The first time that Melody said his name, she'd taken his name in vain. The name dropped out of her mouth in a flash of white anger that dissipated the moment she turned her head to the left. The remnants had burned through her memory and left a stain. She was used to the holes, like hers was a mind to be munched on by moths. When she looked back into the corner to the new and familiar face staring back at her, Melody remembered in patches. Her mind was being sewn shut.
Doctor.
That was a name reserved for the very fiercest of memories. That was a name reserved for story time. That was a name reserved for the quiet prayers that ran through her head and popped like fireworks in her brain. Mother always said his name best; she always made it sound like a punch to the air, like hardened rocks hitting the sky. Melody remembered her mother because her mother looked just like her. She remembered her hair and her eyes (oh especially those eyes). One was always hiding but she would have sworn it could bear a hole right through her chest should she ever see it. It wasn't missing. She could count on that.
Doctor?
Why had she said his name, why had she- oh yes. Mother had told her some new story, of the Doctor destroying yet another alien race. And Melody had been angry. Why had she been angry?
Another head turn-and then Melody went to school, ignoring the itch at the back of her head and the pain in her heart.
Melody had learned that her real mother was the red-headed girl in her second grade class only six months later. The nightmare stories never stopped and Melody never stopped calling Madame Kovarian Mother when she prayed to every monster and every devil late at night.
The next time Melody had said his name, she'd said it in murmured prayer with her hands folded underneath the blankets as she watched the door that hadn't been open just a second ago.
She learned his Name on a snowy evening. It had been cold and he had been warm and they'd slipped into each other like melting snow and dripped onto each other's tongues. She didn't remember how they had met this time but he'd looked at her like she was a gift and she knew that it'd been too long for him.
They hadn't said a word yet; they hadn't needed to until-
"River." His nose was in her hair and his arms were wrapped around her middle as they sat on the floor of the TARDIS, watching as vague hints of snowfall glided outside the windows.
"Doctor."
His name had been soothed on her tongue. It had started out as hot and liquid, scalding coffee in her throat. That's how she remembered it as a child: a curse. Then she had learned to tame him and she tamed his name. It had melted until it was honey, smooth and cool and full of love, even for all its rough consonants.
"River. River," he repeated. "Sounds like itself. Like onomatopoeia, like the sound of water over rock, y'know? Like all the molecules are slipping and sliding like they're-"
"Mhm," she nodded, closing her eyes. She pressed her head against him further, reaching her mind out to quiet his own. It never worked. In the middle of all his talk and racing thoughts, she'd found the very ghost of a word. It had disappeared almost as soon as she'd noticed it, but she felt his eyes fly open.
She tilted her head back to see if she could see his face. She couldn't. Turning around in his arms, she faced him with her legs crossed. She bit her lip just enough to give him an excuse to lean forward and kiss her mouth chastely, a hurried offering.
"Doctor?"
A hesitation. His plan hadn't worked. He opened his mouth to release a tirade about a planet made entirely of knitted yarn and how the atmosphere got so thick with little bits that clung to tree branches and to hair and should River go there it'd be impossible to ever get it all out and they'd have to find something to do to fix it.
Instead, he said, "yeah," breathlessly. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes open while hers were shut with concentration, and she felt it again. It was rough, like sandpaper. It chafed her mind but she couldn't separate herself. It was heavy and some of it slipped into the holes, sinking down her neck and pooling in her heart. It dripped hot, more like coffee, but... icy cold. Like a whole planet could be swallowed up into nothingness should vocal chords ever stretch and vibrate to make it. Like metal. Like every color hair and every color face and the whole world that was one man. A name that was bigger on the inside, like him, like her, like her.
Soon, she had nothing but the familiar sound of the TARDIS and his breathing at her back. Her legs went numb and so did his but they stayed right where they were, for once.
The next time she'd heard his name, it was from her own lips. It was in the dark of night, no snow, no heat, just cold metal biting into their skin as her legs wrapped around his waist and friction induced love and heat induced friction. He hadn't said a word, but they both thought of war and snow and blank pages of diaries.
The first time she'd taken his Name in vain was the last time she'd said it aloud. It had been when he'd had that new face, that new haircut, that new girl. He had no idea. He'd looked at her but it hadn't been him.
River Song Melody Pond Doctor Song- wife.
All her names had become dust in his mouth. She fought the dust, fought the crumbling in her knees, and fought for him. She'd taken him aside, had held her breath as she read from her diary. She'd frozen her thoughts when he'd flinched from her hand. She was ice. Her name had become garbled. A waterfall in his mouth. He hadn't learned how to tame it yet. It was still a rush, it was still hail and ice and snow and froze his throat as it slid down.
She had used all her other weapons, she stood on tip-toe and whispered his Name and prayed harder than she ever had. She prayed to every monster she'd ever killed and to every monster that still haunted her. She prayed to the monsters they'd never faced and to the monsters they'd never face.
When she stood back, he looked at her and still saw a stranger.
And that's when she knew: the first time she'd taken his Name in vain was the last time she'd ever say it. And so, just like when she'd used his name for the first time, Melody (noRivernowait-wife) turned her head and ignored the pain in her heart.