Title: Easy
Pairing: Doctor/River
Words: 627
Spoilers: Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead and Let's Kill Hitler (also, I suppose you should tread carefully if you haven't seen The Wedding of River Song yet, though there isn't anything too major)
Summary: In the end, that's what kills them the most.
A/N: This is my first attempt at a Doctor Who fic and also the first thing I've written in a while, so please be kind. Also, in my head, River dies in the Library, but I think the ending is open enough for you to decide her fate.
All things considered, he thinks he got off easy. She looks at him – no, through him – and it hurts. More than he had ever expected it would, a lifetime ago as he stood in the Library.
He longs for the River Song he knew, with all her spoilers and "sweeties" and knowing smiles. He wants her to tell him that she hates him sometimes, so he can shout back "No you don't!" and she can give him a look that reminds him how right he is.
But he's not finished with her yet. Not really. It's her beginning, but it's not his end.
He'll see her again. Soon, he finds himself hoping. He still has so much to come, so many more chances to look into her eyes. River's eyes – not the eyes of this strange woman he can't recognize. He'll get to kiss her again – properly this time. And he tells himself that next time he sees her, that's the first thing he'll do.
So many more pages left to fill in a book that he wishes he didn't have to own.
As he sets a blue diary next to her sleeping form, he tries not to focus on the part of him that is overwhelmingly grateful that he gets to keep going. That he doesn't have to say goodbye just yet. That this beginning isn't the end he thought it would be.
Even though her's will be.
In the end, that's what kills him the most. The guilt of getting off easy.
All things considered, she thinks she got off easy. She stands in the Library with an unfamiliar man – the man she loves, the man she'd gladly give her life for – yet he's a stranger to her. It hurts so much more than she ever expected it to. It's killing her, more than some carnivorous shadow ever could. But she has to stand tall, not let it show. Because she knows that every time he sees her he'll think of this day – her future, his past – and she doesn't want it to hurt him when he does.
It makes her chest ache to think that he had once experienced this. And she suddenly wants to apologize to him a thousand times over, even though he won't have the slightest idea why – and probably won't care. She tries to focus on the good things – a bowtie wrapped around her hand as time stood still in a world that never was; the Singing Towers, that one beautiful trip where they were finally in sync; her parents, centuries away in a house with a TARDIS blue door.
She wants him to put on a bowtie and tell her how cool it is. At this point, she'd regard that stupid fez with a smile. Everything inside of her wants to scream, beg him to remember things that haven't even happened – not to him.
She reminds herself that he's not finished with her yet. It might be her end, but it's his beginning.
He'll see her again. Very soon now. He'll have a new face – be one step closer to her Doctor. He has so much to come. And she knows that he'll understand someday why she refuses to change a single second.
She's on the last page of a blue book that she wishes she didn't have to own.
As she prepares for her death, she tries not to focus on the part of her that is overwhelmingly grateful that she doesn't have to keep going. That she won't have to live a single day without him to look forward to. That this ending is final, complete.
Even though his won't be.
In the end, that's what kills her the most. The guilt of getting off easy.