â Maybe he didnât actually hate it, so much. Â Maybe he just loved it. Â His stupid brain, ever the pedant, began to open his mouth to ask which version of him she was feigning offence for, when she interrupted with, âYou, sweetie. Â Always, all of you. Â Whenever you want.â
Could it be that simple?  Could he know that sheâd pay for it with her life (and suspect that perhaps heâd pay for it with his, which was an intriguing theory that bothered him considerably less,) and just⊠let them both have this, anyway?  Let them be happy together, for however long it could last?  That was what she wanted.  Sheâd told him so in no uncertain terms.  He could give in at any time and admit that it was what he wanted, too.
âRiver, IâŠâ  He clenched and unclenched his fists nervously at his sides; his hands wanted to do things he wasnât sure he could allow. Â
âAnyway,â she said, breaking the tense moment and slinging her bag over her shoulder, âdinner? Â I happen to know that Lunaâs campus is home to your favourite fish and chips in the universe.â
That was absurd enough to distract him. Â âRiver,â he said, patiently, but she lifted her eyebrows in a way that reminded him strikingly of Amy when sheâd recently pronounced that he was Doctorsplaining. Â It was too late to stop now, though. Â âYou are a time-travelling archaeologist.â
âGood to know,â she supplied patronisingly.
He winced, though he was fairly sure no part of that was a spoiler. Â âAnd as such, you should definitely know that the likelihood of the best version of any dish being this far temporally or spatially removed from its point of origin is extremely smallââ
âWell, donât come then, if youâre so sure.â
âH-hang on, I didnât, I meanâ Â Oh, is itâ is it custard? Â Do they do it with custard?â Â She shrugged, and he followed her out the door. Â âRiver, is that it?â
__
The Doctor had to admit, (at least to himself, which was a hurdle to cross in its own right,) that River was exceptionally lovely.  It wasnât what she looked like, although he had certainly come to appreciate that as well: the hair was the obvious starting point.  The way she walked like she owned the place, wherever she was.  The strong angle of her nose and the soft curl of her smile.  But it was just⊠everything.  The way she affectionately ordered him about, with the sort of ease that made it clear she was accustomed to his cooperation, and before he could even remember to be annoyed he found himself obliging her.  How she grinned at him over the table as she took a chip from his greasy paper plate, even though she had plenty of her own.  There was just an extra little spark in everything they shared; a different sort of delight in the fantastic and the mundane alike, because she was there with him.  It was so obvious how easily he could become addicted to the feeling.  He was starting to run out of reasons why that was a problem.
âWell?â she said, once heâd finally stopped having a mouthful of fried food.
âWhy is it so good?â Â For once he was properly dumbfounded. Â There seemed to be no particular reason. Â It wasnât custard; standard salt and vinegar. Â The shop appeared very unassuming. Â Grease level high. Â
âMaybe theyâre just good at what they do? Â Doesnât always have to be a reason.â
âDoes everyone know? Â Have they been given some sort of award?â
âWell, theyâve got a five on their food hygiene rating,â River said, gesturing with a chip to a sign on the wall, âso thatâs encouraging for a place that mostly feeds hungover students.â
âSpeaking from experience?â
She laughed.  âPlease, sweetie.  There is, regrettably, very little to drink on this moon that will even register for me.â  Her eyes widened just the tiniest bit, so briefly he would almost have thought heâd imagined it, if not for her words landing in his brain at the same moment, sparking an instant storm of firing synapses.  That was something, and she knew sheâd slipped.  Oh, it was dangerous to hope, but⊠ âWell,â she smoothly amended before he could even open his mouth, âapart from when Jack came to visit.â
The Doctor nearly choked on his fish. Â âNo,â he said, between wheezing sputters. Â âTell me youâre joking.â Â She was clearly trying to distract him, and sheâd succeeded. Â He couldnât just let that go.
âWe do have a mutual acquaintance, after all,â River said, tossing her curls and flashing him a too-bright smile.
âThere is no way I would introduce you.â
âWhy ever not?â
If she was trying to make him jealous, she was just slightly off the mark. Â âBecause I donât think Iâd survive the two of you together,â he groaned, to her delighted laughter. Â
Well, if it meant hearing more of that, maybe it wouldnât be such a bad way to go.
The gold light of sunset blazed low behind her silhouette. Â She wiped her fingers with a paper napkin and took a sip of her fizzy drink. Â
There wasnât any logical catalyst; no sudden lightning strike or burst of epiphany. Â Sat across the table from River, the Doctor felt a slow, sparkling warmth settling over him as he realised he was already in love with her. Â
___
They made it nearly the whole way back to Riverâs hall of residence chatting comfortably about nothing, to avoid having to dance around spoilers. Â The sun had set, and the dim glow of Earthlight shone through Lunaâs artificial atmosphere. Â Antique-style streetlamps flickered on along the footpaths through the university campus, dotting the violet dusk with splashes of gold. Â In each new light, she looked more breathtaking than the last. Â
To distract himself from feeling things about that, he decided to be annoying.
âRiver. Â Of all the billions of choices in the universe. Â Why archaeology?â
She rolled her eyes.  âWell, I wonât lieâ at the start, it was at least a tiny bit because I thought it might be useful in tracking you down.  Of course, then Fancy Dress turned up the night I enrolled and I havenât been able to get rid of you.â  He pulled a grumpy face as she laughed, and filed that nickname away to ponder later, perhaps in the TARDIS wardrobe.  âBut I guess it was⊠fact-checking.â
The Doctor blinked. Â âFact-checking what?â
âEverything.  The universe.  The⊠narrative.  I suppose Iâm interested in stories.  Theyâre always coloured by the one telling them, and everyone has an agenda.  History is just the story told by the victor, the conqueror; whichever faction becomes the establishment.  Whichever cult becomes the Church.  But somewhere out there is the real thing, the true thing.  And it doesnât even matter if itâs full of anachronisms and embellishments and flights of fancyâyou know, sometimes those are the truest parts.  Sometimes thereâs a dozen versions and all of them are true.  And those are the stories that deserve to be told.  If I can find the real pieces, I can put together stories that are true in the way that matters.  Scrape off all the layers of propaganda and manipulation and control and show the real people beneath, good and bad.  We all deserve that, in the end: to have our own voice in our own story.  And not let anyone else dictate who we are.â
Oh.
The Doctor swallowed, his throat dry; speechless and foundering in the gulf of silence between them. Â But if he opened his mouth, he was afraid he might just kiss her. Â
He was already in love with her over fish and chips. Â What the hell was he meant to do with all of this?
Finally, as her building came into view and the night breeze tousled her spectacular hair in a way that he was sure was magic, he found himself wondering aloud, almost reverently. Â âWhere did you come from, River Song?â
She stopped short and turned to him. Â âWhy are you asking me that?â
âYou know everything about me, it seems.  I⊠sort of feel like a fool knowing nothing about you.â
âIâm sure you know the important things.â
âYou might be surprised.â
She was quiet for a moment, then glanced up at the crescent of Earth growing ever brighter in the sky.  âYour favourite planet.  Well⊠I sort of came from there.  More or less.â
âHuman?â he asked, in a hoarse whisper.
She hesitated even longer on that, her brows knitting together as she studied his face. Â He was sure she was going to say spoilers, orâ possibly worseâ yes. Â
Instead, she quietly repeated, âMore or less.â
Hearts thundering loudly and his brain reeling with a thousand possibilities of what that might mean, the Doctor followed as she turned and walked rather more briskly than before toward her building. Â âIâm sorry,â he called after her, âI didnât mean toââ
âNo, itâs fine, sweetie,â she said, though she barely glanced back at him.  âIâm just⊠not sure what I can tell you.  Iâm not really used to that.â
âCan⊠can you tell me how we met?  For you?â
âUm,â she said, and there was something unmistakably tense in her voice now, âno, I donât think so.â
âOr, how long ago it was for you?â
âIt⊠it was just before I came to Luna.  A little over a year.â
She clearly didnât want to answer these questions anymore, and he certainly didnât want to upset her, or to do anything to disturb the delicate balance of their timelines with an out-of-turn spoiler. Â But the desperation to understand was burning in him now, and the closer he got to the answers, the less he could resist.
âRiver,â he began as she reached for the door to the building, and he was alarmed to notice a slight tremor in her outstretched handâ
The heavy steel door slammed open, and in the split-second of frenetic chaos as the Doctor gasped in a shocked breath, he saw Riverâs arm crumple into her side at an angle that made him wince. Â The impact of the door threw her back, and a flailing, shouting mass of two idiots came toppling out, reeking of alcohol and human testosterone, obliviously throwing fists at each other as they went. Â A bottle dropped and shattered on the pavement. Â A fraction of a second later, the Doctor registered that River had been thrown directly into him.
Miraculously, he kept his feet under him and staggered to a stop, steadying her as he blurted, âAre you okay?â
The drunks were already brawling off down the footpath and not worth his bother. Â He didnât think River was likely to have broken anything from the impact, but it still hadnât been pretty. Â But when she didnât answer him immediately, he noticed she was trembling.
âRiver?â he asked, hurriedly turning her to face him, visually scanning for injuries. Â He didnât get far before their eyes met, and he was frozen by the look of sheer terror on her face.
âRiver?â
âDoctor,â she whispered, her voice thin and wavering. Â âRun.â
âWhat? Â River, what are you talking about? Â Are you hurââ
The air went out of him all at once, and before he had the faintest idea of what was happening, the Doctor landed heavily on the pavement. Â He winced as a spike of pain shot through his hip and up his side. Â Well, there it was, nine hundred years and old age had got to him at last. Â Heâd forgotten how to fall on his behind without breaking something. Â
But it seemed he wasnât going to have to worry about that long, because River was advancing on him with deadly calm, the panic in her eyes vanished entirely. Â In her hand, mysteriously, there had appeared a gun, which she had pointed straight at his left heart. Â He felt quite sure she had similar plans for the right one. Â
Well. Â Okay. Â Unexpected development. Â
All in all, this was really not how he thought it would go, but maybe it beat the alternative. Â Maybe it was better ifâ
In the space of his two rapid heartbeats River snapped her gun away from him, aiming it at the still-open doorway, when the unmistakable whirr of a sonic screwdriver sent it spiralling out of her hand, skittering across the pavement. Â For a split second she looked infuriated and was reaching for another weapon, but then a figure stepped over him, standing between them andâ
And it was him. Â Fancy Dress. Â He was in a Victorian suit and dark purple frock coat, and if thereâd been any question before as to the providence of the purple bow tie on her bedpost, well, it appeared he had a spare. Â And his hair â how had he worked that out with his hair? Â It was much less chaotic, more intentional about the quiff. Â Looked a bit shorter. Â If he lived, he needed to make some notes.
âRiver,â Fancy Dress was saying, low and steady, as he stepped right into her personal space like she hadnât just been brandishing a deadly weapon at him. Â âItâs me, dear. Â Itâs your Doctor. Â Youâre safe.â
She hesitated, poised to whip something probably sharp and unpleasant out of a pocket on her outer thigh, but didnât move any further.
âItâs alright,â the future him soothed, resting his hands on her upper arms, despite how lethally unwise such a gesture appeared from the Doctorâs vantage point. Â âLook at me. Â Youâre okay. Â Iâve got you.â
She didnât move, still coiled like a spring and poised to snap, and then he leant in, touching his forehead to hers.
Something in her hard expression flickered, then shattered entirely, and she gasped, the knife sheâd had gripped in her fist clattering to the ground. Â She stumbled half a step back from the future Doctor, looking down in horror at him sprawled on the pavement, and covered her mouth with her hand. Â
âOh, no,â she breathed, and the Doctor felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the absolute brokenness in that sound. Â âIâm sorry, Iâm so sorry. Â Itâs been ages sinceâ I never thoughtâ Iâd have sent you off straight away if I ever thought I couldââ
âShh, hey, itâs okay,â the older him soothed, stroking her hair and tipping her chin up until she met his eyes again. Â âHeâs fine, Iâm fine. Â No harm done.â
âThis is why you told me to stay away, isnât it? Â Iâve scared you off now. Â I-Iâve ruined it.â Â Seeing River overcome by some mysterious force that made her homicidal toward him was one thing. Â Seeing her this openly vulnerable with him was something else altogether. Â The Doctor held his breath, not daring to speak; even his presence felt like an intrusion on this intimate exchange between them.
âCome now, dear,â said Fancy Dress. Â âYou think a little death threat will stop me coming back to you? Â You wonât get rid of me nearly that easily.â Â She took a shuddering breath, and when he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyes closed and tears spilled over. Â He cupped her face in his hands and kissed both tear-streaked cheeks. Â River choked down a sob, and then their lips met.
The Doctorâs face felt roughly the temperature of a supernova as he watched them, wide-eyed. Â His insides were a knot of envy and dread and longing and sympathy and terror and other things he couldnât possibly put a name to. Â The older him pulled back, nuzzled into her hair, whispered something in her ear. Â River nodded, smiled, sniffled, kissed him again.
Swallowing hard around the lump in his throat, the Doctor scrambled to his feet as quietly as he could, rounded the corner of the building, and made a slightly humiliating retreat from his future.
___
Some time later, the Purple Menace found him sat on the ground, his back to the outer wall of the far side of the hall of residence. Â The crescent Earth hung high overhead now, glowing a brilliant marbled white. Â The quarrelling drunks had ambled off long ago, leaving the Doctor to brood in the relative peace of the university at night: the distant din of cheers and laughter over fuzzy, persistent booming bass. Â A cool breeze stirring the lunar elms and rustling through the tendrils of ivy dripping down the brick facade of the building.
âSeeing as Iâm you,â Purple said at last, reclining against the wall beside him, âI think we can skip the part where you pretend to be surprised.â
âWell,â the Doctor mumbled, perhaps a tad defensively, âthe gun was surprising, a bit.â
âBut only a bit.â
âShe did say she killed someone. Â The best man she ever knew.â
The other him scoffed, his mouth curling into a wry smile as he shook his head. Â âYeah, she did say that, huh? Â Rubbish,â he declared fondly. Â âAnd I know her fatherâ itâs not even close. Â But charitable characterisations aside, that never bothered you, did it? Â That she might have murdered us.â
âYou tell me, since you know everything,â he retorted sullenly.
The future him huffed appreciatively. Â âAh, well, we love a bad girl, donât we? Â Works out particularly well if we know whoever theyâve been bad to deserved it. Â No question there, if itâs us. Â No guilt. Â But thatâs not all. Â Itâs not just a bit sexy and convenient for our self-loathing. Â You want it to be us. Â Youâre hoping it is.â
Well, he wasnât beating about the bush.  The Doctor exhaled heavily.  âMaybe itâs⊠the only way this is fair,â he said at last, half in a whisper.  âThe only way I can even think I might deserve toâŠâ  He couldnât choke out the words, his throat too tight.
âYes, and?â Purple prompted, unmoved by his self-pity. Â âNo use holding out on me; I know it all.â
âAnd⊠and if she kills me,â the Doctor forced out bitterly, âI wonât have to be around, when sheâs⊠gone.  I wonât be there for it to hurt.â
The older Doctor shuffled down the wall to sit beside him, apparently satisfied in having forced him into the sort of excruciating honesty he rarely shared even with himself. Â âWe really are completely selfish in the end, eh?â he said, mirroring his position on the floor, arms resting over his bent knees. Â Rhetorical question, obviously.
âWell, and so? Â How does it happen?â the Doctor demanded, though he knew heâd never answer himself with the truth. Â âDid she kill us?â
âHow should I know? Â Iâm still alive, arenât I?â Â
He knew. Â He could see it. Â But he wasnât giving any more spoilers. Â
âYou wonât remember much of this,â said the older him, âafter crossing our own timestream. Â But I think you should remember itâs about time you started a diary.â
âYeah,â the Doctor laughed bitterly, âMight have a few notes. Â Is this going to be on the exam?â
âAnd, just for the record,â said his older self, once again ignoring his own petulance. Â âThe sooner you stop taking it out on her, the less youâll have to hate yourself for the rest of your life, however long that may be. Â So.â
Fancy Dress stood to go. Â
âHey, just⊠tell me,â the Doctor called hoarsely up to him.  âIs it worth it?â
His lips turned up briefly at the corners, though it was hard to discern the heaviness behind his own, older eyes. Â âWhat do you think?â
Fancy Dress strode off down the path and around the corner, and was gone. Â Probably back to River; to care for her, to show up and be good to her; even if he was scared, even if it hurt. Â The Doctor didnât know his future self, but from these glimpsed little fragments, he could piece together that heâd be the sort. Â Good. Â River deserved that. Â
It was a good story. Â Even if he already knew the ending. Â Even if he couldnât change one line.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Pairing: River Song/Eleventh Doctor
Rating: E
A/N: Enemies to Lovers AU.
Summary:Â Sheâs in her bedroom in the palace. The ocean roars outside her window. At her bedside, Theta sits slumped in a chair with his hand wrapped tight around hers. He smiles tiredly at her, looking half-dead. Heâs pale and rumpled, the shadows under his eyes prominent. âHello sweetie.â
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
Shortly after losing Donna, the Doctor receives a distress call from Orion XI, a space station that surely contains a mystery somewhere in its hundred floors.
But to his surprise and to his horror, to his devastation and compulsive intrigue, someone from his past is there too.
"'Professor River Song,' he says stiffly, taking a step back to breathe air that isnât wreathed with her, choked, nauseatingly undone. (That perfume she wearsâitâs floral and half-unearthly. He thinks roses and second guesses himself. Ionized lavender? Extractic vanilla? Chrynocian blooms from Atraxas? Parma violets? The inexorable, omniscient fragrance of Time?) Sheâs too muchâoverwhelming. Alive. He deconstructs complex quantum-astrotechnical equations in his head in mere seconds and canât quite wrap his mind around the fact that this is in her past. Sheâs dead and she doesnât even know it. Canât know it. Itâs his little secret. Hush nowâspoilers."
Excerpt:
âAh, early days,â she surmises correctly, searching his eyes and nodding to herself, as though sheâs confirmed something just by looks alone. Sheâd said something maddeningly similar in the Library, flipping through a ragged diary that apparently was full of their shared adventures, touching his face like sheâs held it so many times before. âYouâve met me before, and I must have made a reasonably unpleasant impression.â
âI wouldnât say it was unpleasant!â He splutters immediately, failing to see how his bluntness couldnât be construed as anything but disdain. âButââ
River places a slender finger against her lips and says that word heâs starting to hate, especially coming from her.
âSpoilers.â
She laughs pleasantly, like their shared time and space is all a clever game, though the gesture still doesnât quite reach her eyes, which are faintly lined near the bridge of her nose. She looks older than the last time he saw her, but somehow, the Doctor can tell that sheâs quite a bit younger, that sheâs been hurt by the world and hasnât yet mastered how not to entirely show it.
âNow run off to your saucer, kitten, and do whatever it is that you do when Mummy isnât around.â She pats him on the cheek like heâs a naughty schoolchild in a boarding school. âIâve got a mystery to solve.â
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 23/30
Fandom: Doctor Who (2005)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/River Song
Characters: River Song, Eleventh Doctor, Jack Harkness, Original Characters
Additional Tags: timebabies, post library, Canon divergent past season 7
Series: Part 2 of And the rest is rust and stardust
Summary:
Against her better judgment, River lets herself be seduced by hope.
Itâs been over a day by the time he notices. A day of skirting around one another, of half-conversations, almost-apologies, broken declarations. She almost tells him what sheâs been through, since Manhattan. He almost asks. She almost touches him, fingers ghosting across his arm before they fall away, and she turns her attention to something else. He almost stops her.Â
Theyâre still in the TARDIS, parked near the Towers now, and he thinks perhaps theyâre both too scared to mention all the time laid out before them. He thinks maybe she doesnât want it. Maybe she doesnât trust him. He wouldnât blame her, but it knots in his chest, every time she looks at him, like sheâs just waiting for him to leave.Â
Theyâve spent time together and argued about little thingsâthe TARDISâ bulb, where to put the swimming pool, whether Akorax V is better before or after the Fall of the Emperor. But everything they need to talk aboutâAmy and Rory, Manhattan, Darillium, Hydroflax, Ramone, the Doctor does not, and has never, loved meâthey keep tucked away on their tongues.Â
He doesnât know if itâs the weight of the unsaid, or just the last six months, but theyâre bickering over where to order in from when he looks up, looks at her, and for the first time sees how exhausted she looksâthere are circles under her eyes he swears werenât there before, a heaviness to her shoulders, her smile wane.Â
He trails off, stares, and River arches an eyebrow. âWhat?â
He blinks, and frowns. âYou look tired.â
âThank you,â she says with a huff, rolling her eyes, but her hands drop from the menu theyâve been holding together, and she tries to stand straighter. For the first time, he notices her wince.Â
âWhen was the last time you slept?âÂ
River glares. âWhen was the last time you slept?â
He canât remember. He doesnât feel tiredâtoo anxious to be tired, too afraid, of losing her again before heâs had a chance to make things right. To do better by her, be better for her.Â
He doesnât answer.Â
River shrugs him off, and he doesnât press. They order food and sit in the kitchen and he doesnât feel like eating. River barely touches her plate. He wants to call her on it, but knows sheâd simply turn it back around on him. They pack most of it away in the fridge.Â
River disappears to shower, and he wants to follow her. Wants to run his hands over her skin and reassure himself that sheâs alive and safe and really here, not a ghost, not a haunting. But she doesnât invite him and he canât summon the courage to ask, so he tinkers with the controls and folds and unfolds a newspaper he picked up, full of real estate ads.Â
Thereâs a little bungalow not far from the town nearest the towers. It has bay windows and a garden, or so the ad says. He should ask her about it. If she wants it. If she still wants him.Â
He supposes itâs a conversation they should have sooner rather than later.Â
Tucking the newspaper into his pocket, he takes his time moving toward their bedroom. Runs over in his mind what to say and how to say it. Practices under his breath being gentle. Being open. His voice still sounds too gruff, too irritated. He doesnât want to sound like he doesnât care. Not here, not now. Not with her. Not this time.Â
Their bedroom door is cracked open, and he can hear the shower running. Slips inside and stares at the bed they havenât slept in together for years, still made up. Her clothes are in a pile on top of the comforter, her trowel on the desk in the corner. Her diaryâs on the nightstand, her new screwdriver on top of it, and his stomach knots. He looks away, takes a seat on the edge of the bed facing the en-suite door, and fiddles with his ring.Â
He hasnât told her why he wears it, that he wears it for her. Hasnât told her he keeps his bow tie in his pocket at all times. Hasnât told her how much heâs missed her, longed for her. Hasnât told her how badly he wants to bury his face in her hair, how he wants to hold her and never let go.Â
He thinks of the aftermath of Manhattan, of the way sheâd tried so hard to be strong for him. The way she wouldnât break. The way he pushed and pushed until she left, taking the rest of his hearts with her.Â
The way he hadnât gone after her, like she should have done.Â
Heâs made so many mistakes, they make his chest ache, and he knows he doesnât deserve this, deserve her, but heâs selfish and needs her and heâs so busy trying to come up with the right thing to say to make her realize he isnât lying that he doesnât notice the shower turn off, doesnât hear her moving until the door opens and sheâs standing there, hair wet against her neck, towel around her waist, staring at him.Â
âDoctor?â
Not sweetie, not darling.Â
He swallows. âWe need to talk.â
It isnât what he means to say, isnât how he means to say it, and River tightens her grip on her towel. She looks down for a brief moment, and he hears her inhale; then she looks up, jaw tight, steeling herself.Â
âTalk, then,â she says, as if it doesnât matter.Â
She crosses to the closet and picks out clothes and the Doctor stares at her legs, her back, her shoulders.
âIââ he starts, and falters. Thereâs something on her neck that he canât quite see. âCome here.â
River turns, frowning, clothes in her arms. He gestures, and she rolls her eyes, but comes closer, almost cautiously, eying him with too much suspicion. When sheâs close enough, he reaches for her arm, nudging gently.Â
âTurn around.â
She huffs. âWhat are youââ
âJust turn.â
She glares, but does as he says, and he reaches a trembling hand out to move her hair aside. Her shoulder is purple, almost black in some places, worse up close, now that he can see the faint outline of large fingerprints. He hesitates, fingers ghosting over the outline of the bruise, and River flinches.Â
âHydroflax?â he asks, remembers when they tried to escape, the way the robot dangled her off the floor by her shoulder. He hadnât seen anything, hadnât knownâhe supposes her spray is to thank for that, the longer sleeves sheâs been wearing since.Â
âItâs fine,â River says, and makes to turn but he stills her.Â
âStay here.â
He disappears into the en-suite, comes back with a bottle, a healing salve from some planet or other, he canât remember. Knows only that it will help her pain.Â
âSit.â
âIâm not a dog,â River snaps, finally, a hint of anger in her eyes, and it relieves him just a little, to see her spark.Â
He holds up the bottle. âSit, please?â
River glowers, but sets down her clothes and perches on the edge of the bed, her back to him as he uncaps the bottle and pours a generous amount of salve into his hands.Â
âThis might hurt,â he warns, but she merely nods, flinches slightly at the first, barely-there touch of his fingers on the bruise.Â
Itâs wide and discolored and he hates that he didnât notice, hates that she didnât tell him, hates that he let it happen in the first place. That she was harmed. That anyone dared harm her. He clenches his jaw, but it doesnât stop his words from spilling out, a muttered,Â
âShould have put him down the garbage disposal when I had the chance.â
River snorts.Â
âIâm serious.â
âYes,â she says, too casually, âBut then Iâd never have known who you were.â
He stills a moment. âYou think I wouldnât have told you?â
She shrugs, and winces again. âYou certainly took your time.âÂ
Her voice is even, but he knows better now. Knows it isnât a joke, and he swallows tightly.Â
âI tried,â he says, but they both know he didnât try hard enough. âNot my fault youâre slow on the uptake.â
He regrets the words immediately, for the way River sighs quietly, says, âNo, I suppose it isnât.â It sounds too much like defeat, coming from her.Â
âRiverâŠâ
âJust say it, Doctor.â
âSay what?â
âWhatever it is you think I donât want to hear.â
She sounds exhausted, sounds wrung out, and he stares at her shoulder, wishes he could see her face, but he isnât brave enough. And it helps, almost, to stare at the bruise when he says,Â
âI...donât knowâŠâ he trails off, hesitates, reaches out and touches her spine, so gently. â...how to say it.â
Thereâs silence, long and dreadful, and River doesnât turn, doesnât move, barely looks like sheâs breathing.Â
âMost people just say âgoodbye.ââ
The Doctor flinches. âIs that what you think I want?â
River shakes her head, but still refuses to look at him. âI donât know what you want.â
Her words hit his chest, and he feels something inside him crack.Â
His River.Â
His wife.Â
And heâs done this to her, made her so uncertain, she wonât even face him. Heâs made her so sure that his absence is the only thing she can count on. It forces the air from his lungs, makes him shudder. He closes his eyes against the rotating guilt, the grief heâs created for them both.Â
Thereâs so much he wantsâneedsâto tell her and he doesnât know where or how to start. Sheâs stiff beneath his hand, waiting, he knows, for a dismissal. An excuse. A trite line or a lie.Â
He wants to ask her what she wants. What she needs. But he thinks, staring at the bruise he could so easily heal, that it isnât good enough. Puts too much onus on her, to pretend the hurt never happened. That itâs easily fixed.Â
Swallowing down his nausea, his fear, he slides his hand over her skin to her arm, cradles her bicep gently, fingers whispering in Gallifreyan.Â
Iâm sorry, he says.Â
River shudders, sighs, and moves to turn, away or toward he isnât sure, but he doesnât want her forgiveness, not yet.Â
Bending forward, he places a soft kiss to the bruise on her shoulder.Â
âJust you,â he whispers, and gathers his courage.Â
River doesnât move, for a long moment, his lips pressed to her skin, his fingers drawing symbols on her arm for want and need and hope.Â
When she turns, finally, her eyes are bright with tears, and he lets his hand fall to hers, lifts her wrist to his lips and kisses that, too, the scar heâs never forgotten.Â
River stares at him, her eyes blown and he waits, brushes his thumb over the pulse in her wrist.Â
âAlways you.â
River blinks and a tear falls and he catches it, cradles her cheek, relieved beyond all measure when she tilts into his touch.Â