Day Twelve

The Doctor found his wife, settled on the sofa, fast asleep, the credits of The Snowman rolling slowly down the little TV screen. Amy had shown her the film when they had been children. The thought made him smile. He watched silently from the doorway as she slept, her chest slowly rising and falling in time with her deep rhythmic breathing, her long dark lashes falling just short of sweeping her perfect cheekbones, her full lips ever so slightly parted. He loved to watch her sleep. When she slept, she didn't have to pretend to be strong, or fearless, just for him. When she slept, she was just River, pure and simple. His River.

He walked quietly over and eased the remote control out of her slack grip and switched of the TV. Very gently, he stroked back a runaway curl from her face, and she stirred, her bright green eyes fluttering open.

"Hello sweetie," she mumbled sleepily.

"Hello," the Doctor smiled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay."

"Have I exhausted you?" he asked. She smiled drowsily and said,

"Yes. But it was worth it." A great yawn escaped her and the Doctor chuckled. "I should probably go to bed," she said quietly.

"Come along then Pond," he said. She smiled at his use of her real name and let him scoop her up into his long arms. She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder as he carried her towards their bedroom.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"For what?" he asked softly.

"For giving me a real Christmas," she smiled.

"Any time," he said. "Every time," he added. "In fact, from now on," but as he looked down he saw that her eyes had once more drifted shut, her breathing once again deep and rhythmic. He couldn't help but smile to himself. He backed slowly into their room, and very carefully, he laid her on the bed. He pulled a blanket up around her and settled himself besides her, and, kissing her very softly, he whispered,

"Merry Christmas my love."