You Always Knew
By: vievere
Part 1 of 3

X . x . X.

Tomorrow River Song would go on trial for murder and would either go out in a burst of electricity through her veins or be locked into a prison cell for the rest of her days. Neither of the two was altogether pleasant to think about, but River at least hoped the Doctor would somehow be able to interfere and return the favor of saving his life by saving her own. He owed her a favor, after all. Ten, to be exact.

Her father had always said she would end up in prison one day. For once, she really hoped he was right.

She felt exhausted and raw, her spirit worn and half-shattered after hours of questioning by gruff, angry investigators who hated her because she had killed their boyhood hero. Tomorrow was her trial, where she would undoubtedly be charged with murder. After all, she had plead guilty and admitted with fraught tears to killing him. River Song was an excellent, excellent actress. Years of living a lie in Leadworth had taught her to manage through and convincingly concoct every lie. It was no trouble playing the distressed assassin, guilty at the blood on her hands.

She knew the Silence must have been there. She hadn't had a marker, but she could see the clear red scratches in small lines which crossed all over her arms; scratches she recognized because she didn't remember creating them. Thirty-seven marks. And so she'd sobbed and said she didn't want to do it and told them she couldn't stop it, that she had to do it. She was programmed to.

River had said it wasn't her fault, while admitting she did it. An admission of responsibility with enough desperation and guilt in her tone to make the Silence think she was heartbroken and distressed by what she had allegedly done. Otherwise, they would be suspicious. They knew she loved him, Kovarian had taunted her with it, and a silent and resolute resignation would only have made them suspicious.

For awhile she forgot she was innocent, falling into character and losing her touch on the truth she would take to her own death. She may have come off a bit mad. Desperate and wild and guilt stricken and out of control. But that might have been catalyzed by the bright lights and tallies and the knowledge that at one time she had killed him. The guilt was there. The idea of the Doctor being dead, which they constantly flung in her face, made it all the easier to play the part. And with hot tears and sobbing and thrashing movements, she had convincingly conveyed the character she was meant to play.

She had convinced them all. River Song was dangerous and guilty, distraught and unhinged by her crime. They didn't suspect the truth, to her relief. She hoped the show had been good enough for the Silence, for Kovarian.

And now she was in Stormcage.

How long had it been since time had spun all at once around them, as they fasted their hands and she saw into his eyes? Hours, days? How much time as passed since time had started? She hadn't the faintest idea, her memory bleached out by white, clinical interrogation rooms and emotional torture as she force fed lies that broke her.

River was mostly sure she hadn't really killed the Doctor. No, no, she was sure. She hadn't, no, that's why she turned herself in. She hadn't really killed him, it just appeared that way. But she'd said so many times she had killed him, the fiction of the lie was beginning to seep out of her exhausted brain. But no, she hadn't killed him this time. He was alive, safe. Alive, alive, alive.

The thought made her smile into the rough, thin fabric of the pillow she'd been given when they'd locked her in the cold, bare holding cell. She was alone and could think, finally able to sort out her truths and her lies.

She hadn't killed him. She had stopped time. She loved him. And he had married her. Why? She couldn't begin to understand. A dying Doctor had told her years ago, on his last breath, that he had loved River Song. And she was River Song now. Did he love her? Like she loved him? It didn't matter, she decided. She'd given him everything. Her lives, her hearts, her childhood, her freedom, her future. What did it matter if he felt the same? So long as he came for her, so long as he forgave her. Always and completely.

Her thoughts were almost in perfect order and clarity when she began to drift. The wisps of a dream about Amy traveling around in a life-sized version of the handmade, cardboard TARDIS Mels had helped her paint had just begun to shape when she was startled awake by the most horrid and most magnificent sound she had ever heard.

The TARDIS. He'd come for her. She had both been expecting him to save her and abandon her, with neither side having a definitive lead over the other. But if she had expected him at all, it had not been then.

River bolted off the mattress, taking the two steps to the metal bars and clutching them tightly as the bright blue box materialized outside her cell. He had come for her. That action was enough to set her right, bringing happy wetness to her eyes that she had to blink away. Before she had time to take a breath of much needed life into her lungs, the TARDIS door had flown open.

He stepped out and she was astounded by the sight, lit up in warm orange light.

She was greeted by the most unexpected of sights. And she had never, ever been this surprised in her life.

The Doctor. In a papoose. With a baby.

"You have a baby." It slipped out, the disbelief making its way to her tongue as her brain struggled to accept the image. She was never surprised, not ever. The Doctor was the only one to ever manage the emotion out of her, but this was intangibly unthinkable. The Doctor in a papoose. A baby. Arriving the night before her trial. With a baby, of all things.

What?

"River?" he sounded anxious, halting at the door of the TARDIS when he realized where he was. He looked around, head whipping back and forth. He made a face, "Oh dear, this isn't Amy's house." He looked down at the baby, then back at River, managing a small, distracted grin. "Yes, well. Nice to see you, love!"

The Doctor struggled out of the papoose and River feared for a moment the baby would fall out, but then he tossed the thing aside and held the baby. He hurried towards her cell, unlocking it and disabling the alarm with a flick of his sonic screwdriver. The action was quick, quick enough to make River think he had done it many, many times before. The Doctor quickly strode close to her and held the baby out to her, like she was supposed to know what to do with it.

"Yes, well, I have to run." He held the baby out towards her, transferring it over into her unexpecting arms, "Here, have a baby." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, then River's, startling her infinitely.

The entire scene was too strange. And she had no established response to it.

"What?" she choked out, unwittingly accepting the bundle as she stared, wide eyed, from him to the baby. A tiny little face, a frowsy patch of red hair, a sweet little nose, surprisingly inquisitive eyes, blue outfit and ducks on its socks. River had never held a baby, or been around one, before. Not once. And she was holding one. Why was she holding a baby? A why, for god's sake, had the Doctor handed it to her?

A blaring alarm went off from the black and orange handheld computer strapped on his wrist. He startled, as did the baby, and looked down at the device, "Oh! I have to go. Your turn to babysit. Be back in a flash. Gotta go do dangerous stuff, save a world. Xebsla, very dangerous, not a place for babies."

He paused, evidently worried she would be cross with him, "Well, it was very baby friendly. I swear! Nice parks, brilliant parks we were going to play in! With baby slides! Amy said he's too young for slides, even baby slides, but I think it would be okay. And you're okay with it, I'm sure." He lightly touched the baby's forehead and grinned fondly at it before turning his eyes up sheepishly at her, "But then the grouchy frog lady protesters came and decided they'd like to blow up the planet because they may have cut down a forest or ten and stolen some metal from some mines or something to build said parks. Didn't even get to go down one baby slide! But anyway. Need to disable a bomb. Be back in five minutes."

He turned around and scurried out of the cell, like he was afraid of some rage, leaving River awkwardly holding the infant as he spun back and flicked the cell closed. She gasped in a breath, clutching the child closer to her out of fear of dropping it and fearing him leaving her alone, in a prison, with a stranger's baby.

She watched him head back to the TARDIS in alarm, then found her voice, crying out desperately, "Wait! Why do you have a baby with you? Why do I need to care for it? When will you be back?"

The Doctor halted, freezing his fast pace. He seemed to tense, then looked back at her. He observed the awkward way she held the child, his face changing from fear of a scolding to realization that he had really, really messed up. He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at the TARDIS as he pressed a hand to the door. He let out a frustrated sound and glared at the blue, hitting his head once on the door, "REALLY, wrong River. Not helpful, dear. Not at all."

River realized he meant to take this baby to a different her. An older her. And he wasn't surprised to see her in prison, that was good. So lifelong sentence seemed to be the verdict for tomorrow. It also meant she must somehow know this child in the future. And the Doctor trusted her with it, that was good. Trust was always good. Her tired mind spun, trying to grasp at comprehension, unable to lead her thoughts further as she recessed back into the single thought, "What?"

The Doctor looked at her carefully, cautiously getting closer to her and the locked cell. "How early is this for you?" He looked at the empty cell, the unsure and confused River, and blanched when he realized.

"Oh, this is very, very not good. Not good, not good, not good." He made a face, paced towards her, and then the alarm on his wrist went off again. He made an annoyed squeak, looking frantically between the TARDIS and River and his handheld with its alarm and the now-whining baby. It would be comical, the way his focus shifted, if River wasn't so utterly lost and frightened by the baby's small whimpers.

"Gah, I have to go, now. No time. Narrow window of safety…" he trailed off, looking at her and the baby, "I'm so very sorry, River. I didn't mean to…" He gulped and walked slowly backwards, "But I've got to go. But I'll be right back. And I'll make this up to you, I swear. Just please watch him for a little while."

He reached into the inner pocket of his tweed, withdrawing what looked like a piece of white, geometrical plastic. He tossed it at her through the bars, and was mildly impressed when she caught it with catlike, unconscious reflex, despite her hands being filled with baby. He watched her drop it on the mattress, jaw flexing as he forced out, "Take this, perception filter. It'll keep the guards from noticing the little one. Very handy. And I am very sorry, dear."

And then he was gone. Retreating from the situation he had just created.

River had never before even been around a baby. She looked down at the tiny creature with dread, fear etched onto every line of her face. What if she dropped it? What if the perception filter didn't work? What was his name? Where did he come from? Who did he belong to? Her thoughts went to Amy. Hadn't he mentioned her? Perhaps this was her little brother. Or maybe the child of someone he was saving. Unlikely, but she didn't know.

The baby made unhappy gurgles at her.

Mum?

She almost jumped, shocked at the telepathic brush with the soft, warm bundle in her arms.

My god, did she speak baby?

She was going mad. But no, she knew a psychic transfer when she observed one. On some life forms, it was often easy to tell what a person was thinking. Even with Amy and Rory, she'd occasionally been able to accidentally catch traces of thought through touch telepathy. A bit of the Time Lady in her. The baby couldn't form words, per say, but the feelings conveyed sent a clear message that seemed to translate it's thoughts from wordless impressions into English. She did speak baby.

Mummy?

"No, I'm not your mum."

You don't smell like mummy. And mummy holds me different.

She got the impression that she was supposed to hold him more on her hip, less stiffly held with a hand clutched around it. The baby seemed to fit snugly in the new position, and made a happy gurgle.

"Better, love?" she cooed, too tired and confused to really question why she seemed to like the feeling of the infant in her arms. It was odd, a new sensation. Comforting. It filled her with something, an emotion she was too mystified to find a name for.

Where is daddy and mummy? The blue box?

"I don't know, sweetie." She grazed her fingers lightly down the soft skin of the round cheeks, pressing a kiss to the baby's head. He liked that, she sensed. She bit back how pleased that made her and promised in a lyrical, soft tone she'd never heard herself use before, "But when the Doctor gets back, he'll sort you all out and get you back home. The TARDIS is with him. Do you like the TARDIS? You seem to. You think it's warm and very blue and happy and safe. Me too."

A tired smile touched her lips, "I'm talking to a baby. A baby, oh dear. I am just as bad as him. Said he spoke baby, according to Amy. And I suppose I do, too."

The baby didn't seem to comprehend her replies, she noticed, so she supposed she didn't truly speak baby. She just understood baby. What a liar, he probably didn't speak baby either. Nonsense, he simply just read its small thoughts and feelings, interpreting them any which way he chose. Like she was doing. Oh, she was just as bad as him.

Where did they go? Who are you?

"The Doctor is saving people right now, but he'll be back for you soon and will take you where you're supposed to be, I promise. My name's Melody Pond." She used the long dormant name, feeling more like this little ginger must be her brother. He had to be a Pond, the Doctor wouldn't be able to resist a baby Pond. He was ginger, as much of a red-head as her mother. And surely Amy, in all her faith, would somehow, stupidly convince Rory to let the Doctor babysit. Not a smart choice, really, but she could picture it. She was almost certain, really, this was a Pond. Her little brother. She continued talking to the boy, her voice a sweet lull, "Are you a Pond too, little one?"

The baby whined and she didn't know what he wanted. She hummed, pressing a kiss to the boy's soft forehead. They stayed like that for minutes, River observing the red hair and brain contemplating a thousand things. The baby's eyes began to droop, and she instinctively shifted him to cradle the boy in her arms.

"You're so precious." She whispered out, truly surprised by how natural it felt to hold the little child. She felt a kinship to him and with one-hundred percent certainty, she knew this was a descendent of the Ponds. Amy and Rory held this baby, loved it like they would have loved her. She was happy for them, for her parents that never got to be parents and were now given the chance. As the she gentle rocked the infant in her arms, the baby drifting to sleep, her mind played a cruel trick on her.

You'll never be a mother. You'll never get to rock your own child like this.

The thought made her stop rocking, her hearts seeming to stop in their peaceful beats. The thought struck deep, sending a metallic chill through every cell of her body. River felt desolate and horrified at the idea, and this very response built a surprise in her once the bitter pain shifted to her belly. She'd never once thought about having children. It never crossed her mind, truly. She was trained not to consider things like that, the domestic, and not to want it. And she had only just got married, rather suddenly, in a ceremony that probably didn't even count. And the Doctor. She wasn't sure what she meant to him or where they were headed. But oh, the Doctor's child. That would be something wonderful, something brilliant. A little face like his, in her arms.

She wanted that. More than anything.

That startling realization brought tears into her eyes, because it was abundantly clear that was simply impossible. They weren't biologically compatible, she was too human. And she would be in prison then, wouldn't she? And he wouldn't want that life, would he? He had a family in the past he'd lost, she knew about Susan. She knew about his countless, meaningless marriages that dotted across history and the planets. He'd lost his family, the only one that counted, in the Time War. He was done with all that, very done. And it was too domestic, too human.

And why would he want to have kids with her? A psychopath willing to tear all of time apart for one man. She was unstable. Not mother material. She couldn't keep anything alive, not a plant or a fish. In her home economics class, the one she'd taken with Rory, she'd broken the egg and the plastic baby doll they'd been given within hours. She didn't have a motherly bone in her body, didn't know how to nurture. She'd never really grown up with a mum, she didn't know a thing about children.

And even if he did love her, how could he want kids with her? Why would he want to have River Song be the father of his children?

She'd never hold her own baby.

River Song closed her eyes tightly, the inevitable conclusion tearing her apart. Like the final straw. A day full of accusations and glares and hating herself and endless questions and lies. Loving him, tearing apart the universe for him, wanting him to love her with at least a fraction of one of his hearts. And now this, a broken dream she never realized she had.

A silent sob broke through, tears spilling down her cheeks, and the baby in her arms, her little brother, suddenly felt like a heavy burden.

X . x . X.