The house's ambient lights had dimmed themselves for the evening. River had just settled herself in the living room, with Stevie Wonder on the house speakers, student papers on the coffee table, and a virgin Antares Twist in hand. Then she heard a telltale electric zap from the bedroom. Her vortex manipulator had returned. Judging by the grumbled Gallifreyan oaths that followed, its thief had returned as well.
She rolled her eyes before lifting herself somewhat strategically from the chaise lounge. She heard sounds of scrambling for the master bathroom, then the toilet lid whirring open, closely followed by retching. She detoured to the kitchen for some ginger ale and crackers.
Nardole popped his head out of the bedroom. (Nardole had gone with him? Now that was a surprise.) "Erm, Professor…?"
"I'm on it."
She found the Doctor sprawled on the floor before the loo, shakily wiping his mouth with a fistful of tissue. Oh, how the tables had turned from a few months ago…
"Are you alright?"
"Will be in a minute." He grimaced. "I hate vortex manipulators."
"Really? Whatever happened to 'nasty old habit'?" she teased.
"I dunno. Experience? Wisdom?"
Wisdom? Fat chance, you sneaky, rotten thief!
She stepped over him and settled herself on the wide marble edge of the jet tub. He sat limply against the tile wall, but his eyes followed her openly. Was he concerned for her balance? Silently asking for the drink and crackers she held? Both? A softer woman would have been moved by the sight of him, and handed over the goods.
She turned and placed them on a towel rack just out of his reach. Thieves don't just get crackers handed to them. Thieves have to work for their crackers.
"But sweetie, if you hate vortex manipulators, why did you take mine?" She dripped a little extra sugared poison over the word mine.
He ran a hand over his face. "Something came up."
"As things do, I understand that. But why not take the TARDIS?"
"No parking space."
"No parking space where?"
He looked up through the bathroom skylight. "Rillan's barely moved," he observed. Rillan was Darillium's largest moon and oldest timepiece, its orbit lasting approximately one Earth month.
"You've only been gone a few hours," she told him. They'd had brunch together on campus that very morning. Now she wondered if he'd already stolen the vortex manipulator from her bureau by then. "How long was it for you in… Where were you, again?"
"Two days." He swiveled himself on the rug and reached for the ginger ale. She noticed the curls at the nape of his neck were dark and clinging.
"Why is your hair damp?"
"They made me have a wash."
"Oh good. Someone had to. Who's 'they'?"
He took a swig of ginger ale, paused to let it settle, then moved to get up. He stopped midway, bracing himself against the edge of the tub. He had one arm on either side of her. His eyes were steely on hers, but the corner of his mouth twitched mischievously.
He was turning this into a game. It wouldn't be the first time. He knew how River liked a little spy-vs-spy roleplay. But right now, she was not in the mood for games.
At least- she didn't want to be in the mood. But her husband's current stance was doing things to her. She wished she was wearing a thicker camisole.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
She followed him out through the bedroom and into their flat's open-plan common room. The kettle was on, and there was a plate of cupcakes on the island countertop. Nardole loitered awkwardly in the kitchen. "Hullo, Professor."
"Hello, Nardole. Where's my husband taken you?"
"Erm-"
"Who wants tea?" the Doctor asked loudly. He began rummaging through the cabinets.
"I'm not at liberty to say. Sorry, Professor," said Nardole.
"That's alright. I'll just torture it out of him later. How's Ramon?"
"Oh he's wonderful," Nardole blushed. "He loves the new job. Thanks again for putting a good word in."
"It was my pleasure. Do let me know if you two lovebirds need any help planning the wedding. Or the honeymoon," she winked.
The Doctor snorted back laughter.
"Oh shut up," she teased. "I meant hotel bookings. I know people in hospitality."
"I'm sure you do," her husband quipped as he set out three mugs and the sugar bowl.
Nardole shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "So. Erm, how's the baby, Professor?"
River smiled and cradled her rounded belly. "Kicking more every day, and growing like crazy. You'll have a whale for a bridesmaid at this rate."
"The most beautiful whale Darillium has ever seen," said the Doctor, smiling at her and cocking one eyebrow.
River could practically feel herself glowing. Twenty-two weeks in, and her body image hadn't faltered for a moment. No surprise, knowing her, but it sure did make for pleasant going so far. She felt confident and sexy in her new curves. Her husband's wry compliments were just icing on the cake.
Speaking of cake… She picked up one of the cupcakes, and was blown away at the first bite. "Mmm! Is this red velvet?"
"It is, ma'am!" Nardole beamed. "New York's finest."
The Doctor fumbled and dropped a box of teabags.
"I- ah-" Nardole stammered. "I mean, erm, New New New York!"
"New New New York had a famine for the entirety of its five-year existence. Try again," she said levelly.
"River-" the Doctor started.
"Don't you 'River' me. You're not supposed to travel to New York. You could've torn a hole in spacetime. What if my parents saw you? What if they recognized you?"
"Don't worry, I thought it through. We went to 2016. Your parents are both dead by then!"
Dead. Your parents are dead.
The words hit River hard in the chest. Tears leapt into her eyes with embarrassing speed. Stupid hormones. She marched out of the kitchen, taking care to stomp on the box of teabags on her way.
As she yanked the balcony door open, she heard the Doctor ask Nardole, "D'you think it was something I said?"
It was early in the Darillium night- only about three years in. The climate was mild for now, thanks to warm prevailing winds from the daylight side. The wind was brisk tonight. You could almost hear the singing towers from a full ten miles away. A light desert dust ghosted across moons and shimmered the stars. River dabbed her eyes, then looked downhill to the local university. The observatory was dark and inert, awaiting better conditions. The drama department was soldiering on with an outdoor performance in the quad, shouting Aldebaranian soliloquies against the wind.
She busied herself with the balcony garden. She adjusted the sun lamp over the nonindigenous succulents, and shooed away a nox-gecko that had been basking in the heat. She trimmed the dying, dimming spots from the bioluminescent fronds. She tested the neon mushrooms' soil pH and moisture with her sonic trowel.
She wiped her eyes again, this time on a clean spot on her forearm.
From the day that the loo's biometrics had flashed her the warning, Elevated hCG- Possible Pregnancy, she knew she'd have to give up vortex hopping. It was a crazy way to travel, even without a tiny stowaway. She'd given little thought to her parents at first. Sure, she loved them, in her own unconventional way. But nine months would hardly be the longest stretch between their visits.
Then she made it through the first trimester, and things began to feel real. Then the vivid pregnancy dreams started kicking in. Some nights she saw Amy as her childhood friend, the two of them arguing over baby doll names. Some nights she saw Amy at Demon's Run, postnatal and plump, gently rocking baby Melody while fiercely promising her a safer future. Some nights River found herself in a library, pulling resources on pregnancy and motherhood but never quite finding what she needed… because what she needed could never be stored in a library.
The Doctor knew about all this. He knew, and he went to New York anyway. Without her. He'd gone to the one place she desperately wanted to go, at the one time that she couldn't. How dare he? What could possibly be so important that he had to go there now?
"I was trying to repair the temporal fabric around the city."
He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, voice husky.
"I didn't want to tell you til I'd managed it, til things were ready for you to go."
"And are things ready?" she breathed.
He dropped his gaze to the sandstone floor. "No. Not yet. I'm sorry."
She swallowed a sudden, hard lump in her throat and turned back to the plants. "In or out," she croaked. "You're letting cinderflies into the house."
He stepped out fully onto the balcony and shut the door. She deliberately ignored his continued presence. She bent forward to check some planter bowls on the floor, and found her belly now got in the way. He rushed forward, picked up the bowls and moved them to a middle shelf.
"You don't have to do everything for me, you know."
"I know. But River, I'll think of another way to fix New York. We still have time-"
"No, don't bother. It's stupid-"
"It's not stupid. It's perfectly natural. I've been reading, and it's common across mammalian cultures- humans and timelords included- for pregnant people to seek out the comfort and wisdom of their elders-"
"Their elders?" River cried. "Since when is Amy my elder? Since when is anything about our relationship natural for a mother and daughter? Even if I could visit her without the risk of a black hole opening under one of Earth's largest cities, who's to say she'd even want to see me like this? Why should I visit her now, when it might just break her heart?"
"What do you mean?"
"When I was in here-" River gestured towards her belly- "Amy was essentially in a coma. And then…" she shook her head, eyes welling up fast. "And then…"
She hated letting him see her cry. Sure, it hurt her pride, and his response was often cold or confused. But the real reason went deeper than that. She hated crying in front of him because she feared what he might do to whatever had made her cry. When the mood struck him, the Doctor could go to terrible extremes to 'fix' his favorite humans' problems. River didn't want history rewritten or a species banished over a wobbly lip.
But after three years of actually living together, he was learning not to be so cold. At least, not when it mattered. And she had learned that sometimes it was better to let him see the tears. To let him think he'd fixed things already, just by being there as she cried.
Haltingly, he held out his arms. She fell into them, buried her face in his shoulder, and wept.