They had never slept together. Not slept together in the way that Amy meant it, complete with raised eyebrows and a smirk. But they were travellers; they ran. Because of their identical inability to remain still, in all the time they had spent together- all the times they had been together- they had never fallen asleep in each other's presence.

River had always been his whirlwind; storming into his life, often in a blaze of smoke (or at times, actually on fire), whisking him away to somewhere exotic by demand, maybe hopping to a few places in a row. They'd return to the Tardis eventually, and with the Time Lord genes that gave her an unfaltering sparkle she would still have more than enough energy to spend a further few hours with him, more often than not engaging in another favourite pastime of hers. Sometimes, just when his hearts had begun to resume their normal pace, she would grab his hand and make him run all over again before she disappeared in a breeze just as she had arrived.

Sleep hadn't factored in their beautifully chaotic lives. However, that was before, well, before everything. It had shocked him slightly, along with everything else, how much she had slept since he had been staying with her. Even Amy and Rory had informed him how their daughter had spent the majority of the month before his arrival sleeping. He knew it was because of the pregnancy, the Time Lord genes of his child physically exhausting her; he also knew that she was attempting to fight it. Her eyelids would often droop while he was rambling about some distant constellation, but she would try to smile and nod in all the right places.

Still, even she could only keep up the façade for so long before creeping upstairs silently to curl up under the covers in the spare bedroom and lose herself in dreams.

He usually left her alone when she was sleeping there. As fond of her as he was, he thought knowing himself that he could not lay at her side when she was dreaming for more than a few minutes without growing restless. He would preoccupy himself with a multitude of mediocre activities for the hours that she was unconscious, even at night, greeting her brightly when she finally came downstairs.

But one drizzly morning began a new habit that would last the rest of their lives together.

With Amy and Rory both at work he had washed the dishes, dusted every possible surface downstairs, made a smoothie from all the fruit he could find in the kitchen, and re-wired every electrical appliance before his thoughts drifted to River.

It was strange how he had begun to miss her when she wasn't next to him; it had happened without him entirely realising it, the way that sensations have a habit of doing. Before all of this he could last weeks, months even without her, and she without him. Now he had stayed long enough that she came looking for him on a daily basis, often to seek some form of comfort or just to be in somebody else's presence.

The funny thing was that he had started doing the same; seeking her out to make sure she was alright, something he never thought he'd do because up until now she would never have let him. He was old enough, of course, to know that the stoic exterior she bore was just that. Inside she was just as broken as him, just as vulnerable and liable to snap.

If her being pregnant meant that she let him look after her, then he could very much get used to it, he thought as he made his way upstairs with a warm cup of tea.

He knew that she was still asleep from the lack of greeting as he crept into the spare bedroom, so he tiptoed over to place the mug on the bedside table with the intention of leaving her alone once again. But then he allowed himself to glance at her, just for a brief moment.

She was curled up in a little ball, knees drawn up almost to her chin and covers tucked around her like a personal cocoon. Her hair was fanned out abundantly across the pillow; a stray tendril was draped across her closed eyes, and by impulse he crouched down to brush it back.

She hummed sleepily at his touch, bringing a little smile to his face.

It was strangely captivating to watch her sleeping, a whole new part of her that he had never previously known. Her mouth curled upwards slightly at the corners even in sleep and her eyes flickered behind her eyelids, encased in dreams which he hoped were pleasant. She looked so peaceful this way; still, the way that she was on the very edge of the double bed as if she couldn't stand to be surrounded by empty sheets, the way her hands were clasped in each other under her chin because there was no-one else to hold them, made a flicker of guilt pulse through him. It occurred to him that she must have slept like this every night of her life, alone and cold; perhaps she didn't mind, but he did.

For the first time in all their lives, he thought about the person she was without him. With him she was the River Song who loved guns and handcuffs and running and anything which generally enticed the concept of danger. He'd always known that that wasn't all of her; it couldn't be. There'd been moments, of course, where she had shone through the smokescreen; on those nights where she'd grow quiet and wouldn't tell him why her eyes were glistening, on those days when she would tell him in between all the peril and destruction that she loved him.

As he watched her sleep, he suddenly wanted to shake her awake and tell her that he did not want her to live any part of her life without him from this day forward. He wanted to tell her that if this was the real her- the one he had run after in the rain, the one who cried whenever he left a room and spent the day sleeping- then he wanted to get to know the real her better. He wanted to tell her that she was as perfect this way as she was hopping between the stars.

He didn't, of course; mainly because he had a strong feeling that waking her would result in a slap. Instead, he climbed to his feet from where he had been perched next to the bed letting minutes escape him to tiptoe around to the other side.

It was quite a procedure to lie down without disturbing her, but he managed it. She was still curled up as he rested his head on the pillow that her head wasn't occupying and proceeded to gaze up at the ceiling.

He'd never done this in his life, but it ceased to bore him due to the revelations of the past weeks occupying his thoughts. He let himself imagine all manner of wonderful things; River as a mother was one of his favourite daydreams. Compared to sharing a child with her, the Cosmos seemed dull.

He hoped that he'd be enough to keep her together, being well aware of how afraid she was that she would fall apart. It was something he had worried about since overhearing those words in the kitchen, the thought of letting her down in any way during this. Honestly, he was slightly afraid to leave in case the damn helmic regulator ensured that he next turned up on their child's eighteenth birthday.

She had been insistent that he keep travelling. He knew he'd have to, eventually- he'd always have to, it was written into the core of his soul- but he realised as he lay there that he had finally found someone who he wanted to come home to.

His thoughts were disturbed by restless movement next to him. His eyes flickered to River who was twisting and turning in her duvet cocoon, her hands freeing themselves and spreading out like wings as if in search of something.

Of the things he learned about her that morning, her sleeping habits were the most intriguing. Utterly unaware of her own actions, she flipped onto her other side and proceeded to wriggle along the bed until her body was curled up snugly against his.

His eyebrows dipped, convinced that she must be secretly awake and this was all some form of ruse; it would have been very her to lure him into such a trap. But her eyes remained tightly shut, the occasional sleepy snuffle coming from her as she buried her nose in his shoulder and draped her arm over his stomach with a possessive grunt.

He wondered how many nights she had searched for him like this fruitlessly in slumber, and he hadn't been there for her to hold on to. Even the most skilled of liars and mask-wearers could not keep up their frontages in sleep, and therefore that morning taught him something else about her; River Song was lonely.

Once she had found him she grew still once again, sighing contentedly into the fabric of his shirt. He kept as still as physically possible, the thought of disturbing her mortifying to him, only tilting his head ever so slightly to the side to rest against hers and breathe in the sweet tang of flowers in spring that her hair bore.

He found solace there, with her next to him and nothing but the low hum of the world turning outside. Morning had crawled into afternoon by the time she stirred; in that time he had lain patiently as she'd continued to cling to his waist as if her life depended on it, listened to her sleepy incoherent mumbles interspersed with random giggles as something in her dreams humoured her. He recognised his own name a decent few times in between drowsy murmurs, assuming that they ran and danced between stars in her reveries as much as they did when she was conscious.

She talked almost as much in her sleep as she did when awake, as if that beautiful sparkly orb of a mind just couldn't quite switch off. She had pulled his shirt between her teeth at one point and started to chew it until it became crinkled, before she found her own hand. Yet another thing he learned about her that day to add to the list; River Song sucked her thumb. He wondered briefly if she knew, and even more briefly contemplated telling her before he realised that the very likely outcome of that would be his own death.

All of these new and wonderful things were more than enough to occupy him until her eyes flickered open, squinting against the daylight. In her sluggish daze it took her a good few moments to realise the one difference to all the other times in her life she had awoken; when it finally registered that there was another living being next to her she lifted her head with a sharp intake of breath.

"Hello," he said softly, startling her further.

She regarded him with a hostile frown, hastily rubbing sleep from her eyes and smoothing her wild hair as she drew her arm away from him. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see if you were alright…" He glanced at the bedside clock. "…Just under three hours ago; I got, a bit distracted."

She blinked sleepily, forehead creasing. "Distracted how?"

The Doctor smiled timidly. "I've never seen you sleep before."

His wife buried her face in her pillow with a heavy groan. "There's a reason for that… I wish you hadn't come in here. Don't you have, I don't know, a new type of biscuit to try, or a sonic screwdriver to invent?"

"I'm sorry. I can- leave you alone, if you want."

He struggled to make the words sound sincere, having seen the glimmer of unadulterated happiness that had, incredibly briefly, flashed in her eyes before the insecurity had clouded it over upon awakening. Plus, there was the fact that he now knew he only had to lie next to her for a matter of seconds for her to find him, albeit subconsciously. He never thought that he would get to know her better while she slept.

River lifted her head reluctantly. "Sorry."

"Why?"

"Because I'm boring!" she cried dramatically, rolling onto her back with a huff. "All I do is sleep because of this bloody pregnancy; you might as well go somewhere you won't be bored to death. It's ok, I'll understand."

"Ok. I'll just be off, then." He clasped his hands over his stomach and let his eyes float across the ceiling, sensing her eyes roll towards him.

"You're still here."

"Well." He grinned without looking at her. "Isn't that strange?"

She sighed. "Doctor…"

"River…" he replied in the same exasperated tone with that unrelenting smile, making her scowl at him.

"Look- you're not trapped, ok? You don't have to stay here."

"Haven't we had this conversation?" he asked gently.

"I know, but…"

"But you're scared that I'm going to change my mind," he finished knowingly. There was no answer from next to him, leaving them a few peaceful if slightly uncomfortable seconds of silence which was eventually dispelled by his quiet but sincere words. "You're beautiful when you're asleep."

She snorted derisively. "Shut up."

"I mean, you're beautiful all the time," he went on as if she hadn't spoken, surprisingly casually because maintaining eye contact with the ceiling made him less liable to turn into a useless puddle of mush. "But especially when you're asleep."

There was a little beat between them, as if she wasn't entirely sure what to do with his words. "You only like me because I'm not talking," she replied eventually, not managing to sound as brash as she usually did.

"I like you because it's the real you; with no guards or pretences. The you who gets cold and likes hugs. But for the record, you are talking."

"What?"

"You talk in your sleep."

"Do I?"

He hummed, a little giggle escaping him. "It's funny."

She shoved him so hard that he almost fell off the bed. "I do not like hugs."

"Ok. Well, I'm here if you ever have a change of heart."

He waited patiently; it only took her a minute to roll onto her side to be close to him once again, resting her hand between his hearts.

He liked the new sort of calmness that had descended upon them amidst all the panic of impending parenthood; little by little, she was letting him in. "I hate you," she mumbled.

He wrapped his arms around her with a victorious smile. "Like you hate hugs?"

"…Exactly like I hate hugs," she answered, snuggling her head in the crook of his shoulder.