Disclaimer: Don't own, never will.
Word count:
656
NOTES: PLEASE READ. This fic contains young!River and the twelfth doctor, who I have made ginger. Just so you're not confused when reading. Enjoy. c:


086. Choices

"In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility."


Her mind is racing.

Her heart is pounding.

Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump.

Because there is the Doctor—her impossible man—and that ... monster is holding him up against the wall, knife to his throat. He's talking, talking, talking even as the monster presses the knife closer and closer, digging in.

And she's afraid. So very, very afraid.

Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump.

Because this man–this stupid, stupid man—he won't give up. He never gives up. He doesn't know the meaning of the word. And she's scared because one day it's going to kill him. But not today. No, not today. She is River Song, woman of his past, and she is not going to let the Doctor die. Even if she has to do the impossible. Even if it makes him cross with her. She'll do anything, anything at all, as long as he keeps breathing. Keeps living to smile at her again.

She spies a gun across the room, abandoned on the floor.

Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump.

She doesn't think. She just does.

In a flash of movement she's thrown herself onto the floor, grabbed the gun and pointed it at the back of the monster's head. Her hands shake; she's never held a gun before. Never fired one. Never so much as looked at one. She swallows, catches the Doctor's eyes—sees the horror within them—and fires.

"NO!"

Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump. Thu-Thump.

River drops the gun as if it burned her, but her hands are still shaking. She killed something, something alive and breathing and thinking and—

"River…" she hears the Doctor whisper. "What have you done?"

She looks up, tears bright in eyes. And she sees the Doctor—her ginger Doctor—covered in blue blood. But he's there. He's alive. And despite the cold knowledge that she killed a living creature, she's glad he's safe. She realises, a little belatedly, that she'd do it again in a heartbeat. "He was going to kill you," she whispers, gaze drifting to the warm, dead carcass.

"You don't know that—"

"I do."

Because she does.

And maybe, just maybe, the Doctor doesn't.

He frowns, lips twisting downward into a dark scowl. "It wasn't your choice to make."

She almost wants to laugh. When has she ever had a choice in the matter? He showed up in her life all handsome and clever–and he knew every last thing about her. How could she not follow him? Fall in love with him? "Is anything really a choice when it comes to you, Doctor?" Her question isn't meant as an accusation, or to hurt him. It's the simple, bare truth.

"You always have a choice," he replies, kneeling down next to the dead creature, his eyes so sad, so miserable that he couldn't save that which would have killed him. He looks back at her, but his eyes aren't filled with hate or shame; they have a quiet sadness, an understanding. And River knows he knows. He knows why he keeps her around.

Because she has the ability to choose to do what he never could.

To take a life.

And it almost seems cruel that this responsibility lies with her, with River Song, but she cannot bring herself to hate him because of it.

"Doctor…" she begins, "you tell me stores–such wonderful stories–of the worlds you've saved, the people you've helped. How the universe needs you—because it does need you, you know. So how can you expect me, knowing all of this, let you die?"

The Doctor walks over and places a soft hand on her shoulder. He doesn't say anything for a long while, just looks at her. "You'll understand one day."

He walks off, leaving River with a gaping hole in her heart. Her eyes fall on the gun at her feet. She bends down, picks it up, and slips it in-between her waist and her belt.

She's made her choice.

Fin


Notes: Beta'd by MuslimBarbie, as always.

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