The Grief of Time Lords, One-Shot
"Hello, Sweetie…" came the timeless words of my pain and my joy.
"Really, River," I replied, without even an attempt to conceal my annoyance. "Must we keep meeting like this?"
"You mean entangled in the midst of grave robbers and angels, escaping from prison or saving the universe?" she asked, all innocence.
"Precisely," I replied, grasping her lapel and ripping it from the statue's weeping grip. "Can't we just be a… a… normal couple?"
"Normal, Doctor?" asked River, examining the damage to her over shirt then doffing it deftly behind her shoulder. The now sleeveless, trousered woman with communicator, hip-holster and deadly lipstick hitched her foot upon the Angel's bended knee and re-tied her right boot laces.
"Normal!" I said, removing the Screwdriver from my left breast pocket and scanning the stone angel. "Hmm… that's a new one."
"Hmm?" said River, moving to her left boot laces.
"You know… boring telly on Tuesdays. Fish and chips. Bicycles. Normal."
"Oh, sweetie," said River, approaching me with her indulgent grin. "You know I'm not that kind of girl." As she approached me what would be our twenty-ninth kiss, I replied, "Thank God you're not." An instant later—and the reason we were still stuck at kiss twenty-eight, I pulled away and sonicked the Angel again. "It's a new one, River! New kind of Angel!"
I felt, rather than saw the woman's eyes roll as she joined me by the Angel's side. "What is it?" she asked, pulling out her… her… scanner thingy and, well, scanning. Not the time for romantic banter anymore, she was Dr. Song now, clinical and scientific and gagetty. "Doctor, I've never seen life-signs like this."
"Me neither," I said, the translucers and globular what's-its ranging from zed to insanity on the Screwdriver. This was certainly something. Something. Brand. New.
"It's almost as though the angel is… looking at us. It's more… alive than any angel I've seen."
"Zat's because… it eez…." Said the voice behind us.
"Oh, brother, Germans?" I asked.
"Of course," said River, pocketing her scanner thingy and placing a hand on her gun.
"What century?" I asked.
"34 or 35, I should think," responded River with a yawn.
"5th Reich?" I asked, scratching my head.
"You know it," River grinned. "Fancy taking out neo-Nazism again?"
"And I just wanted a simple date. You know. With Goobers and popcorn and maybe holding hands."
"Perhaps later," said River.
Turning together, we faced the new Fuhrer.
OoOoOoOoO
Hours later, while I was ringing out my socks and River clipped her fingernails, I remarked, "You certainly know how to show a bloke a good time. Was that counted as a date?"
"I'm an archeologist, Doctor, and you're a Time Lord. Did you think this would be simple?"
"River, we shot our way out of a burning building, assassinated a world leader, and somehow got transported into the Thames. Not a quiet evening, exactly." As if being married to Dr. Song was ever meant to be quiet.
"Now, Sweetie, if we'd had an hour-long talk and snog session with Goobers and things, how would it have ended up?"
"Pity-party about Am—"
"Amy and Rory, right?" asked River.
I sighed with the breath of a thousand years. "Yes…" I said, resignedly.
"Right," said River. "And we can talk about them, if you'd like. But you know Mum and Dad are safe. They're happy."
"Right!" I said, grief wringing out of my socks with the water. "We'll talk later." I grabbed her hand, pulled her in for a quick but worthwhile twenty-ninth kiss, and dragged her down the cobblestones. "First! Let's find the TARDIS, then go visiting."
"Where?" asked River, knowing perfectly well the answer.
"Everywhere."