#fearsasuperpower

It’s not her first wedding to this face, not the first time he’s pulled her close by their joined hands and murmured the question in her ear – River, will you marry me – and it’s not the first time she’s said yes without hesitation. Each time is different, each planet and culture with its own customs and traditions, and the two of them have embraced every one.

This wedding is a lavish occasion, bodies draped in flowing red silk with gold dripping from the hems, headdresses of real leaves and berries, and every inch of visible flesh covered in gold-painted symbols and patterns. The idea, she’s been told, is that by the end of the festival the symbols should be smudged beyond recognition, berries crushed and smeared against skin and clothing — if they aren’t, then it’s evidence you haven’t properly partaken in the festival celebrations. With a smirk, River had reassured the guide that there need be no fear of that happening; she intended to fully immerse herself in the festivities.

The ceremony had been brief and very public, the two TimeLords standing among thousands of other couples (and sometimes trios, or whole groups) with their hands clasped and foreheads pressed together as the master of ceremonies recited the required words. A half-second pause, and then red and yellow flowers are raining down on them, catching in hair and hands, brushing against arms and bare feet: the celebrations have begun. Sharing a kiss isn’t a necessity here, but they do it anyway, grinning lips pressed together as River and the Doctor mark their fifty-sixth wedding on the planet Hecubus 7 during its septennial fertility festival.

                            [CONTENT WARNING: This post contains pregnancy.]

        Missy barked out a laugh, the sound somewhat muted by the emotion stuck in her throat like an annoying little lump. She found herself pleased that his reaction still held some modicum of positive entertainment for her, and steadfastly realized in the same moment that she would have been crushed had he reacted poorly.

        Oh, she hated him so much for making her love him so thoroughly.

        The laughter died at once as the realization struck, and her face sank into a mocking expression as she stood and placed a disbelieving hand on her hip. It didn’t matter if the attitude was a put on or genuine- what mattered is that she got back to it at once. Nevermind all the love fluff. She hadn’t time for it, even as her hearts ached to have him shut off the forcefield barrier and properly hug her.

        “Did you... just ask a fellow Time Lord... how they know they might be pregnant?” Her eyes narrowed, and she spoke slowly at first, as if she might be addressing a child. “Every day I swear I get closer and closer--” She muttered to herself, knowing he could hear it, before folding her arms, a wave of hormones causing her mouth to say things without the benefit of forethought.

        “When would be three months back, when you nearly broke the piano. How should be fairly obvious, Grandad, but it involves my legs in the air and my skirts around my middle--” As she spoke, she reached down to lift her skirts to mid-calf and ruffle them, as if she may need visual aids to dislodge his ancient memories of carnal pleasure. She smiled sarcastically, and looked at him as she had ages back when she’d first revealed her plans for human conversion. 

❝No,no,no, NO! Not there! Ugh!❞ The petite brunette complained as she tried to get some sense in that stupid teleport bracelet of hers. She knew it was a bad idea to purchase it from shady green guy at the intergalactic market and even worse idea to try to use it, but there she was! Not that she had another choice.

❝Why can't you just get it right just once!❞ It was her fourth attempt and each time she landed in a worse and worse location. A growl that echoed behind the shut doors that barely held in their hinges was a good prove to that. When the massive blow against the metal followed and the room fell into sudden silence, Clara cursed.

❝Bloody hell, work!❞ She hit the bottom on the teleporter just as the door was torn out and thankfully, she was finally pulled out of there.

Clara hit the cold, hard ground with growl. The landing was terrible even if the location was not instantly deadly. She pulled herself to a sitting position, squinting her eyes to adjust the light. She expected another failure, but to her surprise a pair of familiar, greyish blue eyes was staring down at her. Relief washed over her, but it was quickly replaced by the fearful realization that something was not right. She had seen that bittersweet expression on him once before...

The Doctor's greeting to her son was quite endearing. It brought a proud smile onto her face as she glanced at her son.

“Henry my love, could you set the table?” River asked the child who had entered the kitchen.

“Okay mum,” He nodded, starting to set the table for her.

   Awareness of her surroundings bleeds in slowly: first, the cool cotton sheets draped over her body to preserve both dignity and warmth; second, the gentle breeze drifting in from somewhere to her left and caressing her skin; third, the presence of someone else in the room. Hesitantly, she cracks her eyelids open, squinting against the overhead light, gaze roaming over ceiling tiles and machinery, bare walls and an empty chair. She appears to be in a hospital. The other occupant of the room stands by the window, one hand holding two of the blinds apart to enable him to gaze out at whatever lies beyond the glass. She lets her eyes rest on him a while, tracing silver-grey curls and the outline of his dark jacket with her gaze. She knows this man, intimately, eternally.

   River opens her mouth to speak, rasping out a “Doctor” so hoarse it’s a miracle it sounds like a word at all, in any language. It has the desired effect though, her husband spinning round immediately to rush to her side and reach for her hand. When he speaks, the anxiety is written clearly upon his face, words worry-filled, relief at her waking so clearign warring with the question he wants to ask her: do you remember?

   River remembers. She remembers every moment of it: her lives before the Library, the datacore centuries, and all her amnesia-hazed years since. It worked; they did it.

   Glass blade presses against the soft flesh of her neck, not deep enough to draw blood, but firm enough to demonstrate that the women tightly gripping her shoulders mean business - as if she could ever doubt it. River’s focus, though, is not on her captors, the tension in their bodies and the way they mutter to each other, nor is it on the harshness of the stone floor against her knees; she has eyes only for the man who has just this moment been led into the room, closely guarded but clearly here of his own free will. Her husband.

   Her return to the waking world is heralded by her husband launching into the most nonsensical ramble she’s heard him deliver since she met this face. She’s not a morning person at the best of times, but when what happened right before she went to sleep was something pretty hard and very heavy smacking her across the back of her head (or so she assumes), she’s sure can be forgiven for wishing she could sleep just a little longer.

   Lips part, ready to deliver a sharp admonishment for rambling on about ‘fluid’ and ‘equipment’ while she’s dealing with a rather spectacular concussion, when the word ‘pregnant’ registers in her brain. Teeth click as her mouth immediately shuts, brow furrowing in confusion. Either this ramble is significantly more circuitous than she thought, or she just misheard entirely.