Artifacts

Jun 15, 2008 19:16

"It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time." - Samuel Johnson

***Cut for Spoilers to Forrest of the Dead***

River threw one hell of a punch.

That wasn't ego talking. She knew from continued experimentation, in varied environments that covered larks, political debates and a pressing need to run for one's life? That it was quite effective.

By her accounting she had five minutes, at least. And seven at best.

She stood there for a moment, just looking over him. The Doctor that was not quite hers. He was going to be, of course. Somewhere in the future of five to seven minutes from now, he was going to be. River just wasn't going to be around to see it. That was how this worked.

Moving over to the pack she'd abandoned before, River knelt down and began to sort through its contents. On the top were all the tools of her trade. The leather kit that held her brushes. Her data recorder and the remains of her lunch. Next was her unsigned waiver. Like layers on a dig, the deeper she went the more was revealed. The physic paper she'd used countless times to contact the Doctor, some notes more appropriate than others.

He was always so worried about 'who would see'. River harbored the suspicion he's been talking about himself.

There was more. Bits of technology from so far ahead she shouldn't really have access to them. He used to leave them on her doorstep, like a cat with a canary. He rather looked like one too, as he did. Her diary and yes --

Her handcuffs.

River pulled them free, stood again, and crouched next to the Doctor's unconscious form. With firm, deliberate movements she closed one circle around a fixed point of the core, and then the other around his wrist. She didn't linger as she did so. There was too much to do.

Only suddenly there wasn't.

Her fingers strayed up to trace the line of his jaw. There wasn't a bruise yet but River hoped there would be. Something left behind, she supposed. Feather light they traced up his cheek, his forehead and then to push a tray lock of hair -- no, not back. That would suggest it had a proper place to begin with.

Did that mean she just wanted to touch him then? Fine then, she could admit to that.

River had patient hands. Never a patient mind and certainly not a patient body. But her hands could sift through a site no larger than the length of her arm squared for days and never be done with it. She was watching worlds come to life in front of her. Layer by layer, hour by hour. And if she looked hard enough now, squinted her eyes and pressed close so they were very nearly nose to nose? River rather thought she could see her own history there, coming to life. Layer by layer, minute by minute.

She didn't have hours.

A part of her wanted to dump just a little more cosmic dust on the man. Dirty him up, get soot in places that were felt more than seen. Get those still-closed eyes just a few shades darker. Make him her Doctor again. She couldn't of course, but she wanted to.

Instead River just placed a kiss to his offended cheek, as her hand slipped carefully inside his suit. Fingers closed around his sonic screwdriver, then pulled it free. She couldn't risk him using it.

She measured her steps carefully, choosing a place she was certain he couldn't reach. There she placed her diary, her gun and both sonic screwdrivers in neat display. Not everything of hers by any means, and never everything of his. They were both too selfish to share that much. But everything that was theirs, the artifacts of a shared history in a museum that took only seconds to build.

River revisited a lifetime in those seconds.

Then it was time to show the Doctor she was just as clever as he was.

OOC: Based on RP with rude_not_ginger
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