So here's something I've thought about more than I should! Do River Song and Anthony Williams ever meet, and if so, how? I think I've sufficiently answered that question.

And just to give everyone a visual, my brain has always told me that Anthony would be played by Mark Harmon (Leroy Jethro Gibbs in NCIS). It just seemed like a good fit.

Disclaimer: Yeah. See that little tab at the top of the page that says "Doctor Who" on it? That's not mine. Wish it was, but alas, it is not so.

Enjoy, my pretties! :D

Working with the NYPD wasn't as glamorous a job as advertised. It wasn't like all those crime dramas portrayed it to be; elaborate cases, each one different and more heinous than the one before it. Yes, he had worked in homicide occasionally, but as far as he was concerned murder was murder, and didn't deserve all the attention it got, even if it was negative.

But he didn't work in homicide any more, nor was he usually in the field. He worked more in an office than anything else. And yet here he was, chasing a petty thief. Okay, that was a lie. Whoever they were, they had done this before and very likely successfully too.

It had been around 11:45 PM, and he had been driving home after a late night. As he drove down down Central Park W. he spotted a figure dressed entirely in black descending the stairs of the museum. That definitely wasn't a night guard, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions to quickly. There was only one way to know for sure, so he pulled over and got out of his beat-up old BMW. He'd shouted at the figure, asking what they were doing around here at such a late hour, and they'd bolted. Now he was chasing after them through the dimly lit paths of Central Park.

Whoever this person was, they knew where they were going. Hanging sharp turns and slipping down shortcuts, it was clear they were experienced at getaways. But then he knew the park nearly as well as the homeless people who inhabited it; he'd tracked many a suspect through here. He had years of police experience under his belt, though it seemed like this person had just as much experience as a crook. They were evenly matched, and he liked that. It'd been far too long.

Running like this wasn't something he did often anymore. He could feel himself beginning to tire, but he wouldn't give up until he caught the bastard. He just had to wait until they slipped up, until they took a wrong turn –

There! He knew that the only place this path led to was an old unused tunnel, boarded up at the opposite end. The perp obviously didn't seem to notice this as they ran into the tunnel. They ground to a halt once they reached the dead end. He'd done it. He's still got it, damn the mocking rookies to hell.

He drew his gun from the belt he always wore at his side, and aimed it was a rock-steady hand at the thief. "Police," he shouted. "Hands where I can see them." The figure turned around then, and he was surprised to see what they looked like in the dull light of the tunnel. It was a woman, dressed in what looked like a black leather cat suit. The most noticeable thing about her though was the mane of riotous curls on her head, tied back in a messy ponytail. That, and the sly smirk adorning her face.

"Looks like you finally caught me, officer." She all but purred. "I was wondering when you'd catch up." He was slightly put off by her accent. English; just like Dad.

"I was wondering when you'd slip up. Didn't take too long." He retorted. She rose an eyebrow at him.

"Who says I slipped up? I let you catch me."

"A little late to be protecting your pride, don't you think?" She shrugged. He narrowed his eyes at her, and started towards her slowly. "You armed?" He asked her. The woman simply rolled her eyes at him.

"What do you think? I just robbed one of the most famous museums in the country. Of course I'm armed."

"Just double checking. You gonna fire it?"

"I may be a criminal, but I'm still a lady." She said in mock indignation. He approached her without hesitation then, pinning both her wrists behind her back and cuffing her.

"I find that hard to believe," he mumbled before he started listing her Miranda Rights.

Looks like he was pulling an all-nighter.

The ride back to the precinct was longer than he expected. It wasn't the distance, or even the traffic. He was well used to the slow-moving streets of the Big Apple. But growing up here meant he knew all the back roads and shortcuts. He could easily navigate most of Manhattan without much issue, and could blow through the Bronx in no time at all by city standards. He was a New Yorker in the most definite sense, and he felt it and felt proud of it everyday.

No, the real reason the drive was agonizingly prolonged was the company. The woman was seated in the back seat of his car, an infuriatingly smug grin on her face. She seemed satisfied that she'd been caught in the act, as if this had been her plan all along. Either she was completely nuts or very, very clever. He was willing to put money on the latter.

As he pulled into the parking garage, he looked over his shoulder at her. And damn that woman, she was still smirking at him! What was her problem? He sighed in exasperation and hauled himself out of the car, opening the backdoor and dragging her out. "I wonder if this could be classified as police brutality or not," she said in a teasingly contemplative tone.

"It's not." He replied flatly, hustling her to the elevator. They stepped inside, and he pushed the button for the correct floor. As the doors slid shut, she peered at him from the corner of her eye.

"You know," she began. "It's rather rude to arrest someone without even introducing yourself. Rather poor manners, especially for a police officer." He rolled his eyes at that. Only this woman would be interested in the identity of the cop who had arrested her. She was already in custody though, so why not humor her a little?

"Captain Anthony Williams." He stated in a deadpan. She seemed to tense at his words, much to his confusion and annoyance. He was too damn old for all of this anyway. He'd pass her off to Paul and head home. That's what he'd do, even if she did intrigue him.

"Are you going to interrogate me," he could see her swallow heavily before she managed his name. "Captain Williams?"

"No," He responded hesitantly. There were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, and her breathing was shallow. He hadn't expected this reaction; it was one he was totally unfamiliar with. Criminals didn't usually cry when being refused an interrogation. "I'll be handing you off to another officer. Then I'm going home." She gasped at this, making him even more uncomfortable. Over thirty years as a police officer and Anthony had never met such an unsettling person.

"Stop the elevator." She muttered. "Stop it!" the second time it was louder and more urgent. Anthony quickly reached out and pressed the button that would stop their upward motion. He stared at her, half in disbelief and half in anger.

"Why?" He nearly shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you? One minute you're the most brazenly confident woman I've ever seen and the next you're still and quiet as a mouse. What's your game?" He was frustrated beyond belief now. He was tired, exhausted, and yet so painfully curious about what her story was. Everyone had a story in this city, and he knew almost every one that mattered. Now he didn't, and it tugged at his self-control.

She turned in his grasp, gazing up at him in defiance and something he couldn't name if he tried. She looked like a wild animal in the dim blue light of the powered-off elevator, desperately trying to break out of her cage. "Uncuff me." She said.

"No!" He snarled. "Why in God's name would I do that?"

"Uncuff. Me." She insisted. "We're on a shutdown elevator in a police station at one in the morning. Where am I going?" He conceded that she did have a point, but he was never one to break easily. He was a stubborn man. His mother always said it was her side of the family shining through. That kind of statement had always made him smile, because she knew damn well that was wrong and she didn't care.

"Give me one good reason to." He argued. The woman's eyes were pleading, her tears still refusing to fall. She was too strong, he realized. Too strong to let anyone see her cry.

"Please," she begged him. "Please, Anthony, please." He glared at her for a moment before bowing his head in defeat. He spun her around so he could get at her back, unlocking the cold steel encasing her wrists. They dropped away into his hands and he slipped them into his coat pocket. She slowly brought her hands infront of her, rubbing her tender wrists before looking him dead in the eye and giving him a watery smile. Then she did possibly the most unexpected thing she could in her given situation.

She pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

Dumbstruck by this turn of events, Anthony couldn't think of anything else to do but wrap his arms around her. The embrace this strange woman held him in was… comforting in a way. He felt all the stress of his life and his job melt away to be replaced by a warm, gooey feeling he only ever got when hugging his mother. He hadn't felt that since she'd passed away.

The woman released him after several minutes, and just stood back and grinned happily at him. He smiled slightly back, just a half-smile. It was the best anyone got out of him these days. Her eyes scanned over him from head to toe, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, look at you!" She gushed. "I remember when you were so small, just a tiny baby."

"I'm sorry?" He asked in bewilderment. "I've never met you before in my life. Besides which, you don't look like you could be much older than me, if at all." She laughed then, a deep musical sound that reminded him of a song. The smirk was back now full force as she beamed up at him.

"Oh no, sweet boy. I'm much older than I appear. And don't you dare ask how old, I still haven't fully forgiven you for your rudeness earlier!" He nodded stiffly, for some reason believing her. He supposed that all the stories he'd been told growing up had affected him more deeply than he thought. His mother always told him that absolutely nothing was impossible, that he could touch the stars if he truly wanted to, and he'd never doubted her. Perhaps his childhood fantasies were finally catching up with him.

Anthony ran a hand through his white hair, eyebrows creased and mouth set in a shape similar to that of a gaping fish. He stared at this extraordinary woman who'd confused him and warmed him so much, and there was only one question he could think to ask.

"Who are you?"

The tears in her eyes were still there as she reached up and took his face in her hands, never falling, even if they were happy ones. "I'm called River Song," She said slowly, letting every word sink into him. "But my name,my real name, is Melody Pond."

Anthony staggered back at her admittance, eyes wide and disbelieving. "No…" he breathed out.

"Yes," She replied with that maddening smirk. "I'm afraid so, baby brother."

His mind spun with the revelation. He'd been eleven years old when he asked his mother and father why he couldn't have a sibling. They'd thought he was old enough to know then, so they sat him down and told their son the tragedy and triumph of Melody Pond. Rory and Amelia had woven a tale of monsters you couldn't remember and a madwoman bent on destroying the Raggedy Man from his bedtime stories, and the baby girl that was stolen to be a weapon used against him. He'd cried for his parents and older sister, for the Doctor and his guilt. Up until that point all his parents' adventures had been make-believe stories designed to get him to sleep at night. It was then he knew they were real, because not even his mother in her endless creativity could imagine things so horrific as her baby melting in her arms or watching her psychotic daughter kill her best friend in cold blood and laugh it off as if it were a joke. He knew in his heart that Melody was real, they she'd lived and died and lived and died and lived and that she was the most incredible person in the universe. Even more so than the Doctor. She had married him after all.

And now here she was, impossible amazing Melody Pond in all her dangerous glory; his sister, standing before him in a frozen elevator. He'd imagined what it'd be like to meet her ever since he'd been told about her, but he'd never dreamed it would end up like this. Him arresting her for stealing from the Museum of Natural History and chasing her down through Central Park. Not the ideal way to meet you're long lost sibling.

He just stares at her for a long minute before reaching out to restart the elevator. She raises a puzzled eyebrow at him, obviously wondering if she was still under arrest. As the lights come back on he looks down at her, that same half-smile still on his face. "So why did you still that artifact?" He asks suddenly.

"A girl can only take life at the university for so long at a time, dear brother. I was dreadfully bored." He huffs in amusement at her answer before staging another question.

"You drink coffee?"

"Black." She replies simply.

"Only way to do it."

The elevator arrives on the designated floor. Anthony steps out, River close behind. Paul eyes him as he jogs around to his desk, opens the drawer and fakes finding his wallet.

"I thought you went home?" His colleague asks him. Anthony shrugs and holds up his wallet. Paul shakes his head at his friend's unusual absentmindedness. "And who's your beautiful friend?" He questions again with a charming smile in River's direction.

"Don't even think about it, pal," Anthony half-scolds him as he grabs her hand and leads her back into the elevator. He pushes the button and really smiles, blue eyes shining and crinkling at the corners. "That's my sister you're talking about."