So Darkness I Became
A lethal crown heavy on her head. "Spoilers." A blinding light. "Left me like a book on a shelf." Those were her words. No, they had been her words. They belonged to no one now.
River tossed in her bunk aboard Lux's ship. "Time can be re-written."
"Not those times…don't you dare."
But he had, The Doctor had dared. Cuffed to a pole, sonic and diary just out of reach, she'd watched the man who was/ would be, would never be her husband, burn up before her.
Back on the ship, she felt her reality slipping. All those times, all those years had never happened. A dream remembered. Perhaps, one day, she would wake up a school teacher named Melody Williams, of Leadworth. No, not Melody, she'd been named after herself after all, and Mels had never existed. Never needed to. Perhaps, she'd simply wink out of existence one day altogether. Without Mels, would her clueless parents have even gotten together?
Her first instinct of course had been to rush home, to Darilium; to him. The home her Doctor had built for her on the cliffs overlooking the Singing Towers was gone, of course. The steel and glass structure with its floating infinity pool, never built.
She put the 52nd century equivalent of a cigarette between her lips, a long inhale self ignited the stick, sending a satisfying burn down her throat and into her lungs. She folded an arm across her middle and took another long drag as she stared into the empty landscape. The towers weren't singing. Everything was still. This was no longer home. Never had been.
The woman that had been River Song, His River, screamed in her mind, but She continued to stare as the midmorning sun inched imperceptibly over the cliffs. It was without a backward glance that she boarded her newly stolen ship; five bodies left discarded on the windswept bluff.
She enjoyed killing and she was good, very good at it, as evidenced by the piles of bodies around her. "Admiral?" A voice came over her comm, "we're ready here."
She smiled at the scene before her; shattered glass from a thousand windows sparkling in the hazy sunlight, signs of panic in the streets; abandoned vehicles, wrecked crafts, still smoking remains, human and other. She removed her blade from the lifeless corpse in her hands; she preferred a blade, liked to smell the blood and terror, liked to watch the light go out behind the horrified eyes. She flung it like refuse before swiping the blade across an already gore caked trouser leg. She mashed a button on the comm device on her wrist, "Ready here too."
Aboard her craft, The Medusa, she watched as a planet died beneath her. Flashes of red and orange flame lit the deck, sparked off her blood spattered copper curls, ringing her silhouette in a halo of destruction. It was beautiful. She let it wash over her; billions of souls screaming then going silent as one. Planet Burner.
The Doctor, a fairytale, she'd always assumed, despite the dreams that seemed so real. Now, he stood before her, pajama clad and sword blade buried in her gut to the hilt. 'This world is protected," he'd said. Why hadn't she taken the deal, just turn her armada around and go. Her hands slipped in her blood as she grasped the hilt, still disbelieving. She hadn't run because, somewhere in her mind she remembered what and who she had been with him; her ghost. She had tried to outrun the wrongness of her existence, but, she had never been able to run far enough or fast enough to outpace the madness or the memory of him. Only oblivion would bring peace.
Her blood was sticky as it seeped through her fingers. "Goodbye, sweetie," she whispered, and smiled, blood flecking her lips.
"Alex!" There was the most annoying sound ringing in her ears, "Alex! You're safe!" The surface beneath her lurched and her hand reactively shot out. Her eyes snapped open as her hand connected with a face, producing a yelp from the victim.
She gulped in a lungful of air and tried to focus. A room, luggage in the corner: a hotel room. Traffic on the streets below: New York. A face, his face. She was safe. She was Alex. Alex, not River, most importantly, not Her, not some soulless being soaked in the blood of a thousand galaxies. She squeezed her eyes shut again and slowed her breathing, "Say my name again."
"Alex," he smiled and kissed the back of her hand, worry still evident in his eyes, "My Alex." And she smiled.
New York Comic Con was humming with the excited conversation and speculation of the gathered Whovians. Inside the massive room there was applause as the showrunners and writers were announced. Great deal of applause for Karen Gillan and Arthur Darvill, whose run had just ended in dramatic fashion. Thunderous, deafening applause, shouts, and screams for Matt Smith, The Doctor.
He walked on stage with a huge grin, took the mic from the moderator, coolly ran his hand through his mop of hair and said, "Hello." More applause, more screaming. He laughed and waited for a beat, letting the noise die down. "Look, I know I'm supposed to let the trailer for the new season reveal my new companion, but to hell with it! I can't wait! I've just gotten permission from the Moff to make this announcement," yet more screaming. "Without further ado, I'd like you to welcome the Doctor's new companion, and, more importantly, as of last night, my wife," the room gasped collectively, "Ms. Alex Kingston," he paused, "Smith!"