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The TARDIS has never been so quiet before. In all the time River has traveled with the Doctor, there has been noise on this ship. Her parents laughing and bickering, Amy poking fun at the Doctor, Rory’s quiet sighs of resignation. Even when it was only River and the Doctor on board, there were the sounds of lovemaking and laughter and the happy hum of the Old Girl, so pleased to have her thief and her child together. Now, there is nothing. Not even the TARDIS makes a sound.
The halls are empty now. The magnificent blue box once so full of life is more like a tomb these days. Silent as the grave has never felt so apt. River stares blankly at her typewriter and wonders what the consequences would be if she simply refused to write this book. It’s one thing to stand over her parents’ graves but to be the very catalyst for it in the first place is nearly enough to make her give the universe the two-fingered salute. She doesn’t much care what happens to it anyway. She tries to for the Doctor’s sake, but right now, she doesn’t think he cares all that much either.
River taps her nails idly against the keys with a thoughtful frown. It’s tempting, of course, but there’s no telling the paradoxes that will come about if Melody Malone doesn’t exist. Certainly the events of Manhattan could un-happen but there is no guarantee that whatever takes its place wouldn’t be worse. And she won’t take away her parents happy ending – they’re together, even if it is in the past. River isn’t selfish enough to take it away from them simply because she doesn’t want to be the orphaned child again.
“River?”
She shuts her eyes at the tentative voice and wonders how she hadn’t heard his footsteps in the corridor. Without turning around, she asks tiredly, “What is it, sweetie?”
If the question comes out with a little more bite than she’d intended, well, he certainly deserves it. The Doctor’s nervous shuffling behind her indicates he’s entirely aware of what he deserves. “I thought you might like some tea.” He carefully settles the mug on her desk beside the other five half empty, tepid ones. River nods once in thanks and waits for him to leave again but the Doctor hovers at her side and scratches his cheek. “Are you… hungry?”
She shakes her head and silently wishes him away but when he continues to stand there and wring his hands, she feels her hearts begin to soften. With a sigh, she rubs at her temples and asks, “Have you eaten? I can have the TARDIS -”
“I thought we might go out,” he ventures hesitantly, watching her with wide, hopeful eyes. “We could get dressed up, have dinner. Maybe even a little dancing…” He trails off when she only stares at him and when he swallows, it’s audible enough to be a gulp. Slowly, he reaches out and strokes the side of her face. River closes her eyes, unwilling to encourage him just yet but unable to resist his touch all the same.
He grows bolder when she doesn’t pull away, the pads of his fingers trailing across her cheekbone, along her jaw. There’s an apology in the gentle touch, all the words he can’t quite manage to say – I’m sorry, I miss you, let’s be happy again – right there on the tips of his fingers as he caresses her skin. When his thumb reverently traces the curve of her lips, River finally breaks. She captures his wrist, savoring his sharp intake of breath when she opens her mouth and kisses his fingers, dragging her mouth along his palm. Opening her eyes, she meets his dark gaze and nips at his fingertips.
The Doctor breaks too, surging forward suddenly to grasp her face between his hands and kiss her hungrily. River clutches him to her, opening her mouth beneath his with a moan. It’s been days of stony silence, of avoiding one another’s gaze and never staying in the same room for long. It’s been several very long nights of sleeping alone in their bed and listening to the Doctor pace the hallways. Normally River loves a good row with her husband – they make up beautifully – but this one has been their very worst. She has never been so eager to apologize.
She helps him shed his jacket, shoving it impatiently from his shoulders. The Doctor shrugs out of it, his hands immediately moving back to grip her curls in his fists. River makes a soft noise of protest, not willing to stop kissing him long enough to snap at him to undress her. She nips sharply at his bottom lip and takes his hands in her own, guiding them to the buttons of her shirt. He doesn’t even try to undo them – he just yanks.
Her shirt rips and buttons fly, pinging off her desk and the floor, scattering every which way. She’ll be finding them in this room for months. She really doesn’t care. The Doctor feeling amorous enough to rip her clothing has always been a bit of a kink for her. She whimpers into his mouth, reaching up with shaking hands to unknot his bowtie. Gripping it in her fist once it’s free of his shirt collar, she finally tears her mouth away from his to suck viciously at his exposed throat.
The Doctor shudders, palms digging into her skin as he scrapes them up her sides. He doesn’t bother fumbling with the clasp of her bra, merely shoving it up and exposing her breasts. He grasps one roughly in his hand and ducks his head to kiss and suck at the other, his mouth sloppy and his stubble scratching at her skin. River moans, chest heaving as she clutches his head to her with the hand still clinging to his bowtie. She rolls her hips against him, relishing his strangled groan as she reaches between them for the fastenings on his trousers.
When she slips a hand inside his pants and grasps him in a merciless, firm grip, the Doctor growls and sinks his teeth into the side of her breast, his hips jerking into her touch. “I – oh – thought we were going dancing,” he jokes, sounding breathless.
River smirks, circling her thumb teasingly over the slick head of him. “What do you call this, honey?”
He sighs, lifting his head to kiss her. She can taste exasperation and desire in equal measure on his tongue and it makes her smile. It quickly turns into a yelp of surprise when he grips her suddenly by the hips and lifts her from her chair to settle her on the edge of her desk. She parts her legs eagerly and he steps between them, still kissing her like he needs her mouth on his to breathe.
She sifts her fingers through his hair, rolling her hips against him again, making sure to press the heat of her core right against his erection. It makes them both groan and River breaks their kiss to throw her head back, repeating the move. The Doctor hisses through his teeth, clutching her hips and burying his face against her shoulder.
“River,” he whines, his voice guttural. “This wasn’t supposed to happen until after the date.”
“You started it.” He huffs a little at that and she laughs, turning her head to nip at his ear. “Making up first. Dinner later.”
He nods quickly, eagerly. “Yes, good, OK -” His hips buck into hers and River cries out, gripping the edge of the desk. “Where – oh, god – where do you want to go?”
It hardly feels like the time to discuss it and she’s just about to suggest this conversation might be better suited for after she ravishes him when an idea occurs to her. “My choice?”
Yanking up her skirt with trembling hands, fingers warm on her thighs, the Doctor mutters, “Yes, yes, of course.”
She smiles, letting him brush his fingers against the slick heat of her, letting him duck his head to kiss his way down her chest and the length of her stomach. She settles her hands in his thick hair with a little sigh and when he’s moments from pressing his face between her thighs, she asks, “What about Darillium?”
The Doctor draws away so abruptly River feels it like a cold chill. His hands drop from her legs as he staggers back to his feet, taking his lovely warmth with him. The light of desire is gone from his eyes as though it had never been at all, though the tent in his trousers tells her she hadn’t been imagining it. He stares at her, his cheeks entirely drained of color and his lips pulled into a tight, unforgiving line. River watches him in bewilderment, suddenly feeling very exposed as he draws away from her further.
“No,” he says, biting the word out in a low, cold growl that makes them both flinch. “No, not – no. Pick somewhere else.”
That cold chill settles over her now, like thick, brittle frost suffocating her insides. She doesn’t let it show on her face, keeping her expression carefully blank. “Why?”
The Doctor turns away, raking a hand through his hair. “Because… it’s overpriced and overrated and the Towers aren’t even that interesting. It’s just wind making them sing -”
“I don’t care what’s making them sing,” she snaps, pulling her bra back down and into place. The mood has been entirely ruined by his ridiculous petulance. She shoves her skirt back down too, her irritation only made worse by the low throb of desire still simmering in her belly. Her thighs are still sticky with arousal and she presses them together, feeling cheap and abandoned. “You said tonight could be my choice. That’s where I want to go. Are you going to take me or not?”
Still turned away from her, the Doctor straightens from his slouch and braces himself stiffly against the wall. She wonders briefly if he’s still feeling the uneasy arousal she is. “Not.”
River blinks. “What?”
“I’m not taking you to Darillium tonight, River.”
Eyes narrowed, she concedes, “Fine. We’ll go tomorrow.”
The Doctor whirls to face her and River stares at him, startled by the angry flush of his cheeks and red beneath his eyes, like he’s moments from some sort of tantrum. A muscle in his jaw ticks when he clenches his teeth. Absolutely none of it bodes well for the spectacular making up they’d been right in the middle of, or the romantic evening she’d been hoping for after.
“We’re not going tomorrow either. Or the day after that. I am never taking you to Darillium, River, so stop asking me.”
She stares at him in stunned silence, hating the tears building in her eyes. “What is the matter with you? It’s not like I’m asking you for the moon, Doctor.”
He looks away, glaring at their clothing scattered on the floor. It’s like she’s looking at another person entirely. This man is not her husband – he can’t possibly be. Not this man treating her like she’s asked for the head of John the Baptist on a platter rather than a quiet evening listening to beautiful music. It’s such a small request, so inconsequential. She’s been bending over backwards to accommodate his moodiness for days and this one small thing she asks for, he’s refusing to give?
River licks her lips, forcing her voice not to tremble. “You know, you’re not the only one grieving right now, honey. There were exactly three people in this universe that love me and two of them are dead -”
The Doctor balks at that. “They’re not dead,” he spits. “Amy is not dead. She’s just lost. We can’t get to her but she’s out there right now being amazing -”
“I’m not talking about my mother right now, Doctor,” she snaps, irritation sparking under her skin. “I’m talking about me – about us. If you could possibly bring yourself to care about someone other than Amy Pond for one moment.”
His eyes narrow at that. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She glares right back. “It means I’m starting to wonder if I was just a substitute for what you couldn’t have.” He sucks in a sharp breath at that, looking stranded somewhere between outraged and wounded, but River presses on. “Tell me, would you have been this upset if it had been me taken back to the past? Or would you have chalked it up to bad luck and toddled off to the next adventure with your beloved Amelia?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snarls. “Do you really think Amy would have left her daughter so easily?”
River stares at him wordlessly, the pain in her chest so great she can’t help but wonder if he’d reached out and struck her right over her hearts. But no, he’s standing across the room, his shirt and trousers undone, staring at her with growing horror. Realizing distantly that she’s still clutching his bowtie, River opens her fingers and lets it flutter to the floor at her feet.
As it dawns on him that he’s said exactly the wrong thing, the Doctor squeezes his eyes shut and brings a tired hand to his face. “River, that’s not what I meant. You know I -”
“What?” She laughs and the sound seems to echo in the hollow cavern of her chest. “Felt obligated to give a damn while my parents were alive?” She tilts her head when he gapes at her and the ice hardening under her skin and freezing over her hearts makes it possible to offer him a brittle smile. “How does it feel, Doctor? To be free?”
He looks at her like she’d reached out and struck him and she feels oddly gratified to have returned the favor. His eyes are unreadable but his mouth quivers with rage and even the hair hanging over his forehead trembles with it. “How dare you,” he hisses, and River feels a vindictive sense of triumph for getting a reaction out of him. After the loss of his tender touch and eyes hungry with desire, the next best thing is to have his fury. “Is that what you think? After everything we’ve been through, after everything I’ve – an obligation?”
His incredulity should have soothed her but the more she thinks about what she’s saying, the easier it is to believe. The easier it is to understand the things she’s always wondered about – why he never calls her his wife in public, why it has always been so easy for him to take out his anger on her instead of his darling Ponds. Why he can’t even bring himself to take her to hear some bloody Towers sing.
“What am I supposed to think? You’ve barely spoken to me since we lost them – contemplating how to get rid of me? Cursing that Angel for not taking me too? Or maybe just instead?”
“Stop it, River,” he snaps, white-faced. “Just – stop. This is rubbish! Absolute rubbish. I told you, we’ll start over. We’ll go to dinner -”
“As long as it’s somewhere you want to go, right sweetie? Everything is always on your terms.” She watches him distantly, feeling very far away. It’s as though there’s a disconnect between her hearts and the words coming out of her mouth. She feels as though she’s standing outside of her body, watching herself speak coldly and watching the Doctor clench his fists and tremble. She can’t make herself stop. “We take trips together when you come to pick me up or whenever you deem my messages worthy of a response. I’m sorry I’m out of prison, honey. It must have been lovely to have a sure thing sitting in a little cage waiting for you.”
His eyes widen and his lips thin into a line so tight they disappear in the whiteness of his face. “Shut up, River. Just shut up.”
“You know,” she says, contemplating him with a smile. “We even got married when you wanted – if I recall, you asked for my parents’ consent but not mine.”
He growls, throwing up his hands. “You’d stopped time for me, River – I assumed marrying me wouldn’t be out of the question! And since when have you ever had any trouble speaking your mind? If it wasn’t what you wanted, I’d have listened!”
She shrugs, frowning. “Would’ve been lovely to be asked. As you’re told was hardly the marriage proposal a girl dreams of.”
Thinking of that ceremony she has always cherished, always looked back on with a giddy little smile, only makes her feel cold now. The quick version, he’d called it. He was supposed to tell her his name. Instead, he’d told her something to make her shut up and go along with his plan. The plan he hadn’t intended to share with her. Now she can’t help but wonder – was he ever going to tell her? Would he have let her languish there in Stormcage thinking she’d killed him?
“It’s never been a real marriage,” she says quietly, the weight of the realization settling heavily over her. Her eyes sting. “It was a consolation. The only way you could think of to appease your guilt.”
The Doctor shakes himself from his stupor, growling. “River, this is insane. What’s gotten into-” He stops abruptly, squaring his jaw, and begins to stalk toward her. “Stop this.”
River takes a step back but she can’t resist goading him further, her hearts thrilling a little at the fire in his gaze. “Marriage is about compromise, sweetie. Putting someone else’s needs before your own. When have you ever been willing to do that?” She laughs softly. “I’ve just lost my parents and you won’t even take me to hear the Towers sing.”
He snatches her wrist, his fingers biting into her skin hard enough to make her gasp out loud, and River reacts on instinct. She slaps him. The sound of her palm meeting his cheek echoes in the ringing silence but the Doctor barely flinches. He doesn’t let go of her wrist and she knows they’ll both bear bruises. It doesn’t make her feel better.
As they regard each other, flushed and breathing heavily, an uneasy quiet fills the room. In it, River can hear echoes of every word she’s said and the heavy weight of her shame makes her drop her head to blink tearfully at the floor. Everything she had said still feels true but she knows it isn’t, not really. It’s only her resentment talking. They’re tired and angry and grieving and this is not the way to take care of each other. Days spent ignoring each other and then screaming when they finally do speak. What would Amy think if she could see them now?
You be a good girl and you look after him.
Even her mother’s last words to her hadn’t been about her, she thinks bitterly. They’d been about the Doctor. Her last moments with them and she’d held River’s hand and made sure her precious Raggedy Man would be taken care of. Not River, never River. Melody Pond had always had to look after herself and River Song is no different. Funny, that Amy hadn’t asked the Doctor to take care of her. Perhaps she had known better than to make such a request.
The resentment of having her last moments with her mother monopolized by the Doctor still lingers even now, days later. Even the Afterword had been written for the Doctor. Everything had been given to him, every single piece of her mother. River had been left with nothing but be a good girl. Look after him.
If she thinks about it for a moment too long, the unfairness of it will choke her. But the guilt that follows is all the more suffocating. How can she begrudge Amy Pond anything? Especially a last request? Even as unhappy with the Doctor as she is right now, River would never take away the one thing that seems to give him peace after the loss of his Ponds – the precious page he keeps tucked away in his jacket. Amy had done the best she could with the time she had left to say goodbye. She knew the Doctor would need closure more than River would. River can’t blame her for putting him first – not when it’s what she herself has always done.
Feeling a lump rise in her throat, River swallows and slowly lifts her eyes from the floor to find the Doctor staring desperately back at her. “I can’t do this anymore,” she confesses, and feels his fingers slip from her wrist. “We don’t have to go to Darillium. I don’t need to go anywhere. I just need you.”
The Doctor closes his eyes and turns from her, scrubbing a hand over his face.
River stares at his back, at the invisible weight that always seems to rest on his shoulders, and feels none of the anger she had only moments ago. She doesn’t feel like she’s watching from the outside anymore. She feels comfortably back in her body, sad and tired but as hopelessly in love as ever. “We’re all each other has left. I know I’m no replacement for Amy but I love you and I need you here. Not wandering the halls. Not hiding away under the console or off somewhere reading that Afterword again. Here.”
He still doesn’t turn to face her, bracing himself against the edge of her desk, his head bowed in tense silence.
River reaches out a hand to touch him but thinks better of it, withdrawing. “If you don’t think you can do that then I need to go away for a while. We’re only hurting each other this way, sweetie.” She sniffs quickly, blinking away the tears clinging to her lashes. She straightens her spine and lifts her chin, watching him calmly. “I may be a criminal and a psychopath but even I know we deserve better than this.”
“Yes,” the Doctor mutters, still staring blankly at her desk. “You do.”
She frowns, finally resting a hand on the small of his back. “Doctor?”
He stiffens, straightening from his slouch to draw away from her. Stung, River lets her hand fall back to her side and watches in bewilderment as he turns to face her with a cold smile. “You’re right, River. You’re not Amy and you never will be.” She struggles against the overwhelming need to flinch away from his unwavering gaze. “You can’t fix this. I’ve come to realize since Manhattan than you can’t fix a lot of things. You couldn’t keep her safe.” His smile falters at that and he looks away. “You’ve… disappointed me. I can barely even look at you. So just do us both a favor and go.”
River stares at him in horror, frozen in place as she listens to him say everything she’s ever feared he might. That he would see her weakness one day and send her away for it. She’s not the woman he’d married – she’s a fraud. His damaged murderer he could never truly love. How can one love the poison in their veins? Swallowing, River takes a step forward and watches him retreat. Weakly, she manages, “You don’t mean that -”
He clenches his jaw, his eyes focused somewhere over her shoulder, like he truly can’t bear to look at her. “I’ve never meant anything more. Now get out.”
She shakes her head. “Sweetie -”
He growls under his breath and whirls back to her desk, shoving her typewriter right off it. It tumbles to the floor with an almighty crash and the rest of her things follow, papers and picture frames, digging tools and books. All of it sent to the floor with an angry swipe of his arm. He picks up the only thing left – a paperweight – and hurls it across the room. River barely manages to duck before it hits the wall behind her. Chest heaving and eyes shattered, he shouts, “Go.”
She doesn’t even pack a bag. Her vortex manipulator is in the console room and she makes her way there blindly, her legs numb and her hearts empty. She disappears in a flash and reappears at her house on Luna. She hasn’t been there in months and the musty air nearly chokes her as she sinks to her knees in the middle of her living room and cries for the first time since she lost her parents.
It isn’t until she discovers the stories about Darillium that she begins to understand. The Doctor had wanted her to leave but not for the reasons he’d like her to believe. As much as River has always wanted to believe they’ll never end – just dance around each other through time until these last bodies of theirs finally give out – it turns out everything ends. Even them. And the Singing Towers are where it happens.
Everything makes sense now. The Doctor, the man who hates endings, would certainly avoid theirs like the plague. Most people would. But River Song is not most people. She likes to face her monsters and shoot them in the kneecaps. His avoidance doesn’t comfort her. It infuriates her. What is he planning to do? Swan off and leave her without a proper goodbye? Never come back?
She refuses to believe him capable of it. No matter what she’d said to him during their argument, she knows not even the Doctor with his ridiculous guilt complex would spend two hundred years with a woman he didn’t love. He wouldn’t openly flirt. He wouldn’t reach for her hand like the gesture came to him as easily as breathing. He wouldn’t make love to her the way he did. He wouldn’t blush when she winked at him or look so smug and giddy when he manages to surprise her for her birthday. He wouldn’t keep coming back or keep seeking her out. The Doctor may be a practiced liar but not even he could feign such genuine devotion for so long.
We deserve better than this.
Yes, you do.
He’s just being an idiot who thinks he’s doing the right thing. So River puts away her research and gets on with her life, certain that when he’s ready he’ll come after her. She teaches classes and goes on digs and takes on the odd client now and then, when they present a case simply too good to pass up. As time goes on, it occurs to her that she could draw the Doctor out of hiding. Who knows how long the idiot might avoid her if left to his own devices. She won’t be Elizabeth I, waiting in a glade for a man who isn’t going to return.
With every day that passes without a sign of the Doctor, her need to make him show himself increases. It makes her reckless in a way she never was before, like she no longer has anything to lose. She throws herself into increasingly dangerous, stupid situations with gusto. She transports illegal dragon eggs and keeps one of them, setting it loose on her enemies and stepping over their charred remains. She makes deals with species even the lowest scum of the universe would wrinkle their noses at. She steals from good people instead of just those she doesn’t like. She dines with murderers and smiles when they glory over their latest victim. She marries without a thought for the bowtie tucked into her rucksack. She waits for the Doctor to come and put a stop to it all and in the meantime, she becomes a shell of herself. A pale imitation of what Kovarian had always wanted.
The doubts aren’t far behind. The Doctor is a man who has been running away his whole life. She would have to be delusional – as starry-eyed as his human companions who believe they’ll be with him forever – to truly believe he would stop running for her. And River is no companion. He’s a good man who had stayed because he felt guilty. He would do anything for his Amelia – even pretend he loved her daughter.
By the time a robot scans her aboard the Harmony, she has come to two conclusions. The first is that there are three people River Song loves but they’re all gone. The second is that there are two people who love her. They’re both dead.
-
They’re three days into twenty-four years of bliss when he broaches the subject, his voice soft and cautious – and so very Scottish, she thinks gleefully. “I didn’t mean it, you know. You do know, don’t you? You usually know most things.”
Head resting against his chest, River turns her head and presses her lips against his skin, avoiding his probing gaze. “You didn’t mean what?”
“Everything I said when you left after Manhattan.” He swallows, his fingertips suddenly hesitant against the small of her back, as though she’ll remember what an arse he’d been and pull away. “Everything I said to make you leave.”
Not meaning it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Even now, curled against him in their bed and certain of his love once more, the thought of that last row makes her hearts throb. River traces over his skin, connecting the freckles on his chest with a fingertip. “Why did you say it then?”
“Because I was a bastard. I knew you would believe me.” The Doctor presses his face into her hair, exhaling shakily. “I was so ready to move past it all and then you mentioned Darillium. I’d have done anything to keep from saying goodbye. Even if it meant breaking your hearts.”
River blinks at a clustering of freckles in the shape of Lyra and doesn’t speak until she’s certain her voice won’t give her away. “I started researching Darillium after I left. It wasn’t until I saw all those accounts of our last night that I realized what you’d done.” She swallows. “You never tried to find me. I kept hoping you’d turn up and when you did it was by accident. Wearing another face. All those years, Doctor, and you never tried to make things right.”
He tenses beneath her, lifting himself up on his elbows to frown at her. “River, I came after you as soon as you left. Well, give or take a few days of self-loathing.”
She blinks at him. “What?”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of you believing any of that fucking rubbish.” He eyes her for a moment, studying her face with that crease between his brows she has already grown terribly fond of. “Are you telling me you haven’t -” His expression lightens and he laughs softly, smiling at her. “Now I understand.”
River huffs. “Doctor, what are you talking about?”
Eyebrow raised, he leans in until they’re nose to nose and murmurs, “Spoilers.”
She smacks him but it only makes him laugh, rolling over to pin her beneath him. It would be easy to escape his grasp and retaliate but River finds that she doesn’t really want to. She likes him hovering over her and gazing at her like she’s a new star, like she’s every star in the sky all at once. Wriggling against him doesn’t make him blush the way it might have before. He only raises a brow at her and smirks. She rolls her hips against him. He surprises her by pinning her in place and nudging back. Her eyes widen and she grins, pulling him down for a kiss.
He dodges her, ducking his head to nuzzle at her throat, and keeps moving his hips against hers, the absolute tease. River bites her lip, eyes fluttering, and reaches out blindly for him. Her hand lands in his hair and she curls her fingers in it, holding on. “Did you know before?” She asks, a bit breathless. “How long a night on Darillium is?”
“Not until I made the reservation,” he admits, and nips sharply at the swell of her breast. “I imagine Bowtie would have been a bit more eager if he’d known. Probably would have brought you here every bloody anniversary.”
Stifling a moan as his hand slips between her thighs, River says, “I’d have liked that.”
The Doctor pauses long enough to lift his head and kiss her, smiling against her mouth. “Me too.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
He pulls away, blinking at her. “For what?”
She grins. “For turning what I thought would be my worst nightmare into the sweetest dream I’ve ever had.”
“You’ve spent far too much time with younger me,” he mutters, still smiling. “He’s turned you into a bloody sap.”
River pinches him. “Oh, shut up.”
“Oh bollocks to it, what was my line again?” He furrows his brow and then brightens and she loves how absolutely ridiculous he looks when he smiles now, like his face simply isn’t meant to but he can’t help himself. “Oh right – make me.”
They don’t talk much after that and when they finally fall asleep, they’re still grinning at each other in the starlight. River wakes hours later, unsure just what has woken her until she hears the noise again – the sound of the TARDIS materializing. A quick glance at the Doctor tells her he’s going to sleep right through it so she slips from his grasp and manages a haphazard outfit in the dark.
By the time she steps barefoot out onto the porch of their little cottage dressed in her own jodhpurs and one of the Doctor’s hoodies, her younger tweed-clad husband is just stumbling out of his ship. She hasn’t seen him since their argument ages ago and her breath catches at the sight of him, wild-eyed and frantic but unmistakably her Doctor. “Hello.”
He freezes at the sound of her voice, his eyes going wide. “River,” he breathes, and his voice trembles. “I – where are we for you?”
For a moment, she thinks about lying but then she remembers the contrite, utterly besotted Scottish idiot in her bed and sighs. “Manhattan.”
The Doctor’s shoulders sag with relief and he moves like he wants to run to her but thinks better of it, swaying a bit as he stands in place and stares at her, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He drinks her in like he hasn’t seen her in years, though River knows it can’t have been more than a few weeks. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Oh?” She isn’t angry anymore, not really. His older self has made sure of that. This young, fidgeting idiot in front of her doesn’t need to know that just yet. “Why? Did you think of some other way I’ve been a disappointment to you?”
He recoils, dropping his gaze to his shoes. She considers the possibility of him turning around and running because things are getting a bit too real but when he lifts his head again, he looks downright determined. “You’re a lot of things, River – clever and infuriating and smug and amazing – but one thing you’ve never been is a disappointment. Not to me. And not to anyone else with the exception of perhaps Madame Kovarian. But I think even she was a bit impressed.” He smiles and it’s hesitant and tender and everything she’s missed about this version of him. “I’m the disappointment, River. Not you.”
She stands there on the porch for a long moment, watching him regard her with those big sad eyes and that contrite puppy expression, his hair falling over his forehead and his hands fidgeting. He’s beautiful – and not in the young, handsome way, though there is of course that. He’s beautiful in the way the Doctor is always beautiful, no matter his face. The kind, brave-hearted, beautiful idiot River fell in love with never really had a face. Not when she looked at him anyway. It was in his essence, in his soul. His goodness shone out of him like sunbeams, like starlight, and she’d never stood a chance.
While the Doctor stands there, toeing at the ground with the tip of his shoe and undoubtedly expecting to be sent away, River crosses the distance between them. She descends the porch steps and steps into the dewy grass, walking right up to him and burrowing herself into him. The Doctor flounders for a moment, clearly shocked to his core to be forgiven so quickly, and then his arms wrap tight around her. He hunches over and into her like he can cocoon her in the circle of his arms and protect her even from himself. Nose buried in her hair, he cradles her to his chest and babbles apologies against the shell of her ear. “I’m sorry, River. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean a word of it, I swear. I was just -”
“I know, darling,” she interrupts, content with her nose mashed against his bowtie and his arms snug around her. “I didn’t mean it either. Not a word.”
“Really? Because I understand why you said it. But it was nonsense, River. Of course I loved Amy but you -” He pulls back just enough to cup her face in his big hands, his thumbs stroking a bit frantically over her skin. Now that she’s closer, she can see the circles beneath his eyes, the sickly pallor of his skin, the droop of his bowtie. He looks positively haggard. “River, I -”
“Shh, hush now.” She frowns, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek. “Honey, what have you been doing to yourself?”
He shakes his head, turning slightly to kiss her palm. “Doesn’t matter.” He beams. “All better now.”
She sighs, smiling softly. “Do you even know where you are?”
He blinks at her. “Luna?” He sniffs the air. “No, not Luna…”
To distract him, River pats his cheek. “You didn’t check the scanner, did you?”
“Scanners are boring.” He frowns, glancing back at the little cottage behind her. “River, where are we?”
“Spoilers, honey.” She grins when he huffs. “You should go.”
His eyes widen. “Wait, no! You’ve got to come with me! I’m not done apologizing yet.” He forces a wide grin that he must think looks convincing but River only stares, seeing right through his parlor tricks. “I’m going to take you to Darillium. You were right before. I should compromise and you wanted to go so -” He lets go of her and whirls toward his TARDIS, clapping his hands together. “Get dressed, wife. I’m taking you out.” She begins to shake her head and the Doctor pushes on, looking desperate. “We’ll even go dancing. Please just, come back to the TARDIS with me. I promise I’ll make everything up to you, River. Starting with Darillium.”
Watching him is enough to break her hearts. Bless, he looks so determined to do the right thing, even if it kills him. Though she’s touched that he would face the end for her, to show her what she means to him, River can’t let him go on any longer. She won’t change one line. “Doctor, I don’t want to go to Darillium.” His face falls at that and River smiles, stepping forward to take his hand. He eyes her hopefully through his fringe. “I’d much rather go somewhere else.”
He brightens instantly, his eyes watering with relief and his grin wide enough to split his face. “Yes, good! I mean, are you sure?” At her nod, he giggles. “Darillium is rubbish. We’ll go somewhere amazing. Come along, Song!”
With one last glance at the little cottage, River lets the Doctor tug her into his ship and spirit her away.
-
Exactly six weeks later – or two minutes, depending on one’s perspective – River saunters out of the TARDIS in nothing but a bikini. There’s a tropical flower tucked into her hair and her tan is a deep, golden brown the likes of which won’t be possible on Darillium for another twenty-four years. Walking on air, she turns to blow a kiss at the fading TARDIS in the yard and then skips up the steps and into the house, humming to herself all the while.
She floats down the hall and to her bedroom, grinning smugly when she finds the Doctor still sleeping. She’s still humming when she slips between the sheets and into his arms. The Doctor stirs, frowning, and blinks his eyes open when she slips a leg between his.
Before he’s even properly awake, she starts talking, too giddy to contain herself. “We got married again. You took me to a private resort pleasure planet – we had six weeks of daylight before sundown.” The Doctor scrubs a hand over his face and peers blearily at her but River only beams. “We sunbathed and made sandcastles and you ordered all sorts of fruity drinks because you liked the umbrellas. We swam and we made love and -” She sighs, snuggling contentedly into him. “That was why you were so confused. From your perspective you’d already made it up to me. Sneaky sod.”
Sighing, the Doctor tugs her into him and grumbles into his pillow, “You smell like sand. And Jammie bloody Dodgers.”
She laughs at the unmistakable jealousy in his voice and his possessive grip on her hip. Jealous of himself – the idiot. “And how would you like me to smell?”
He pokes accusingly at a hickey on her breast. River grins proudly. “I would prefer something a wee bit more Scottish. Scottish, with just a dash of turned on.”
River captures his hand before he begins searching her for other love bites. “Darling, I think that’s you.”
“Exactly.” He scowls. “I want you to smell like me.”
“Well then,” she murmurs. “I suppose you’ve got a job ahead of you.”
His fingers toy with the string of her bikini bottoms. “Were you happy?” He tugs on the string, then moves to the other side and tugs that too. Yanking the bottoms off her and tossing them toward the foot of the bed, he asks, “Was it enough?”
Capturing his wayward hand, River kisses his knuckles and nuzzles her cheek into his palm with a smile. “It was perfect, darling. My favorite honeymoon.”
Eyes crinkling with relief, the Doctor clears his throat and says softly, “Mine too.”
She stretches out beneath him with a pointed look and when the Doctor takes the hint and starts working on her bikini top, River shuts her eyes, still smiling widely. They are at the beginning of twenty-four years and she already feels safe and loved and fit to burst with the sheer joy of it all. It’s impossible to imagine being any happier but she’s rather looking forward to being proven wrong.
Above her, the Doctor frees her from her bikini top with a muttered curse of triumph and River laughs, yanking him down to her. They sink into the sheets grinning into each others mouths and the Doctor begins the laborious work of covering his wife with the scent of him. It takes quite a lot of time but they’re not worried – they’ve got plenty of that.