"You heeded not our warnings and you can no longer turn back, but the path ahead is strewn with danger, to you, and to those who travel with you. This is but the beginning." - K.J. Wignall
It's only fitting that it's raining, that the moon has been eclipsed by ominous clouds, her only light source the manufactured glow of street lamps and the occasional passing car. Cold gusts of wind rattle naked trees, sheets of icy spray pounding against her coat. River pulls her hood tighter around her face, watching as soggy leaves, the last evidence of autumn, collect along the gutters as torrents of rain water gather and stream down the winding streets of Cardiff.
If River didn't know any better, she'd say Mother Nature herself was protesting their decision, the universe already setting in motion ways to push them back together. Causality is always pushing and pulling them in one direction or another. Usually, River would be grateful for any omens that put her lover in her path, but fate only ever seems to want them together when circumstances demand they be apart.
As it is, every step she takes leads her further and further away from the man she calls husband and the ship she calls home. They parked the Old Girl in an alley between two shops and disguised her as a second-hand store, the console room secreted and tucked away in the back of a storage cupboard he'll never think to enter. With mournful hearts, River had set their ship to standby, locked the door behind her, and walked away from the two things she's always held most dear.
She left him behind, left him alone in their bed, practically comatose after the change. It hadn't been easy, turning her back on him when he looked so helpless. His exhausted eyes were plagued by purple rings, the rhythm of his breathing a lethargic chore. He looked weak and sickly and so, so human. She wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him until warmth radiated from his skin once again. But she refrained from placing her head upon his shoulder; she didn't dare delight in the rise and fall of his chest. She resisted for entirely selfish reasons, because she didn't want to feel the echo of a single lonely heart. Instead, she ran her hand through his hair one last time. Despite his change, those brown locks were still soft and thick between her fingers. He still let out a warm hum at the feel of her affections, and even though he doesn't know her, somehow, it's enough.
It has to be because his new life is waiting for him on the bedside table. With Jim's help, they forged all the documents he might need, everything from a birth certificate to business cards. The fob watch sits atop the fallacies like the crown of all lies. In the morning he'll wake up a new man with the same face, a single heart and a fake life, a head full of facts and memories that never were. Even as she marches her way down the gloomy Cardiff streets, she can see that watch as clearly as if it were in front of her now. Her longing eyes had drifted to it many times while she was pacing about their bedroom, plucking up the courage to finally walk out the door. It felt more like him than the man she tucked into bed, but she refrained from touching it, from stroking her fingers against it the way she would his jawline. She resisted temptation under the oath of her promise- stay away from direct exposure to time energy, including the watch, the TARDIS, and her trusty vortex manipulator. And so she's betrayed her instinct to linger by his bedside until the color returned to his cheeks. She left, because now was a good a time as any to start expressing self-control.
After all, she'll need to become accustomed to such practices if she plans on making it the next nine months trapped in this universal dumping ground of a city. Her stomach is still flat; tiny feet have yet to kick inside her womb, no lump hiding beneath her shirt to serve as reminder for her cause. All she has for a souvenir is morning sickness, that could just as easily be caused by nerves. River's never felt so alone. Maybe that's why her feet have carried her so quickly in this direction. It's company she seeks, a friendly face to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground.
The Hub is around here somewhere, hidden cleverly out of sight. She knows because on many occasions Jack has mentioned, or should she say bragged, about his secret entrance near the Roald Dahl Plass. The help of her sonic makes it all too easy to find, tracking the TARDIS' unique energy signature back to a rather scenic little spot in front of the Water Tower. Temporal residue sits on the brick the Old Girl once landed on like a tattoo on space time, and River can't help but shake her head fondly. He did like to leave a mark, her husband. The air around the small cube tastes like a perception filter, like buzzing neutrinos kissed by a chameleon circuit. She sees through it, of course, one of the perks of having a dimensionally transcendental mummy.
A few more scans from her sonic reveal a firewall, a security system to boot, and even a remote deadbolt locking mechanism. Bless, River thinks, chuckling to herself as she breezes past their security with ease. Stepping onto the slab, River waits. After a moment, the sound of grinding gears fill her ears as the ground beneath her gives a small shudder and then lowers. Descending from the heavens wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but she did so love to make an entrance.
The highly unsafe lift begins to lower, giving her a birds eye view of their underground lair. To her dismay, River finds the Hub empty. Or at least it appears to be. When the lift comes to a stand still, she removes her hood, casually tossing her drenched coat over the rail like the hideaway has been hers along. She made a habit of entering rooms as if she owned them. It made it all the easier should she decide to conquer or loot or excavate. Chin held high, River steps off the platform and into the room, finding computers are unmanned, desks empty. She passes an office and what appears to be a board room and she's almost given up hope of finding anyone when she hears it. A loud bang reverberates from down the hall, and River follows the sound like a sailor after a siren song. It leads her past a medical bay and a morgue, down a dark corridor that was once a dungeon or a sewer.
When she rounds the corner, River finds Jack and a handful of others standing over a heap of fur and chains. A closer look tells her it's a creature of some description, a rather violent looking one at that. River holds her tongue, relaxing against the doorway and silently observing as the group squabbles over how best to get the animal into a body bag. She's about to clear her throat and introduce herself when the creature bursts to life, shattering the chains. Chunks of metal fly across the room, colliding with dull stone. It's teeth are barred, black holes for eyes zeroing in on Jack. Instinctually, the entire team leaps into action, the Captain himself reaching for his weapon. Claws flex to swipe, a roar gurgling in the beast's throat.
River puts a hole between creature's eyes before the others can even let out a warning shout. It crumples at their feet, defeated with a single shot. The occupants of the room turn towards the door, aghast and alert, guns aimed at her in shock and terror. Four pairs of eyes are trained on her, staring onward like she's a Fury or a Medusa or the goddess Eris herself. River remains where she is, propped against the doorframe. Nonchalant lips purse, blowing the smoke from the barrel of her gun. Dexterous fingers spin the weapon, putting on a show, before sheathing it safely in her holster.
Jack is grinning, lips stretched so wide she fears his face will crack from sheer joy, but it's a man in a lab coat who pipes up first, "Hands in the air or I'll take you out."
Her eyes wash over him, noting his weedy frame and sharp pointy features. "Not likely," she scoffs at his threat. He wasn't taking her anywhere, in any sense of the word. Derisive eyes no longer gracing him with her attention, River's gaze drifts to a rather feisty looking brunette. She has big doe eyes and a capable looking trigger finger. River's lips twitch, intrigued. "You on the other hand..."
The girl blinks, not sure if she should be terrified or flattered. "Jack, do you know her?"
Jack snorts out a laugh, grinning from ear to ear. "Know her? She's shot me on at least four occasions."
"Five," River corrects, shrugging sweetly. "It's how I flirt."
They've lowered their weapons, some more hesitantly than others. River's roam back cut to the dark-haired girl, finding that those brown orbs have grown exponentially in size at this revelation.
Another man in a fitted suit pipes up, a high-pitched squeak in his incredulous question, "Did you break in here?"
River's smirk deepens like the mischievous nymph she is, all smug confidence and zero remorse. "You should see me on a good day."
"Everyday I see you is a good day," Jack chimes in, that devilish charm dialed up to its maximum setting.
He closes the space between them, a skip in his usual swagger. River responds just as playfully, swatting at his chest, "Stop it, you'll make a girl blush."
"You? Blush? Not likely." His arms fold around her in a friendly embrace. River reciprocates, wrapping around his solid frame. He's warm and familiar and he crackles like an anomaly against her part Time Lord skin. After a moment, he pulls back, not quite releasing her from his grasp as he asks, "So what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Oh, I assure you," River purrs, batting her greenest eyes. "The pleasure's all mine."
Her old friend's head tilts suspiciously, a twitch in the corner of his mouth, "Are you sweet talking me, Song?"
"Is it working?" River counters, her teasing tone reflected in Jack's sea blue eyes.
"Always."
She gives a throaty laugh, all too aware of the audience watching them quizzically.
"Sorry to interrupt," the weedy man snarks out. "Care to tell us what the hell is going on?"
"Should I tell them?" Jack asks, a secretive glint in his eyes.
River offers a playful wiggle, a parody of coyness as she cuts her eyes to the side and shrugs, "Go on then."
"This is my team," he explains, pride tugging at the corner of his cheek as he turns to face the other occupants, introducing them on by one. "Gwen, police liaison; Owen, medicine man; Toshiko, tech support; Ianto, eye-candy." The man in the suit blushes, and Jack tosses him a wink before he turns back to River, something exciting and enigmatic in his tone as he continues, "Team, this is River Song, assassin, archaeologist, general rabble rouser, and very dear friend of mine. Mark the day folks, meeting her is, well, almost as good as meeting me."
"Jack, darling," River coos, offering a small wave to the collective group before cutting her eyes back to her old friend. "If your ego gets any bigger, we'll have to get it its own parsec."
"Speaking of ego," Jack chimes, gaze drifting over her shoulder expectantly. "Where is the old ball and chain of yours, anyway?"
Her temporary distraction ripped away, River's smile slips. Somber eyes break from his eyes, downcast as she clears her throat, recovering herself and burying her losses deep within her chest. "That's why I'm here, actually." She states, and her voice mustn't be as resolute as she means it to be, because Jack's devilish smile disintegrates into a map of worry lines. "I need your help."
It reeks of death, of freshly decaying flesh and burnt neutrinos. The air is still crisp, the rift licking at its wounds after being unceremoniously ripped open. Every inhale feels like swallowing static, and to make matters worse, a fine mist of rain has begun to seep from the sky and onto the fresh corpses. The Torchwood team had to quarantine the neighboring streets and spread a rumor about a busted pipe line just to cover the smell. His team operates with an admirable level of detached efficiency. It's a bit unnerving to see how desensitized they are, to realize that, like Jack and herself, they too have seen far too many horrors to be phased by a few alien corpses. Trying her best not to breath too deeply, River stares down at the bodies before her. The remains of two particularly massive Canintiles occupy the small expanse of the alley way, but the taste of the I told you so just begging to fall from her lips just might be sweet enough to make the foul odor tolerable.
She knew they never traveled in threes.
The slightly larger of the two beasts is sprawled out across the asphalt. It's jaw hangs limply from its skull, revealing razor sharp teeth that are coated in yellow decay. Massive paws give way to protruding dagger-like claws, it's hindlegs coiled beneath it, prepared for a strike that never came. A large hole seared into the belly of the beast stands as testament to the creatures demise. It's a clean kill, a single well-aimed shot to the abdomen stopping it dead in its tracks. The wound is a violent one, charred and black, branding straight through rough scales and muscle and bone. One hardly has to be an expert to notice the lesion is a peculiar one, from an anachronistic weapon, no doubt. No shotgun or semiautomatic could have done it. This was something far deadlier, and judging by the accuracy in which it was wielded, whoever was using it knew what they were doing.
"Do you recognize it?" Jack asks, gesturing to the mark scaring the scale like flesh.
With burns like that, it could be anything from an Isometric laser cannon to a Hectian scalding ray. Truth be told, she's always been far better at poisons than blasters. "Can't say I do," River admits with a sigh.
"Whatever caused it, the lacerations match that of the last victim," Owen explains, still poking around, examining the entry wound. "I'd be willing to bet it's the same gun."
River circles the body, searching for fresh perspective. Judging by its positioning, it looks as if the poor creature barely made it through the tear in the rift before it was neutralized. Glancing around, she notes that there's nothing to hide behind in the desolate alley, the only means of possible cover a beaten up garbage bin. Apart from the victims, the alley is barren, bleak, and unassuming. Concrete walls four stories high surround the crime scene on three sides, and River can't help but notice that it's the perfect place to not be seen. But it also means there's only one way out.
"What does CCTV have on the entrance of the alleyway?" River asks, and Jack is already shaking his head.
"Nada," her friend sighs out. "It was the first thing I had Ianto look into."
"They had to have gotten in here somehow." River's hand rises to her forehead, shielding her eyes as they scan the towering roofline. "Think they teleported?"
"It's hard to say," a few paces away, Toshiko speaks up, nose practically pressed into her equipment as if by invading it's space all its secrets will be revealed. "I'm getting too many readings off the excess rift energy. This is definitely where it opened, though. No doubt about that. I reckon whoever tore this hole got more than they bargained for."
"Taking these out must have been enough to scare the others away," Gwen theorizes, rounding the beast in an attempt to find a potential line of fire.
"No," the correction falls off River's lips in a long contemplative breath. "That's not how Canintiles operate. Once they've got your scent, they'll just keep coming."
"Well not these, apparently," Owen snorts, now elbow deep in the creature's secretions. Prodding inside the beast in search of evidence only seem to add to the horrid smell. River makes an effort not to breathe through her nose lest the putrid stench imbed itself in her senses forever. She wants to walk away, to breathe air that isn't rancid, but something isn't right. It doesn't make sense until she sees a distinctive scar across the back of the creature's scaly hide.
"Unless," River tilts her head, crouching down to inspect her finding. Her son protests the movement, stretching and kicking against the even more confined space of her womb. One hand pats at her stomach in an attempt to placate him while the other gestures toward the body. "Look at the marks on the shoulder blades. These were the alphas." Green eyes trace the long healed carvings, joyless reverence on her tongue as she explains, "I think these two were killed on purpose so the murderer could take control of the others and send them out to hunt."
Gwen has come to stand by her side, the girl's wide eyes blinking, her Welsh voice almost grating as she voices River's greatest fears, "But to know all that, they'd have to be a-"
"Time traveler, yeah," River finishes the thought for her. Somehow it hurts less when there's at least one thing she can control. Standing upright, River pivots toward Jack, pinning him in place with eyes as sharp as daggers. "Still think it's a coincidence she left the pub early?"
Her old friend is about to argue or agree or refute her claim entirely. She'll never know for sure because before his jaw can slack, a voice summons them to the other side of the alley. "You might want to come have a look at this," Ianto calls out, face pale and eyes locked on the asphalt.
Eyes still locked with Jacks, River steps past her friend and heads toward the second corpse. Gwen is behind her instantly, and after a moment of silence, Jack's coat can be heard flapping in the breeze as he follows after. The second victim is slightly smaller than the first and abundantly more rank. Where the larger beast has been a clean kill, this one appears as if it's already been dissected. The underbelly has been ripped open in a grisly display, an act done post mortem if she had to guess. Maroon colored blood has coagulated on the ground, and River steps over what might have been its spleen as she makes her way to Ianto, holding her breath until she's upwind of the gruesome scene.
He's quite the site, squatting in garbage while dressed in a finely pressed suit. One hand covers his nose and mouth and the other holds up a filthy tarp that must have blown out of the bin. River isn't sure what she expects to find, perhaps the murder weapon or a scrap of torn clothing. At best a calling card and at worst a melted lump of trash he's mistaken for alien tech. Whatever it is she expected to see, when she finally reaches his side, it isn't this.
Blood that isn't quite crimson stains the concrete floor. River forgets all about the fresh air she's been hoarding in her lungs. The sight before her hits her square in the chest, ripping away any oxygen she may have stowed. She's dizzy, but not from gore. The sickness in her stomach comes from a source far worse. When she breathes in again, her whole mouth tastes foul and metallic, like wet garbage and blood and the words-
You can't hide forever. The clock is ticking.
River stares down at the ominous warning, ice swimming in her veins, rage and terror thundering in her ears, her voice grave but remarkably steady as she asks, "Have there been messages like this on the other bodies?"
"No, this is the first one," Gwen answers, quietly, carefully, as she squats down to collect a sample.
River watches, jaw tight, face made of stone, eyes unwilling or unable to look anywhere else until, "I want that girl followed, do you understand me?" Even to herself she sounds like rolling thunder, like the bubbling of magma, and when she finally looks away from the foreboding messages, leaden eyes fall on Jack, rattling off her demands. "I want the TARDIS under constant surveillance. No one goes near it without a facial recognition scan and a background check."
A gentle hand finds purchase on her elbow as Jack begins to lead her away from any prying ears. "Don't you think we're a little past tightening security?" he asks in hushed tone, the heat from his breath dancing on the wind. River extracts herself from his grasp, spine stiffening as he suggests, "Maybe it's time to rethink the plan, go somewhere, get out of Cardiff and-"
"Hide?" River scoffs, incredulous anger directed at no one in particular. "Where? If they can find us in the midst of this," she clips, gesturing to the invisible remnants of rift energy thickening the air around them, "they'll find us anywhere."
"River," Jack pleads, keeping his scolding tone low. "This is blatantly for you-"
"Don't you think I know that?" River snaps, and if there's panic fraying the edges of her voice, only Jack's around to hear it. It's obvious what this is, a challenge, a threat. But to uproot everything, to wake him up, is an unnecessary risk. "Of course it's for me, for us. But now is not the time for drastic measures." She's too close, come too far. She needs to think her next move through carefully. Jack runs a hand through his perfectly sculpted hair, a sigh on his lips as he scans the surrounding alley. River interprets the action as concession. With a deep, calming breath, she reasons, "This isn't the first murder, only the first message. So what's changed?"
After a moment of careful consideration, Jack's eyes widen, finding her once again. "You spoke to him."
"Maybe that scared them. If they know we're onto them, this could be a trap. What would they have to gain by baiting us if not to scare us into running?"
Jack's already shaking his head before she's even finished her thought. "But why go on a killing spree in the first place if it's him they're after?"
"Practice?" River shrugs, and Jack's lips purse, unconvinced.
"Doesn't seem like a smart move, telling your victim you're coming."
"As soon as I knew you were coming, I tidied up a bit." They orbit around one another like colliding stars. Melody's not sure who's the cat and who's the mouse. Between the gun and fruit, he's had ample time to leave, to jump ship, to run. She's not entirely sure why she's hesitating, why she's humoring him with the song and dance, why she's bothering with poison lips when she could have ended it all in the cornfield, when she could have put a bullet between his eyes and have done with it.
"Unless you want them to run," River reiterates, swallowing a lump in her throat that tastes like experience and bad memories.
"Someone's trying to scare you out of Cardiff?" Jack surmises, but his brow is pinched, the pages not stacking up. "What would they have to gain from that? And if it is this girl working with him, why is she bothering with all this when she's already right under the Doctor's nose?"
His wording makes her synapses fire, a bright light in a dark room as it all clicks into place and River's lips part, revelation on her tongue. "Because it's not the Doctor's nose."
Jack follows in her footsteps, their train of thought syncing, eyes widening as he breathes, "She wants the watch."
"Or for him to open it." Their gaze is locked but River's thoughts are far away, racing with who's and why's. Her pulse quickens and the baby gives a kick and a buzzing in her handbag nearly startles her out of her skin, making her give a sharp inhale. A moment of calm chases her surprise until it occurs to her that everyone with this number is here. Everyone except-
Anxious fingers dive for her mobile, and when she finds the TARDIS' number flashing on the screen, River answers immediately, a knot in her throat as her words fall out in a panicked rush, "What's wrong? Where are you?"
Her trepidation must alarm him because there's silence, only static to fill the airways before he finally gathers himself enough to blurt out, "Nothing!" The sound of his voice makes River's pounding hearts steady. It's the Doctor that's now infected with shaky nerves, hesitating as he continues, "I just, uh, how did you know it was me?"
A silent, relieved sigh falls from her lips, all her worry vacating her body in one heavy breath. Turning away from Jack and his team, River whispers into the phone, equal parts exasperated and relieved, "John, I told you this is for emergencies only."
"It is an emergency!" he counters just a bit too quickly, swallowing. "Sort of. Last night I was looking for the loo and I couldn't help but notice-"
"Snooping around my house, were you?" River arches a playful brow, scolding him through the phone.
"Not intentionally." The man on the other end of the line gives a bashful chuckle, shrugging away her accusations. "Listen, I was wondering, have you picked out colors yet? For the baby's room?"
River blinks, lips parting in surprise, and for a moment it feels like the whole world is standing still. It hasn't exactly been at the top of her priority list and she certainly hadn't been expecting anyone to take notice, least of all him. Holding her chin higher than the tide of her own shortcomings, River's voice is more brittle than she means it to be when she confesses, "No, why?"
"I was thinking," he begins, and through the phone, she can hear him lick his lips, hear the shuffle of tweed on a cotton shirt. "I could help you pick them out, paint too, if you'll have me."
She doesn't know what to say, too stunned for words. The thought of being with him, of picking out paint cans and curtains, of finishing all the things they never got to do feels like an offer that's too good to be true. Watching a him that isn't him choose between yellow or blue sounds like the most painful torture she's ever endured.
And she must be silent for just a little too long, because between the static and the raindrops, she hears him clear his throat and add, "Pregnant women shouldn't be around fumes, you know. But I could, you know, as a thank you, for saving me."
There's a smile on his face, sheepish and hopeful. She can tell by the way his carefully crafted words roll off his nervous tongue. River tells herself that it has nothing to do with what comes next, that it's his need to be protected that makes her concede and say, "Yes. I'd love to."
"Really?" It's more a high-pitched squeak than it is a question, but he schools himself quickly, clearing his throat. "I mean, excellent. Knew you'd say yes. Is tomorrow alright?"
River's eyes gravitate to the corpse, to the message smeared in alien blood. The sickly sight of it makes her mouth go dry, and the need to be by his side, to keep him safe at all costs must take over because before she knows it, her too-bright voice is offering, "Why wait? Let's go now."
The Doctor laughs, delighted and eager and miles away from the rank, grey alley in which she stands. "Can't, I'm afraid," he declines and the remorse in his voice bleeds into her hearts, stealing her smile. "Gave my assistant the day off."
"Oh?" Interest peaked, River finds her gaze subconsciously traveling to the entrance of the alley way, skirting along the roofline of the concrete walls. "Where is she today?"
"Facebooking, I think. Or was it scrapbooking? One of those young people things." There's a flippancy in his indifferent tone as he shrugs her question away. In the breath she takes, preparing to inquire further, he's already moved on, too focused on her to be bothered with anything else. "But tomorrow? I could pick you up at yours?"
"Don't be silly," a laugh that's almost genuine bubbles up, throaty and inviting, and if her wiles persuade him to agree so she can cross paths with his assistant once again, so be it. "I'll meet you at your shop. How does 11am sound?"
"Like a dream," he breathes, malleable as ever when it comes to giving her what she wants.
It's enough to put a smile on River's face, one not even the dreary weather can wash away. Given the sudden escalation of water now pooling at her feet, she thinks it just might be trying. Grey clouds above have only grown darker and River tips her head back, rain drops catching on the apples of her cheeks as a rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. It makes her think of her caves and black obsidian and the way his hands have settled on her hips like they belong there, like they've been there a thousand times before. Stevie Wonder echoes off glittering walls and her eyes are far away, focused on a spot just beyond his shoulder, remembering all the times she's come here to think or scream or cry or be anything except what she's expected to be. Now, half her life is missing and she'd give anything for a glimpse of who or what she is, where she fits in this infinite universe. Her memories have been stolen from her, lost for one reason or another. Even the man before her is forgotten; and yet, this place she recalls. His smile is as foreign to her as a distant sun and it hardly seems fair that something so beautiful could be erased while such vivid memories of her solitude remain.
"I don't come here for the storms," she confesses, thinking of all the times she's raged against petrified glass, wishing like hell that her scars could be half as beautiful as the footprints lightning has left on this sand. She feels how his tempo slows, his feet keeping time with the cadence of her voice. "I come here to see what's left behind after they pass, when everything looks cleaner and brighter in its wake."
The distant sounds of rolling thunder and gale force winds fill her ears, but she can't help but focus on anything but him and the steadying hand at the small of her back as he whispers, "And what will this storm leave behind?"
Her eyes drag their way to his like he's summoned her, like he lives or dies by the sound of her voice, like he is a god put on this earth to grant her every wish. "I won't know until it passes," she swallows, unsure of how to ask even if she knew what she wanted from this man, this friend that dropped out of the sky, who asks nothing from her except to let him stand by her side. And maybe that's why she brought him here, to this secret place. Maybe she's tired of being alone. "But if I had to guess, I'd say it could be something beautiful."
Lightning flashes, chased by thunder, and the Doctor must hear it through the phone because the next sound she hears is, "You shouldn't be outside in that weather."
The reprimand only succeeds in making her smirk deepen, because it's hard to believe this is the same man that once sailed a flying submarine through an electromagnetic storm. Shedding herself of memories and taking a step past the bloodied corpse, River argues, "I should eat more vegetables, too, but what can I say? I've always been a bit of a rebel."
She swears she can hear the way his nose crinkles at the mere mention of green food, a hypocrite through and through, as he continues to admonish her. "Rebellion is good for overthrowing empires, not the common cold."
"It's Cardiff, sweetie," River huffs out. "If I didn't leave the house when it rained, I'd never go anywhere."
"Well then, tomorrow I insist it be sunny."
"Have some pull with the weather, do you?"
"I know a rain dance or two." There's a smirk in his teasing tone, and River bites her tongue against telling him that that isn't how rain dances work. Nevertheless, even if she hadn't resisted the ever-tempting offer to correct him, her facts would have gone unheard because a resounding crash steals his attentions. "Speaking of dancing, my toy section seems to have developed a fault."
Even knowing she'll see him tomorrow, it's hard to let him go. She says her goodbyes anyway, mobile still pressed to her ear and the faintest hint of a smile clinging to corners of her mouth. "I better leave you to it, then."
She hears his lips part, goodbye on his tongue when another sudden clatter that sounds an awful lot like a Jack-in-the-box gone haywire, fills the air. In the background, all manner of chaos ensues, and the last thing River hears is the Doctor's frantic squeak before the shop phone clatters to the floor. What follows can only be described as mayhem and the aftermath of what she believes to be him wrestling with a spring loaded army. With a shake of her head, River lowers the phone and ends the call. As it disconnects, so does she. The woman she was a moment ago has vanished. Gone are her soft expressions and throaty chuckles. She's all business now. No longer lost in the sound of his voice, River finds herself thrust back into the grit of the now, of corpses and cryptic messages.
Jack is engrossed in a conversation with Gwen when River tucks her mobile into her bag, but both heads turn to her expectantly when she calls out, "Change of plans. You can't tail his assistant coz she's not at work today."
The look that befalls Jack's face tells her he's starting to come around to her suspicions as he asks, "Where is she?"
"He doesn't know," River states and it tastes like vindication. She bites back another I told you so, choosing instead to announce, "But luckily for you lot, I'll have served her up on a platter." A smirk is plucking at the corner of her mouth, and it only grows with mischievous intent as she continues, "The Doctor is going to be out tomorrow, which means she'll be there. Alone."
"You want us to grab her?" Jack nods, and River shakes her head, contemplating.
"No, wait till she leaves and see where she goes. I want to know what she's been up to first."
Jack must sense her scheming thoughts because his arms fold over his chest, chin tilted and tone expectant. "And what about the Doctor? Where will he be?"
River takes a step back as if pulled by an otherworldly force. That same air of mystery weaves its way into her smile as she pulls her hood over her head and promises, "Leave him to me."
"Where are you going?" Jack calls after her, and if his brow is pinched in fond exasperation, she's sure he'll forgive her for leaving them to clean up this mess because-
"Shopping," River grins. "I have a date in the morning."
X
The next day finds her as all eagerly anticipated things do, not at all soon enough and never exactly as one expects. His rain dance must have been effective because it's the sunniest she's seen Cardiff in months. Her new boots click across a puddle-free sidewalk and her figure-hugging dress catches the eye of more than a few morning commuters. It's a far cry from the daring gowns and stilettos she once wore like battle armour, but it'll be enough to knock his fez off, so to speak. She thought she'd feel compelled to hide her ever-growing bump, that it would inspire questions she couldn't answer. But the Doctor had surprised her, as he's wont to do. He wasn't at all discouraged by her current state. Even now, he wants to be with her. She sees it now in ways she never had before, that it's never mattered if they were crashing a starship or saving a planet from plague or buying nappies. She's always been an adventure in his eyes.
Maybe it's seeing him again so soon that makes her pulse skip. Maybe it's the fact that she loves breaking rules, especially his, that has her smiling as she marches past the coffee shop she used to frequent. She spares no lingering glances for the table at which she used to sit, where she watched from afar as he lived his life without her. Instead, she keeps her gaze locked on the wooden door that used to read Pull to open as she heads straight for his shop.
The sun is at her back as she enters the building, and she must be a silhouette because his greeting, while kind, lacks the usual luster and warmth he always manages to save just for her. "'Ello, be right-" the words catch on the tip of his tongue as he glances toward the door, doing a double take as she steps inside. "River," he breathes, and there's that smile she wanted to see, his eyes alight and curious as he sets down the gizmo he's repairing and rounds the counter to meet her. "What are you doing here?"
"Our date," she reminds him, the door clicking closed behind her. River doesn't fight the gravity between them, the way she finds herself being pulled toward him, head tilted and brow arched. "Or am I so easily forgotten?"
There's a playful glint in her eyes even as she feigns offense, but the Doctor's hands fly up anyway, a clumsy attempt to keep her from fleeing as he quickly blurts out, "No, no. You're just early, is all."
"Afraid not," she corrects, eyes straying over his shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall. He follows her gaze, discovering it is, in fact, three minutes past the hour.
"Blimey," he swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing, suddenly twitchy as he pats at his clothes and runs a hand through his unkempt hair, silently panicking. Bless him. He did so love to primp.
"Shall I come back later?"
"No," he snaps, and River's smirk deepens. "Don't be silly. I'll only be a mo," the Doctor schools himself, clumsy feet guiding him as he walks backwards toward the stairs. Nonsense has always been his greatest weapon and he utilizes it now, keeping his eyes on her as he makes his way up the steps, rambling about fixing this and dropping that and my how time flies when you have a new ball of yarn and a fresh bottle of glue, not to be used together of course. He pauses when he reaches the landing, popping his head around the corner to instruct, "Don't go anywhere." He bestows her with a grin before he departs, skipping away in a flourish, feet thundering against the stairs as he continues his ascent, out of sight when he shouts, "Make yourself at home!"
River shakes her head at the place he had been, watching with a fond smile. Now that she's older and they're liner, it's easier to see the humor in the fact that she's spent half her life waiting on this husband of hers. Being prompt has never been his forte. The only reason she trusts him enough to catch her when she leaps off buildings is because River knows the TARDIS didn't want to see her reduced to a puddle on concrete any more than the Doctor did.
Alone in the TARDIS and left to her own devices, River turns, taking in the room. It's exactly as it was the last time she entered, still a museum of mankind, out of time objects scattered along shelves like prizes in a scavenger hunt. Dust catches in sunbeams, and as River steps further into the time distorted room, she finds herself hit with a sudden, inexplicable wave of nausea. Unease swells like a cancer in the pit of her stomach, one hand falling reflexively to her abdomen while the other searches her bag for her scanner.
If the Old Girl is leaking energy, River needs to know why. The scanner is heavy in her palm and when it beams to life, what she discovers does little to quell the churning in her veins. The screen before her lights up like a Christmas tree, energy signatures zigzagging this way and that across the shop floor. River taps away at the device, trying to decider their origin. It doesn't make sense. The ship is in standby mode; there's no reason-
The clock is ticking flashes behind her eyes, blood on black asphalt and River's throat tightens as she wonders just how literal that statement should be taken.
A thump from the next room makes her beating hearts still. She silences her device, waiting. River's starting to think she imagined it, that maybe it's just him indoors when she hears the sound of a box being dragged across wood floors. Curiosity demands she investigate, tucking her tech away as she creeps toward the sound. River follows it through one room and into another, past shelves and coat racks, and she's almost found her way to the end of the hallway, to a closet she hasn't seen in six months when she spots Maddie kneeling on the floor, surrounded by miscellaneous knickknacks.
River pauses, leaning against a row of mismatched wellies. Calculating eyes observe the girl for a moment, studying her, trying to pinpoint exactly what it is about her that fills River with such unease. Unaware of River's prying eyes, the girl continues to sift through the junk, shelving this and tossing that. Her hair is pulled back and out of the way, her clothes sensible and not at all out of place, easily purchased from any shop on the high street. If River's quite honest, she seems a perfectly normal girl, young and gorgeous and exactly the type that roamed these halls before River came around. But there's something about her, something River can't quite place that makes her insides lurch.
Satisfied with her reconnaissance, River clears her throat, alerting her of her presence. Maddie lets out a gasp, and River would be a liar to say the shocked expression on the other girl's face didn't give her a cruel sense of satisfaction.
Eyes wide, the girl jumps, spinning to see who's behind her. The young girl's eyes wash over River, dread flashing in her irises for the briefest of moments before they tame themselves into a friendly hello. "You spooked me," Maddie explains, a strangled laugh on the girl's lips as she places a hand over her pounding heart. "I wasn't aware anyone was in the shop. Did you need help finding anything?"
"No," River says, sharp and cold, one brow arched accusingly. "Do you?"
The girl's expression changes, the salesman smile slipping, eyes narrowing as she sits back on her heels. Recognition dawns, but River can't help but feel like it's all for show as Maddie says, "You're the woman from the pub. River, was it?"
River blinks back at her, harboring no kindness in her smile. "And his date for this afternoon. I hope you don't mind me stealing him."
"Not at all," Maddie swallows, forcing another faux smile. "Where is John?"
"Upstairs," River answers, curt and dismissive as skeptical eyes travel to the boxes littered across the floor. "What are you doing?"
"Just clearing out some old stuff," Maddie shrugs. "Needs a bit of spruce up, don't you think?"
"Not particularly," River counters, voice void of emotion. It's her eyes that give her away, sparkling like the untempered schism as she adds, "Then again, I enjoy a bit of chaos."
"To each their own, I suppose." A cordial, half-hearted laugh trickles out from the girl's lips. A dismissive silence follows, and it's clear by the way Maddie watches her with icy eyes that she expects River to leave.
On principle, River holds her ground. Call her a psychopath or a predator, but the girl's discomfort only encourages River to take another step into the room. She watches the girl as she goes about her task, noticing how she favors one arm. It's not her dominant one, not the hand she used at the pub, the one she used to wave goodbye or celebrate with a high five, which can only mean-
"How'd you hurt yourself?" River inquires, and Maddie's demeanor only seems to stiffen even as her voice remains intentionally light.
"Stumbled while on a hike." Her answer is blunt, and under normal circumstances, relatively believable. But River smells the lie on her, feels how they coagulate in the air.
"Garth Hill?" River inquires further, fishing for inaccuracies.
Rather than dodge the answer, Maddie huffs out, "Brecon Beacons, actually. Best hiking in the U.K."
Her eyes make contact with River's, recognizing the challenge before turning her back and devoting herself to her task once again. A frown pinches at River's lips. Maddie's correct, which means she's telling the truth or, possibly, just done her research. "You travel, then?"
"A bit," she says, keeping her back to River, face hidden; and River is sure her green eyes must be boring a hole through the girl's jumper. If she's a traveler, that would explain the accent. With the shock of their first meeting, River hadn't even noticed before, but the girl certainly isn't Welsh, not that such an occupancy was entirely uncommon. But even so, there's something peculiar about it, something off. A hint of the south east, but not as harsh. Posh, but not quite. London, but slightly off.
"That explains the accent then," River states, curious and intentionally light as she leans against the doorway. "I can't seem to place it. Where's it from?"
Maddie gives an evasive sigh, occupied with her task. "Same place as me."
"And where's that?" River pries, a bit biting and not at all appeased. The girl's shoulders stiffen ever so slightly, River's stubborn patience thickening the air as she waits for an answer. She's about to push Maddie on the subject again when she hears the distinct thudding of her husband's feet down the stairwell.
"Sounds like he's ready for you," Maddie turns, tight lips stretched into a semblance of a smile. Her eyes are heavy with secrets, a rigidness in her frame that reeks of a hidden agenda and malcontent.
River says nothing, her cold stare is voice enough, her deadly silence nothing if not a warning.
The shuffle of feet come skidding around the corner, and River feels the Doctor pause behind her, glancing around before declaring, "Ah, River, there you are."
River takes a deep breath, her piercing gaze raking over the girl one last time before she turns to face the Doctor. His eyes are as bright as his smile and River's gaze washes over him, throaty voice dropping an octave or two as she takes in the sight of him. "You clean up nice."
He flushes, twirling like a peacock. He did so love it when she made a fuss over him. "Not bad for a shop keep, eh?"
River hums in agreement, continuing to give that lean frame of his the appreciation it deserves. It's hard not to when he's in this suit in particular. It's no top hat and tails, but they may as well be. She knows what that coat means.
He's trying to impress her. He doesn't think she notices, but she does. He's far too young to realize that this is always the coat he dons when he's trying to make an impression. As if his flamboyant displays and blatant showing off aren't enough. Though he may be aware that this is the bowtie he always wears when he has his hearts set on grand adventure, he's yet to associate it with her. He doesn't yet know that their time together is the best adventure there is, that nights with her will become the soundtrack this new baby face will play on repeat.
It isn't all bad, running into him when he's this young. Sometimes it's nice getting to see the rough draft after you've already fallen in love with the finished copy. It doesn't always cut to run her fingers over his rough edges. On days like this, there's something beautiful in seeing just how far he's come. There's traces of the man she married in him even now, the man he'll become already peeking through the seams. He doesn't know it yet, but he's never looked more like hers than when he straightens his bow tie, a grin curling his cheeks as he holds his hand out to her and says-
"Shall we?"
Those slender fingers of his waggle enticingly, and River inhales a deep breath, filling her lungs with the energy he radiates and pasting a warm smile on her face as she purrs, "I thought you'd never ask."
There's a twinkle in his eyes and they're locked on her even as he calls out to his assistant, "Lock up shop tonight, would you, Maddie?"
"'Course," the girl agrees, getting to her feet. River can't see her, too focused on the Doctor and unwilling to look away, but her answer sounds half pained, half relieved.
Whatever it is River hears in her voice, it demands she turn, stealing one last a look over her shoulder as she takes the Doctor's arm. All that's left to catch is the swish of the girl's hair as she disappears behind down the hall and out of sight. An uneasy feeling still swimming in her veins, River tightens her grip on the Doctor's arm, turns her back on the girl, and lets herself be guided out of the TARDIS.
