i got old (what did you expect)

by Vilinye

I will age for you, if it pleases you. I will match you, wrinkle for wrinkle, grey hair for grey hair, crease for crease, wrinkle for wrinkle. You will be so beautiful when you are old.—Deathless Of course River would come for Christmas. Christmas is about family, after all. And when your family needs you, you stay till the end.

3. Snowdrops

Left; no, not that left, the other left." A wrist slap confirmed which side was meant. "And stop picking at the blindfold."

"That's half the fun."

"For two year olds." River tightened the blindfold.

He gave up on the cloth and let his hand slide down.

"Well, if that's how you want it."

Green! Olive, evergreen, pine, mint, moss, teal, shamrock, olive—admittedly, in small, speckled rows, but it was more green than he had seen since landing in Christmas. "Where are we?" He glanced around the room. Utility shelves stretched from left to right, with barely enough space to squeeze around at the ends. The shelves were crammed full of pots, ranging from rough-hewn clay to a priceless early Chin dynasty vase. Each pot spilled variegated foliage: saw-toothed, lobed, smooth, pale, bright, fine-veined or ribbed.

"You don't think all the food here comes from your little chats with Tasha, do you?"

"No, not at all, I just—oh, that's brilliant. Static solution hydroponics, but where's the light coming from?" He craned his neck. "The solar energy is collected and stored—higher level of technology than I'd initially expected, but with limited resources…"

River paused to pry the cover off a baththub-sized bucket, revealing eggshells, fruit peelings, wood shavings and sawdust. "Compost is coming along nicely."

"Compost? Why? Hydroponics don't even use soil."

"For the annuals, no. But fruit trees and the larger perennials can't support themselves in liquid solutions. So if you want anything sweet besides beets, we'd better get to it."

"Can I help?" The Doctor's eyes gleamed.

"Sure. Take one of these trowel and aerate the soil."

He began eagerly digging. At first, he loosened each scoop, swirling the contents , but as the hole deepened, he became obsessed with obtaining the precise ratio of dry and damp material.

"It's compost, not an archeological dig." River chuckled.

"Better get used to it; I don't think Christmas has the ruins of an ancient temple or mysterious complex to keep you busy." He winked at her. "Of course, I have other ideas if you care to hear them…"