Songs from the Storm Cage (River/Eleven)
Title: Songs from the Storm Cage
Author: MinervaFan
Genre: Doctor Who
Character: River Song, Eleventh Doctor
Rating: R (mild sexual content)
Spoilers: Depends what way you're living…. (if you've seen all the River Song eps through 6x02, you're fine).
Summary: River spends a lot of time in the Storm Cage.
I.
She does not spend her time pining for him, although he might enjoy thinking so. Before she became Public Enemy Number Something-or-Other, River Song had a real life and a real career. The small matter of being confined to the Storm Cage does not negate years of education and a burning passion for learning.
She is on good terms with the librarian and, in her many years of incarceration, has added several letters to the alphabet soup puddling behind her name.
Of course, not all of her studies are of a strictly academic nature. After a slow start, River Song has become an adept at the art of escape. She remembers a story he told her of one of his former companions, a crazy hippy named Jo who seemed capable of busting out of any trap.
River took this as a personal challenge--thus her notorious reputation as the Storm Cage's only (unofficial) trustee, coming and going at will.
One of these days, she must look up Jo Grant and compare notes.
II.
Once a month an officer from the Church comes to redeem her soul. River welcomes the visits from Beatrice, now in their fourteenth year. She long ago gave up on redemption, but enjoys the tea and conversation.
Twice now, she has helped Bea through difficult relationships--some people just aren't meant for group marriages, although River keeps her mouth shut on those things. Clergy are touchy on the subject.
Their meetings begin simply enough--How are you doing, River?
Fine, thank you, Bea.
Feeling like being Born Again?
Nope, not this month, but thank you so much for asking.
No problem at all, dear. Have you heard from your Doctor recently?
River appreciates the soft sell, and Beatrice manages to get through another month of domestic bliss without going crazy from the togetherness.
III.
Nights are hard, she won't lie. Nights are long, and sometimes she forgets why she is doing this. Sometimes she wakes from a dream, drenched in perspiration, skin shimmering with moisture in the dimmed light.
Sometimes she cries, but not for him. Never for him.
She cries for those who might never know what she has known, not even for the briefest moment.
She cries for herself, when she is feeling selfish and tired and bitter.
She cries for them all, the ones who never knew why, or when, or how.
But never, ever, ever for him.
IV.
She has devised many ways of staying in practice. Things being as they are, even River Song can't sweet-talk her way onto the firing range. A hardened criminal is not really top of the list for firearms training in prison.
But she is creative and smart and keeps her aim.
Robert, the night guard, never does figure out why his tea cup never stays upright anymore.
V.
They keep her in solitary. Not because she is poorly behaved, or a danger to the others.
Sometimes, she thinks it is for her protection. Sometimes, she thinks she has won the guards over, that they understand she is not like the other criminals here. They keep her apart to protect her from the harshest of the realities of the Storm Cage.
On other days, she knows she is isolated not for her protection, but for theirs.
Her kind of strength is dangerous. It doesn't serve their masters to publicize a prisoner who can't be broken.
Bad for morale.
VI.
She tells time in the ringing of the phone. Each phone call marks another beginning, another chapter, another moment to breathe. Whether it is him, or someone else, it is always about him.
And wherever he is, she knows she will go.
Whatever he does, she will help in any way she can.
Months, years, decades of tedium, punctuated by the ringing of a phone.
You could set your watch by it.
VII.
His mouth is soft and cool--he always feels so cool against her skin. River could devour him, cell by cell, keep his shivery realness inside her to soothe the burning when he is gone.
His mouth is soft and cool and his hands are sure and agile. They don't bother about the guards.
She is a long-termer, and has the right to conjugal visits. She ignores the cameras--let them watch, if that is their thing. River has no shame, and her hunger supersedes any shyness she might once have felt in this place.
They are against the wall now, ignoring the narrow bunk, ignoring everything but the scent and feel and taste of each other.
Post-adventure sex is the very best, especially the particularly dangerous adventures.
They keep getting more difficult, the challenges they face together. If River didn't know, deep in her heart, that he survived, she might have been more afraid. But she knows, because he did, that he will, so she does and they do and the wall makes no comment other than a quiet contented groan for the pressure of flesh against stone.
VII.
There is a cake and gifts when she is pardoned. River tries not to laugh as one by one the guards offer her personal congratulations and well-wishes (not to mention more than a few phone codes). Beatrice has come, bringing two of her wives and one husband to the party. All four of them kiss her soundly, and feed cake to her in less than an innocent fashion.
He is not there, of course.
He won't be, not for a while. She remembers, now, so many things.
Full professor, he had said, and she laughs out loud at the thought. He never was good at the spoiler game.
After the cake is eaten and the gifts, both thoughtful and naughty, are oohed and ahhed over, after each of the guards kiss her goodbye again, wish her well, and ask her once more how she managed to escape all those times (she'll never tell), River watches as the door to her cell closes one last time.
This time, she is on the correct side of the cage.
The universe is out there. No longer forbidden, no longer stolen in moments more precious than treasure. Boundless and open and ready to be explored.
She walks down the corridors, so many empty cells in this wing, such a long distance she must walk to her final freedom.
The door opens and the light of two stars hits her hair. She hoists her rucksack over her shoulder, her meager possessions light against her back. The planetoid is barren and ugly and empty save for the prison she's called home for so many years.
River looks out towards the sky, the endless boundless sky, and smiles broadly.
"Okay, Sweetie. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into now."
END
Author: MinervaFan
Genre: Doctor Who
Character: River Song, Eleventh Doctor
Rating: R (mild sexual content)
Spoilers: Depends what way you're living…. (if you've seen all the River Song eps through 6x02, you're fine).
Summary: River spends a lot of time in the Storm Cage.
I.
She does not spend her time pining for him, although he might enjoy thinking so. Before she became Public Enemy Number Something-or-Other, River Song had a real life and a real career. The small matter of being confined to the Storm Cage does not negate years of education and a burning passion for learning.
She is on good terms with the librarian and, in her many years of incarceration, has added several letters to the alphabet soup puddling behind her name.
Of course, not all of her studies are of a strictly academic nature. After a slow start, River Song has become an adept at the art of escape. She remembers a story he told her of one of his former companions, a crazy hippy named Jo who seemed capable of busting out of any trap.
River took this as a personal challenge--thus her notorious reputation as the Storm Cage's only (unofficial) trustee, coming and going at will.
One of these days, she must look up Jo Grant and compare notes.
II.
Once a month an officer from the Church comes to redeem her soul. River welcomes the visits from Beatrice, now in their fourteenth year. She long ago gave up on redemption, but enjoys the tea and conversation.
Twice now, she has helped Bea through difficult relationships--some people just aren't meant for group marriages, although River keeps her mouth shut on those things. Clergy are touchy on the subject.
Their meetings begin simply enough--How are you doing, River?
Fine, thank you, Bea.
Feeling like being Born Again?
Nope, not this month, but thank you so much for asking.
No problem at all, dear. Have you heard from your Doctor recently?
River appreciates the soft sell, and Beatrice manages to get through another month of domestic bliss without going crazy from the togetherness.
III.
Nights are hard, she won't lie. Nights are long, and sometimes she forgets why she is doing this. Sometimes she wakes from a dream, drenched in perspiration, skin shimmering with moisture in the dimmed light.
Sometimes she cries, but not for him. Never for him.
She cries for those who might never know what she has known, not even for the briefest moment.
She cries for herself, when she is feeling selfish and tired and bitter.
She cries for them all, the ones who never knew why, or when, or how.
But never, ever, ever for him.
IV.
She has devised many ways of staying in practice. Things being as they are, even River Song can't sweet-talk her way onto the firing range. A hardened criminal is not really top of the list for firearms training in prison.
But she is creative and smart and keeps her aim.
Robert, the night guard, never does figure out why his tea cup never stays upright anymore.
V.
They keep her in solitary. Not because she is poorly behaved, or a danger to the others.
Sometimes, she thinks it is for her protection. Sometimes, she thinks she has won the guards over, that they understand she is not like the other criminals here. They keep her apart to protect her from the harshest of the realities of the Storm Cage.
On other days, she knows she is isolated not for her protection, but for theirs.
Her kind of strength is dangerous. It doesn't serve their masters to publicize a prisoner who can't be broken.
Bad for morale.
VI.
She tells time in the ringing of the phone. Each phone call marks another beginning, another chapter, another moment to breathe. Whether it is him, or someone else, it is always about him.
And wherever he is, she knows she will go.
Whatever he does, she will help in any way she can.
Months, years, decades of tedium, punctuated by the ringing of a phone.
You could set your watch by it.
VII.
His mouth is soft and cool--he always feels so cool against her skin. River could devour him, cell by cell, keep his shivery realness inside her to soothe the burning when he is gone.
His mouth is soft and cool and his hands are sure and agile. They don't bother about the guards.
She is a long-termer, and has the right to conjugal visits. She ignores the cameras--let them watch, if that is their thing. River has no shame, and her hunger supersedes any shyness she might once have felt in this place.
They are against the wall now, ignoring the narrow bunk, ignoring everything but the scent and feel and taste of each other.
Post-adventure sex is the very best, especially the particularly dangerous adventures.
They keep getting more difficult, the challenges they face together. If River didn't know, deep in her heart, that he survived, she might have been more afraid. But she knows, because he did, that he will, so she does and they do and the wall makes no comment other than a quiet contented groan for the pressure of flesh against stone.
VII.
There is a cake and gifts when she is pardoned. River tries not to laugh as one by one the guards offer her personal congratulations and well-wishes (not to mention more than a few phone codes). Beatrice has come, bringing two of her wives and one husband to the party. All four of them kiss her soundly, and feed cake to her in less than an innocent fashion.
He is not there, of course.
He won't be, not for a while. She remembers, now, so many things.
Full professor, he had said, and she laughs out loud at the thought. He never was good at the spoiler game.
After the cake is eaten and the gifts, both thoughtful and naughty, are oohed and ahhed over, after each of the guards kiss her goodbye again, wish her well, and ask her once more how she managed to escape all those times (she'll never tell), River watches as the door to her cell closes one last time.
This time, she is on the correct side of the cage.
The universe is out there. No longer forbidden, no longer stolen in moments more precious than treasure. Boundless and open and ready to be explored.
She walks down the corridors, so many empty cells in this wing, such a long distance she must walk to her final freedom.
The door opens and the light of two stars hits her hair. She hoists her rucksack over her shoulder, her meager possessions light against her back. The planetoid is barren and ugly and empty save for the prison she's called home for so many years.
River looks out towards the sky, the endless boundless sky, and smiles broadly.
"Okay, Sweetie. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into now."
END