fanfiction: when at last i see thee whole (2/?)
Title: when at last i see thee whole (2/?)
Author: bendingwind
Notes: [Doctor Who | M/R | 1091 words]
Characters: River/Doctor
Summary: He has known from the beginning, and yet he never saw it coming. Based on the following photomanip by aheartthen
[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3]
They find themselves tangled in his bed on the TARDIS, her eyes half-shut as he draws shapes on her belly.
“What are you drawing?” she asks, lazily.
“Not drawing, writing,” he says, tracing loops below her breasts, just above the slight swell of her stomach.
“Ah,” she replies, and she turns on her side to face him. “I hope you’re not naming her yet.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he says, with a deep chuckle. It’s a sound she’s never heard before, and she sighs with contentment as his hand moves up, tracing elegant Gallifreyan words on her breasts, runes for “love” and “heat” and “joy” crossing the tender flesh of her nipples.
“You’re an idiot, you know,” she says, assaulted by the sudden memory of the past few hours.
“Mmmm,” he agrees, brushing a line up the side of her neck. She shivers.
“Stop distracting me,” she says grumpily, shifting away from him. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”
“These things tend to take care of themselves,” he points out, moving towards her again. She bats his hand away when he reaches for her.
“After that bit,” she bites out. “Or, actually, even during that bit. Things could go wrong, the TARDIS-”
“The TARDIS has the most sophisticated medical technology in the galaxy, it won’t be a problem.”
“Not the last time I checked,” she snaps. She has a very distinct memory of washing out puncture wounds from a poisonous thorn bush in the medieval apothecary that the TARDIS had presented her when she asked for the medical bay.
“She does as of an hour ago,” he replies, trying to sneak a hand past her guard.
“I will bite you if you try that again,” she informs him crisply. His eyes light up and she scowls.
“My love, I’m trying to be serious.”
Something in her voice causes him to pause, and he meets her gaze. She can see the pieces click together behind his eyes.
“You’re scared,” he says, and somehow he manages to pack contriteness, sympathy, love into his voice.
“Yes,” she all but whispers, and this time when he reaches for her she allows him to draw her into his arms.
“You’re too brilliant to think it will be easy,” he whispers into her ear, “and I won’t lie to you. But we’ll make it work. We always do.”He buries his face in her neck, and she can feel him smiling against the skin at the joint between her shoulders and neck. “I know you’re about to ask me a thousand questions, so go ahead.”
So she does. A thousand questions, about biology, safety, enemies, plans, and finally, she asks a question she has always wanted to know, one that she has never dared to ask.
“You had children… before,” she says, almost whispering. She wonders if he will even answer her. “On Gallifrey. Will you… will you tell me about them?”
His answering silence is heavy, and sad, and she prepares to pretend she never asked-
“They were… I had two sons, on Gallifrey. Rolisavar and Silon, their mother named him; it’s a mother’s right to name her children on Gallifrey. Sav was brilliant, talented and well-loved. The professors at the Academy sometimes wrote to me to tell me that he was the best pupil they’d ever had the pleasure of teaching. Master Tau, in particular, liked to rub it in my face that Sav’s grades were far better than mine had ever been. He was-he had golden hair like his mother, and dark eyes, and he never smiled but to hide something. When he came home from the Academy on vacation, we would build things together-the non-technological technology of Lamasteen fascinated him utterly, but we made other things too. He would have-he did create things, marvelous things, but by the time he was an adult the war had started. The only of his brilliant inventions that he ever presented in the citadel were weapons of war.”
She cups his face in her hands, gently tracing her thumbs across the shadows beneath his eyes. Tears glisten there, threatening to fall, and not for the first time she is stunned by the beauty of this madman. Her madman with a box.
“Silon was the younger. He was… he took after me. Silly and mad and fascinated by all sorts of things that the Academy didn’t care about, so his marks were dreadful, but I never cared because he’d bring home a paper that he was writing on the benefits of the limited use of paradox machines to fix minor bugs in the universe, or a plug from Earth that he was studying, or-always something, something fascinating and totally useless. He was,” the Doctor pauses to laugh, a dry sorrowful laugh, but underneath there is the genuine echo of love and amusement. “He was so wonderful, so kind, so good. He grew to be a far braver man than I-when the war came, he spoke out when I feared to, called for peace. He laid a plan before the council, where we split off a part of the universe that was unoccupied and gave it to the daleks. They would be allowed to reign there, supreme and alone, and we would be free to live on in our part of the universe. The President’s son died that day, though, and she refused his plan for the sake of vengeance.”
They lay like that for a time, his face in her hands as she gently wipes away his tears as they fall. She doesn’t ask for more-she doesn’t need to know.
“If they were anything like you, my love,” she whispers when his tears have finally dried, “they must have been among the greatest men this galaxy has ever seen.”
He shakes his head, mutely, and once again he hides his face in the crook of her neck. He drifts to sleep like that, but she remains awake for hours. Later, once she is certain he won’t wake, she carefully detangles herself from his ungainly limbs and makes her way to the mirror room. She sits on the floor there for a very long time, staring at her naked body, her sharp, lovely face and her wild curling hair. Finally she reaches out to touch her own fingers through the glass.
She cannot give back what was taken from him, but she can give him more, she thinks with a hollow smile, and she stands to return to their bed.
Part 3
A/N: More importantly, this is aheartthen's birthday gift~ Happy birthday!
Disclaimer: Don't own, BBC's, not making profit from this work of fanfiction, etc.
Author: bendingwind
Notes: [Doctor Who | M/R | 1091 words]
Characters: River/Doctor
Summary: He has known from the beginning, and yet he never saw it coming. Based on the following photomanip by aheartthen
[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3]
They find themselves tangled in his bed on the TARDIS, her eyes half-shut as he draws shapes on her belly.
“What are you drawing?” she asks, lazily.
“Not drawing, writing,” he says, tracing loops below her breasts, just above the slight swell of her stomach.
“Ah,” she replies, and she turns on her side to face him. “I hope you’re not naming her yet.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he says, with a deep chuckle. It’s a sound she’s never heard before, and she sighs with contentment as his hand moves up, tracing elegant Gallifreyan words on her breasts, runes for “love” and “heat” and “joy” crossing the tender flesh of her nipples.
“You’re an idiot, you know,” she says, assaulted by the sudden memory of the past few hours.
“Mmmm,” he agrees, brushing a line up the side of her neck. She shivers.
“Stop distracting me,” she says grumpily, shifting away from him. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”
“These things tend to take care of themselves,” he points out, moving towards her again. She bats his hand away when he reaches for her.
“After that bit,” she bites out. “Or, actually, even during that bit. Things could go wrong, the TARDIS-”
“The TARDIS has the most sophisticated medical technology in the galaxy, it won’t be a problem.”
“Not the last time I checked,” she snaps. She has a very distinct memory of washing out puncture wounds from a poisonous thorn bush in the medieval apothecary that the TARDIS had presented her when she asked for the medical bay.
“She does as of an hour ago,” he replies, trying to sneak a hand past her guard.
“I will bite you if you try that again,” she informs him crisply. His eyes light up and she scowls.
“My love, I’m trying to be serious.”
Something in her voice causes him to pause, and he meets her gaze. She can see the pieces click together behind his eyes.
“You’re scared,” he says, and somehow he manages to pack contriteness, sympathy, love into his voice.
“Yes,” she all but whispers, and this time when he reaches for her she allows him to draw her into his arms.
“You’re too brilliant to think it will be easy,” he whispers into her ear, “and I won’t lie to you. But we’ll make it work. We always do.”He buries his face in her neck, and she can feel him smiling against the skin at the joint between her shoulders and neck. “I know you’re about to ask me a thousand questions, so go ahead.”
So she does. A thousand questions, about biology, safety, enemies, plans, and finally, she asks a question she has always wanted to know, one that she has never dared to ask.
“You had children… before,” she says, almost whispering. She wonders if he will even answer her. “On Gallifrey. Will you… will you tell me about them?”
His answering silence is heavy, and sad, and she prepares to pretend she never asked-
“They were… I had two sons, on Gallifrey. Rolisavar and Silon, their mother named him; it’s a mother’s right to name her children on Gallifrey. Sav was brilliant, talented and well-loved. The professors at the Academy sometimes wrote to me to tell me that he was the best pupil they’d ever had the pleasure of teaching. Master Tau, in particular, liked to rub it in my face that Sav’s grades were far better than mine had ever been. He was-he had golden hair like his mother, and dark eyes, and he never smiled but to hide something. When he came home from the Academy on vacation, we would build things together-the non-technological technology of Lamasteen fascinated him utterly, but we made other things too. He would have-he did create things, marvelous things, but by the time he was an adult the war had started. The only of his brilliant inventions that he ever presented in the citadel were weapons of war.”
She cups his face in her hands, gently tracing her thumbs across the shadows beneath his eyes. Tears glisten there, threatening to fall, and not for the first time she is stunned by the beauty of this madman. Her madman with a box.
“Silon was the younger. He was… he took after me. Silly and mad and fascinated by all sorts of things that the Academy didn’t care about, so his marks were dreadful, but I never cared because he’d bring home a paper that he was writing on the benefits of the limited use of paradox machines to fix minor bugs in the universe, or a plug from Earth that he was studying, or-always something, something fascinating and totally useless. He was,” the Doctor pauses to laugh, a dry sorrowful laugh, but underneath there is the genuine echo of love and amusement. “He was so wonderful, so kind, so good. He grew to be a far braver man than I-when the war came, he spoke out when I feared to, called for peace. He laid a plan before the council, where we split off a part of the universe that was unoccupied and gave it to the daleks. They would be allowed to reign there, supreme and alone, and we would be free to live on in our part of the universe. The President’s son died that day, though, and she refused his plan for the sake of vengeance.”
They lay like that for a time, his face in her hands as she gently wipes away his tears as they fall. She doesn’t ask for more-she doesn’t need to know.
“If they were anything like you, my love,” she whispers when his tears have finally dried, “they must have been among the greatest men this galaxy has ever seen.”
He shakes his head, mutely, and once again he hides his face in the crook of her neck. He drifts to sleep like that, but she remains awake for hours. Later, once she is certain he won’t wake, she carefully detangles herself from his ungainly limbs and makes her way to the mirror room. She sits on the floor there for a very long time, staring at her naked body, her sharp, lovely face and her wild curling hair. Finally she reaches out to touch her own fingers through the glass.
She cannot give back what was taken from him, but she can give him more, she thinks with a hollow smile, and she stands to return to their bed.
Part 3
A/N: More importantly, this is aheartthen's birthday gift~ Happy birthday!
Disclaimer: Don't own, BBC's, not making profit from this work of fanfiction, etc.