A/N: Takes place sometime between Angels Take Manhattan and The Snowmen.
They had been on the TARDIS together for weeks now; it was the longest River had ever stayed with him at one stretch. The book was finished, and the Doctor was still grieving.
River watched him from the doorway of his study; he was flopped over an armchair, those gangly legs of his slung over one arm, chin propped in his hand. He was staring in glum thoughtfulness at nothing in particular. She wasn't even sure he was aware she was there.
It was time for her to leave soon. As much as it pained her, he needed to travel, and he needed someone new to travel with. They had tried a couple of places, places they both knew, but that's not what he did. The Doctor delighted in showing the universe to people who had no way of seeing it without him. He had shown River so very, very much, but the truth was that she could see it on her own if she so chose. As much as they loved one another, she just couldn't fulfill that part of him. He needed a companion, the loss of his last two were hitting him harder than even she could have imagined.
Amy and Rory. The Girl and Boy who waited: waited for each other, and waited for him. They were more than companions; they were family. The only real family he'd had in a long, long time, and they had been ripped away from him without warning. While the Doctor was no stranger to loss, he never got used to it. He never accepted it. River was glad he never would; if he did, he wouldn't be the wonderful madman she loved. But that didn't make it any easier to see him in pain.
Quietly, she slipped further into the room, watching his face; his eyes flicked towards her, then his gaze dropped vaguely downward before averting completely. Still, when she reached the chair and nudged his arm with her hip, he adjusted to make room for her. She perched on the arm and drew his head down to rest against her thigh.
She absently stroked his messy brown hair under her fingers, smoothing it across his forehead; it always flopped down to hang just above his eyes again. He sighed quietly, eyes closed, and her heart suddenly swelled with love for him, a man who had lived over a thousand years and still had the ability to rest his head in her lap like a lost little boy. She gulped back a lump in her throat and smiled briefly down at his narrow face.
"They're still with you," she said, and was surprised at how loud her voice sounded in the stillness.
"Cliches don't suit you, River," he replied, not unkindly, without opening his eyes. She smiled again, even chuckled a soft, brief laugh.
"They don't, no. But I mean it. A part of them, anyway," she answered, and he opened his eyes, raising his eyebrows to look up at her.
"How's that?" he asked, and she moved her hand down from his hair, smoothing it over the front of his shoulder before resting it on his chest.
"You have me. And I'm a part of them." She said it matter-of-factly and without conceit; it was fact, and sometimes he needed a fact like that to make it through a hard day. He thought about it for a moment; of course he hadn't forgotten again that they were her parents, but this was putting it in a different perspective. Then he smiled.
"My very own Pond," he murmured absently, picking up her hand off his chest and kissing it before letting it rest again. She smiled in return and leaned down to drop a kiss on his forehead.
It was time for her to leave soon, yes. But it wouldn't be today.