Title: Rehab Fandom:
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sadly.
DW Spoilers: For the last season
Notes: Thanks to gillo who kindly beta'd this for me.
River Song was nothing if not pragmatic. Her cell at Stormcage was one of the largest available and she was always grateful for that although she'd never say it to their faces. She was allowed books and she read. Oh how she read, losing herself in the literature of her parents' home planet: Shakespeare, Austen, Wordsworth, Whitman. Those talented people who never set foot off their home planet managed to frame her thoughts, her anger, her frustration, her loss so perfectly with language that thrilled her heart. In time she moved on to the galactic classics, written in the languages of planets she one day hoped to visit. Languages had always come easy for her. In those first years of her incarceration she held out hope that He would come for her. That it was all a terrible mistake, that she would be shown mercy. It was only after she first figured out how to break out of her cell that she had headed straight for the Warden's office to find her file and on reading it realised she WAS being shown mercy. The blood had run cold through her veins when she scanned her trial transcript, read that the standard galactic penalty for murder of the kind she committed, intentionally, was death but that the Doctor had spoken up on her behalf and as her intended victim was supporting her, she was given leniency. If you could call a lifetime in prison leniency.
Throughout the long nights she watched the four moons wheel slowly across the sky, dreaming of her Doctor. He never visited, not then, but she was not left to rot alone in Stormcage. Her rehabilitation began at the beginning of her second week on the prison planet just as she began to think she would go insane from boredom.
You're Dr River Song? I'm Dr Martha Jones. Take a seat please. No Commander, we don't need those cuffs. I'm sure Dr Song will behave herself. How are you doing today Dr Song? I understand that you've not been sleeping well.
It is four or five years later when the Doctor has liberated her from her cell to take her to see the sunsets on the planet Cheem, she is fishing around in the TARDIS' databanks and finds the image of her Counsellor. It suddenly becomes very clear to her how much more Martha Jones was to her than just a doctor. Just her doctor. During their sessions River had acknowledged to Dr Jones that she felt lost and abandoned during that time. She had hoped that perhaps she would end up back with the Sisters of the Infinite Schism but had slowly begun to realise that whether she remembered the crime or not she had committed it and would be punished accordingly.
During that time there had been days when River had raged at Martha, days when she had sat silently unable to speak, days when she had spun stories that Martha had listened to with a half smile and days when she had cried in Martha's arms. Not once during those times had Martha told her she could empathise with her. Not once had Martha said she had known the man that River was so . Not once.
But now here she is, her picture smiling out at River from the TARDIS screen.
"I wanted to make sure you were safe. Cared for."
River does not turn at the sound of his voice, but stares at the screen in wonder, taking in the list of Dr Martha Jones' accomplishments, her date of death. Her stomach twists unpleasantly as it occurs to her that she has not seen Dr Jones for about two years, her time, and had not given her absence much thought other than an active dislike for her current therapist.
"Martha was with me through a difficult time. After Rose. Before Donna. Before you. And she walked away from me." She could hear the wonder in his voice. "How many people do that?"
"But she's just a doctor. Just a normal doctor. With UNIT. Not a psychiatrist." River skim-reads the biography again and there is no mention in there of any interest in behavioural conditioning, of psychology, of anything that would prompt her to be a good choice for River's rehabilitation. Trauma had been Martha's specialty, working with UNIT as an A&E consultant for the majority of her professional life.
The Doctor sighed. "She wasn't there for your therapy, River. She was there because I couldn't be. I trusted her to look after you."
Dr Song. Dr Song. River, I need you to calm down. River. Look at me , straight at me. Here, hold my hand. I know... I know it hurts. Just breathe sweetheart.
River had struggled in those first months after Lake Silencio. She had been arrested almost immediately and was in no condition to defend herself. She and the Doctor might remember both timelines but the officers aboard the SS Tessalater only knew what they saw. A woman, River Song, killing the Doctor. They did not understand the compassion the Doctor felt and the sorrow that River would be locked away for the rest of life for a murder that she did not truly commit.
The Doctor had visited her that first night but already her mind had begun to fracture from the pressure of acting contrary to the behavioural conditioning she had been subjected to. She had thrown herself at him, her hands hooked into claws but then pulled away at the last moment, forcing herself back and curling up on her bed, burying her head in her hands, flinching away from him then accepting the embrace that he offered. The tears ran down her face as she whispered I'm not safe, I'm not safe, I'm not safe. The Doctor had gathered her close, letting her bury her face against his coat until she was all cried out. He had dried her tears with a linen handkerchief pulled from some inner pocket, warm from his body, and brushed his lips across her forehead. There was nothing sexual in the gesture, just affection. Benediction.
"I'll make you safe River. I'll get you the help you need."
He had waited patiently until she slept, the sedative he had slipped into her spiced tea taking speedy effect, then left her in the care of the Stormcage medical centre, telling the Warden that he would be sending someone to keep an eye on River's rehabilitation. He felt no stab of conscience as he set the TARDIS controls and dropped himself back into the life of Dr Martha Jones.
"Dr Jones? There's someone here to see you."
Martha glanced up at the A&E receptionist who was lingering her in her doorway. "Really Susie? I've got a pile of notes to write up before I get home."
"He says it's urgent. He said his name was Dr Smith."
"Well it was once. Whether you'll know me by that name now I don't know."
Martha stared in amazement as a man peered round Susie, a grin on his face. His unfamiliar face. Unfamiliar voice. Unfamiliar everything. Her mind skittered away from the disappointment she felt – it's not him... But then the details crept in. A bow tie. Who wore a bow tie with that outfit? And boots? Proper boots which looked like they'd seen their share of action. And the hair, all over the place resisting any attempt to control it. Then the smile. And the eyes. Oh yes. Martha rose to her feet. She knew this man. The receptionist made herself scarce as Dr Martha Jones moved round her desk and flung herself into the arms of Dr Smith.
"Still Jones, then, Martha? Thought you might have changed your name to Smith?"
Martha grinned, unalloyed joy at seeing him again. "I already know Doctor Smith thank you."
"And your own office. How nice."
"Oh it is." They shared the moment of humour, John Smith and Martha Jones, and then her face became serious. "What do you need Doctor?"
The Doctor talked, explaining as simply as he could, Rory, Amy, River, Demon's Run, the Tessalator. Martha tried in vain to keep up, taking down as many details as the Doctor could give her, but understood the situation to be simple. There was a girl. She was in trouble. Martha didn't need to know any more. The Doctor handed her a vortex manipulator pre set for co-ordinates and times to allow her to attend River on a regular basis.
"One last thing." The Doctor hesitated before he closed the TARDIS door. "Don't tell her you know me."
Martha didn't question his request but nodded. "I'll see you soon?"
"Course you will." He smiled at her fondly. "See you soon Dr Jones."
"Take care of yourself Dr Smith."
Martha saw the Doctor once more before she died. He had come to visit to check up on River, she had handed the vortex manipulator back and told him quite simply that River was as screwed up as he was. Full of good intentions, he had always meant to go back to see Martha, to thank her, but by the time he had done so he had found Mickey Smith standing alone, watching his daughter get married. Too little too late with Martha but, by Gallifrey, not with River.
River puts her fingers up to touch the screen over the TARDIS console, wondering at the influence the Doctor has had over her life without her even realising it.
"You should have trusted me." She can hear the fond amusement in his voice. "Did you think I'd leave you with just anyone?"
"I thought you'd left me, full stop."
A pair of arms settle themselves around her and she allows herself to be pulled backwards against him, her gaze still on the photo of Dr Martha Jones. He drops a kiss to her temple and she can hear the sorrow in his voice but does not entirely understand, then, why.
"I'll always be with you River. Right up to the end."
Sitting in a hard chair, a web of electrical cables spread out across the floor in front of her, staring into the eyes of a man who does not know her, does not understand how she knows him so completely – she understands now. He knew. He's always known how they end, even when he didn't know how they begun.
"The end?"
Another soft kiss to her temple. "Spoilers."