The Doctor is dreaming.
The sky is grey and the path is wandering. He trips, stumbles, and falls, the ground scraping him up as he skids across. He stands up, breathless and runs, from what evil he isn't quite sure, only knows he must keep on. Leaving. Coming. Going. Running.
The darkness seems to stretch out in front of him, and reach behind him, not like fingers clawing, no more like the world is being swallowed as he stands still. When had he stopped? A figure appeared to his right, a dark-haired girl, familiar.
"Christina?" he asks, and the girl shakes her head. The Doctor tries to ask her more, but she is already dissolving, falling apart like atoms, a hundred points of light. She presses a map into his hands. He barely has time to glance down at it before he's popped into the TARDIS, the sense of urgency ebbing away.
Sexy takes off on her own, and he settles in for the ride. Until someone screams.
He rushes to open the double doors and a fresh chorus of screams are followed by a wave of blistering heat as smoke pours in. The console room is rendered a complete haze as voices call out from beyond a blaze he cannot see.
Every one a memory, every one more painful than the last. He struggles forward, never getting close, until an explosive force knocks him back against the console.
The Doctor wakes with a start, both hearts hammering as the world comes into focus. He can hear the whirs, click, and wheezes of the TARDIS at rest, see the swooping waves of his ceiling, verify a lack of barbecued air and a slight hint of perfume. Sitting up, rocket print sheets ruffle under him, as River rolls over and wraps an arm around his waist. Her curls are slightly scrunched, but she is too weary to have been sleeping. She's secure in the knowledge that the Doctor will not notice, or at least that he will not ask.
"You promised not to let me fall asleep." He pouts, managing to be both infuriating and adorable at once. River slides a hand under his button front pyjamas, rubbing along his bare chest.
"You needed to rest," she mumbles, feeling more like his mother than his wife. She suspects that all wives feel this way though she hasn't had a chance to ask. Still feeling his hearts beat their rhythm against his ribs, she watches in amusement as he searches for a better answer than the one he ultimately gives.
"No I didn't. How would you know? You're not here all the time." As his defence grows increasingly agitated, he tugs her hand from him and stares down at it. River rolls over and gets up. The bed creeks under her shifting weight and her smile fades as she pulls herself upright.
"I always know," she replies quietly, rolling the sleep out of her shoulders. More comfortable silence follows, and after a moment, wordlessly River returns to bed. The Doctor offers no objection as his hand slips into hers.
She could see his insomnia in the drag in his tone, in a slightly dimmed smile, the luminescent quality of his generally pale skin. Everything about him screams that he has not slept in weeks. So she'd tucked him into bed, under some vague excuse about normal life she hardly remembers after the words left her lips. It is, she supposed, the after effect of a life full of lies. "Hmpf, I missed all of our time."
"Not all of it. We'll make a quick trip. Steal something." She yanks him out of bed, and slipped out of her clothing. Go change, you'd look ridiculous going out like that, even more than normal." River bounced off down the hall and the Doctor obeys her orders with little enthusiasm.
By the time the Doctor makes it to the console, River is already waiting by the doors, and all but shoved him out into a sitting room. "Where?"
She clamps a hand over his mouth, shushing him instantly. "Don't ask questions and keep your voice down. You could wake the dead."
No sooner does she release his mouth, than he insists on prattling on about her expression. "I have woken the dead, River and it worked nothing like being loud. Such a silly concept."
River abandons the argument in favour of methodical tearing apart of a bookshelf. She can feel his eyes on her before she even makes it halfway through the first shelf. "Photo album," she hisses. "Help me look." To his credit, the Doctor immediately joins her fevered hunt without further prompting. Together, they pluck book after book off a completely lined wall, scan the titles and set them back. She make the mistake of looking at the Doctor only once, his pained expression enough to make that a mistake. She can only guess how he feels reading over titles on stockholm syndrome, brainwashing, and abnormal psychology, wedged between technical weapons manuals and the occasional history volume. One day, in the far off future or far off past, he would understand; today is not that day. She places over a hand over his and whispers, "it's important. Please."
The troubled Time Lord startles and snaps free of his daze. "Okay. Yeah." In silence, they resume combing the shelves, as River's glances to the room door grow more frequent. A different kind of danger beyond the darkness. Footfall sounds as the Doctor holds up the end goal of their journey.
River snatches the small album from him, flipping hurriedly. She isn't sure what would be worst: the Doctor discovering her sentimental aims, or being caught by Madame Kovarian and her underlings, or perhaps discovering herself. Two out of three could cause a temporal cataclysm, and the last one could break her heart. Pushing that thought away, she tore out a few of the photographs and shoved the book back in its hole.
The Doctor, ever curious, is nearly at the door, screwdriver out and scanning. River grabs him by the elbow, hauling him into the TARDIS so quick that he nearly tumbles over. His momentum sends him towards the console, and when she says, "time to go sweetie," his fingers are already working at the controls. Doors shut and open, the room is examined, but the TARDIS is dematerialising, the ghost of the engine's grinding lingering as they pull into the holding pattern. They park temporarily in the vortex.
She can see his stare directed at the photographs clutched tightly in her hands. He doesn't ask questions. Instead he says, "that's a different kind of date," and flashes her his most boyish grin. He crosses the room and holds her very tightly, and they listen to the hums, and whirs, and clicks, swaying gently to the machine's music. He lets her go, only because he has to. As he drops her off, he waves from his place at the console. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Something lighter?" she suggests.
He brightens. "How about a planet made of ice cream?"
That elicits a genuine laugh. "Okay. One planet made of ice cream, Doctor. I'll be waiting." River sets out of the box and doesn't stop walking until she's sure he has flown away. She takes one more glance at the photographs, her history, and sighs. "I love you," she says out into the wind.