A/N: As I've been saying, this story is now a collection of one-shots and drabbles, because my favorite Amy/Rory story, "A Centurion and a kissogram in a big blue box" by a strange ant, has ended, and I need something like this to read. Also, I think I may have just written an 11/River story. I'm not sure how that happened, really. It's also a little more depressing than what this story will usually be. Um…enjoy.
Part and Parcel
She finds the right room, with a nudge in the right direction from the TARDIS, a gentle brush at the edge of her consciousness – "Turn left". She supposes that she is slightly telepathic, but with the conversations she's seen him have with the machine, her capacities are nowhere near his own. Part Time Lord can be a bugger sometimes.
She sees things other people can't see, but can't see enough to know what they are, and hasn't had the education to know why. She can hear words from the TARDIS, while her parents can only feel the mental brushes, but he can conduct long-winded, technical conversations with his ship, write essays to her in his mind, and the lovely blue box could read him a novel back, for all she knows. She can regenerate, but it's an uncomfortable, drawn out process that lasted for six hours the first time: after the initial burst of energy, she came back to herself – but it was still her own face, glowing faintly back at her. There were periodic energy spurts like that for the next five hours, and they hurt like anything. She would lie there sobbing and all of a sudden throw her head back and let loose another column of golden light, falling forwards when it was done but still finding herself, herself. Her features morphed with agonizing slowness, and she could feel it, feel her eyes squeezing into a new shape and her nose drifting higher and lower before finding its perfect place. The second time, she was better at it – and she cut the pain very short by giving the rest of her regenerations (including most of the one she was on) to the very man she had just killed. And she doesn't regret it.
How is she supposed to really be a psychopath when she can hear other people in her mind?
But, really, dwelling on all of her pain and horrid experiences and such would make her a bit depressing to hang around with, so she shakes herself back into River, leaving Melody and Mels behind, still sitting somewhere in her mind, and lets herself in.
This library doesn't have a swimming pool. After he crashed the TARDIS in her mother's yard, it conducted necessary repairs first, but then brought another library out of nowhere, and moved all of the sopping-wet books that were valuable or irreplaceable or delicate or very, very old to this library, which smells markedly less of chlorine and markedly more dusty. Nice touch, the dust, considering that it's only about a year and a half old, and the TARDIS environment is more or less sterile.
The other library is somehow still full of books, and swimming pool, but the TARDIS thoughtfully installed another feature. The bookshelves look more like china cabinets now, with locking glass doors on each shelf, protecting the books from damage.
Lovely old girl, she thinks, and she feels something that vaguely resembles a purr in the back of her mind.
She weaves through the shelves, looking for him, not impatient, but purposeful. It has been a while.
"Hello, m-…err, Amy."
"Hello, River!"
"Ah, do you…?"
"Know where the Doctor is? No, haven't seen him this morning, but he might be in the library."
"I was going to say, know who…"
She trails off at the look in her mother's eyes, and realizes that the question doesn't need answering.
"Ah…spoilers." She hates that word, really. You would think she uses it because she loves it, the way some people use 'verisimilitude' or 'erinaceous', but she uses it out of necessity, the way people use 'it'. And she hates that her life necessitates secrecy the way other peoples' lives necessitate pronouns.
"How'd you get here, anyway?" Amy asked. "We're in the vortex and you just walked through the door."
"He landed in my cell," River said "Although…I guess she landed in my cell. Sentient ships are brilliant like that. Turned the brakes off for me, too." She smiled, but felt, in her mind, an urgent whisper – "Library".
And here he is. He's bent over a large tome, hair in his eyes, as always, but a little more mussed than usual. His jacket is on the chair behind him, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up a little – but there's no escaping that bow-tie.
Slowly, she realizes that she's having trouble figuring out what exactly he's doing.
He's reading, obviously, but he isn't wearing his 'I'm-so-very-clever' face, which means that he either doesn't know what he's reading about and isn't having trouble figuring it out, or that he already knows the material and it isn't difficult enough to warrant a smug look. He hasn't noticed her come in, though, which means that his full attention is on it, which, if it's so easy, is odd. He isn't happy with it, so he isn't reading it for enjoyment – he doesn't seem the type to read sad novels in his spare time. And no novel she's ever met is that large.
She creeps up behind him to get a glance at the page.
Hm.
Her Circular Gallifreyan isn't very good – Old High Gallifreyan is ancient and, as an archeologist, easier to find materials on. Circular Gallifreyan is too recent, and way too difficult for any professor alive. Doctor Song knows only a few words, and even the TARDIS won't help this time.
Eight, Time – she squints – planet? The, but that isn't very helpful. TARDIS (or old cheese, but she's pretty sure it's TARDIS) . Oh.
Burning.
And the character she knows best of all, the one carved into her heart. Doctor.
The TARDIS never does anything without a reason…
He's reading a book about himself.
"Come on, sweetie," She says quietly. "You don't want to read too much further."
Her voice softens to an almost imperceptible level. "Spoilers."
He lets her take his hand and lead him to the nearby couch, and sits down wordlessly, with an empty, vacant stare.
"I killed them" he says raggedly.
She holds him as he quietly cries, still just staring over her shoulder.
The past, she thinks, is as fraught with danger as the future.
In a time machine, you have to deal with both at the same time.
A/N: Thoughts?