River Song walked casually into the kitchen of the TARDIS where the Doctor sat reading a book at the table. He had on the round glasses that he had inherited from Amelia, and was so engrossed that he did not look up for some time. It was only until he heard the oven being turned on that he thought he had better intervene.

"…River?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cooking dinner."

"You never cook dinner."

"What, a wife can't cook dinner for her husband every once in a while?"

"Let me rephrase. You never cook dinner because you can't cook dinner. You can't cook at all."

"I am insulted. I am Professor River Song—the woman who killed the Doctor. I can do anything."

"My dear, you can do everything—excepting this thing. And I think it would be best if we accepted that and moved on to safer activities, like, oh I don't know…shooting things? You like that—shooting things. And, might I add, you're loads better at it."

"I am cooking dinner and that is final, husband."

The Doctor meekly returned to his book, properly chastised. He attempted to concentrate on it as he had been before, but was distracted. He soon removed his glasses to get a better look.

"Doctor, it's not polite to stare you know."

"I'm not staring, I just…" he coughed. "Is it hot in here? No? Are you sure? Maybe something's wrong with the de-weatherifiers." The Doctor loosened his collar.

"Those are not their real names, sweetie."

"It's my TARDIS, and that's what I call them so yes, those are, in fact, their real names."

River rolled her eyes and turned back to her project.

"Now where are our pans? Are they in this cupboard down here?"

"I—I honestly don't know—"

"Oh, they are in here. So far back though…I've almost got one…"

The Doctor seemed to grow increasingly uncomfortable, at once trying to look and not look at River.

"Ah! There it is. I think I'll make omelets this evening, dear, shall I? Omelets and tea—perfection." She kissed her fingers in a mock interpretation of a French chef.

"River—"

"What? Do you not like omelets—oh! What fresh, hands Doctor."

"Anything I do subsequently is not through any fault of my own, but is through yours and those wonderful pants that you're wearing." The Doctor swept her up and carried her out of the kitchen before setting her down outside the doorway to their bedroom. "The kitchen is no place for those pants."

"Oh, these? They're called "yoga pants" on earth. Silly name. Hardly anyone uses them for yoga…" River was silenced for a bit by a kiss from her husband.

"You knew exactly what you were doing didn't you?" he nearly growled.

"I have no idea what you could be talking about, Doctor. Though now that we're here…" She grinned. The Doctor opened up the door for his wife.

"After you, Song."

River sauntered in as the Doctor closed the door behind them. Muffled, he said

"And perhaps when we've got a bit more free time, you can tell me more about this yoga."