Crows Feet
River stood in front of the mirror, her wet hair hanging limply over her shoulders, dripping little beads of water on the floor. She looked miserably at the tired reflection staring back at her, at the little lines at the corners of her eyes, and at the shadows that surrounded them, like the thunderclouds that surrounded the storm cage. Prison hadn't done her many favours recently. She sighed and turned away from the mirror, sick of scrutinising her reflection. Comfy cloths and a spot of make up, that all she needed.
She pulled on one of her mother's old baggy jumpers and a pair of plain black sweat pants and returned, somewhat reluctantly, to the mirror. She pulled her hair back into a messy pony tale and started rooting around in her make up bag until she found what she was looking for.
"Don't even think about it." River jumped at the sound of his voice and lowered her blusher brush.
"Don't do that!" she said glaring at the Doctor though the mirror. "You startled me." She mumbled. He grinned devilishly at her.
"I didn't think that was possible." She rolled her eyes and raised her brush once more and the Doctor slid up behind her, wrapping his arms around her to catch her hand in his own. He lowered it slowly and held her in his arms, leaning his chin on her shoulder to whisper in her ear.
"I mean it Dr Song. One more move and the make up gets it." She shrugged him off.
"Stop it." She grumbled. She started peering at the lines on her face again and the doctor sighed.
"River," he said, "tell me what's wrong." She turned around to look at him and sighed.
"It's silly really." She said trying to force a smile.
"River, nothing that upsets you could ever be silly." She looked down at her hands.
"You wouldn't understand." She mumbled. "How could you? You're perfect. You'll never look a day older than thirty." she added bitterly. He placed his hand under her chin and raised her face slowly so that she was staring into his beautiful old eyes.
"I love you Dr Song." He said, the shadow of a smile lingering about the corners of his mouth. "And your apparent age means nothing to me. You're prefect just as you are." She smiled weakly.
"Even with crows feet?"
"Crows feet and all." He grinned. "Remember Dr Song that I have looked old enough to be you grandfather!" she laughed at this, that wonderful, spine tingling laugh that made him smile just to hear it.
"I know." She smiled. "I've seen pictures." He grimaced. "You're really just a dirty old man aren't you." She grinned.
"Well," he said, "Old yes, but I don't know about dirty." He pouted, making her chuckle again.
"Don't worry." She said, "I've always had a thing for older men."
"Lucky for me then because I am at least eleven hundred or so years older than you." He smiled, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear, looking at her lovingly. "River your perfect the way you are." He said softly.
"Say it again." She purred. He leaned in close, so close that their lips mere millimetres from each other.
"I think you are prefect."
"One more time." She breathed. He captured her lips with his own and held her, locked in a kiss that erased all her former qualms.
"You're perfect." He whispered.