"What, in the end, are any of us looking for? We're looking for someone who's looking for us." -Twelfth Doctor
Taking a long, hard look at her reflection, River lets out a sigh. For her, espionage and seduction have always gone hand in hand, both art forms that seemed infinitely easier when she wasn't smuggling a watermelon. But Jack was right; the only way to protect the Doctor was to gain his trust. And if he was going to let anyone get close to him, it was her.
"How do I look, Ethan?"
The machine blinks at her, a calculating tilt to its rectangular head. "Suitable for a humanoid female of indeterminate age."
"Flattery will get your everywhere," River retorts, but her teasing tone is lost on her vacuum with a voice box. Turning back to her mirror, River takes in her appearance with resigned satisfaction. They aren't the curves she's used to, not the ones he followed into war zones or tripped over himself to get to any time she wore a corset. Her hips don't sway quite the same as they once did and there's exhaustion behind her come-hither eyes. Even her hair has betrayed her, having become thicker and more unmanageable than ever before.
River does her best to remind herself that it wasn't her waistline that made the Doctor fall for her. They loved one another like the Earth does the sun, through solar storms and eons, with gravity that can't be explained and devotion that can't be compared. He loved her for her warmth and her rage and the light she poured into the darkness. Even as she repeats the promise of always in her mind like mantra, River still gravitates toward her most dangerous shade of lipstick. It isn't the poison that once adorned her lips like a honey trap. Now it's her armor, as red as the blood in her veins, and, like any good soldier, she never goes to war without it.
"Professor, may I make an inquiry?"
"You just did," River jests, fluffing her hair as she smirks at the android in the mirror.
The machine behind her has yet to master any form of wit, and after a moment of electronic whirring, he finally processes her remark. "May I make another?"
"Go on, then," River exhales, granting the poor dear a reprieve as she sets her sights on her shoes.
His binocular-like eyes follow her across the room, its dry, computer-animated voice not exactly the soundtrack she hoped for before a night of courting. "From my understanding of human social customs, the amount of breast tissue you have on display indicates a desire to mate."
River glances down at her cleavage. The dress did showcase a rather generous amount of her bosom, but they were one of the few perks of pregnancy, and it would be a shame not to utilize them. Unrepentant in the use of her womanly wiles, River humors his curiosity. "What's your question, dear?"
"What is the purpose of mating if one is already infected with a parasite?"
"The polite term is 'baby'," River informs him, testing out her favorite pair of heels before ultimately deciding to trade her treacherously high shoes for something a bit more practical. Her back hurts enough as it is. "And humans don't only mate for procreational purposes."
"What other purposes are there?" Ethan's monotone voice queries, and River glances toward him, flashing a shameless grin.
"It's fun."
Once again, her brazen humor goes unappreciated, and if androids could feel disgust, she's certain Ethan would short circuit from it. "How primitive."
"Indeed." River hums, slipping on flats and getting to her feet.
"Permission to suggest an alternate course of action?"
"Permission denied."
"Permission to remind you of optimal sleep requirements for third trimester human pregnancy?"
"Permission also denied." His gears churn in an unpleasant way, but River pays his protest no mind, grabbing her handbag and filling it with all the essentials a girl could need: lipstick, gun, and a mobile. "Don't wait up."
Gathering her coat, she heads for the door. As she makes her exit, her flats tap against the stairs. It's not the battle cry she's used to, not as empowering as the clicking of her heels. But it feels good to be back to a semblance of her old life, to be going somewhere besides the shop. Souls like hers weren't meant to be idle. Every step downward puts her closer to her goal, and River steels herself for what she'll have to do. She has a mission in mind and determination in her veins, and it reminds her that she's never needed weapons. Force of will is all women like her require to be dangerous.
Tonight her sights are set on the Doctor. She tries to put aside her personal feelings, to slip inside the psychopath skin she once wore so well. It's been a lifetime since he was the subject of her skills, since she thought of him as a target, as a task to be completed. River does her best to convince herself that's what she'll be now, just a vessel with a purpose, that just being his friend is enough, that it's all she needs to be to keep him safe. He doesn't have to fall in love. He doesn't even have to trust her. He simply has to let her in, just enough for her to keep the monsters at bay.
Maybe then, when he's back to being himself, he won't feel so betrayed. It's not like she wanted to go back on her word, like she hoped trouble would find them. She resisted temptation as long as she could, and even now that the dam is broken, she's only seeing him again because she has to. He wasn't safe on his own, not with an alien hunter lurking the streets of Cardiff. Besides, River's always made it her job to save him from himself, to reel him in when he's too stupid to run away or too blind to see the danger that's right in front of him. Now was no exception.
Even as she justifies her actions, guilt has begun to creep into her bones. It's easier to ignore than she expected. The feeling wasn't exactly a foreign one. It was a penance they both paid in their back-to-front love affair. It followed them like a dull ache, like a soreness in a muscle that's been overused. At times, she almost welcomed the burn. The pain meant that there was still room to grow, still versions of him to see, still secrets to learn. This ache isn't much different. It still feels like stealing and she is ever the eager thief.
Jack and his team have only aided in her addiction, keeping tabs on him in her absence and informing her of his whereabouts. Tonight finds him at a local pub, which had been a rather curious turn of events until a bit of research informed her of the pub quiz said establishment hosts every Wednesday night. Her hubby never could resist an opportunity to show off. Neither could she, if she's honest, and her only regret is that her haste to be rid of Ethan means she won't be fashionably late. The streets are as busy as she expected them to be on a Wednesday night, speckled with only a few couples here and there, hurrying along to their dinner reservations. The crowd grows thicker the closer she gets to her destination, the masses flocking toward the venue.
It doesn't look like much from the outside, though she's certainly been to worse, been thrown out of worse if she's honest. It doesn't appear she fits in with this lot any better because the younger and older crowd alike toss her rounded stomach a few sideways glances as she enters the building. The inside of the pub doesn't prove any more inviting than the exterior. It's humble in appearance, the old-fashioned decorum making it a beacon for old souls. Dim lighting does little to hide decade-old paint chipping off even more ancient walls. Guests of ages fill tables that seem better suited for a game of Bridge than they do occupying today's youth. Underneath the roar of voices, a thump of music can be heard. It's heavy with bass and just out of touch enough to indicate it isn't a permanent part of the decorum or the choice of the regular clientele. No one seems to mind though, too wrapped up in their own liquor-coated conversations.
River's eyes scan the room for one man in particular. She spots the neon swirly straw first, its owner behind it, tucked safely in a booth near the back of the building. Eyes narrowing, she straightens her shoulders and makes her way toward him, passing through the crowd like a lioness through tall grass. It's only when a path clears halfway across the room that she sees it. Or rather, her. There's a woman by his side, young with dark hair and fair skin. They're speaking animatedly, a respectable distance between them, but River can't help but notice the warmth in the Doctor's eyes as the girl throws her head back and laughs. River's feet slow to a stop, alarm bells in her blood telling her to turn and run. And she's about to concede, to disappear back into the crowd, to rethink every plan she's ever had because clearly this was a terrible, foolish, awful idea.
But then he turns his head, gaze drifting out into the crowd as if lulled by some otherworldly force, drawn like the sunset to the western skyline. Their eyes meet, and before River can dodge his glance or look away. He sits a little straighter in his seat, a hint of a smile splitting his cheeks as he waves her over. Despite the urge to run, River forces her feet forward. Every step feels like a blatant betrayal of her instincts, and yet the gap between them continues to close. As River approaches the secluded booth, the girl's eyes wash over her, wide and unpleasantly surprised. The Doctor doesn't notice, too busy straitening his bow tie as he beams. "Fancy seeing you here!"
Eyes briefly skirting over the girl, River's focus stills on the Doctor. "I was in the neighborhood."
"Sit, sit!" He budges over, making room on the worn seat.
"I don't want to interrupt," River hesitates, glancing at the woman to his right.
"Nonsense! More the merrier, right, Maddie?" he cheers, and the girl at his side gives a tight-lipped smile, nodding.
River glances between the two, quietly analyzing. The girl won't meet her eyes, significantly more uncomfortable than she was a moment ago. Her bright smile has contorted into a grimace, the flush of her merry cheeks has gone pale, joy replaced by discomfort.
A warning River can't explain prickles on the back of her neck. Her self-preservation begs her to run, but the predator inside her refuses to turn her back. Calculating eyes can't ignore the way the girl's hands have hidden themselves beneath the table or that her posture now shifts away when a moment ago it was relaxed and inviting.
The Doctor, on the other hand, remains oblivious, smilingly brightly as he tempts River into joining them. "Go on, drinks are on me."
"In that case," River breathes, surrendering to him and her suspicious tendencies. "How's a girl to resist?"
She slides into the booth, maintaining an impressive level of grace for a women in her third trimester. The Doctor brings his hands together for a celebratory clap, nudging the dejected girl beside him as he gestures toward River. "We have history."
The girl nearly chokes on her drink. River is equally surprised, brow pinched in curiosity as she questions, "Sorry?"
The Doctor's eyes go back to River. "History, you're good at it, yes? I'm science. Maddie has pop culture covered, but we always make a right mess of historical trivia. We might stand a chance at winning now that you're here."
"Oh, yes. I believe I can manage," River quips, tampering a smirk before glancing to the girl at his side. "Maddie, was it?"
"Oh! Right, sorry," the Doctor interjects. "This is my assistant, Maddie. Maddie, this is River."
Gaze now freely allowed to roam, River takes the half second to study the girl. Her long hair is pulled back, revealing a shapely face and porcelain skin. Her clothing is dark and inconspicuous, and as River's eyes wander, they catch sight of a jacket, worn and brown, and- oh. She's going to kill Jack for talking her into this.
"Hello," the girl mutters, attention drifting ever-so-briefly in River's direction before straying away.
"We met the other day," the Doctor babbles on. "Told me some rather fascinating things about world leaders. Did you know Rasputin died of hypothermia?"
"Can't say I did," the girl confesses, still taking great interest in the surroundings.
"Love a bit of trivia, me," the Doctor continues, oblivious to the tension rolling off his assistant in waves. "Shame they only host these things in pubs."
"I know what you mean," River hums. "I was on the receiving end of a few curious stares when I came in."
"I didn't know they allowed pregnant women into pubs." Maddie mutters into a dark glass, looking anywhere but at River.
"There seems to be a lot you don't know. You sure you're here for the pub quiz?" River flashes her a loaded smirk, and the girl finally stares back, stunned.
Lost for words, or possibly just above being baited, the young girl stands, announcing, "I'm getting another drink before we start. More fizz?"
Her offer is directed to the Doctor. He nods and before she can completely vacate the booth, River adds, "I'll have a sparkling water, if you don't mind, dear."
To River's surprise, there's no protest on her tongue. The girl simply gives a stiff nod before turning and making her way to the bar. Old instincts never really fade, because River makes a mental note not to let the beverage touch her lips. As Maddie turns to leave, River watches her go. Her attire is simple and unassuming, but the girl has legs for days and the bone structure of a Greek goddess. Human or no, the Doctor always did have a knack for finding pretty girls. Suddenly River's half-hearted attempt at seduction feels rather lacking.
"I guess it brought me some luck after all," the Doctor speaks first, breaking the silence and stealing River's focus.
River pivots in her seat, her attentions now belonging solely to him. "What did?"
"The eight ball," he grins. "How else would I be fortunate enough to see you twice in the same day?"
River laughs, a little forced as she agrees, "Must be fate. Do you come here often?"
"Only on Wednesdays," he says slurping up a generous amount of soda and gulping it down. She watches his throat as he swallows, eyes stalling on his bow tie. It's crooked and everything within her demands to reach out and straighten the fabric. Somehow, she finds the will to refrain. He doesn't know her yet and intimacies have always spooked her doe-eyed Doctor. "Maddie got me hooked, oh, about a month ago."
All thoughts of temptation flood her mind in an instant, the timestamp nearly making her head spin. How has she not noticed someone else coming and going out of the shop?
However, River doesn't have time to reflect on her shortcomings because in the next breath he's asking, "Haven't seen you here before. What's the occasion?"
His hands won't be still, tapping against the wooden table the way they do when he challenges her to a game of chess. He's testing her, learning her, readying to label her, pawn or queen. River's predator eyes answer his unspoken question, making no secret of scanning down his body. Mischievous and determined, her focus stills on his beverage as a knowing smile takes hold of her mouth. Leaning forward and folding her arms across the table, River coos, "Maybe I came for the swirly straws."
His anxious fingers still, a crooked smirk stealing the corner of his cheek. "They do give it extra fizz."
Interpreting his words as invitation, River's fingers snake around the rim of his glass, pulling it toward her to take a slow, contemplative sip.
"Well?" he asks, thin brow quirked and expectant eyes locked on her.
River shrugs, passing the beverage back. "Needs whiskey."
He huffs out a laugh, fingertips making designs out of the moisture the glass left behind. "You'll wanna watch the barman, or you might get your wish. He keeps trying to put liquor in my cream soda."
"Well, I promise not to take advantage of you if someone spikes your drink." The smirk on her face is a mirror of his, and if anything, the wicked gleam in her eye only makes him shift closer. Truth be told, she's hardly playing fair, not that he ever did when she was too young to know he knew her like a sailor knows the stars.
He would swear up and down that he could tell her age by the cadence of her footsteps. It wasn't until she was older that she understood how such intimacies could be true, until she could date him like she dates stones and ruins. She places his time by the cracks in his skin he doesn't think she notices, by his worn exterior and fragile touches. When his eyes are old and his smile weary, when he is battered but strong, he is the ancient Asgardian cliffs of Granite. Some days he is vibrant and young and full of life, so much light shinning in his eyes he is the birth of the first star in all the galaxies. His inner anger looks like the dawn of creation, the bubbling of magma, ancient and dangerous and entrancing. When he's nervous, he is the babble of brooks in the Forrest of Forgotten Realms. He is shy like the slow peaking of stars on the lonely Ice Moons. Some days he is as patient as the Infinity Streams that flow and flow and flow, hoping to find the sea. Lust is the reflection of two binary stars on a slow, imminent collision, eyes dark with need as gold sparks around pools of black.
Once or twice he is the burning of Alexandria or the fall of Troyor the crucifixion of Christ. He is loss of knowledge, of trust, of faith. More than he'd like to admit, he is fury. He is the rage at the heart of all stars, all chaos and destruction because it knows no other way. His sadness is the planet of which they never learned the name, the place forgotten to time, where they found themselves when he lost one too many lives.
His face is a map of all of time and space, a spectrum of all that ever was or will be. Today he is content. He is at peace holding her hand. He is a hot beverage on a cold day. He is subtle smiles and tender touches. He is warm sun and freshly-powdered snow. He laughs and she hears the sound of skates gliding on ice. The sweet nostalgia in his eyes as clear as the old London skyline. He is unabashed in the way he kisses the tip of her nose, her warm breath ghosting over his rosy cheeks. He is glowing like the frozen, icy Thames. River reaches for her diary, opening it to a page just left of the middle and writes, London 1814- he is loved.
Here, in the dim lighting and ambient noise, he looks less like a fixed event and more like his former self, the blush to his cheeks as red as his tacky, colorful suit. She remembers all his smiles, but his sixth self may be one of her favorites, smitten and starry-eyed from the moment she said hello. In the here and now, the man beside her slurps down the last of his drink through his brightly-colored straw, wincing when the cold burns its way down his throat. The sight of it is enough to make her laugh. Just being around him is a natural high. Something about him never fails to make her feel lighter, warmer, invincible.
The moment of reverie is broken as three beverages clink together, announcing Maddie's return. She places them in the center of the table, and River watches as the beautiful girl takes her seat on the other side of the booth. That invincible glow inside her fractures, reminding her that love really is the cruelest of warfares, the most dangerous of drugs.
The Doctor reaches for his fresh beverage, but before he can fill the silence with small talk, feedback whines through the loudspeakers of the pub. All eyes drawn to the front of the building, an older gentleman that must be the owner takes to a small, makeshift stage, microphone in hand. A decidedly Welsh voice hushes the crowd and the Doctor springs to life, declaring himself team leader. Removing a piece of paper and a pencil from his top pocket, he twirls the writing device between his fingers.
The quizmaster is gruff and to the point, providing no ado whatsoever as he clears his throat and begrudgingly begins. "Question one: Which famous astronaut once said 'That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind!'?"
River smirks, parting her lips to speak, when-
"Neil Armstrong. Easy." Maddie whispers conspiratorially. The Doctor purses his lips, impressed as he jots the answer down.
River's mirth has vanished, replaced by the sour feeling that her memories have been intruded upon. Fizzy straws and quaint establishments and space suits from the 1960s belonged to her. Secrets and space and lost orphans were pages in her diary. Whether he knew it or not, flirting in poorly-lit rooms with danger on their heels and history at their fingertips were days that belong to herself and the Doctor, not this girl he barely knows.
But the quizmaster cares not for River's woes, already filling the dingy pub with the next question. "Question two: Which animal is owned by the Chinese government?"
"Panda," River announces, firmly but quietly, before the quizmaster can even finish his exhale. And when her sweetie flashes her those eyes she loves so much, the ones that are equal parts fascinated and flummoxed, she can't resist explaining, "They used to be given as gifts as a gesture of good will, a practice that dates back to the Tang Dynasty. But pandas are nearly extinct now, and thanks to capitalism, they're only given as loans."
The Doctor soaks in the knowledge, a slave to the sound of her voice, equal parts hungry and intrigued as his body gravitates closer to hers. "Are endangered species another hobby of yours?"
"Oh," River assures him, tone low and full of secrets, "I'm a woman of many talents."
He bites back a grin at that, teeth sinking ever-so-slightly into the corner of his lip. It's a sight that makes her insides tingle, that makes her think of beaches and angels and fairytales and can I trust you, River Song?
River can't say what it is that makes her eyes break from his, what unknown force demands she look away. But when her gaze drifts toward Maddie, River finds herself being openly studied by curious, calculating eyes. Discovered, Maddie quickly looks away, sitting back in her seat and fixing her attentions on the makeshift stage.
"Question three:" the quiz master begins again, his voice a distant murmur. "What sea-dwelling creature, phylum Cnidaria, will evaporate if left out in the sun too long?"
River isn't listening, far too busy scrutinizing the girl before her. She's hard to read, this one, giving away nothing, her only tells a clenched jaw and distant eyes. River's focus lingers on tense shoulders and carefully hidden hands, determined to find the source of her discomfort when a sudden outburst from the Doctor's demands her attention.
"Jellyfish!" he declares, a little louder than necessary, pleased to finally be useful. His eyes gravitate to River, subconsciously seeking approval. Remembering why she's here, River grants it in the form of parting lips and green eyes that drag from his mouth down to the pencil clutched in his hand. He shivers a bit under her blatant staring, his free hand lifting to tug at his bow tie. There are words, something daring and flirtatious brewing behind his lips and he's about to bless her with them when-
"Question four: A-R-U-S-S-U-T can be unscrambled to form what type of cloud?"
All mischievous thoughts have been pushed to the back of his mind, replaced by the newest puzzle. River mourns her losses, watching as her teammates contemplate. It's getting harder for her to focus, a nagging in her bones telling her that something just isn't right. She seems to be the only one plagued with discomfort, though, because, as if bound by the same train of thought, the Doctor and his newest assistant lock eyes.
"Stratus!" they blurt out, grinning like co-conspirators. They celebrate their victory with a high five, and River stares on, an uneasiness churning in her gut, alongside the distinct feeling that, perhaps, she's the intruder here.
Outside the bubble of her thoughts, the quizmaster lifts the microphone again. River means to listen, she really does, but her phone buzzes in her pocket, stealing her attentions. Looking at her lap, where she's keeping her mobile discreetly beneath the table, she finds a message from Jack.
Massive surge in rift activity. I'll keep you updated.
Moments later, an unfamiliar chirp mingles with the dull roar of voices and music. River glances up to see Maddie going for her phone. Her face is blank, a map she can't read. Maybe it's a coincidence. Maybe it's nothing. Then again, if River was going to set a trap for the Doctor, that's exactly the jumper she'd put it in.
It was never going to be a gun for you, Doctor.
"Any ideas, ladies?"
The Doctor's voice grounds her, and River blinks at him in confusion. "Sorry, what?"
"Screwdrivers, how do you make them?" he asks again, looking between the two women. Both caught off guard, River meets eyes with Maddie over the table before the girl quickly looks away.
"With difficulty, probably," Maddie offers flippantly, gathering her things as she adds, "Something's come up. I have to go."
"We've only just started!" the Doctor protests.
Maddie dismisses him with a shake of her head and a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Rain check."
River watches her carefully, studying the girl's sudden change as she stands and slips her coat over her shoulders. It's hard to see much detail in the dim lighting and her clothes are too baggy to notice the lines of anything concealed.
"See you in the morning, John," Maddie bids farewell, glancing briefly in River's direction but not quite meeting her eyes as she forces out, "River," before disappearing into the crowd.
"Wonder what that was about," the Doctor ponders aloud, a worried pout turning his cheek downward.
"Probably nothing," River assures him, watching the path the girl had taken through the crowd. She'd be a liar if she said the uneasy ball coagulating in her chest didn't dissipate more and more with every step the girl took in the other direction. There was something off about her, something out of sync that she just didn't trust. Only serving to aid in her suspicions, the phone in River's lap buzzes again. Glancing down, she discovers another message from Jack, this one advising, Stray weevil not far from your location. Stay put.
"Shame," the Doctor frowns. "We were doing so well."
Remembering herself, River pastes a smile on her face and states, "You need vodka." His nonexistent brows climb his forehead as he turns to stare at her, so she clarifies, "To make a screwdriver," River continues, "you need vodka and orange juice."
It's hours before they leave. And it's only the bartender's not-so-subtle mopping beneath their feet that finally makes them notice the rest of the night owls have long since given up and left in search of a paracetamol and a warm bed. The Doctor insisted on walking her home, not that she put up much fuss, offering only half-hearted protests that she could handle herself. In her prison days, she had gotten rather good at keeping him at bay, at resisting his puppy-dog eyes every time he tempted her into traveling with him. But things were different now. She didn't have a sentence to serve or younger versions of him to meet. The only constant seems to be her promise to stay away, the one impossible thing he asked of her that she could never quite manage.
Call her selfish, but she's missed him, his awful jokes and flailing limbs and hazel eyes that have always managed to melt her insides. He's always been a romantic at heart, and nights like tonight only fuel his fanciful tendencies. The moon is full and the breeze has mellowed into something pleasant. Fairy lights twinkle in the trees and shadows dance across cobblestone streets. It's the kind of darkness they should have had upon first meeting, the kind of shadows that chase them around street lamps rather than through a paperback forest. They deserved brisk, fresh air that smells like the blossoming of something new. Not musty, dust-covered shelves and fresh corpses robbed of flesh.
He keeps pace beside her, happy, eager, curious, and not at full of distrust or dread or fear. It feels like a salve, like the meeting they should have had in a fair universe, their past safely behind her locked lips and thoughts of the future sparking like lightning in his eyes. She thinks of all the hims she knows, of celery boutonnières and oversized scarves and colorful suits. Truth be told, she's had lots of perfect meetings. Fate would just have it that he never got to remember any of them.
The man beside her now is adorned with an eccentricity of his own. A trophy in the form of a pint-shaped badge is pinned to the lapel of his jacket. It's somewhat comforting to know that, deep down, he's still him. You could take the Time Lord right out of the man, but there was no making him any less alien.
"I think I'll display it in my shop," he announces proudly, puffing his chest out like a peacock.
River laughs, shaking her head. "You're acting like you've never won anything before.
"I haven't," he chuckles, and River sobers.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't get out much," he shrugs. "Never went much of anywhere until Maddie came along." Then his face frowns, "Shame she had to leave early."
A noncommittal hum reverberates in River's throat. "Tell me more about this Maddie," she segues, telling herself the prying question is purely for research. "How long have you known each other?"
"She started just over a month ago, I'd say. I didn't really need an assistant, but she needed a job and I hate paperwork."
His answer is flippant and River tames her voice, giving away nothing as she asks, "Not a girlfriend, then?"
"Maddie?" he nearly chokes on the name, a laugh in his throat as he assures, "No, no, no. She just does the books, cleans the windows, that sort of thing."
A knot she'd since lost notice of releases its hold on her hearts, any hints of jealousy expelled from her lungs in a heavy exhale. He's the Doctor; he's always craved company. Be it pretty girls or robot dogs or cyber heads, they're all the same to him. It's comforting to know that he got himself an Ethan. His just looks better in a skirt.
"So what about you?" His voice pierces the air, curious and sharp, sending a defensive prickle crawling up River's spine.
"What about me?" she breathes, scattering the words like eggshells.
But the Doctor has never been one to tread lightly, awakening every thought she's been trying to suppress as he casually asks, "Is there a husband to go along with that bump?"
"Sort of." She's quiet when she answers. And as the silence that follows stretches on, she begins to wonder if he even heard her at all. She certainly hopes so, because she isn't certain she'll be brave enough to admit it twice.
"Where is he?" The question is curious and tender and it may as well be a knife to her heart.
"I can't say," River forces out through burning lungs.
"As in you don't know or you're not at liberty?" he pries, a playful inflection curving his puzzled lips into a smile. "Is he in MI6 or witness protection or something?"
"Or something," is all the answer River gives, coy and enigmatic. His hazel eyes narrow like he's trying to see through her disguise, lips slightly parted like her secrets are something he can taste on the air. He loves the mystery, the puzzle of her. He always has.
Taking a deep, surrendering breath in through his nose, the Doctor shrugs. "Sounds complicated."
"Isn't it always?" River asks, a chuckle in her tone.
It's quiet for a minute, and she's certain her question will remain rhetorical. Making the most of the silence, she takes the opportunity to observe him, more intrigued by the man at her side than she is the one she's supposedly honeymooning with in the nearby tree. It's another life she doesn't know or remember, a story. But the floppy-haired man beside her is real, the raw emotion on his face more beautiful than the endless stars above them. And when he finally breaks the silence, he paints a picture more pure than the placid water at her feet. He uses descriptions like patient and kind and funny and fierce. He never mentions a face, never gives a name, and it makes her surrender to his story all the more. Because that's what love is, isn't it? It's not a title or perfectly-sculpted cheek bones. Love is one soul longing for another, a heartbeat in sync with your own.
She almost doesn't dig deeper, for fear of intruding, for listening to secrets not meant for her ears. But curiosity has always ruled her tongue. "What was the problem?"
It's his answer that quells her worries, so ready and willing to spill confessions like an overly ripe thundercloud biding its time for rain.
"Never could get the timing quite right," he explains, eyes locked on his shoes before sighing and shifting his gaze skyward. River follows in his lead. He's usually easy to read but his walls are up now, eyes fixed on the stars, flicking from one to another, looking at nothing in particular. There's longing carved into the creases around his eyes, the same melancholy nostalgia one gets when looking at old photographs or drives past their childhood home. He's chasing a feeling that can't be caught, searching for something that can't be found. It's then that it occurs to her that he's looking for the love he spoke of, this nameless woman that got away. It isn't until his eyes stray to the tree, to the life she can't remember living, to the her she can't remember being, that she starts to wonder...
Maybe there's an explanation for why he hasn't looked at her, why he'll only make eye contact with her reflection, why he gives his coat without question but finches whenever their knees brush.
When she finally speaks, River's voice is barely above a whisper, but she has to know, has to ask, if only to hear him say it. "Did you love her?"
"Still do." He answers with unwavering confidence. River stares at his profile with the same determined eyes he refuses to turn on her. There's hope in the curl of his lips and regret in his clenched jaw. Something desperate in the way his fingers hold tight to the top of his ship, like he doesn't trust where his hands would stray to, a longing in the way his body leans toward hers despite the still waters, and suddenly the gravity around her shifts. The Doctor, John, the man who came for her in the hospital, the one she can't remember, the one helping her find her way home, has been looking for her all along. "Never really told her how much, though," he adds, and she's staring to think he really doesn't have to.
A gust of wind blows through the street, playing with her curls. She's almost home now, and River finds her pace slowing, doing her best to convince herself it's purely because of the cold.
"Where do you live exactly?" the man beside her asks. "I've just been walking aimlessly."
"Just around the corner," River informs, nodding toward the road up ahead on the right.
The Doctor turns to look at her, puzzled. "But you take the night bus on my street," he states quizzically. "The next stop over is much quicker."
One shoulder giving a shrug, River offers him the only truth she can. "I like the view."
"They're exactly the same," a bewildered chuckle falling from his crooked smile.
River twists, looking up at him through batting lashes that are determined to ward off the chill in the air as adamantly as they hide the warmth in her gaze. Nevertheless, there's no taming her voice, no disguising the vulnerability in the way she whispers, "Not exactly."
Her eyes reach for him the way her fingers close around his wrist, guiding his palm to the ancient wooden frame. "I am telling you."
When her meaning finally sinks in, realization writes itself across his face like a neon sign. Flushing a bit, he turns his attention to his shoes, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. River worries she's said too much, given away the game too soon, but then a smirk quirks his lips as he says, "Not such a coincidence I ran into you tonight then, is it?"
An indignant brow crawls up her forehead, the softness in her tone replaced by a playful challenge. "Are you suggesting I'm stalking you?"
"It's not stalking if I'm happy to see you," he counters, a grin just begging to crack those boyish cheeks.
"It is if the stalker is good," she parries, voice dropping low as she flashes a devilishly inviting simper. "And for the record, I am very, very good."
A buzzing in her handbag shatters the moment between them. With an apologetic smile, River stills, digging through her bag. Fingers closing around her mobile, River stares down at her screen and sighs.
"Who is it?" The footprint of her husband asks, not so subtly trying to steal a glance at her caller ID.
"It's nothing," she says, silencing Jack's call and tucking the mobile away. He could handle a few weevils on his own for one night. "Just work."
"Oh?" He tilts his head, interest peaked. "Where do you work?"
"The tourist information center." She lies with an ease that would make a seasoned politician envious, so used to dancing around the truth that things like remorse don't even touch her anymore. Which is why the look on the Doctor's face isn't one she expected to see.
His brow is furrowed, lips pursed, surprise coating his words as he says, "It's nearly three am."
"Well, you know Cardiff," River breathes out, offering him a coquettish smile. "The city never sleeps."
A twitch to his cheeks, the Doctor shakes his head and looks away. "I guess you just don't seem the type."
"Don't I?" It's a challenge and secret hope that he'll see the truth behind her half-hearted lies.
Before the doubts can seed behind those chocolate eyes, River's phone buzzes once again, somehow managing to sound even more impatient. She ignores the persistent summons, but the moment is broken, her fears crashing down on her when the man before her sighs through his nose, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Maybe you should answer."
"They can do without me for another ten minutes."
"And neglect a potential sightseeing emergency?" he teases. "Aren't you a naughty one?"
"You have no idea," River purrs in a voice that's all invitation.
He chuckles and it's only when their eyes meet that she realizes they never started walking again. He rocks on his heels like he always does when he's waiting for something, and every instinct she has begs her to grab him by the collar and show him what he's missing. Her fingers flex in the night air, focusing on his lips. The desire inside her dies at the sight of his frown, her gaze crawling up his face to discover he's looking over her shoulder.
"Do you know him?" the Doctor asks, and River turns to see a man racing towards them, a long coat flapping in the wind, arms waving frantically.
"Jack?" she breathes, and he's shouting something she can't quite hear, just one word on his lips, something simple and urgent that looks an awful lot like-
Run
All her questions are answered when a snarl rumbles out of a side street. River's attentions snap toward the sound in time to see her husband taking a step forward. It all happens in the blink of an eye. River reaching for her gun. The Doctor stepping toward the shadows. A creature leaping forward and she's pulling the trigger before it even takes shape in the moonlight. Her phaser fire strikes the creature in the shoulder, a flesh wound at best, but it grants the Doctor enough time to stumble back. He's looking at her with wild, terror-filled eyes, disbelief written across that baby face. But River doesn't have time to console him because the beast has turned its eyes on her now. It's snarl looks more like a smile, and it's only when she hears a hyena-like cackle from the back of the alley that she realizes why. Two of its friends materialize from the dark. They prowl like dogs, but their bodies are covered in snakelike scales. Teeth like razors protrude from jaws as strong as bear traps. They're quick and organized. surrounding River and the Doctor like pack hunters. Her hearts have begun to race, but it isn't claws she feels at her back, it's her husband.
"What the hell are these things?" His voice is high and panicked and she tries not to notice how it's miles away from the excitement it ought to be.
"Trouble," she says curtly. "Stay behind me and try not to get eaten." She lets a few more shots off, doing her best to keep them all where she can see them.
"Why do you have a gun?" he squeaks, ducking. "And where were you keeping it?"
It sounds a little more like the man she loves so she can't help herself when she throws a smirk over her shoulder. "If we live through this, maybe I'll show you."
A string of rapid fire that isn't hers hits the monsters. For a brief moment, they scatter. The small split grants Jack enough passage to get through, coming to their aid and standing at her side.
"Took you long enough, Harkness!" River snaps.
But Jack is having none of it, a dagger in is tone as he quips, "Yeah, yeah. Learn to answer a phone!"
"Excuse me for thinking you could do your job."
He doesn't get a chance to retort because two of the monsters pounce in unison. River and Jack take aim at the same beast, and it's dead before it even touches the ground. But the second is quicker, dodging the shot and swiping at Jack, trying to make them disperse. But River knows better, and she takes a protective step in front of Doctor, pinning him between herself and Jack.
"The third one went back into the shadows," he whispers into her hair, and there was a time that low tone mixed with the threat of danger would have made her insides coil. "Think you scared it off?"
"Not likely." Gun stretched out before her, River scans the darkened streets for the beast she wounded, finding nothing. It can't have gone far because it's friend is still drawing Jack's attention, tap dancing around phaser fire. Her own weapon is fully charged, heavy in her hand as she flips the safety off and disables the stun. Her free hand dangles at her side and slender fingers wrap around her wrist, sliding down to her palm and entwining with her own. Her pulse is thundering in her ears and her son is kicking away at her insides and a husband that doesn't know her is clutching her like a lifeline and everything feels a bit fuzzy and far away when a subtle movement twitches in the corner of her eye.
"Did you-?" the Doctor whispers, and River cuts him off, all too aware of his breath on her neck.
"Yes, I saw it," she breathes, forcing herself to focus.
"What's it doing?"
"Looking for weak spots. It wants to split us up."
He's quiet for a moment and she can feel his brain racing, operating on a frequency she can no longer hear. "And what are we doing?"
"Waiting for it to show its face."
"A stand off, then," he surmises. "How good are you with that gun?"
"Very," River snorts. "Don't worry, I won't let the bad monster get you."
"I'm counting on it," the words fall out in huff that's more expectant than brave, and the next thing she knows, his fingers are slipping from hers.
"Sweetie, no!" Is all the warning she has time to shout. Without her permission, her eyes abandon the creature, turning to watch as the Doctor breaks formation and sprints down the road, offering himself up as a distraction in the form of the wounded gazelle. It's the snarl that follows that demands her attention because in the next moment, the beast is charging forward, barreling straight for him.
There's a frustrated scream on her lips as her meson bursts penetrate its reptilian scales. Shot after shot ricochets off its hide. It's flesh is smoking, but that hasn't slowed it down, and it's paws thump against the pavement, mere steps behind the Doctor's heels, and oh, he better survive this or she's going to kill him.
"The belly!" she hears Jack shout, the beast before him lifeless on the ground as he turns his attentions toward the one pursing the Doctor. "It's the only place they're vulnerable."
But they're sprinting away from her and even if it rears up, she can't get a clear shot. She needs to be in front of them and she can't outrun them on her own and if she doesn't do something now...
There's no time to for debate and before she knows it, River lunges for Jack, fingers closing on his wrist and the vortex manipulator he wears like a charm. Her expert hands don't give him time to question or complain, typing so quickly they're halfway down the road before he's even released the trigger. The teleportation energy crackles across her skin like an old friend, humming in her veins like a long-forgotten song.
They're a few yards ahead of the creature now, her lanky husband zigzagging across cobblestone streets. At her side, Jack sings his protests, but River doesn't hear them. All she knows is the weight of her gun and the man she loves and the monster that's coiling in preparation to pounce. Taking a deep breath in, River aims her gun and waits. It leaps into the air, and the moment it raises its paw to swipe, River seizes her chance, unloading her weapon at its highest setting. It strikes in the chest and the beast lets out a gurgling howl, body going limp as it flies through the air. Momentum from its own weight carries it forward, striking her husband in the back and sending them both careening onto the ground. Her gangly husband tumbles like a weed, his head slapping against the pavement in a way that turns her insides.
"Doctor!" she hears herself scream, feet already carrying her toward him.
He isn't moving, limbs spread out at unnatural angels, eyelids fallen shut, and all she can think about is the child inside her that's no longer kicking. Hand on her stomach, River takes a step toward the Doctor, unsure if she means to give help or ask for it as a crippling pain brings her to her knees.