Disclaimer: We don't own Doctor Who or any of its affiliated characters, props, settings, etc.
That aside, this is a little piece co-authored by myself and one of my best friends. We've known each other for seven years, and we came up with this idea at lunch one day, thinking it would be fun to write. Well, that was three months ago, and we finally sat down and wrote it. We've got some other 11/River stories planned, but we'd love to hear your thoughts on this one first, before we go on. Also, if you've got any ideas for this story or for others in the future, please let us know! We appreciate reviews! Enjoy!
It's Been a While
A Joint Fanfiction by Riley Pickett and Faye M.A.
The stars shone exceptionally bright that night. She couldn't see them, but she knew. A paradigm shift had altered her reality in a fraction of a second; it's amazing how quickly things can be destroyed and made whole again, yet, there was always one man at the center of it who just couldn't keep himself away.
It's been twenty-four hours since her wedding, and River Song still hasn't seen a trace of her husband. Curse of the Time Lords.
She wasn't the type to linger aimlessly on what could have been. Time was too precious for that. And with time streams going back to front, she had to make the most of every minute with him. Anticipation mixed with dread every time she heard the phases of the TARDIS, realizing one more moment in his arms was one less adventure to come. She picked up her journal tenderly, leafing through the worn and time-stained pages, reminiscing on what was to come in his life, and clinging to a hope that her future would not decrescendo into oblivion.
For a moment, she thought she was willing herself to hear it – that dwelling on his presence would force him to materialize.
"Hi, honey, I'm home."
She turned around to witness fifty shades of blue oscillating, shifting into the familiar shade and shape she knew so well.
"And what sort of wedding night do you call this?" she asked to the closed doors, knowing there would be a smug grin on the other side.
The doors flung open and she barely had time to process the tuxedo and top hat he was wearing before he launched into what she knew would be a defensive monologue. "I would have been here sooner, but the temporal shift in the external alignment regulators were acting up, which made the pistons act up, and… you see, she's just jealous and – "
He couldn't utter another syllable of made up technical jargon, as his mouth quickly found itself otherwise engaged. She pulled away, eyebrows raised in a critical stare, wondering if he had anything to say for himself now. A boyish blush colored his cheeks as he pulled off his top hat and drug his hand through his hair; letting slip a nervous giggle.
"Did the Oncoming Storm just giggle?" she asked incredulously.
He cleared his throat and adjusted his bowtie, not wanting to lose his cool.
"Time Lords don't giggle," he assured her with an air of self-confidence. "Besides, don't you want to know why I'm here?"
She was caught by his question – he had a way of doing that, darn him. He ran excitedly into the TARDIS, motioning for her to follow him. She had no excuse not to – to honor and obey, she figured.
He'd already been off to retrieve the object of his fixation, and he was bounding back into the console room as she crossed the threshold. The excitement on his face fell marginally as she'd already walked in and shut the door.
"Oh, I was supposed to carry you!" He looked around sheepishly and finally met her gaze with pleading eyes as he began in a small and slightly ashamed voice, "Do-over? Or rain check?"
"Rain check," she said, moderately amused, eying the parcel he carried. "What's in the box?"
His smile returned once more as he ripped off the dusty brown paper and pulled out a swath of iridescent black fabric. Recognizing her confusion, he held it up for her to see – the sheen of the material glistening like obsidian in the blue-green light of the console.
"Doctor, it's beautiful," she managed. He set his jaw and looked aside – she could tell he was unsure of his footing, a rarity.
"It belonged to my wife," he began.
"But I've never seen it before," she countered.
"River," his voice dropped even quieter, "I've been married before. But I was also widowed a long time ago. I've been waiting to give it to my wife again, but after a thousand years of searching, I thought I'd given up."
She reached out and took his hand in hers, carefully receiving the dress in the other. With a squeeze to his hand, she left to go put on the sentimental garment, as he reached back, fiddling with the TARDIS console to distract himself.
When she emerged sometime later, his hearts were already beating out of rhythm. He heard her footsteps approaching, unable to find the courage to look up. It was her voice that broke the silence.
"I bet I don't wear it as well as she did." At this, he turned around, not sure if he'd rather face this or an entire army of Daleks. The dress clung to her in a modest, but flattering manner; a slit up one side revealing the smallest blush of leg. As she took a step forward and turned in a circle, he was able to appreciate the full effect.
Willing the dryness out of his mouth, he swallowed the tension in his throat.
"You look…"
"Sexy?" she supplied with a small grin.
"Fetching," he replied with the most genuine smile he'd shown in days.
"I love you. With all my heart."
"I love you more."
"Prove it."
He scoffed playfully. "Biological fact, dear. Two hearts. Beat that."
She rolled her eyes in sarcastic reply. "So, what's our destination tonight?" He didn't notice her inching closer with every breath.
"Well, I was thinking the World's Fair in nineteen-oh… kay…"
She encroached closer, placing a hand on his chest as she leaned even deeper. "Really, sweetie?"
"Well… what was your idea?" he fumbled for words.
"You don't remember?" she purred. "You were married before."
"It… I… things were different then!"
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Yes… no… time is relative."
She took his hand and walked with him towards an adjoining room.
"Don't worry," she reassured him. "I'm sure it will come back to you."
Closing the door behind them, he could almost feel his innards twist into knots – all sorts of wibbly-wobbly. He sat down on the bed, wringing his hands, beginning to explain.
"River, it really has been a long time –"
He was abruptly interrupted by the sound of fabric falling to the floor.
"How long exactly, do you think?" She sat down next to him, placing an electrifying hand on his inner thigh. He released a slow, tense breath, as he carefully calculated his answer.
"Nine hundred and twenty-some years, rounding down generously."
She smiled and shook her head, replying. "Doesn't matter; that's not terribly long."
She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, slowly and gingerly bringing him closer. As they kissed, she slid his jacket over his arms until it lay on the bed behind him. Instinctively, his arms wound around her back, unbuttoning his cuffs with practiced dexterity. His hands caressed the supple flesh of her back, fingers tracing their way to the satin strap beneath her shoulder blades. Continuing to let her explore his jawline with her lips, he found himself otherwise preoccupied with the befuddling contraption. Opening his eyes and knotting his brows in confusion, he tried to sneak a glance at the present struggle between his fingers and her undergarment.
In between kisses, she mumbled, "Something wrong, sweetie?"
He considered his options, then confidently stated, "No. Why would anything be wrong? I'm brilliant, I'm… I'm fantastic! How could anything possibly be wrong?"
"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" She pulled away and stared at him with a knowing glance.
"It's been a while," he admitted again.
She raised an eyebrow and he quickly added, "Turn around. Just… just… turn around. I need to see what I'm doing."
With a heavy sigh, she turned around and rested her elbow on her knee, chin heavy in her palm. The Doctor found himself increasingly frustrated by cumbersome fingers that didn't seem up to the challenge of unlatching two simple, metal hooks that seemed determined to ruin his evening. He made a mental note to practice later – or make a side visit to the 1700's to prevent this travesty from ever being invented.
"Wait…" he breathed. "Metal hooks."
A horribly brilliant yet terribly naive idea formulated in his mind, synapses firing a million miles a minute as he realized how to solve the problem.
"Wait here, I'll be right back," he declared with a mischievous gleam in his eye. He hurried out the door, excitedly, and River couldn't help but groan.
"Oh, sweetie…"
He returned a few seconds later, hands calmly clasped behind his back, grinning as if he knew something she didn't. He approached and with a flourish of the wrist, produced his sonic screwdriver. He sat down behind her triumphantly and began to murmur proudly, "Ah, the sonic screwdriver. It doesn't kill, doesn't maim, doesn't injure. But, it is extremely good at opening doors, locks and… this."
Victoriously, he pushed the black straps from her shoulders and planted a kiss in the crook of her neck. She turned around, laughing softly, pushing a haphazard lock of hair out of his face. He cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her with the latent desire of a thousand years.
And this time, he didn't stop.