"Righto," said the Doctor, gliding around the console and flicking switches. He looked at each of his companions in turn and his expression softened.
"What?" Asked Amy, warily.
"Let's do something fun," he suggested. "Just the four of us. No running away from monsters, no saving the universe, no death-defying acts of bravery. Just something... normal. And... human."
Amy shot a worried look at River, who shrugged and shook her head.
"Any suggestions? No? Look, fun and normal and human – I'm going to need a little help from the humans present..."
"Karaoke," said Rory.
"Say what?"
"Come on!" Rory turned to Amy. "How long has it been since we did karaoke?"
"Like... years?" Said Amy, beginning to smile.
"River?"
"You know me: born exhibitionist," she replied. "Bring it on."
"Alright then, karaoke it is!" Said Rory, clapping his hands and turning to the Doctor.
"Excellent! Fantastic!" Enthused the Doctor, grinning delightedly at the others. "What's karaoke, then?"
# # #
"Hang on, hang on..." Rory muttered, flicking through the playlist. "Ah! U2! Excellent!"
"Oh, not 'Sunday Bloody Sunday' again!" Amy moaned.
"It's an important tribute to Irish history," Rory told her indignantly.
"What do you care, you're not Irish!"
"So, we get up on the stage and sing songs, is that it?" Asked the Doctor.
"In a nutshell," agreed River.
"Huh."
"Problem?"
"I distinctly remember mentioning the word 'normal'... is this normal human entertainment?"
"Pretty much," said Rory. He looked over Amy's shoulder. "Found anything yet?"
"Gabriella Cilmi," she told him.
"Oh please, try and go a little more mainstream..."
"Shut up, at least mine isn't depressing..."
"And next up we have... Rory Williams!" Announced the MC.
"Oops, that's me!" Grinned Rory, springing to his feet and bounding up the steps to take the microphone.
"I'll get drinks," said Amy, pushing back her chair.
"Actually, I don't..." started the Doctor.
"Believe me, you'll need it..."
When Rory descended the steps to a smattering of applause four-and-a-half minutes later, he grimaced stoically and accepted a beer.
"That song didn't seem very popular," the Doctor observed.
"Well, I don't sing it to be popular..."
"He sings it to make a point," Amy cut in.
"And the point is...?"
"Google 'Bloody Sunday'," said Amy as Rory opened his mouth to deliver yet another sermon on the Bogside Massacre of '72. "That'd be quicker."
"Thank you, uh, Mr Williams," boomed the MC. "And now, to raise the mood a little... Amy Pond!"
Amy leaned over and looked the Doctor in the eye. "Hold onto your fez!" She told him.
The Doctor shot a startled glance in Rory's direction. "What did she mean by that?" He asked.
"She's just showing off, ignore her," Rory said, rolling his eyes.
Three minutes and Amy left the stage to cheers and wolf whistles and collapsed in her chair, flushed and happy.
"Pleased with yourself?" Rory asked her.
"I am actually, yeah," she said, clinking her glass against his and taking a long sip. "So, Doctor. What're you going to sing?"
"I don't really know any of these..."
"Here, let me pick one," she held out her hand and ran a practised eye over the playlist. "Here: Whitetown..."
"'I Could Never Be Your Woman'?" Spluttered the Doctor. "Are you insane?"
"It's a bloke who sings it!" Amy reasoned.
"Give me that," said Rory, snatching the paper. "Here: Dandy Warhols – 'You were the last high.'"
"Are you high?" Amy chortled.
"It'd suit his voice..."
"It's a bit dark and brooding..."
"Hello! Last of his kind!"
"Hello! Sitting right here!" Put in the Doctor.
Amy and Rory looked up from their bickering, an identical look of chagrin on each of their faces.
"Sorry," murmured Amy.
"Yeah, sorry...
A hush fell as Doctor River Song mounted the stage carrying an acoustic guitar. She dragged a low stool with her and adjusted the microphone stand. As her rich voice filled the air accompanied by her own playing – sounding for all the world like k.d. lang herself – the Doctor's mouth curved into a smile, and he settled his chin into his hand and gazed up at her spell-bound:
"I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you?"
The Doctor's smile widened. She was singing for him! Now this he understood. "I don't want to go to bed now, I want to be indiscreet" – What? Why? "Mothers, children, brothers, sisters, torn apart" – Just plain depressing. But this. This was good stuff.
His blissful smile continued through the first verse, the first refrain, the second verse, the second refrain, and then...
"Baby, I've been here before: I've seen this room and I've walked the floor. I used to live alone before I knew you..."
A frown flickered across his brow. Not so good. His chest was beginning to tighten. The lilting melody, while it hadn't really changed key, all of sudden sounded melancholy rather than ironic and vaguely amusing. He sat back and shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin.
"Our love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah!"
Oh, this is bad, this is very bad, this is...
"Maybe there's a God above but all I've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you. It's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not someone who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah..."
The Doctor started at the touch on his shoulder and he swung around to face Amy. Without a word she reached over and brushed her fingertips across his cheek, holding them up for him to see.
Wetness.
Tears.
As River completed a heart-rending series of 'Hallelujahs' the Doctor staggered out of his chair and bolted for the door.
"Well, that was popular with management," River muttered darkly, finishing her drink in one gulp.
"Yeah, I better…" Amy started.
"No, I'll go," River told her. "My mess, I'll clean it up…"
# # #
She found him in the front bar, hunched over a tumbler of what looked to be whiskey: ice cubes clinked and melted as he rotated the glass, staring into the amber depths.
"That'll work better if you actually consume it, my love, alcohol doesn't work if you simply stare at it."
He started at the sound of her voice and stared up at her miserably. For once he seemed incapable of a pithy remark or cutting jibe to remind her of his distrust.
River sighed and sat down next to him. "Whatever you think that was, back there… it wasn't. It's just a song."
"Just a song…"
"Leonard Cohen, 1984. It means different thing to different people. Cohen said 'many different hallelujahs exist' and it'll come out as melancholic, or fragile, or joyous, depending on who's singing…" She paused. "Or who's listening."
"What does it mean to you?"
River smiled. "It's just a song, sweetie. Just something I know how to play, and know how to sing."
"Then why did it come out sounding like a commentary on our… relationship? Such that it is…"
River shrugged and smiled gently. "I guess that's something you'll have to figure out for yourself."
"Who are you?" He asked, his eyes suddenly intense.
"You're going to find out very soon."
"But not tonight."
"Not tonight," she agreed. "Tonight we're supposed to be having fun, remember?"
"Fun," he said. "Yes, I remember. I remember fun."