#riversongsecretsanta

 River rolled her eyes. “Hello sweetie.” She fetched up at the opposite wall and grabbed quickly at the nearest tether, securing her loot under her free arm.

“What are you doing?” He stuck the upper part of his body farther into the chamber, his floppy hair floating in a halo around his head making a rather more amusing picture than he probably intended.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she replied calmly, turning and readying herself to push off from the wall again.

“You’re stealing the lost moon of Poosh!” he exclaimed.

River kicked her foot against a sign instructing her to remain tethered to the wall at all times and flew towards him. Slightly too quickly. Slightly intentionally.

The Doctor gulped and sensibly got out of the way as she barrelled through the door and the artificial gravity sucked her to the floor, where she rolled carefully and held the miniaturised moon up in triumph. “Precisely,” she declared, jumping to her feet.

“You can’t do that!” he protested, straightening up himself in a slightly less exuberant manner.

“I think you’ll find that I just have. Now, where did you park?”

“No, no, no,” he wagged a finger, “I am not being your getaway driver.”

“Since when?” She started off down the corridor.

“Since—River!” He followed.

He always followed. He must be pretty young, not to have figured that out yet.

“It shouldn’t be in a museum anyway. It’s a moon, for goodness sake. Just because they didn’t know what to do with it when they got it back doesn’t mean they can just shrink it and put it on a space station.”

“And what are you planning to do with it, then?”

“I’m just borrowing it. Ah, here’s the TARDIS!” She pushed the door open and tugged the moon more firmly under her arm.

“What for?” the Doctor demanded, dogging her steps right up to the console.

River set the coordinates and pulled the lever to put the TARDIS in motion. “I have something very specific in mind.”

“Which is?”

She glanced at him. “You wouldn’t approve.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

River grinned, leaning in to play with his bowtie. “You know me too well.”

He grimaced. “That’s debatable.”

She kissed him – anything to wipe that look off his face. She didn’t want to deal with all of that right now. “Hush. It’s Christmas.”

His expression turned to one of confusion. A minor improvement. “It’s Easter Monday.”

“On Poosh it was.” The TARDIS landed, and River pulled the door back open and stepped through.

Her office was decorated tastefully, if she said so herself, with all her Christmas cards lined up on the mantelpiece above the roaring fire and a large tree by the window decked in baubles and tinsel. A tiny force field generator sat at the top, ready to support the moon in pride of place. River lifted it up and held it firmly as she activated the field, then stepped back to admire it.

The effect was perfect.

The Doctor was still trying to be grumpy, but she could tell that he was thawing. “I don’t see how that’s any better than the museum.”

Time for a distraction. “I got you a present,” River purred, bending down to retrieve it from under the tree. When she stood back up he was blushing.

“It’s nothing naughty,” she promised.

For a moment – just a moment – he looked disappointed. But then he couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face, the one that always broke out when she gave him a gift, and he grabbed the small, squashy package from her hands. He managed to stick his fingers together with the sticky tape as he pulled at the paper, and there was a minor scare when the distraction caused him to trip and almost fall into the fire, but he liberated his present from its wrappings at last, and the look on his face was priceless.

“You got me a Santa hat!” His delight could have lit up a Christmas tree.

“I did,” River confirmed.

“You got me a hat!” He pulled it over his head and beamed at her. “You can’t shoot it off my head if you’re the one who gave it to me.”

“I think you’ll find that I can shoot whatever I please,” she corrected him, tucking a stray bit of hair away from his forehead.

His look momentarily became one of horror, and he clutched at the thing in panic. “You wouldn’t! Would you?”

“Not just now,” she admitted. Then, baring her soul still further, “it’s kind of cute.” Her hand wandered from his forehead to cup his cheek.

His hand snaked around her waist. “Who are you and what have you done with the real River Song?”

“She’s busy grading papers. I’m much more fun.”

“And, er, what kind of fun were you thinking of having?” he asked hopefully.

The hat really was too cute. “Right now? The kind you’re wearing far too many clothes for.” She reached up to tug at his bowtie.

The Doctor beamed. “That can be remedied.” The hand on her back walked its way under her shirt, and she hummed when his skin touched hers.

Grabbing him by his lapels, River chuckled and pushed him up against the wall, leaning in for another kiss, longer and slower and altogether more satisfying. Then, the Doctor being the Doctor, they stumbled straight into the Christmas tree, knocking it to the floor and landing half on top of it.

“Ouch,” she complained, rolling off the worst of the spiky branches. The fact that that meant rolling on top of him instead was just a bonus.

The Doctor was looking at the top of the tree, now squashed against her antique rug and decidedly lacking in ornamentation. “River,” he whispered, “we’ve lost the lost moon of Poosh!”

River took advantage of her position to bring his attention quickly back where it belonged. “We can find it later,” she told him firmly. “Right now, we’re taking off your clothes. Remember?”

He reached for the Santa hat, and she batted his hand away.

The Doctor sits on the bottom steps in the TARDIS. River pilots them away from the city, away from the heartache. It’s silent, save for River’s typing on the console. He raises his eyes from the floor and says, “River.” He wants her to look at him, “they were your parents.” She refuses to look away from her task of transporting them away. He folds his hands and looks back at the floor, “Sorry, I didn’t even think.”

River checks something on the scanner, never looking away from the console, “It doesn’t matter.”

The Doctor looks up at her, watching her meticulously type but not quite seeing her, “Of course it matters.”

River stares into the console, taking a moment to collect herself. “What matters is this...Doctor,” she pauses to look at him on the steps, giving him her undivided attention. “Don’t travel alone,” she finally looks into his eyes, pleading.

He looks up at her, finally making eye contact. “Travel with me then.” His words could have been construed as a challenge under different circumstances, but his eyes held too much sadness. He was begging her, he couldn’t be left alone.

The TARDIS whirrs to life. She stares at him, watching his eyes, seeing only a fraction of the man she knows within. She smiles, forcing it to look warm, “Whenever and wherever you want.” The smile he gives warms her soul. She pauses to study him for a minute, “But not all the time.” His face falls and she tries to quip, “One psychopath per TARDIS, don’t you think?” The look he gives her makes her pause; she hasn’t seen him like this in a very long time.

River flips two switches and moves three levers before giving her husband her undivided attention. “Okay, this book I’ve got to write, Melody Malone. I presume I sent it to Amy to get it published?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“I’ll tell her to write an Afterword. For you,” she says as she starts up the stairs. She turns to look at him from the landing above, “Maybe you’ll listen to her.” She spins and continues further into the TARDIS.

He refuses to watch her retreat. Instead, he stares beyond the console and to the doors; until he clicks, “the last page.”

He rushes to the console, typing in new coordinates and rushing out the doors before he’s completely materialized. He grabs the last page and finds a bench. He reads the last page, putting on Amy’s reading glasses. He can’t help the smile that overtakes his face when he thinks about little Amelia Pond, the girl who waited. He thinks about all the adventures they went on, the places they’ve seen, the people they helped.

He heads back into the TARDIS and gives himself a moment to gather his wits before he heads up the stairs to find his wife.

She’s in her favorite kitchen. It reminds me of the show I watched in my childhood, she told him the first time he found her here in this kitchen. It’s neither the closest kitchen to the console room nor the closest to their bedroom, but he knew he’d find her here. She had changed out of her dress, now choosing to wear her “comfy clothes”; out of her dress and heels with her curls down, falling around her face. She looks relaxed, but the Doctor knows it’s an act. A type of armor to protect her from what happened earlier.

The Doctor leans against the doorway, watching her. She carefully measures out the sugar to add to her cup. She’s pointedly ignoring his presence in the room, choosing instead to meticulously make their tea.

She turns with both mugs and moves to the little round table. She places his mug in the chair in front of him while she sits across the table, directly facing him. She raises an eyebrow, staring at him as she waits for him to join her. He pushes off the doorway and moves to sit across from his wife. She has her hands wrapped tightly around her mug, allowing it to warm the parts of herself she hide away after her parents were taken. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks offhandedly.

He sees through her facade; he knows her better than anyone. He can tell she’s struggling, she just got her parents back - and they knew everything - and now they’re gone. “Yes,” he says in response to her question.

He looks around the kitchen; he only ever uses this kitchen when he’s with River, everything he knows about this kitchen is because of her. Hell, if he had to guess, the TARDIS has this kitchen specifically for River. The early-1970s set-up reminds her of the few times she snuck away from the Silence (not that she remembered them being there) and would watch The Brady Bunch through the crack in the caretaker’s door. She says those are some of her most carefree childhood moments.

His attention focuses back on his wife. He notices the slightly red rims around her eyes, she’s been crying. She must have attempted to clean her face, to wash away the weakness she thinks she’s showing, if only she knew how strong she truly was; how strong the Doctor wishes she didn’t have to be. He tilts his head as he watches her, “how are you?” he asks after the long pause in conversation. She looks affronted by the question, quickly looking up from her mug to tell him she’s fine. “Don’t,” he says first, “I know you, River. I know that you’re feeling; you’re not someone without feelings. Let’s save this back and forth, we’ve both had a long day. Just,” he pauses, looking down at his hands before looking back into her eyes, pleading “tell me. Please.”

River stares at him, searching his eyes for something he doesn’t quite understand, but he waits, waits for her to finish her assessment. She must find what she’s looking for because she looks back down at the mug in her hands and her shoulders drops, walls crumbling around her. “I don’t know,” she whispers, so quiet that if the Doctor hadn’t been watching her so intently he’s sure he would have missed it. He waits, knowing she has more to say. “I haven’t really processed everything that happened.” She pauses again, losing herself as she stares into her tea.

The Doctor nods, knowing exactly what it feels like to lose someone so close to you.

River pulls herself from her thoughts and looks up from her tea to lock eyes with her husband. She shrugs, trying to play off what she’s feeling, “It shouldn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother me,” she lies. “I spent most of my life without my parents - or with parents who didn’t know they were my parents.” The Doctor doesn’t say anything, he just watches her intently. She can feel him staring into her soul; she looks away, back down at her tea, “I don’t know why this is so hard,” she finally whispers.

“River,” he sighs, suddenly feeling like the table separating them was far too big, “you don’t have to be okay. No one is ever okay after something like this.”

She looks up at him, “And how do you cope, Doctor?”

It’s his turn to look away.

They both know the answer to that. He doesn’t. He doesn’t cope. He runs. And he avoids any mention of what happened, he avoids the memories.

She shakes her head, this is pointless. She’s River freaking Song, she doesn’t do this. “It’s not a problem,” she says as she straightens her shoulders and rebuilds her walls around herself and her heart, “I can see them again whenever I want.”

The Doctor looks back at her, his eyebrows drawn together, “Not the ones from today, they won’t know about any of this. They won’t have any of their memories. Is that enough?”

“It is with you. I don’t see why it would be any different with them,” she says simply.

“River,” the Doctor starts.

“Enough, Doctor,” she says standing from her seat. She walks around the table and drops into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, twisting his hair around her fingers as she says, “I no longer want to talk about this...or anything,” and she leans in to kiss him, her lips sweet and pliant against his.

He feels himself losing his train of thought and rests his hands on her hips, steadying himself. She slips her tongue into his mouth, drawing out a groan as he grabs her hips tighter. She bites and tugs on his lower lip, dragging him with her as she pulls away. “River,” he whispers as he leans his forehead against hers.

Her chest is heaving, her eyes still closed. She takes another moment to catch her breath before running her hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the top of his jacket. “It has to be enough,” she whispers as she stands from his lap and moves back to her seat across the table. She grabs her diary to her from its spot on the counter, where she placed it upon entering the kitchen. She reaches behind her and plucks a pen from the container on the counter. This kitchen was definitely designed with her in mind. She opens to the first blank page and begins writing. The Doctor sits back in his chair, drinking his tea and watching her write.

He finishes his cup and stands from his seat. His wife notices, she notices everything, but chooses to ignore his movement and continues writing. The Doctor moves about the kitchen, making food for them both. He prepares eggs and toast and when they’re plated, carries them back over to the table. He slides on onto the table next to River and takes his spot across from her once again.

“Thank you, Sweetie,” she says, giving him a small smile before taking a bite of her food. She goes back and forth between writing in her diary and eating the small meal the Doctor prepared. When they’re both finished, he gets up and moves the dishes to the sink, but not before accepting a kiss on his cheek from his wife. He fills the basin with water and begins to wash the dishes he and his wife dirtied.

When he’s done, he dries his hands and then the counter where the water splashed. He places the now clean - and dry - dishes away before hanging the towel and turning back to his wife. She looks up at him and smiles, “Library?” she asks softly, putting her pen down and closing her diary.

He tries not to show how much that word affects him; his feelings are too raw to properly hide what that word makes him feel. The Doctor knows this shouldn’t affect him, whenever they are able to spend extended time together in the TARDIS they usually spend time in the library.

River chooses not to say anything about the weird thing his face does when she asks him to go to the library.

He holds out his hand and pulls her from her seat. She wraps her arms around his waist as he folds his arms around her shoulders, kissing her temple. Arm in arm they walk out of the kitchen and toward the library.

They enter the room and immediately separate, both combing the shelves for the perfect book to read tonight. After perusing the different bookshelves and each finding a book, they’ll gravitate toward their couch, the couch in front of the fireplace.

That’s where River finds her husband, already reading (rereading) Gulliver’s Travels. She settles onto the other end of the couch and lifts her legs until they rest in her husband’s lap. He pauses his reading to raise an eyebrow. She merely smirks and sinks further into the couch, crossing her ankles and opening her book.

“Journey to the Center of the Earth? You do realize how incorrect that is, right?”

“Where’s the fun in facts?” River asks with a smirk. He narrows his eyes at her and she rolls hers in response. She offers a dramatic sigh, “We can’t all time travel and actually go to the center of the earth. Sometimes we just have to settle for someone’s imagination.”

“Would you like to go?” he asks seriously, the joking tone gone from his voice.

River lowers her book to her lap and watches him. “And meet the other Silurians? I think helping them back from Demon’s Run was enough for me. I’d much rather stay above ground while on Earth.”

He studies her, noticing the way the firelight plays across her features. She raises an eyebrow and he smiles, “I thought you liked Madame Vastra?”

“Oh she’s delightful!” River exclaims, “I just do not need to go to the center of the earth to visit.” She pauses and leans forward conspiratorially, “I’ll just stick to this book.”