Authors Note: Thanks again to everyone reading, especially those who have left comments. They really do mean everything :)
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"Love is many things and sometimes we are never really sure if it even exists, but all I know is that if you were to show me her soul in a photograph, I wouldn't even ask to see the others." -Christopher Poindexter
The universe crackles back into existence, reality folding around him in a kinetic shock wave that makes his hairs stand on end, sparks of vortex energy still nipping at his skin. Upon landing, a handful of things become abundantly clear. The air is humid and his knees are pressed into a rough but forgiving surface, his trousers becoming increasingly soggy as he kneels on the gritty, damp ground. The smell of dimethyl sulphide in the air tells him he's near a large body of water, an ocean, probably.
It's not Earth. The air isn't right. The oxygen levels are too high, free of pollution and other synthetic chemicals. And the lighting is too low and dull, like the sun is shining through a filter of silver. One quick glance at his surrounds confirms his suspicions; they're on a beach. It's desolate save for the charcoal grey sand and a wall of black rock dividing the small island in two.
But most frighteningly, he is aware that they are the sole inhabitants, utterly and completely alone in this foreign place.
His eyes fall back to River, where she is still lifeless in his arms. There's no one around to help him this time. No Martha or Rory to do his work for him. No way of rushing to the best hospital in the universe and demanding they save her. It's up to him now.
He does the first thing he can think of: he puts his ear to her chest, where he can hear her hearts beating. It's a steady rhythm, but slowed, lethargic.
She isn't breathing.
And not because she's holding her breath. This isn't a game. This is life and death and he has to do something. He can't lose her again. He can't he can't he can't!
One arm still holding her tight to his chest, the other dives for her left boot, where he knows she keeps a small knife tucked away. He's never been more grateful for her weapon happy tendencies than he is in this moment, withdrawing the blade and cutting through her dress to sever the binding on the front of her corset. The ruined material relinquishes its tight hold on her ribs, allowing her lungs to suck in a breath. He casts aside the knife, dropping it to the sand. But she remains unconscious in his arms, shallow breaths barely inflating her lungs. He folds the material back, revealing the white shift beneath. To his shock, there is no blood. The only blemish it holds is the singed hole just above her breasts, where the phaser burst penetrated her dress. The edges around the hole are black, the cloth curling in around itself where it's been scorched. Delicately, he peals the fabric down to examine her skin. The flesh of her sternum is pink and raw where she's been burned, but more worrying are the purple streaks extending out from the wound like tendrils. A spider web of veins snake across her chest and sternum, and embedded in her damaged skin is a tiny dart, a liquid capsule that must have exploded on impact.
Judging by her slowed heart rate, it's some type of anesthetic. But he can't be sure. Whatever it is, it's made its way into her bloodstream with alarming speed. Her skin is fevered, hot to the touch as he traces his fingers along the veins marring her chest. If it could have this effect on contact, what would happen if it reaches her hearts? He doesn't want to find out, so he does the only thing he can do. He gingerly plucks the dart from her wound, tucking it into his pocket before pressing his hand softly to her chest, willing his life force into hers.
It tickles, feathers on his palm in the form of glittering gold. She'd kill him if she knew, but he doesn't care. He's always been selfish when it comes to her.
Shimmering light radiates from his fingers, a glowing ball of energy joining them. He can feel his time slipping away, dripping from his bones like water from a leaky faucet. Her body welcomes it, greedily absorbing his gift like moisture poured on thirsty ground. It heals her, the purple webs scaring her skin receding inch by inch and the blistered flesh returning to its smooth, golden texture.
When he's satisfied, the Doctor balls his fist, halting the flow of energy and watching as the last few streaks soak into her skin. The only evidence that remains is a small prick where the dart had pierced and a blush of pink to the surrounding skin.
He smooths his thumb over the semi raw, burned skin. The flesh still looks a little angry, but it shouldn't scar. River stirs in his arms and he slides his hand up into her curls, supporting her head. Her eyes flutter open, a little dazed as they fix on his face. Recognition sparks inside those sea green orbs and he smiles to see it, one corner of his lip twitching upwards.
She half smiles back, eyes shifting downwards to take in her disheveled appearance and ripped clothing. Arching an eyebrow, her eyes find his again. "Usually my dates buy me dinner first."
A puff of laughter escapes his lips. "Well, I would have done. But someone had to go and get us shot at."
River shrugs, sitting up. "A girls gotta get her kicks somehow."
He assists her, removing his hand from its home in her curls to brace her shoulders and help her sit up. The sudden rush of being upright makes River flinch, her hands lifting to rub at her temples. "What happened?"
"You stopped breathing while you were unconscious. Hence the," the Doctor gestures wildly to her chest and tattered dress before clearing his throat and handing her the discarded knife.
"Good thinking." She says with a smirk, tucking it back into her boot. "What did they hit me with?"
"Some kind of a tranquilizer, I believe."
"A damn strong one judging by this headache. But that would explain why they had no qualms about shooting their own men." River drags a hand across face, wiping at her mouth and nose. When she pulls away a few splashes of red stain her palm.
"Are you hurt?"
"Just a small nosebleed." River offers him a tight lipped smile. "Nothing to worry about." Her eyes fall to the disabled vortex manipulator on her wrist. "First my dress and now this. I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"
The Doctor scoffs, feigning offense. "I destroyed both in well under five minutes. Give me some credit."
River directs her attention to her chest, peeling back the fabric to assess the damage. The Doctor's eyes follow the movement of her fingers as they trace an outline of her wounded sternum, delicately grazing over the pink skin. It's transfixing, almost as hypnotic as her voice proves to be when she hums, "Imagine what you could do with ten."
He blinks at her like an idiot. Ten? Ten what? Fingers? No, minutes. Ten minutes, get dressed. Almost the perfect sentence.
Snapping himself out of it, the Doctor finally tears his eyes off her to better asses his environment. The water surrounding the small island seems to go on forever in all directions. It looks like tar, thick and dark and angry as it sloshes to and fro. Even the heavens above don't look placid or inviting. The sky is a bruise, all purples and blues and greys blended together with fingers of lightening branching out across impossible distances, joining sea and sky.
"Where are we exactly?"
"Turbulentis Sphaera." River announces, making an effort to stand. "Means The Stormy Sphere."
"Funny name for a planet." The Doctor adds, helping her to her feet.
"Well, its actual name is XV9ii3 Class 43 Exoplanet." River gives a small shrugs. " But my version is catchier."
"Class 43? I didn't even know they went that high."
"They're rare, useless, really. It's desolate, mostly oceanic, save for a few scattered islands. The only life is plankton, hence the breathable air. It's right on the outskirts of the Xenon Quadrant. No one really bothers about it because there's nothing to mine and it's not exactly an ideal vacation spot. Speaking of," River pauses, glancing to the sky. "We should get covered. You won't want to be outside when the storm sets in."
The Doctor glances around the flat plains, searching for any sign of shelter. There's none, not even any trees, just rock and sand and ocean as far as his eyes can see. "Cover where?"
"See those cliffs?" She gestures to the jagged black rocks scaring the small island. "It's host to a network of caves that will do nicely. And, if luck is on our side, I should be able to convert the residual solar energy into a form we can use. Won't be as good as rift energy, but it will get the job done until we get back to your ship."
He follows River's lead as she sets off toward the shelter. The sand is pliable, shifting under the weight of his feet as he trudges along. The dry patches squeak against the friction of his shoes and, in the distance, he can hear the low rumbles of thunder. The temperature around them drops, a warning sign before the onset of rain, and a sudden gust of cool wind dances across the water, making it ripple and roll like a living thing.
"What did he mean by 'he didn't tell you'?" River's voice carries like the wind, curious and with a slight chill. "What's Lake Silencio?"
She turns her head to face him, but he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the sand at his feet. "It's the reason you were in prison. The man you killed, that's where it happened. I assumed you read about it when looking into your history. That's why I didn't mention it."
River nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. "And this is common knowledge?"
"Oh yes. It was a very public trial."
"But I don't understand. I was pardoned because he didn't exist."
"That's what happens when people play with time. It gets all muddled and complicated."
"So he did exist," River questions, "In some time stream?
"Some people think so." He admits as honestly as he can. Facts are fickle things. The truth nothing more than a blurry grey line in a universe that demands for black and white. To some people he is a nightmare, a trickster, a phantom. And to others he is a fairytale, a story told to comfort sleepy children who fear the monsters beneath their bed.
"Do you think there's a connection, this man disappearing from history and me losing my memories?"
He'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind. But while a corruption in the Library mainframe derived from him deleting himself from history might explain her lapse in memory of him, it fails to answer why she can't remember her parents, Jim, or any of her childhood.
"No, I don't." He says with confidence. "The agent back there seemed more surprised than we were when I asked him about you being rewritten."
"If that's not what they're doing, then what?"
"I don't know." The Doctor sighs, exasperated. "I hate not knowing." His only comfort is the knowledge that whatever they wanted her for, at least they wanted her alive. "Some things are simple." The man's voice echoes in his ears, taunting him. Trouble is, sometimes the simplest things are the hardest to see.
"He mentioned training, too." River adds conversationally, then snorts, her voice taking on a facetious tone. "What kind of training does one require to kill a man that may or may not exist?"
It's a rhetorical question so he keeps his lips sealed. He wouldn't have many answers for her anyway. What she could remember of her youth was a black mark on her past that she seldom spoke about to anyone, least of all him, not if she could casually avoid it with a witty remark or flirtatious banter.
As they approach the cliff, the Doctor realizes it isn't actually a cliff at all. The rock formation is honeycombed with caverns and caves, some not much larger than his hand while others are grand enough to easily accommodate a double decker bus. They enter one of the larger mouths, reaching shelter not a moment too soon. Heavy raindrops have begun to fall, booms of thunder vibrating the very ground beneath their feet. Lightning flashes as he strolls out of the TARDIS and into her cell. He left the brakes off. She always loved it when he did that. But it's an unnecessary act. Even if she was there to hear it, which she isn't, the sounds of thunder and the pitter patter of rain on windows would have drowned it out. The perpetual storms of the prison planet are angrier than normal, rumbles of thunder rattling the bars of her cell and flashes of lightning illuminating the room, chasing shadows in every corner before plunging back into darkness.
He doesn't speak. There's no point, really. No one is around to hear it. He can't even explain why he's here. He hadn't meant to type in these coordinates. He didn't want to be here, surrounded by her things, by memories that once brought him joy. He hadn't asked to be reminded that his only glimpses of her now are footprints and shadows. He never asked for any of the wonderful, agonizing things River Song gave him. And yet, here he is. It hardly matters that his numbered days are up, that her nights are occupied and his time with her has finally run out. He needs her now as much as he always has.
He misses the beginning, when she knew everything and he had all the time. It's harder at the end, subjecting himself to anything just to get a fix, making due with echoes he won't speak to and enduring barely there glimpses of his wife just to see her face and be reminded she is real. Getting addicted was so much easier than learning to live without.
A flash of lightning that has nothing to do with the storm outside fills her cell. The universe must be kind or cruel because River stands before him. Not an echo, the real thing with flesh and beating hearts and so many days left to live. It's a fluke, a wrinkle in the back to front, a wild card in the deck, and an overwhelming wave of gratitude for the fickle whims of fate washes over him.
"Sweetie?" She asks and it's all he can do not to crumble at her feet. "What are you doing here?"
"Spoilers." He forces the word out of his mouth and River frowns to hear it this late in her timestream. That word belongs to her now. If he's honest, it always has. She wields it so much better than he ever did.
Her eyes burn across him like hot coals, hunting for the answers he won't give. They tell as much as they learn though, and he knows this is the first time she's seen him in his purple suit. He knows she knows what that means, that he's older and has so many secrets, that he's seen things that will break her hearts, that he's darker and wearier than he's ever been, that soon he'll be headed to Trenzalore.
Even as her gaze roams freely across his person, he hasn't taken his eyes off hers. They're sharp as daggers in their scrutiny, following the edges of his vest, long coat, and slicked back hair like they belong to another man. But when she finally sees fit to look him in the eye again, she relaxes. Her easy smile lingers, warm and soft, brightening the room in a way lightning could never dream to.
"Are you going to stare at me all day or are you going to tell your wife hello?" Lightning flashes and he's to her before the room can be plunged into darkness once again. He embraces her like a man starved for contact, grateful for the chance to hide his face as he buries himself in her hair,breathing in her unique aroma of honey and dew and freedom. She smells like spring. He immerses himself in it, basking in her purity and using it to save his soul.
River is less desperate in her embrace, but she holds him just as tight, her cheek pressed into his collar. She blinks slowly, her lashes tickling his throat. "You've been traveling on your own again, haven't you?"
"I haven't been alone." He doesn't tell her who he's traveling with and she doesn't ask.
"Then what's wrong?" She questions instead. There's such concern in her voice, such honest affection that he's doomed to answer the truth before he even opens his mouth to speak.
"I miss you." He confesses, his breath stirring her curls.
She pulls back to gaze up at him. Her eyes seem both omniscient and surprised by the admission. One of her delicate hands strokes his cheek, fingers tracing down the sharp line of his jaw like the angles could cut her. He leans into the touch, but he doesn't shut his eyes like he normally would. River notices, eyes instantly saddened by the realization that he's drinking her in. She's no stranger to him memorizing her. She knows what that desperation means even is she doesn't know exactly why.
"How long has it been for you?"
"Too long." Be it a second, an hour, or a decade, it's always too long. He tugs her back in, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I can never get enough of you."
"That's because you're an insatiable old man." River coos, snuggling into his chest.
"Hardly my fault." He argues, pressing a kiss into her hair. "You're moreish."
They chuckle, the thick atmosphere lifting as they breathe each other in. He wonders if he smells the same or if the years without her have finally made him as bitter on the outside as he feels on the inside. A string of lightning flashes and for a moment everything is bright, their joined figures a silhouette on the walls of her cell. Then the light is gone and the world is engulfed in shadow once again. It reminds him that no matter how tight he holds, she is still slipping away.
The epiphany drags out of him in the form of shaky breath, and it must be yet another language River speaks because she clutches at the fabric of his shirt as she whispers promises into his skin. "I'm right here, darling. I'm not going anywhere."
He knows that one day, one terrible day in the future, she won't be. He's losing her. And in so many ways he already has. That knowledge seeps into his bones, making them heavier than they were a moment before. He holds her tighter to keep from shaking. His grip must be crushing, but River doesn't break, she endures. She pulls him tighter as they cling to one another in the erratic light, holding tight to the twilight in which they exist, where it's not quite night and not quite day, where fleeting colors burn their brightest and moments inevitably slip away. He wonders how many times she came searching for a husband only to find a stranger. Did she feel him drifting away as acutely as he feels her now? Outside, the endless storm rages on and he's left to chase after her the way thunder chases lightning, always a little out of sync.
He follows half a step behind as River leads him into the cave. Beyond their shelter an ever growing torrent of rain descends from the sky, pounding the sand into clay. But inside these natural walls it's safe and dry. She's right about the residual energy. Warmth radiates off these rocks in unmistakable heat waves. It's not an uncomfortable heat, but the relief brought by the cool breeze dies the further they travel into the cave, leaving them with no reprieve from the sticky, saltiness of still sea air. The light dims, too, but it doesn't disappear. The convex rock walls seem to sparkle with color, reflecting off an unknown light source. Up close he can see that they aren't jagged at all. They're smooth as glass, shinning like obsidian.
"Fulgurite glass." River explains as he runs his hand over the surface. "It's what happens when lightning fuses with sand. These caves are really just a maze of petrified lightening, footprints after thousands of years of striking in the same place."
"It's magnificent." He says as much to the walls as to River. "But why here?"
When he turns around, he finds River occupied with unclasping her vortex manipulator. "It was the first place that came to mind."
He glances upwards, still in awe of the structure. If it wasn't for the soft, mysterious sparkles illuminating the dark room, it would be impossible to tell how high the ceiling was at all. It's reminiscent of looking into the night sky, a blanket of possibility just out of reach. "Do you come here often?"
"Only as often as I need to." River answers, but the Doctor can read through her air of nonchalance. What could she possibly need from this place?
He spins around, quickly locating her in the dark room, only to find she's shimmied her green dress off her shoulders, leaving nothing but the shift beneath. "River!" The Doctor squeaks, slapping a hand over his face to cover his eyes. "What are you doing?"
She merely chuckles, a husky sound he's all too familiar with as she wiggles her hips out of the ruined dress. "At ease, soldier. I'm not going to taint your innocence. Well," she pauses, and he swears he can feel the suggestive curve of her lips. "Not today, anyway. I'm just stripping out of these useless clothes."
River sounds more amused than bothered by his presence, so the Doctor peaks through his fingers, lowering his hand just in time to watch as she shoves the mass of dress and petticoats off to the side. The whole outfit is utterly ruined, a messy concoction of singed, torn, and bogged down by sand. His eyes shift helplessly back to her form. All she remains in now is a thin, white shift that clings to her hips in ways that can't possibly be legal. Her hair has been freed from the confines of the ribbon, falling haphazardly around her shoulders. It's even more wild than usual, the humidity wreaking havoc on her unruly curls. River doesn't have time to notice his gawking, already busy with the task at hand as she kneels down to fix their only means of travel.
"Is this place important to you?" The Doctor asks with pensive curiosity.
River frowns at the device in her hand, but he can tell her annoyance is meant for him because she doesn't spare him a glance as she sharply retorts, "It's just a place that I go."
"But surely there's reason. Why else would-" He starts, only to be promptly silenced by River.
"I'm a little busy, if you hadn't noticed."
"Right, sorry." He mutters sheepishly, "I didn't mean to distract you. I've just… I've never heard you mention it."
His words fall flat on the floor, useless, because River offers no further explanations about this mysterious place, her attention fixed solely on fiddling with various settings on her vortex manipulator. He normally loves that look of concentration on her face, her brow pinching inward as she nibbles lightly on her bottom lip. He can predict her movements like clockwork, counting down the seconds between her squint of frustration and the brush of her hand as she pushes a stray curl out of her eyes. But he's finding it hard to enjoy these particular subtleties. Knowing her so intimately feels like a meaningless facade when he's standing in one of her best kept secrets.
With a resigned sigh, he sheds his own heavy coat, folding it and placing it on the ground as he takes a seat near her. Silence settles easily between them while she works. Overhead, the storm can still be heard, booms of thunder crashing so loud it resonates in his bones as well as his ears, vibrating in his chest and rattling his very core. He wonders how she came to know this place, what untold adventures brought her here. He imagines different versions of her seeking refuge in these black glassy walls. He can picture her pacing, brain working overtime to solve some puzzle. He can practically hear her shouting away a day's frustration into the empty air. He even visualizes her curled in on herself, still and quiet, the sea air clinging to her skin and her hair dampened but not quite tamed by heavy drops of rain. He wonders if this is where she disappeared to after Manhattan. He wonders if she sat where they're sitting and cried the tears she never let him see, if the glimmering rocks and distant sounds of thunder comforted her in all the ways he never could.
"I come here to be alone." River speaks softly, a confession. "I've never brought anyone else. That's why I've never mentioned it." Her eyes haven't strayed from the manipulator, still dedicated to their task. It's her voice that's different, full of quiet secrets, layers of clothing no longer the only armor stripped from her.
"Why bring me then?" He doesn't want to push his luck, but he has to know. Why now? Why not before?
Light from the damaged fuel cell flickers, casting an orange glow against her cheeks. River parts her lips to speak, hesitating as answers pool on the tip of her tongue. In the brief pause, the light on the cell flickers back to red and her face falls once again. "It doesn't matter."
Oh but it does, and the Doctor has to fight against a sigh of defeat, his mouth pulling into a tight line and his eyes threatening to shut against the knowledge that she still won't let him in. He manages to keep the surge of emotions at bay, his voice timid yet encouraging as he prompts. "Tell me."
It's quiet for a moment, River's soft eyes remaining fixed to the device in her hand. The Doctor dares to watch her, the low light from the fuel cell casting ghostly hues on the mounds of her cheeks. "I've lost a lot." She finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper. "I guess I wanted to share this with someone. Someone I trust. For safe keeping, in case I lose any more." She steals a glance at him, and for a moment those green eyes are more open than he's ever seen them before. They are doors he can run through, windows he can see inside clearly for the first time. But they slam shut just as quickly when River breaks eye contact and returns to her work. "Or," she sighs, all teasing and bravado. "Maybe I just wanted to see you get sand out of that fancy purple suit."
It's a small truth disguised with a lie, but it successfully shatters the moment of vulnerability, scattering it to the winds like it never existed at all. Times like these he sees her most clearly, that not even the formidable River Song is entirely fearless. Lies are easy. It's the truth that's scary.
He lets the moment pass, tucking it away in the back of his mind as he rests his elbows on his bony knees, eyes fixed on his own hands. "What do you do here, when you come here alone?"
In his peripheral vision, he sees the light on the fuel cell finally turn green. Finished with her work, River sets the device down and turns to watch him, a smirk of intent curling her lips. "The only thing being alone in the dark is good for." She leans in like the practiced coquette that she is, giving him chills as her silky breath ghosts over the skin of his neck. "I think." She whispers, and his sober resolve cracks, smirking as he turns his head to face her.
"That's rubbish. Honestly, Professor, who knew you were so boring?"
River gives a good-natured laugh, leaning back into her own space. "Well, unless you have a deck of cards stashed in that tight suit of yours, our options are limited."
Truth be told, he probably does have cards or a tennis racket or something hidden away in his coat pockets, but, "I had something a little more exciting in mind."
"Oh?" River coos. "And what might that be?"
"Well, it requires a bit of touching and it can be quite exhausting," The Doctor purposefully invades her space, his eyes as heavy and serious as his voice. "But in my opinion, it's the best way two people can pass the time alone in the dark together." The answer to his riddle dangles between them, his nose mere inches from hers. River holds her breath at the intrusion, but doesn't lean away. "Dancing." He grins, and the word is too loud for the dark room, too upbeat for such intimate settings. But River doesn't falter, giving a breathless laugh as he jumps to his feet.
"There's no music." She challenges.
"Don't worry. I have an app for that." He reaches for his jacket, digging through the pocket for his sonic. These caves should provide excellent acoustics and he knows just the song to bathe them in. He begins tuning his screwdriver to the right frequency, and he almost has it when a high pitched crackle of static fills the air. With a cringe, he quickly tweaks the settings until the infinitely more pleasant sound of Stevie Wonder's 'Isn't She Lovely' fills the air. Satisfied, he sets the tool down on his jacket and turns with a flourish.
River watches his antics from where she sits, her arms folded across her lap, waiting. "Aren't you just, Mr. Smooth."
"Nope, though I was Mr. Clever once. Well, not me, technically. Long story. Anyway, where were we?" He holds his hand out, stalking towards her with a dipped head and a smirk.
River takes his hand, letting him pull her up. His other arm snakes around her waist, finding the dip in the small of her back and pulling her into him. She slots against his body perfectly and he wastes no time in expertly guiding her around the open space.
"My, my, my." River purrs. "You really are just full of surprises."
He half preens at the praise before admitting, "I can't take all the credit. I had lessons from the best."
"Fred Astaire?"
"No, but I did do a duet with him at a dinner party once." The tempo picks up and he spins her out and then back in again, her back pressing to his chest.
"Then who?" River cranes her neck to look up at him and he smiles down at her. When she's this close, looking into her eyes is like gazing into the vortex, all storms and mystery and streaks of blue carving their way through clouds of solid green. It's very distracting, and he keeps stepping on her feet. He is stiff and awkward where she is grace and finesse.
"Who taught you how to dance like this?" He asks, and River's smile answers his question before she ever parts her lips.
"Who do you think?"
He feels the blush creeping up his cheeks, his body impossibly more rigid. Suddenly she's too close, too warm, too tangible. River must sense his panic because she pulls away, gracefully realigning them in a less intimate position. The Doctor clears his throat. "Isn't that a spoiler?"
"Only a small one." She shrugs. "You're quite good on your feet when you put your mind to it."
At the moment, he's inclined to disagree. His uncooperative legs keep forgetting the steps and his arms hover a respectable distance above her waist. Meanwhile, she hasn't missed a beat, her arms draped lazily over his shoulders. She's comfortable, like they've done this a thousand times before. He doesn't doubt that they have.
But he's never been this close to her for this long. He can see the flecks of gold around her irises, shades of yellows and blues orbiting her pupils like the black holes they are. He looks away so he doesn't get pulled in too. Swallowing against a dry throat as he says, "I've never done this before. Not this face anyway." He's not really sure if he means slow dancing or that feeling inside him that ignites when she's around. But, as usual, he doesn't have to explain his muddled mind to River.
"I know." She confesses, her smile as wistful as the secrets sparkling behind her eyes. "There's a first time for everything."
He wonders if this is why she doesn't, and didn't, dance with him the last time he saw her, at Amy and Rory's wedding. She knew he didn't know; she hadn't taught him yet. Her words hang between them, the concept of firsts fluttering through his mind like dandelions on the breeze. One of her palms smooths over his shoulder, and for a moment, he wonders what it would feel like if her head rested there, her lips brushing his collar bone and her hair tickling his cheek. He quickly banishes the thought. "Is it that obvious?"
He expects a mischievous smile or flirty response that she usually resorts to, but she doesn't. She reassures him, "You're doing better than you think. But here," she guides his hands with her own, lowering them to her hips. The movement brings their bodies even closer, chests brushing and hips aligned. He swallows again, alarmed by how comfortable he is with his hands on her body. A thought that instantly makes him uncomfortable again. "Better?" She asks. Puffs of her breath mingle with his own and he's left with no choice but to nod wordlessly.
She's weightless in his arms, gliding across the glass floor. He thinks that maybe all that leaping off things wasn't her jumping at all. Maybe he hasn't been catching her. Maybe, all along, she's been flying.
"You're thinking too much." River chides him. "Just relax and let your feet do the moving."
"It would be easier if there was music." He counters, but River merely tuts.
"I'm not sure you're ready to keep a rhythm. You can hardly keep time."
"I'm a Time Lord."
"Yes, a perpetually late one." She looks up at him with a lingering smirk before giving in and deciding to show mercy.
When she pulls away, he feels suddenly colder at the loss, watching as she leans over the console to press a button. "Pick a good one, eh?"
River hums, and he can feel her knowing smile as warm and acute as one can the summer sun. "I know just the song." She turns to him with soft, nostalgic eyes; and, with the flip of a switch, 'Isn't She Lovely' fills the air.
"You taught me." He breathes, spinning her out and back in again.
She folds back into his arms seamlessly, her surprised smile warm and teasing. "My greatest achievement yet, it seems."
Tightening his hold on her back, he dips her slowly, holding the pose a fraction longer than necessary. "Undoubtedly." He admits. River's nails scratch absent mindedly at the nape of his neck, but her grip doesn't tighten. She trusts him not to drop her. He doesn't disappoint, bringing her back up gracefully and slipping into a smooth, slow rhythm. "So, of all the places, why come here? It's a bit dreary isn't it?"
River shrugs, fingers still toying with the collar of his shirt. "I like the stories the weather tells."
He must look as lost as he feels because River takes pity on him, explaining what his hazy brain can't figure out.
"Not all storms sound the same." She tells him. "There are angry storms, where the sky is fierce and black, streaked with white lightening so powerful you can feel the static charge crawl across your skin, where wind howls and thunder cracks so hard it feels like it's inside you as well as around you, where the water is at war with the sky and giant swells reach up before curling back in on themselves. And sometimes storms are slow and grey, just trickles of rain accompanied by the threat of low, rumbling thunder. The waves don't splash; they sway, rhythmic and longing."
The Doctor nods, his thumb smoothing over the small of her back. "I suppose it's nice to take solace in the knowledge that no matter what a storm holds, above the clouds, the sun still shines as bright as ever."
But he must have missed the point because River gives a soft shake of her head. "I don't come here for the storms." Her eyes focus on something just beyond his shoulder, and he finds himself lost in her words, so enraptured he's given up his fancy footwork. They're practically still now, gently swaying back and forth as he stares down into her eyes. "I come here to see what's left behind after they pass, when everything looks cleaner and brighter in its wake."
"And what will this storm leave behind?" He breathes, a prisoner to the sound of her voice.
River stares back at him with the same intensity, swallowing lightly before she answers, "I won't know until it passes."
Somewhere amid the swaying and talking, the space between them has dwindled. The air between them remains thicker and heavier than ever, her breath ghosting across his mouth, sweet and warm. It feels like they're talking about more than just the storm outside, like there is something between them, something more than sound waves and sea air.
"But if I had to guess," she says, tongue snaking out to moisten her lips. "I'd say it could be something beautiful." The hand she rests on his shoulder slips down, smoothing across his chest. The Doctor swallows, and River's eyes track his Adam's apple as it bobs in his throat. He can't take his eyes off her, watching with baited breath as the corners of her lips curl into a smile and the hand on his chest reaches up to straighten his bow tie.
"Why did you do that?" He asks, the last of his stored breath rushing past his lips in a hushed voice.
They're barely dancing at all now, movements stilled as her eyes flick away from the silk and up to meet his. Her expression is indecipherable, her tone even as she says, "It was crooked. Would you rather I didn'-"
"No," he interrupts quickly. "No. It's not that. I just…." He exhales, smiling. "Nothing. It's perfect, now. Thank you."
"You're welcome." River smiles up at him as a flash of lightning illuminates the room, dancing its way over the shimmering rock. But the thunder that follows is off in the distance now, reduced to only a dull roar; and it seems the storm has passed as quickly as it came. "It's probably charged now, don't you think?" River's enigmatic eyes sparkle up at him as she starts to pull away. He lets her go, watching as she floats back to the other side of the cave. Every step she takes is like a hole in his chest, but he shakes his head against the sensation, marching over to gather his coat and screwdriver, the sound of music replaced by crippling silence as he cuts off the sonic.
Pasting a casual smile on his face, he clears his throat and comes to stand by her side. "Well?" He asks just a bit too brightly as he peaks over her shoulder.
"It's not perfect." She admits, strapping the device to her wrist. "But it's as good as it's going to get."
The bars of the fuel cell are only half full, and it glows a teal sort of color he's sure he's never seen before on a device like this, but he doesn't question it. River's always been a master of technology, able to bend even the most stubborn of obstacles to her will, himself included. Once it's securely strapped to her wrist, River begins typing in coordinates for London, 1814, dropping them not far from where he'd parked the TARDIS.
The Doctor's hand reaches out, covering hers and stilling her movements. "My ship."
River looks up at him in concern. "What? You think she's moved?"
"No, well, maybe." He says. River looks concerned but makes no complaints as he gently turns her to face him, taking her wrist in his hand and typing in a different set of coordinates. "If we've only got one shot at this, I don't want to chance another run in or risk getting stranded in Regency ear London, especially with you dressed like that. I want to get as close as possible."
"How close?"
"Inside the console room, close. She's transdimensional, hence how the bigger on the inside is possible. She's essentially her own pocket universe. Where her exterior is located is irrelevant as long as you get the inside coordinates right, which is a bit tricky, especially if she's in the vortex, but not impossible."
"And these coordinates will put us back in your ship?" River arches an eyebrow. She doesn't sound convinced.
"In theory." The Doctor mutters back and River's eyebrows nearly shoot off her forehead.
"And in practice?" Definitely not convinced, then.
But the Doctor simply grins at her as he types in the last of the coordinates. "I suppose we'll find out." His finger hovers over the activation button, waiting for River's permission. She gives it, as she always does, in the form of a slow spreading smile. "Geronimo." He declares, and presses the button.
For the second time in a matter of hours, he feels the fabric of time shred and tear around him, melting away only to be replaced by somewhere, somewhen else. Convex walls have morphed into stairwells and metal floors. The rumble of thunder replaced by the hum of his ship, Gallifreyan writing and little round things decorate the walls instead of sparkles of light on black rocks, and silver sunlight has been replaced by comforting blue hues from the TARDIS console.
"Not bad, eh?" He doesn't let go of her wrist and River doesn't try to pull away.
She gives a blasé shrug, but the curl of her lips tell a different story. "I've had worse dates."
"I've never had better." It comes out just a bit too earnest and he feels he should say something else, anything else. But he falters, lost in the enigma before him. There's a gleam in her eyes, a shift in color, a flash of an emotion he can't quite place. He wants to save it, dissect it until he discovers what it means, this splash of adrenaline that could mean worry or excitement or fear. Or maybe it means something else altogether, and fueled by curiosity, his lips part with the hope that his tongue will know what to say.
But it doesn't. He says nothing, and as the moments tick by, they take with them the opportunity.
"I should go get cleaned up." River speaks first, gently retracting her arm.
"Of course." He nods, relinquishing his hold, letting her slip out of his grasp yet again. She turns to leave and the sight of her retreating form makes something inside him snap. "River, wait!" He blurts, brain kicking into gear as he scrambles to find words.
River stops, turning back to face him, waiting. "Yes?"
"I was thinking," he dares to take a step toward her, basking in the drug that is her presence. "You took me somewhere that meant something to you. And well, there's somewhere I'd like to take you, too."
"Oh?" She mirrors his movement, taking half a step forward.
"River Song," he inhales a deep breath through his nose. It smells like time and River and hope. "How would you like to see the Singing Towers?"