like all the boys before, you left your blood stain on the floor
Title: murder, n.
Rating: pg
Word Count: 471
Warnings: character death, possible s5 spoilers
Summary: "She killed a man. A good man. A hero to many."
A/N: Pure speculation. I have rather depressed myself writing this.
She recognises him.
He doesn't recognise her.
Or, if he does, he hides it well.
Too well.
No, he doesn't recognise her.
"River?": a question yet unasked, for him at least.
But still it haunts her, reverberating round her skull no matter what time she's in.
That, and the bang.
She was used to the quiet buzz of a sonic gun, not the loud bang of a revolver.
She jumped when he fell.
Eyes closed, mouth slightly open: it was the expression on both their faces.
---
Name: Rory Williams.
Race: Human.
Age: Uncertain; early twenties - early two thousands.
Possible Aliases: Rory Pond. Roranicus. The Lone Centurion.
Known Associates: The Doctor. Amy Pond. River Song.
Mission: Assasination.
Warnings: May be armed. AVOID DOCTOR.
River read the paper, unimpressed; the mention of The Doctor was nothing special, not to her at least. Flipping it over to view the picture of the gormless young man printed on the back, she snorted.
"Piece of cake," she stated, triumphantly to the man eyeing her across the table.
"Good," he said, voice low and gravelly.
"Two questions, though."
He raised a greying eyebrow, "Yes, Miss Song?"
She leaned back in her chair, enjoying the suspense. "Why him? Why do you want him killed? He looks pretty harmless."
"Those who look harmless tend to be those who turn out to be most so," the man responded, sagely.
"Still, he must have done something to get himself on your hit-list."
The man gave a polite smile, "You don't need to know that."
"I'd like to," she replied sweetly.
"Well, as was once said by a very wise man: you can't always get what you want."
"Do want the job done or not?" she snapped; his condescending tone annoyed her, it was how He used to talk to her.
He smirked, leaning across the table towards her, "Now, Miss Song, we both know you're not in any position to refuse this money."
"What if I get caught?" she asked, pointlessly.
"You haven't before."
"There's a first time for everything."
"Then you're on your own. Take it or leave it, Miss Song, for there are many others who could do the job just as well."
She paused; he'd allowed her to have her moment, and behave rudely and childishly towards him, because he knew in the end she'd have to accept. Adventures through time and space were all well and good, but they didn't exactly pay well. "Fine."
He nodded and rose to leave.
"I had another question."
"Of course," he sat down again "ask away, Miss Song."
"Why is my name crossed out on this?" she pointed to the 'Known Associates' section.
"Oh, you'll find out soon, Miss Song."
---
One day, thousands of years in the future, though neither of them have lived through all those years:
He recognises her.
She doesn't recognise him.
"River? It's me, Rory."
bang.
Rating: pg
Word Count: 471
Warnings: character death, possible s5 spoilers
Summary: "She killed a man. A good man. A hero to many."
A/N: Pure speculation. I have rather depressed myself writing this.
She recognises him.
He doesn't recognise her.
Or, if he does, he hides it well.
Too well.
No, he doesn't recognise her.
"River?": a question yet unasked, for him at least.
But still it haunts her, reverberating round her skull no matter what time she's in.
That, and the bang.
She was used to the quiet buzz of a sonic gun, not the loud bang of a revolver.
She jumped when he fell.
Eyes closed, mouth slightly open: it was the expression on both their faces.
---
Name: Rory Williams.
Race: Human.
Age: Uncertain; early twenties - early two thousands.
Possible Aliases: Rory Pond. Roranicus. The Lone Centurion.
Known Associates: The Doctor. Amy Pond. River Song.
Mission: Assasination.
Warnings: May be armed. AVOID DOCTOR.
River read the paper, unimpressed; the mention of The Doctor was nothing special, not to her at least. Flipping it over to view the picture of the gormless young man printed on the back, she snorted.
"Piece of cake," she stated, triumphantly to the man eyeing her across the table.
"Good," he said, voice low and gravelly.
"Two questions, though."
He raised a greying eyebrow, "Yes, Miss Song?"
She leaned back in her chair, enjoying the suspense. "Why him? Why do you want him killed? He looks pretty harmless."
"Those who look harmless tend to be those who turn out to be most so," the man responded, sagely.
"Still, he must have done something to get himself on your hit-list."
The man gave a polite smile, "You don't need to know that."
"I'd like to," she replied sweetly.
"Well, as was once said by a very wise man: you can't always get what you want."
"Do want the job done or not?" she snapped; his condescending tone annoyed her, it was how He used to talk to her.
He smirked, leaning across the table towards her, "Now, Miss Song, we both know you're not in any position to refuse this money."
"What if I get caught?" she asked, pointlessly.
"You haven't before."
"There's a first time for everything."
"Then you're on your own. Take it or leave it, Miss Song, for there are many others who could do the job just as well."
She paused; he'd allowed her to have her moment, and behave rudely and childishly towards him, because he knew in the end she'd have to accept. Adventures through time and space were all well and good, but they didn't exactly pay well. "Fine."
He nodded and rose to leave.
"I had another question."
"Of course," he sat down again "ask away, Miss Song."
"Why is my name crossed out on this?" she pointed to the 'Known Associates' section.
"Oh, you'll find out soon, Miss Song."
---
One day, thousands of years in the future, though neither of them have lived through all those years:
He recognises her.
She doesn't recognise him.
"River? It's me, Rory."
bang.