Settling in for the Run
I've grown rather fond of oneshot pieces mushed into one long fict. In case you haven't read any of my stuff before, my most successful piece to date is the Doctor-Rose Cravings, based on food-related prompts.
Recently, River Song has intrigued me, so I thought I'd give her a go. I'll start with 10 ways River began running, and we'll see how far it goes from there.
P.S. I don't like the title, so if anyone has any better ideas, give me a shout out. Pleaseandthankyou!
Blossom
Everything is so lush and green and perfectly alive. The sky moves past at a lazy, gray pace. Simulated clouds rolled overhead. The air is light, perfumed by the blooms surrounding her still form. The grass shudders quietly in a hushed breeze.
She has never seen anything quite like it.
-XXX-
Her Galactic-Biology III class had departed from the brick classrooms today in favour of the Kenningston Botanical Gardens. They piled onto the shuttle, eager to experience the flora of the crystal buildings. River grabs Loriel's elbow as the other students pushed and shoved forward, surging slowly toward the vehicle. Loriel grins and pats her younger friend's arm. River was always squeamish around crowds, even crowds of people she knew.
"Excited?" The elder girl asks, pushing a few strands of silky, straight black hair behind one ear. River's eyes follow the motion, tinged with envy. Her own cloud of soft brownish-blondish (mixed with ginger tints, as though it couldn't make up its mind) was quite unmanageable, especially in the drizzle pour down just outside of the breezeway that connected directly to the shuttle port.
River runs a hand through her mane self-consciously. "Of course."
"Know what area you're going to scope out?"
The required assignment was to spend twenty minutes of the visit meditating in one of the garden's twelve atriums. There was the rainforest, the desertscape, the deciduous forest, the coniferous high-mountain forest, the Victorian gardens, the savannah plains, the Confucius meditation garden, the taiga, and then the four chambers cultivated from off-planet plants. With an off-world ambassador as a father, River had experienced a number of these plants-though, not from any travels herself. Ambassador Song was not keen on taking his daughter off the planet. Everything she had encountered had been brought back by her father, or seen at one of the many embassy dinners she had been forced to attend. River always hated those dinners-in hours before her hair was tugged and tortured into a "reasonable" state, was stuffed into frilly, silly gowns much too mature for her, and dragged to the posh dining rooms where she was fed (it was interesting food, to say the least) and bored to death by adult conversation. The most intriguing part was the potted greenery.
She always loved plants. They were quiet. Unfussy, unassuming. They merely set about their given task with a grace and simple beauty that was unparalleled by any other living creature.
"I'm thinking about the Victorian gardens." River answers.
"The Victorian gardens?" Loriel frowns slightly, lower lip pushing out. "But, you can see those any old time. The off-world selections are only open three months of the year. Besides, all those plants are native. You can walk around the block and see over half of them within the first ten minutes."
River doesn't reply. Loriel won't understand. She's thrilled with the idea of alien vegetation, excited to compare it to regular Earth foliage. River can't be bothered to tell her the only significant difference is climate preference.
They reach the gardens quickly. Everyone offloads in a rush of babbling. Professor Wright yells over the heads of her students, "Remember, one o'clock, everyone. One o'clock and we meet back in the lobby by the shop to return home. That gives you over five hours to explore the twelve rooms. Also, remember, you have your sketch books with you for a reason-I don't require a specific amount of notes, but I do want to see some sort of evidence of freshly acquired knowledge, so, get to it!"
They spread out, pairing up. Loriel hooks arms with River and they walked past the detectors and through the turnstile. "Ready?"
"Always."
The girls trek through the Gardens at a breakneck-pace. River was leading, pointing out interests and oddities, at a snapping rate. Loriel groaned, urging her to slow. But it was no use. River wants dearly to get in her meditation time. She has been to the Gardens before, many times. The Victorian section is relatively new, a territory to be freshly explored.
"Listen, I think I'll just go off on my own." Loriel finally huffed. "Obviously you'd rather I'd sod off."
"Oh, you know that's not true. I just want to see—"
"The Victorian gardens, yeah. I'll meet you up at the shop, right? And," Loriel steps forward to reassure her friend. "Take some time to enjoy this place. I know it's just another day in the park for you, but you're not appreciating it. Stop and smell the roses, yeah?"
River doesn't like roses. She prefers tulips, daffodils, and morning glories. Roses have always seemed cliché.
"Yeah." She replies in her usual quiet manner. Loriel walks away, tossing her younger friend one last smile before rounding the corner in search of the desert biome.
She's not the least bit upset. River, for all her shyness and quiet nature, is not the dependent sort. Loriel has always been under that impression (and River has continually allowed her to be), and took it to her advantage whenever she could to "ween" the younger girl into independence did not outwardly express. Being two years older, and a good deal more sociable, Loriel saw it as her duty to mold her friend into a affable creature. In her gentle way, River was resisting.
The minutes blend into hours as River explores the savannah and rainforest chambers. She's trailing now, much slower now that she is sure Loriel won't slow her up. When there are roughly two and a half hours left she begins following the signs pointing to the Victorian gardens.
To her delight, not a single person is in the room. The tiny digital map posted next to the door shows a blinking red dot for ever visitor, and a blue one for every garden worker. This map is void of lights. She will be blessfully secluded. River enters through the sliding, vacuum-pressure doors into a manicured and elegant park.
In places like this, she can understand how J.M. Barrie got inspiration from a simple London park.
Hedges line the walks, trimmed into perfect cubes. Every so often, she can hear the sound of a gurgling fountain (this room has five, she counted before they left) and birds belting out merry tunes from cherry trees. There are violets, and tulips, and lilies. Fragrant Peonies, lilac, pastel pansies and petunias, soft irises, hyacinths and bright, scarlet poppies. Everything is fresh, green, and bursting. Her hands caress a wall of creeping ivy, dark green with veiny, heart-shaped leaves. Elaborate trellises welcome guests to verandas of smooth, flat stone and mosaic flower beds, where statues and fountains rest in the center.
In the heart of these gardens is a maze. Each of the corner is represented by a Greek goddess. She sees Aphrodite, Gaia, Nyx, Artemis, and the lonely Persephone, each guarding over their private corner with cold marble hands outstretched.
It is Persephone who enchants her the most. A young, lovely goddess of the earth, kidnapped by a mysterious god, the Lord of Death, to a dark world. The youthful goddess's expression is not one of despair or heartbreak, but rather, hope. Lonely, lovely hope.
What in her situation could give her hope?
When she finds a moment, River sits upon a carved bench to start a rendition of the goddess's perplexing expression. Her hand moves freely across the coarse paper, making smooth lines with her charcoal, praying she can capture the utter beauty in the face of the stone deity. The outline is done and shadows are being traced when a out-of-place sort of sound interrupts her focus.
VWORP VWORP
River shudders at the sound. It is harsh and broken, as though someone was screaming through a layer of jello. She looks above, to the simulated sky-nothing out of the ordinary there. Are they doing maintenance? Is that why she was the only one here?
The sound roars again, echoing throughout the chamber. She realizes its source is somewhere in the heart of the maze. Rising unconsciously, she starts toward the maze's entrance, some twelve feet ahead of, her, but stops. The wisest course of action would be to avoid the sound like the bloody plague and leave. She still has two hours left, plenty of time to join Loriel in one of the off-world rooms and mediate into another level of spirituality. There is no real, logical reason behind entering the maze and explore the sound. It is probably just some gardener trimming the hedge. And still...
Without sparing herself another moment of internal debate, the girl walks forward to cross the threshold to the maze. In a matter of minutes, she's scaled the outer wall, and discovered a curve going almost directly toward the center. In no time, she stood just a corner away. A scuffling noise could now be heard, though the screaming broken sound had long stopped.
River took a breath and steeled herself for the potential danger waiting around the corner's edge. She eased around carefully, letting herself soak in the sight.
A blue box, solid and wooden, stood off-center in the patch of lawn that made up the maze's center. It had tiny frosted windows in clutches of 12 on each side, and a black sign with white lettering around the top. POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX.
Whatever that meant.
She leaned to her right, balancing her weight on one foot to peer around the box. As silently as could be managed, she moved to get a look at the opposite side.
And then stopped moving.
A man, lanky and thin, leaned purposefully against the box. He was tall, pale, with brown-ish hair that lay over the right side of his face in a charming manner. His eyes were pale, and they bore into her with an alarming amount of force. He recognized her. She could see it in the glint of those orbs. They hinted dangerous things.
"River Song…." The name is pronounced carefully.
River thought about backing away. She did, honestly. But before she can move, he is striding forward on those long legs. He stops before her, less than a foot short and says simply, "Hello, sweetie."
And then he is kissing her.
For about ten seconds she stood in complete and utter shock. Who was this man, and why did he feel it necessary to lock lips with her? He was at least twenty-five, and she was just past seventeen. How did he find this appropri—
The following thirty seconds were blurry, as by that point she'd fallen into the kiss. Her entire life could be spent in that kiss, consumed completely by this stranger's cool lips and careful hands. Hands that were migrating to places she didn't want to think about, but were, oh—
How had he known her name?
It took nearly another ten seconds for River to straighten out her priorities and shove the intrusive fellow away roughly. She stares as he tidies his jacket with one tug and adjusts his bow tie. His eyes are half-lidded, thick with a primitive sort of feeling. There is a small, content smile playing across his lips. He doesn't even have the decency to look properly ashamed.
She begins edging away, hands outstretched behind her to feel for the inevitable wall. The man, face now filled with confusion, follows her progress, matching each slow step in his polished lace-up boots.
"River?" He is puzzled, maybe even a little hurt as he pursues her, eyebrows furrowed.
"How do you know my name?" She asks evenly, crystal eyes trained on his. They narrow briefly, then flare to life.
"Do you…know me?" He asks tentatively.
"No. I'll ask again, how do you know my name?" the girl demands. Another two steps back. Surely she's got to be nearing the wall now.
"I'm a friend." He struggles. "Or, I will be. Hopefully. Someone you trust. Hopefully. Honestly. You'll be calling after me in no time…gods, I didn't count on this being a first meeting…" He moans under his breath.
"What?"
He shakes his head. Another step, and he matches her without even looking down. It's an odd game. Almost a dance. But who is doing the leading?
"Thud!" River's back makes contact with the hedge. She winces as a few sharp branches jab her brutally in the back. The man's eyes tighten.
"I'm the Doctor." He says quietly. "I know that doesn't mean much to you now, but…It will. Soon. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll just…." He trails off, motioning to the box. River raises her brows. What? Go hang out in an oddly-placed, oddly-painted shed? Was he some sort of deranged gardener?
"But wait!" Suddenly, he's bounded away, to a…well, she hadn't seen that on her entrance. A blanket is spread upon the grass. On it sits an arranged plate of fruit, a candelabra complete with six long tapers, lit, a bottle of chilled wine, and a small pewter cup, stuffed with over a dozen vivid tulips. He plucks the cup from the ground and returns to her, thrusting it forward.
"I brought theses for you," He says, almost shyly. "Well, I actually brought all of it. For you, I mean. These are straight from the Netherlands." He reaches out to caress one closed bloom, and she cannot help but wonder how those hands would feel on her flesh.
"Well." He claps his hands together. "Sorry. So sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Keeps happening, though, when you do things out of order…ah, well. I'll just, go, shall I?" He gave another small smile, and turned on his heels toward the blue box.
"No!" River is surprised by the throatiness of her own voice, the slight desperation in her call. "No, it's fine, but I…" She hesitates. "I'm a little confused. Are you a…Time Agent?"
His eyes narrow. "Sort of."
"How do you—do you know me?"
The man has crossed the lot in an instant. He's before her again, only this time his hand is buried in her hair, the other cupping her face.
"We keep meeting." He says softly. "Time and time again, meeting. But it's never in the right order. We're always dancing across the whole thing, out of sequence. I'm sorry."
She wants to ask For what? But instead, River bites her lip, gazing into his worn eyes, trying to see this story, her story, reflected in them.
"Then, will you…maybe…stay?" She practically squeaks. His thumbs trace her cheek. Those eyes dancing, searching. He is silent. She tries again.
"I mean, there's always a first time for everything…right?"
His smile is slow and sweet. "Yes. Of course. River Song," He drops his hands from her face, steps back and sweeps into a bow. "The Doctor. At your service."
She allows herself to be lead to the blanket and questioned about everything and anything in her life. He's not surprised to find she's a archaeology major, though he the minor in biology stumps him. When she tells him tulips are her favourite he just grins like a fool, running a hand through his hair. However, her father's profession is news to him, as is the name of her best friend, and her age. He's startled to learn she is just seventeen, but waves a hand when she asks for a birthday.
Then it is River's turn. She is frustrated to find nothing but an insolent brick wall when it comes to her inquisitions. He's constantly grinning manically and hissing "Spoilers." The worst is when she asks for his name. That's when he bottles up a bit, smile fading by a fraction.
"You don't need to know."
"It can't just be 'the Doctor.'"
"Can't it?"
"You have very odd parents."
"Had," He corrects. "Had. They're all gone."
He won't say who. And she doesn't ask.
But she is bold enough to inquire: "What am I to you?"
He nearly spits out his wine. "What do you mean?"
"You kissed me."
"Well," He says, embarrassed. "You wouldn't say hello."
The wine is drunk, the fruit nibbled, and the candles melted down to pillars in lumpy lines of wax. He continues with the questions, but will occasionally pop in a story, using violent hand gestures to illustrate his tale, and theatrical voices when necessary. River cannot recall ever having been so hooked.
When two hours have passed, voices being entering their little world.
"Riiiiiiver? Riiiiiver? C'mon! Did you reach Nirvana, or something? Wright is ready to go, NOW! They're loading the shuttle. Riiiiiiver!"
It was Loriel, and judging from the softer cries, her classmate Ursa. River glances toward the maze's heavily shadowed exit. The Doctor watches he closely.
"I've got to go." She says as their voices fade. "The shuttle-"
"Yeah." He agrees.
"And I've got this paper, and the notes—"
"Of course," He nodded seriously.
"I really should leav—"
"You could come with me," The Doctor interrupts. "Really. I'll have you back in a few seconds. Just, come, River. See the stars. Why study the past when I can let you live it?"
She bites her lip, looking again to the exit. "But what about keeping consistency?"
"I don't know how this began." He tells her earnestly. "You never told me. It could be here, now. Today. Why not come?"
The girl hesitant. He cannot know how badly she want to accept his hand, to follow him to the stars, and yet-and yet-
"Just come, River."
"I can't." She tells him softly. "Not now, anyways. It doesn't feel…right."
Soaking this in, he nods. The decision is final. It's not today.
He stands, then helps her to her feet. River brings the candles and glasses with her, setting them on a nearby boulder. He removes the bottle, dishes, and picks up the blanket, folding it in a matter of seconds.
River holds out a hand, cupping his cheek much like he cupped hers a few hours before. "I'm sorry."
He just smiles. "It's not now. But soon."
"Yes," she agrees. River drops her hands to her sides, and begins to walk away.
"And just think," He says from behind her, smile fading with every step that fell. "Now I get to watch you blossom."
When she looked back, he is gone, leaving nothing but wind and a noise that sound rather like a broken howl.
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