It had begun as a feeling; one of being watched. Then, she had begun to see things; a flash of blue out of the corner of her eye. Then, the voice had come. "River," over and over. Finally, the ephemeral image of man in a suit. It was his voice stalking her and his blue suit that had been the flashes she kept seeing. She knew who he was; knew in some other life he had been the most important person in her universe. But the knowledge was understood in a detached, clinical way. That love and that man had belonged to some other woman. She felt his eyes on her and heard his scream as a planet died beneath her.
The Doctor felt it like a shot to the chest, dropping him to his knees against the icy surface of the Thames. Something had gone wrong with time. He scrambled to his feet, wildly searching for his wife, but he knew she was gone; lost to him in the vortex, or time, or the dark ether of the universe itself. His hearts squeezed as his whole being went rigid with panic.
In terror, he reached the TARDIS and, as was always the case now when heading home, he ended up exactly when and where he wanted. Darilium, just a few hours after he and River had left. But, there was no home now. No little girl running to meet him, a peal of laughter escaping her lips as she reached for her father, wild golden curls blazing in the midmorning sun. No River, watching amused as the age old Time Lord bent to fold the child in his arms. There was nothing; silence. Silence and five bodies clad in space suits that after more than a thousand years, he still saw in his nightmares. What had he done?
She had been an idiot, Alex thought.
He had been an idiot, Matt thought.
It seemed like a ridiculous scene out of a ridiculous movie, they realized later, except, that it had actually happened just that way.
The lift opened, and there she was, or at least, there was her hair, no mistaking it. She was looking down, rifling through her purse, a trench thrown over an arm, and when she finally looked up to see who was blocking her path, the boarding pass that had been between her teeth, fell to the ground.
His eyes were as wide as hers, but he'd thankfully had a split second more to register her before she'd noticed him.
"Alex," he breathed.
"Matt," her smile was unsure.
"I was an idiot!" They both blurted in unison, then fell into a nervous laugh as they both heard the other.
Matt started again, "I was on my way to see you."
"I was on my way to see you," Alex responded.
Matt smiled, "Guess I got here first."
"Looks like," Alex grinned back.
"We should talk," he said sheepishly.
"Yes, we should."
Barely a word was spoken beyond pleasantries on the way to Alex's flat but they each took comfort in the fact that their hands had reached for the other's and lay clasped in the backseat of the towncar.
She awoke to Matt's amused face, "You know, you swear like a sailor when you sleep."
Alex squinted at him in puzzlement, "What?"
His fingers skimmed the length of her arm, "You were giving someone quite a talking to."
Her brow furrowed as she looked away. She hadn't wanted him, or anyone, for that matter to know. Of course she had dreamt she was characters she was portraying occasionaly, but this was, different. She tried to laugh it off, "When have I not had a filthy mouth?" She said, and tried to kiss him in order to stave off conversation, as well as shake the other woman from her mind, but Matt had noted her change in mood.
"Come on, Alex," he unfastened her arms from his neck.
"It's nothing, I swear. Just a nightmare. I haven't been sleeping well and I'm stressed about this play, and that's it. I promise," she lied.
Matt took Steven's advice, don't push, just be there. So he was. And it was the best summer of his life. They spent lazy mornings abed learning all the subtlties of each other. She was cautious with her heart, and he was patient, but each knew there was no going back.
Most days, Alex was at the theatre, so he wandered all over the city, taking in every ridiculous tourist attraction he could. At night, he'd sneak in to watch each and every performance of Antony and Cleopatra, continuously dazzled by the woman he was in love with, then the two would slip into some dark, quiet corner of the city for a late dinner. It was bliss. Even the nightmares seemed to stop as Alex grew used to the warmth and comfort of Matt's warm skin against hers in the night. She had no idea her brief peace had been bought with another woman's life.
And then, suddenly, they were back in Cardiff, pretending to the world that they were just friends. In fact, Alex's part on the show was still being kept a secret from the public. For the first time, they would be filming the entire season before announcing the new companion. It was one hell of a trick to pull off, and yet, they had.
Cardiff. Cardiff was where it had started to come apart, Matt understood in the end. Where the threads he unknowingly had been holding together, began to slip from his hands.
Night terrors; Matt waking her, clawmarks down his arms and chest where she'd raked her nails across them. She kept them short after that.
Huddled in a corner of their bedroom, eyes wide but seeing another world, "I'm sorry my love," she was shaking as Matt wrapped her carefully in his arms, "I tried to stop Her!"
Forcing herself to look away as Makeup tried to cover the marks on Matt's throat her hands had left. Her body hitting the wall as she fell from the bed waking her; Matt immediately at her side with no care for himself, telling her she was alright. But they both knew she wasn't.
No, she told him truthfully, she had never had night terrors before. No, she lied, telling him she didn't remember what they were. How could she tell this man that looked at her like she was the most cherished being on earth, the things she had not just seen, but done in those terrors that went beyond any nightmare. The thrill she felt as, covered in blood and gore, she cut through a dozen men simply because it felt good. The hard metallic scent of blood become a heavenly perfume. The brief excorcism of all her rage and anguish in the beautiful violence of a planet's last gasp; every orgasm she'd ever had, exploding inside her as one. She was a god.
So, yes, she lied to the man she loved. How could he love her if he knew what she now thought she was capable of. She lied and sipped her tea, and let him hold her tight against him as they watched the sunrise huddled under a blanket on the floor. She promised she'd get help, but knew she wouldn't; for there was the new part of her that delighted in the chaos and destruction of her sleep.
The day they finished filming, she left him. She had run out of clean socks and was rifling through his drawer when she found the ring: A small green box hidden amongst his socks. The sapphire's brilliance winked mockingly at her as she grabbed the bedpost to steady herself. She couldn't possibly accept. Not in her current state. She was barely holding on. She'd put on as good a face as she could, she was an actress afterall, but she felt lost. Not even Matt could hold her together anymore. Even before finding the ring, she had told herself it was time to go; take a break at the very least. They had been together almost non-stop for months. Moments of bliss followed by the sickening realization that something within her was breaking.
"Alex," of course she hadn't heard him get out of the shower, "are you," his voice trailed off as he spotted the green box in her hand, "oh." He looked hopeful and terrified, "Well, not exactly what I had planned," his hands reached for hers' but she recoiled, almost throwing the box at him.
"No!" She shouted before he'd even asked the question. "No, Matt," the tears came fast and hard; words stuck in her throat.
His voice was thick as he reached for her hands again, "Alex, please, don't do this." She shook her head as tears fell, but she let him take her hands this time; cradle them against his chest. "Whatever this is, whatever we are," he said, "it's real, and right." She had let him pull her close, tears soaking his shirt. "To hell with the Doctor, and River Song, and the whole bloody thing! There is no universe where I wouldn't have found you. You! Not River Song, not Alex Kingston, just, you! I would have always found you, and I'm not about to sit back and just let you walk out of my life."
She forced herself to look at him; to look into those sad blue eyes. "Why do you love me?"
"I just do."
She smiled sadly, "I love you too."
"I know," he took a deep breath, "We're supposed to be in New York in two months. If you're not there, I'll know what your answer is. Even then, I can't promise that I won't stand outside your flat every morning with a boombox over my head professing my undying love," he smiled as she chuckled at that, "but I will give you your space, and time," he winked and she rolled her eyes.
She backed away and nodded, trying to stifle the flow of tears, "Alright."
She was blind drunk, she hadn't meant to be, but she was, but she was there, finally, at his door. She had been a bit shocked the front desk had given her his room number, but the clerk had winked at her and whispered, "I totally ship Mattex," whatever that meant, Alex thought. Her knuckles were white as she tried to steady herself against the doorframe. The door opened, she was unsure if she had actually knocked or not, and then there he was. He smiled and she knew she was home. And then she projectile vomited all over his white t-shirt.
Matt had never been more happy in his life. Yes, he was covered in vomit, but it was the woman he loved's vomit. Which meant that she was here, with him, which was really all that mattered. She had gotten on the plane. He helped her to the toilet and ran cold water on a towel, gingerly placing it on the back of her neck before stripping off his soiled shirt and kneeling beside her to hold back the mass of curls as she continued to throw up.
Her face was puffy and her eyes and nose streamed, "I'm so sorry!" She cried between bouts.
He tried to soothe her, "You have nothing to be sorry for my love," he said, stroking slow circles on her back, "I'm here."
When she woke, alone in a tangled mess of a bed, she was confused at first, then mortified as she realized where she was. "Oh my god!" She thought, wondering if she was even still in Matt's room or if he'd given her the boot.
Heavy footsteps were heading her way, "Are you alive?" he asked as he entered the room.
"Oh god, Matt," she was sure she had never been more embarrassed in her life. But there he was, grinning from ear to ear.
"What are you so happy about? I was sick all over you," she glanced around the hotel room, "all over everything, I think."
"Doesn't matter. You got on the plane."
She wanly smiled back, hoping beyond hope that she took his meaning, "I guess I did."
He held the green box out to her, "Then I think this belongs to you."
Enough. She had had enough. One way or another, the man in the suit had to go. The Alderbran brandy has ceased to burn hours ago; still, it was a welcoming warmth as it made it's way past her lips. She had locked herself in her cabin aboard her ship The Medusa two days ago, knowing full well if she didn't emerge sooner rather than later, she faced a mutiny.
"Talk," she had said to the ghost.
Her green eyes glinted coldly as her ghost looked down in disbelief: her favorite blade was buried to its jeweled hilt in his chest. "How are you doing this?" He sputtered.
Her smile was one of pure cruel glee, "Sheer fucking will."
She emerged after two days with her ghost with a plan and a course.
He didn't come back, at least when she was awake. But still, there were the nightmares. "Find me," he'd said. Her fist shattered the mirror; she could no longer face the haunted green eyes staring back at her. She'd find him alright.
A bar on a dying planet at the ass end of nowhere: The Maldovarium.
"Jack Harkness," the handsome stranger said, reaching out a hand, "Captain." She took his hand and smiled but said nothing. "And you are?" He asked.
"Thirsty," she responded with a quirked brow.
His smile turned to a smirk, "Ah, I think we can manage that."
"A shame," she stood over the one handed corpse, "so pretty," she said as she buckled on the vortex manipulator.
"Bloody hell Moff! Why are you in my room?" Matt exclaimed as he and Alex stumbled into their room to find two men waiting, "And why is Peter Capaldi here?" Matt asked, recognizing the other actor.
"Who?" The silver haired man asked.
"I'm not that drunk mate," Matt slurred.
Alex was hanging on Matt, but she went still in his arms, "That's not Peter."
"No," the man said, "I'm not Peter, whoever that is."
As the man stood, Matt felt chills run up his spine, whoever and whatever the man before him was, he was decidedly not human. His features were human but more perfect, an airbrushed, Instagram version. His grey eyes glowed with a faint light as did the entirety of his being, and beneath the exposed skin of his neck could be seen golden veins instead of blue.
Moffat broke in, "Matt, Alex, this is the Doctor."
"Uh huh," Matt responded a bit slack jawed, still staring at the nonhuman before him.
Alex let go of Matt and slowly backed behind him, unable as well, to take her eyes from the extraterrestrial being.
"Told you they were going to freak out," Moffat spoke to the Doctor.
The Doctor smirked, "They're not freaking out, are you?" He asked Matt and Alex, "Don't freak out, now's not the time."