OKAY I DID IT
Hello everybody!
It is placed just after Rain Gods, by Neil Gaiman, a web short (or whatever) from Doctor Who. You all can find it easily on youtube. The first lines are from there, just to introduce the story.
I am very sorry about any mistake that I must have done. English is not my mother tongue and I am terrible with any language, is a shame. If I may be so bold, it would be really helpful if you notify me with the existence of any mistake here!
The poem in the story is Save It, from Keaton Henson, who is a brilliant soul, and he makes beautiful sad songs. The title is also his.
"We should be burning at the stake right now. It's lucky for you you're pretty" River exclaimed, taking out her a little wet scarf from the beginning of a rain that they caught.
"You were in no danger." He retorted, pushing buttons and levels to send his TARDIS through the vortex, but not without smiling with the compliment that she let slip. "I knew something would come up."
"No, you didn't!" She came behind him, fixing his wrong commands on the ship.
"I did! I promise I did!" He turned to her, pointing at his own nose. "I could smell it in the air!"
"I'll pretend that you could, sweetie." She sighed. "For the moment's sake."
"I knew I could count on you!" He gave her a sincere smile, pulling her into his arms.
He hugged her and lost himself into her hair, burring his face on her warm and soft neck. There, dived in her, he knew that he was safe and sound, that, for a while, he could allow himself to be happy and whole. Sad flashes blinked behind his eyes, bad memories, memories he insisted on suppress.
River wasn't aware of what happened to her parents. For her, he had said that they were just spending some time on Earth, with Brian and all, safe and alive. For him, well, they really were on Earth. It wasn't exactly a lie.
Not being able to see them hurt him a lot, more than words could assert, in any of the millions of languages he could speak. On River's arms, though, it hurt a little less, just a little.
Maybe because she herself was another agony for him to worry, But not now, now on this exact instant when silky hands cupped his face and pulled him to a kiss. With his lips against hers, he could say that everything was alright.
Your touch is a priceless possession
Do not let me tire of it, tell my I've won
Don't waste the touch of your skin on a greeting
Hold me at nigh so I know the day's done.
She grinned at him, her eyes too bright and full with something that he could call love, while her hands rested on his bowtie, which he only wore those times when his wife was around. The piece of silk around his neck was, he thought, almost as his wedding ring. They didn't have bands, but promises.
Looking at her like that, so beautiful and alive, was making him feel a little bittersweet: cheerful and miserable at the same time, trying not to count the seconds ticking inside his mind.
"Why are you crying my love?" She asked gently, her thumb brushing away the few tears rolling on his cheek with care and kindness, as if he would break if she wasn't delicate enough.
"It's nothing." He shrugged and blinked to contain the dyke threatening to leak from his eyes. "I'm just glad to have you with me. It has been a while. I missed you."
"And so did I, sweetie, so did I." She caught his hands between hers. "What about a cup of tea, in order to celebrate?"
"I couldn't say better." Because he knew it was a strategy to calm him.
None of them was used to demonstrate love so verbally, despite all the years together. The love was hided under every word, every action and every look, but it rarely escaped so raw and sincere. They didn't have to proffer it in order to know that they cherish each other, and very dearly, with all strength of their hearts.
Perhaps it was a way to deal with everything, with the loss in the end of the road. Each time she saw him, he was even younger and innocent, remote. A boy that was still falling in love. Each time he saw her, she was closer of her own start, and him, closer to the end.
There were times, though, that he couldn't stop himself and had to verbalize the feelings in his hearts. That could be his last time, or not, or yes.
He sat at the kitchen's table, nervously playing with the shaker there, while she was doing their tea. The mechanical actions of boiling the water and pouring the tea pacified her, and the amount of sugar her husband used to drink made her laugh.
River put the cup in front of him and sat at the opposite side of the table, his hands crossed the space between them to catch hers and, quietly, they drowned into each other while finishing their drinks. After, without saying anything, he washed the dishes and she watched. For how long would they have this tranquility?
When finished, they grabbed each other arms and went out of the room. They were always touching each other, even if it was just a light brush of their fingers, because it was like magnetism. He was aware of the effect that she had on him because, when kissing, he used to lose his air but couldn't let her go, and clothes were withdrawn because they craved the electricity and comfort of the skin.
My name from your lips is a sonnet
But utter it not just for mere naming's sake
Save all the syllables, wait until morning
Speak to me then so I know I'm awake.
His lips searched for every centimeter, walking through scars and freckles until erase all of them. Names were said as pleas, each syllable, a sonnet, and his fingers tips played as a symphony. On his eyes, River was a masterpiece.
For as long as she stayed around his grip, he would be alive and awake, because the warmness of his body came from hers, as if he wasn't homeostatic and she was the sun of his universe.
Tears squeezed behind his eyes once more, although this time it wasn't from sadness: he was marveled and scared, as a little child, with the power of his feelings. He was surprised at how someone like River, who grew up learning to not believe on everybody and everything, who grew up learning to hate him, could unmark herself like that to him, open herself to someone who brought every terrible thing in her life. Love him.
He hold himself closer to her the skin of her neck and felt the urge to whisper to her that he loved her, more than anything, more than anyone, and that would always be like that. The universe could blow up and still he would love her, his wonderful wee psychopath, made solely for him.
Even if he didn't know how to do it properly, he loved more than all, and yet, it would never be enough. She deserved more, much more, than the little that we could afford, albeit it was genuine.
The world collapsed and rewound inside his head while he kissed her one more time and buried himself into her embrace, holding her the closest possible.
My name from your lips is a sonnet
But utter it not just for mere naming's sake
Save all the syllables, wait until morning
Speak to me then so I know I'm awake.
"You will stay here, right?" He questioned with a weak, uncertain voice. "At least just for the night?"
"Of course," she laughed softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Now, sleep, you deserve to rest too."
But he didn't, preferring to watch her while she fell asleep. He seemed so relaxed and peaceful, and he was touched once again with it, the confidence she had around him. For the third time only that night, he wanted to cry, and since she couldn't see him anymore, so he did, letting the tears roll down and soak his pillow.
There is still a word, gone un-uttered between us
But keep it un-vowed until I tell you when
One day I'll need it like air underwater
Save it till then will you?
Nothing would last more than a heartbeat. And he hadn't said those beautiful, heavy words. It was not time yet, he wasn't ready to profess that last vow, the sentence of his hearts. "I love you"… Was it really that hard? Someday, he knew he would have to say it and maybe he even would have to listen those words, a harrowing and painful need, a necessity that was always around for him, and the pledge prickled the tip of his tongue. And he once realized that it would be the period of their story, and for it, he was not ready yet.
He didn't want to let he go.
So he cuddle with her and kissed the top of her head, finally letting himself rest a little. She was snoring lightly and her hot breath against his chest was enough to scare away his ghosts. Or one in particular.
But that was, precisely, everything he needed to listen right on that moment: her hearts beating near his, the easy whisper of her breathing and the priceless assurance that all things would be, at the very least for a while, alright.
Save it till then.
Thank you if you read it until here, it was lovely and i love you. I truly do.