Chapter 19: A thousand and one nights

The Doctor was losing track of time. That was the thing about being a Time Lord. You could feel the movement of planets around you, the rotation of the sun, the little pangs inside your body as stars were born and burned and died. You could feel the passage of time, pressing in around you.

But your own personal timeline was always that: personal. And he wasn't certain of how much of it he'd spent alone in the TARDIS, after Darillium. Years? Decades? Centuries, maybe. At first, he didn't want to leave until it hurt less. Until the memories of what and who he'd lost weren't as painful, until he could pass a full twenty-four hours without thinking of her…which was difficult, because River Song was never far from his thoughts.

He'd had a long life -some days it felt too long- and there had been moments when his brain reminded him of something forgotten, his conscience intervened or even occasionally mocked him for his ego… There was a shadowy little voice in the back of his mind that seemed to always be there, and it wasn't until meeting River, until losing her that he realised… it had always sounded like her.

So perhaps: now that she was gone, it wasn't surprising that his imagination filled in an image to her voice. His grief and loneliness made him hallucinate that he could see his wife like a pale ghost flitting around his TARDIS… could hear her voice full of innuendo and flirting and amusement, constantly, incessantly talking to him. Making commentary, cracking jokes, telling him stories at night when he lay awake, eyes burning with unshed tears and throat so tight with loss he couldn't manage to get any words out.

He didn't want to leave until it hurt less. And after a while, as more time passed, he didn't want to leave, because of that.

He had done this before. After the Time War: hiding because of the pain he felt over what was gone that he could never fix; licking his wounds and hoping that time would heal all, while being certain that it wouldn't. And he knew she was right when after a while, she began to urge him to go out, do something.

Don't be alone, Doctor, you promised...

He fought with himself not to whisper back into the empty room: I'm not alone. You're here.

But he never did.

If, the Doctor thought sometimes, he ventured outside the TARDIS, if he went out and found a new companion to travel with… just like with Rose, he would eventually feel better. He would regain that sense of wonder at what the Universe offered, and he'd start to forget and move on.

The thing was: he didn't want to forget. Not anymore; there were too many things that he'd put aside and refused to think about. Gallifrey. Donna. Astrid and even that girl –Lorna, was it?– at Demon's Run and his Ponds, both of them. Places or people where despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to save them; or at least hadn't saved them in a way he'd deem satisfactory.

And River was another one. He'd made a commitment to rescuing her when she needed it… but that last time, she'd saved him and consequently he'd lost her. And he didn't want to forget that, forget her, not ever.

So he hid inside the TARDIS. Tinkered with things that didn't need fixing, caught up on the reading he'd been neglecting for centuries, went for half-day long soaks in the pool… and through it all, he kept his ears open, just listening to River's voice.

He never answered, though. It was one thing to acknowledge that his mind was playing tricks on him, letting him see and hear what he most wanted to; but it would be completely different, answering someone he knew couldn't be there… even if sometimes, she seemed so real. There were moments when she laid a hand on his, brushed a gentle kiss on his cheek; and he swore he felt something.

River found, alarmingly, that years of marriage did serve to turn you into your spouse. It wasn't that it condensed your individual habits into one, gave you a similar turn of phrase or mannerisms.

No, in this case: she had usurped the Doctor's way of talking. Because he might have been staying completely, utterly and uncharacteristically silent; but the more time that passed, the more she couldn't stand that forlorn air of quiet surrounding him. So she talked. She followed him around the TARDIS, talking her head off about anything and everything that came to her mind.

"You know," teased River softly, "for a Time Lord who always claimed you don't need sleep, we do spend a lot of time in bed." She was stretched out next to him, lying over the covers while he was huddled underneath with only the tip of his head poking out.

"I suppose," she said, "we never really spent much time sleeping though, did we? Can't say I regret that. But it's such a beautiful day today, down below in the real world. Did you realise, somewhere far below us it's nearly Christmas? One of the proper Victorian ones you always loved." She laid her hand lightly against the top of his hair, her fingers a soft pressure against his fringe; and he shivered as though he was cold, burrowing his head down a little more into the duvet.

"You ought to drop in on Madam Vastra," continued River. "Jenny loves decorating… I think that tree is at least 10 meters tall, and decorated with fairy lights." She chuckled. "Real fairy lights; those miniature lanterns from the Court. Do you remember going there, my love? First, last and only time you drank wine in this regeneration… and you knew the rules, Doctor: never eat or drink in the Fairy Kingdoms! You were quite lucky that I was there. Titania wanted to keep you... and yes, I know. It's special to be fancied by a Fairy Queen…

"She couldn't have you, though. You were mine, sweetie; and I was willing to fight for you."

She laughed softly, remembering what had happened. The Doctor, tipsy on fairy wine. Her, with one arm looped around him to keep him upright on his feet, the other waving her blaster as she hissed: 'One more step from any of you, and I will blast you into dust that no amount of clapping will resuscitate.'

"Oberon never did forgive me," she murmured, "for shooting his throne. I tried to apologise later - and it's not as though he never did ridiculous things for love! Making his Queen fall in love with a donkey… Well," she sniffed, "I suppose a certain Time Lord doing a dance like a Drunken Giraffe gave him that idea."

The Doctor pushed back the covers abruptly, and River giggled. He looked grumpy, face screwed up into an indignant pout… and if he could hear her, she knew he would have had some retort to make.

But he didn't say anything. Merely stared up at the ceiling wordlessly; and River sighed, wriggling closer to him. Almost, but not quite touching.

"I think, Doctor," she murmured, "that it's time for you to stop sulking. It's been ages, sweetie… and you've done this before. Tried to shut everything and everyone out; though, you've never tried hiding out on a cloudbank, that's new. I do wish you could hear me. Because talking at you like this… it reminds me of-"

River stopped, mid-sentence. It reminds me of what happened with Threnody. You never could see her, and then you stopped hearing her. Me.You stopped hearing me.

Painful, the way her life came in cycles. Once, she'd sacrificed everything not to face a day when the Doctor didn't know her, only to come up with a Doctor who didn't know her and couldn't see her. And now, she was facing a Doctor who knew her alright, but couldn't see or hear. There were times it felt deliberate, his blindness and deafness where she was concerned; and that was what hurt most of all.

"Never mind," she said aloud, blinking her eyes hard to get rid of her tears. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Someone told me once that you're not good at hearing or seeing what you don't expect. She was right; even though she was…well, whatever she was.

"I thought she was a character from a story," River continued. "Met her in the Library. It was an interesting time in there. Fascinating, in a way. I don't suppose you'll be surprised when I tell you that the first books I went into were in the history section.

"Yes," she sighed, "I know. I'm such an archaeologist."

He rolled over so that he was facing away from her, and in some ways, it was easier to keep up her running monologue without seeing his face.

"What was I saying?" asked River conversationally. "Oh, yes. History. Well, that's where I went first. But I didn't enjoy it very much, after a while. Takes the edge off when you can't change anything. It was more fun, disrupting literature… as long as everything ended the correct way, I could do what I liked within those pages.

"And after my team paired off to make their own lives, I spent more time with the children. They loved fairy tales; so for a long time, those were the only books I visited. I suppose I have a confession," she whispered, dropping her voice lower. "I went there with the children… but secretly, I loved them too. Did I ever tell you that? I can't remember. I always knew you liked them… said that in the end, that's all we are. Stories, just like fairy tales. And who wants to read a bad story, so might as well make it as good as you can."

River smiled, reaching out to stroke her finger against his cheek. She'd grown bold, after all this time. He couldn't hear her, never seemed to notice if she was there… so why not an occasional touch? He certainly never seemed to notice those either.

"I suppose we all dream of that sort of thing," she mused. "Someone to save, wrongs to right. Quests with trials and tribulations, a daring rescue, true love's kiss conquering all… and at the end, everyone lives happily ever after. It's too bad that life never works out that easily, does it? There are horrible things that rip out your hearts and leaves them to bleed… but the good things, Doctor. The good things and people out there… you know, you told me that once. There are amazing things out there in the world, and amazing people to go with them.

"And you," she whispered, leaning close to him and brushing her lips over his cheek, "are far too amazing to act like this. You always have been, Doctor…it's why I saved you."

She waited, not knowing why she was waiting. If he could hear her, she knew he would have answered. But he never did, and he still didn't now. He only pulled a pillow into his arms, pressing his face into it; and she closed her eyes for a moment.

He used to hold her like that. Their legs entwined, his arms tight around her waist and face buried into her curls. She couldn't help it; she curled her body around him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. It wasn't the same as it used to be… but it helped, a little.

"I know it always hurts you to remember what you couldn't fix. And I know you're grieving…" she mumbled, her lips close to his ear, "but the way to grieve for me isn't by staying in the TARDIS the rest of your life; it's just not what you do. You change futures and rescue those who need saving. Even if you think –like I'm sure you've been thinking since Darillium- that the world and its inhabitants are better off without you… oh, I know you, Doctor. I know how you think when you're unhappy.

"And you're wrong. You do amazing things for the places and people you love… so won't you go out? Go to the house on Paternoster to see Vastra and Jenny and Strax. Go see something or do something… save-"

Me, she suddenly wanted to say. If you seem so lost without me, then why don't you save me?

(But something in her said that this wasn't the right time yet. This Doctor, sullen and soaked in grief and pity wasn't the sort who could save a stranger, let alone his wife.)

"Someone," River finished smoothly. "If you found someone who needed it, wouldn't you do that? If I asked?"

He didn't say anything for a long time, and River lay with her cheek against his shoulder. Feeling his warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt, the faint thuds of his heartbeats echoing through his body.

"I miss hearing your voice," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "My Doctor never shuts up… I wish you were him."

The Doctor shifted, letting out something that was either a sigh or a sob, and sat up abruptly. "I think I need a cup of tea."

His voice, unheard in the TARDIS for so long sounded scratchy from disuse; and River's mouth fell open in shock. She watched him stand up, shoulders stooped as he shuffled to the chair on which his jacket had been haphazardly thrown.

"Out of milk though," he muttered. "Have been for ages. Guess I should go down the shops."

"There's a tin of Awed's galaxy-famous condensed milk in the pantry," River offered. "I think it tastes fine, but you always did hate the colour. Said milk should never be sparkly. Or green."

He swallowed, eyes darting furtively around the room, seeming -or so it felt to River- to avoid the bed she was still lying on.

"My old girl can do anything," said the Doctor, head down as he tried to balance on one foot to yank on his socks and fumble into his boots, "but she's never gotten the hang of preserving normal milk in any sort of stasis. What is in Earth cows anyway; and why does tea only taste correct with their milk?

"Right." He swept a battered top hat on his head, giving his reflection a quick once- over in the mirror. River stood up, coming to stand behind him, and he gulped again nervously.

"I'll be back," he said, staring straight ahead at their reflections. "Five minutes."

It was hard for her to hide her smile of relief. Maybe he couldn't see her or hear her. Maybe, he'd been ready all along to re-join the land of the living and she'd had nothing to do with it.

Still. Something about this tasted faintly of victory. The Doctor, putting aside his sulking and being the man she loved again.

"I'll wait up," promised River.