these are the days of her heartache (River/Eleven)
Title: these are the days of her heartache
Rating: PG
Characters: River/Eleven
Spoilers: series 6
Summary: She's not expecting this version of him. She'd already made her peace.
“You’re late.” She calls out when she hears the TARDIS materialize, and then catches herself. There was a time for him being late and it has passed. These aren’t the days of a Doctor who showed up at her cell by a certain time every night, or the time of a Doctor who knew exactly why he showed up at her cell every night. No, these are the days of the Doctor who doesn’t know who she is. America lies fresh in her mind.
These are the days of her heartache.
“I know. Sorry, there was an invasion. We found Oods. And you know how those invasions can get. Trick business, a lot of running. You were with me.” He’s opening the cell doors like he’s done it a thousand times, and she rises to meet him halfway.
“I remember.”
She’s startled, because he shouldn’t know. Not unless-
“You’re cheating,” She chides, tilting her face up to his. Where her body presses against his the skin comes alive with gooseflesh, pinpoints of fire that spread like a network across her skin.
“Are you complaining, River?”
She watches the quirk of his mouth. “Of course not, sweetie.” River brings a hand up to fix the bowtie, letting her hand linger there. It’s the same one, she realizes with a start - right down to the very fabric. Her mouth twists and her eyes flicker up to his. There’s a question in her eyes.
His mouth moves into a sad, warm smile. “Hello.”
“You’re really cheating, aren’t you?” There’s a tightness in her throat. She really doesn’t want to cry today, not when she’s trying to break in a new guard. Crying won’t further that particular goal. Pain couples with relief and fear because no, he shouldn’t be here. She’s said her goodbyes to this version of him, forced back her tears and made her peace with the version of him she has now. But he is here, this impossible, brilliant, caring man and she doesn’t understand.
She’s afraid of having to feel all of it again.
He traces a finger across her lower lip and a shiver rolls all the way from her neck to the base of her spine. There’s a certain familiar smugness in his eyes at knowing he put it there.
“When is this for you?”
She watches the movement of his mouth as he swallows, the smugness turning to nerves, and he doesn’t have to say for her to know. There’s never really been a time he’s had to say, after all. River Song can read him like a book, the living version of her diary, the words she was never able to capture on the page. They’re all just stories in the end, aren’t they? But brilliant stories, so very brilliant. Wonderful.
“You and me, River.” He begins as a way of answering. “The very last. And you’re here, for me, for what I asked you to do. For what you had to do because of me. There’s nothing I could ever repay you with.”
She chuckles. “I beg to differ.”
The blush that darkens his cheeks just might be her favorite reaction.
“You know what I mean, River.” He says when he’s recovered. “But I’m getting ahead of myself, I am. Always doing that, never seem to do things in the right order. We got married, River, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“It isn’t?” She questions, but she’s teasing him. They’ve had their wedding night. “Then why are you here, Doctor?”
“Have we done America yet?”
Her heart twists. Florida, and half remembered ghosts of night terrors with a direct line to the president of the United States. She remembers feeling, and fear, and things she was taught as a child. Like her mother, she had two childhoods. (It seems to be a Pond thing.) The first was full of training and weapons and things she hardly remembers but knowledge she is sure of, fear and pain, and knowing every dark day that the Doctor lost a planet or a person. That was her first childhood, and how she started her second - before her mother taught her and her father every fairy tale and told them every adventure she dreamed of having.
And Florida had reminded her of that first one. Of how she’d been raised as an item, and it had made her feel sick.
But known of that compared to the day he’d brought her back to Stormcage, and they’ had his first kiss.
Nothing compared to that pain.
“Yes,” She says, dragging a finger along his braces. It’s easier if she doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Good,” He says. “Well, not good. But good, because I’ve got the date right.”
“Maybe if you learned to pilot her-“
”Shh.” The Doctor places a single finger against her lips, effectively stopping her from trying to speak. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. How sorry I am, River, for everything that put you through. The spacesuit, and lying, and the beach.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “You’re forgiven. Always and completely.”
(It doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, but she understands. They had their reasons, the both of them. Bringing her to that beach had hurt her now but helped her in her past, touching the suit that had held her captive had helped him understand and work out their futures. They’re always hurting, always fumbling and trying to find their way in the dark but those moments, when they find them, are better than anything she ever could have asked for. )
“Right.” He says it like he doesn’t quite believe it, the same way he hadn’t quite believed her that he’s loved by so many. She arches a brow. “That works both ways, then?”
“’Till death do us part, my love.”
There’s a shadow that crosses his face for a moment, a brief second that she wouldn’t have caught if she hadn’t been so utterly attuned to him.
He twirls a curl of her hair between his fingers, pulling on it gently. Pleasant tingles spread across her scalp. As quickly as the shadow ha crossed his eyes it’s gone again, and the smug expression lights his eyes again. He’s always been able to read when he’s doing things to her, and she wonders if this is when it started.
“There’s something else in America.” The Doctor murmurs. “Not America exactly, but here. Right here, and - you’re crying, River.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He brushes a thumb across her cheek and it comes away wet. “Pond trait.” There is such fondness in his voice towards her family that it causes her to lose her breath for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that. I didn’t mean to bring it up. You’ve probably made your peace, haven’t you, and here I am, silly old me, barging in and messing that up.”
She chuckles again. “You’re right, my love. I have made my peace.” It’s her turn to place a finger against his lips. “But I made my peace with my life from the very beginning, Doctor. There’s no need for apologizing now, especially for cheating. I’m quite fond of it myself.”
His lips curve into a smile.
“No last times tonight, River.”
When he presses his mouth against hers, it tastes like the stars, and of time. There is no flailing of his arms and protesting, no confusion - he presses himself against her and knots his fingers in her hair, and it is as good as very not first and not last time they have ever had.
Rating: PG
Characters: River/Eleven
Spoilers: series 6
Summary: She's not expecting this version of him. She'd already made her peace.
“You’re late.” She calls out when she hears the TARDIS materialize, and then catches herself. There was a time for him being late and it has passed. These aren’t the days of a Doctor who showed up at her cell by a certain time every night, or the time of a Doctor who knew exactly why he showed up at her cell every night. No, these are the days of the Doctor who doesn’t know who she is. America lies fresh in her mind.
These are the days of her heartache.
“I know. Sorry, there was an invasion. We found Oods. And you know how those invasions can get. Trick business, a lot of running. You were with me.” He’s opening the cell doors like he’s done it a thousand times, and she rises to meet him halfway.
“I remember.”
She’s startled, because he shouldn’t know. Not unless-
“You’re cheating,” She chides, tilting her face up to his. Where her body presses against his the skin comes alive with gooseflesh, pinpoints of fire that spread like a network across her skin.
“Are you complaining, River?”
She watches the quirk of his mouth. “Of course not, sweetie.” River brings a hand up to fix the bowtie, letting her hand linger there. It’s the same one, she realizes with a start - right down to the very fabric. Her mouth twists and her eyes flicker up to his. There’s a question in her eyes.
His mouth moves into a sad, warm smile. “Hello.”
“You’re really cheating, aren’t you?” There’s a tightness in her throat. She really doesn’t want to cry today, not when she’s trying to break in a new guard. Crying won’t further that particular goal. Pain couples with relief and fear because no, he shouldn’t be here. She’s said her goodbyes to this version of him, forced back her tears and made her peace with the version of him she has now. But he is here, this impossible, brilliant, caring man and she doesn’t understand.
She’s afraid of having to feel all of it again.
He traces a finger across her lower lip and a shiver rolls all the way from her neck to the base of her spine. There’s a certain familiar smugness in his eyes at knowing he put it there.
“When is this for you?”
She watches the movement of his mouth as he swallows, the smugness turning to nerves, and he doesn’t have to say for her to know. There’s never really been a time he’s had to say, after all. River Song can read him like a book, the living version of her diary, the words she was never able to capture on the page. They’re all just stories in the end, aren’t they? But brilliant stories, so very brilliant. Wonderful.
“You and me, River.” He begins as a way of answering. “The very last. And you’re here, for me, for what I asked you to do. For what you had to do because of me. There’s nothing I could ever repay you with.”
She chuckles. “I beg to differ.”
The blush that darkens his cheeks just might be her favorite reaction.
“You know what I mean, River.” He says when he’s recovered. “But I’m getting ahead of myself, I am. Always doing that, never seem to do things in the right order. We got married, River, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“It isn’t?” She questions, but she’s teasing him. They’ve had their wedding night. “Then why are you here, Doctor?”
“Have we done America yet?”
Her heart twists. Florida, and half remembered ghosts of night terrors with a direct line to the president of the United States. She remembers feeling, and fear, and things she was taught as a child. Like her mother, she had two childhoods. (It seems to be a Pond thing.) The first was full of training and weapons and things she hardly remembers but knowledge she is sure of, fear and pain, and knowing every dark day that the Doctor lost a planet or a person. That was her first childhood, and how she started her second - before her mother taught her and her father every fairy tale and told them every adventure she dreamed of having.
And Florida had reminded her of that first one. Of how she’d been raised as an item, and it had made her feel sick.
But known of that compared to the day he’d brought her back to Stormcage, and they’ had his first kiss.
Nothing compared to that pain.
“Yes,” She says, dragging a finger along his braces. It’s easier if she doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Good,” He says. “Well, not good. But good, because I’ve got the date right.”
“Maybe if you learned to pilot her-“
”Shh.” The Doctor places a single finger against her lips, effectively stopping her from trying to speak. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. How sorry I am, River, for everything that put you through. The spacesuit, and lying, and the beach.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “You’re forgiven. Always and completely.”
(It doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, but she understands. They had their reasons, the both of them. Bringing her to that beach had hurt her now but helped her in her past, touching the suit that had held her captive had helped him understand and work out their futures. They’re always hurting, always fumbling and trying to find their way in the dark but those moments, when they find them, are better than anything she ever could have asked for. )
“Right.” He says it like he doesn’t quite believe it, the same way he hadn’t quite believed her that he’s loved by so many. She arches a brow. “That works both ways, then?”
“’Till death do us part, my love.”
There’s a shadow that crosses his face for a moment, a brief second that she wouldn’t have caught if she hadn’t been so utterly attuned to him.
He twirls a curl of her hair between his fingers, pulling on it gently. Pleasant tingles spread across her scalp. As quickly as the shadow ha crossed his eyes it’s gone again, and the smug expression lights his eyes again. He’s always been able to read when he’s doing things to her, and she wonders if this is when it started.
“There’s something else in America.” The Doctor murmurs. “Not America exactly, but here. Right here, and - you’re crying, River.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He brushes a thumb across her cheek and it comes away wet. “Pond trait.” There is such fondness in his voice towards her family that it causes her to lose her breath for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that. I didn’t mean to bring it up. You’ve probably made your peace, haven’t you, and here I am, silly old me, barging in and messing that up.”
She chuckles again. “You’re right, my love. I have made my peace.” It’s her turn to place a finger against his lips. “But I made my peace with my life from the very beginning, Doctor. There’s no need for apologizing now, especially for cheating. I’m quite fond of it myself.”
His lips curve into a smile.
“No last times tonight, River.”
When he presses his mouth against hers, it tastes like the stars, and of time. There is no flailing of his arms and protesting, no confusion - he presses himself against her and knots his fingers in her hair, and it is as good as very not first and not last time they have ever had.