This is for Deni, Lauren, Ari, Gokce, Dee, Naz, and the rest of the Song Squad. You're the best and I love you all so much. Thank you for your friendship (or for being my wife)
Cathie (LittlePageAndBird / Funkensong)
Hello all!
Just a quick note on this chapter - I have broken my own rules for this short prologue by writing in 1st person as River; a tribute to the style of The Legends of River Song – in particular, to "Picnic at Asgard" by Jenny T. Colgan, which was the inspiration behind this fic. (The rest of the fic will be in 3rd person.)
Title taken from the line by Colgan in the persona of River in "Picnic at Asgard": "Every baby is a piece of magic".
This chapter is set post-TATM and pre-THoRS for River. The following chapters will largely be set post-THoRS.
Enjoy! xx
River.
I'm breaking the rules. What else is new?
I suppose this counts as an adventure with the Doctor. That's certainly how it began. And it's hardly as if I have anyone else to talk to about all of this, not now, and nothing to report of him; so between these pages is where this story will stay.
Still, I can't help thinking about how things might have been. Destructive, I know – one can waste one's life away doing that – but as apparently I don't have much of a life left to waste, I think I can afford to indulge myself in nostalgia.
I would have gone to Amy first. As much as I love my father, he did grow rather over-attached to that sword. (And the Doctor thinks I got that streak from my mother.) I can only imagine what they would have said, or thought. I doubt either of them ever considered that something like this would happen. It was enough of a headache that their alien best friend married their daughter. Who also happens to be an alien. And that's not even the half of it. No wonder they wanted to get away.
That's not fair. It's not even true, I know. But damn it, so what? Nothing's fair or true, least of all in my life.
I sound like a child. There's irony to be had there; but I've never been a fan of irony. It always seems to be painful in my case. My idea of a family outing lost me my family. A few minutes of half-hearted make-up sex with my estranged husband after a fight I can't even remember made this.
I write this with only a few pages left to fill. I don't even want to think about what that means for this baby.
Even if it is all I can think about. All day. Every night. It's been six weeks, according to the scans. Why do I do that, when all I can hear at night is that hummingbird double-pulse?
That's the first time I've written the word down. It seems more alive when it's on a page, which is no good for anyone. I can't afford to get attached. There's nothing more ironic than a woman who's waited centuries for a child, getting pregnant when the stars have mapped out her death. I could laugh.
I can't talk to him. Can't ask questions. I'm too afraid of the answers – about the end of my diary, about this piece of me and him that I'm supposed to bring into the Universe that has just torn my parents away from us. Not that I could talk to him, if I weren't such a coward. He's not here. He never did cope well with grief, I knew that. It didn't make seeing him deal with this hurt any less. That part was worse, much worse, than losing my parents. You can take comfort in losing someone you love if they're happy. I wonder what it says about me that my husband would rather live on a cloud above Victorian England than take me for a nice dinner by the Singing Towers (Does he really think I don't check up on him?). If the stories are false then he's just... gone. Because away from me is where he wants to be, apparently.
If the stories are true…
When aren't they, with us?
But I can't think about that.
I hear stories about him too, whispers every now and then. Things he never told me about; his future, without me. He gets off that cloud at some point, from what I can gather. There's a girl. That's good. He's useless on his own. Not that he was alone – I made sure of that, always – but I'm not sure I really count to him now. I'm not sure I ever did. God, I don't know anymore. Two of the only three people I ever loved are lost to me, and the third has slipped into the stars because that's what he does best. I should never have thought I would be an exception. Of course he doesn't go around falling in love with people.
I do know I'm still a damn good archaeologist. I've thrown myself into my career to distract from my personal issues - how very cliché! Every yes to a client gives me a few more of the old days – if I don't think hard enough then my parents are still setting me a place at the dinner table, the Doctor is putting on a suit to pick me up for a date. There's no baby.
The Halassi got in touch a couple of days ago. Something about a diamond and a king and a beheading. It all sounds deliciously bad, if a little messy – that reminds me, I need to book a surgeon of some kind. I'm taking Ramone with me – I ought to, really. He's the only one who's still here, even if he never really knows quite what's going on. And he is gorgeous. Things could be worse.
You see? I'm ok, really I am. Besides, if I'm reckless enough then matters will resolve themselves, in the end.
I'm not cut out for marriage. I'm not cut out for settling down.
I'm not cut out to be a mother.
Thank you so much for reading!
I've wanted to do this ever since watching The Husbands of River Song, so here it is! Please note that I'm a busy girl so I apologise in advance if there is a bit of a delay between chapters. I also want to ask YOU, because this is a work in progress and I love the River Song fandom to bits – if there is anything you would like to see happen, please drop me a suggestion in the review section!
