Thanks for the reviews! There's kind of a lot of fluffiness in this bit, try not to choke on it :)
The next day Clara is miserable.
"I am never drinking again. I am never going to drink anything ever again," she takes a sip of her tea, and continues, "except tea, I am going to drink tea. I am going to drink so much tea," she takes a large gulp from the mug in her hands.
"That, my friend, is a very good idea."
Clara sighs, resting her head back against the wall, "Thanks, Mo, for taking care of me last night. I don't know what I'd have done if you weren't there."
"Well I do, you'd have run off with Tom the Creeper."
Clara giggles, then grimaces and grabs her head, "Exactly, which is why I'm glad you were there."
River is glad she was there too. Very glad. No Clara means no one jumping into the Doctor's timeline to save him. No one to save the Doctor means no Doctor, which probably means no her and certainly means no baby. And then….
"It's working," she says, meeting Amy's eyes over the top of the transmitter.
A breeze from the desert blows her long red hair across her only exposed eye.
"What are they saying?" she asks, curious. She doesn't remember much, but it's enough. Enough to draw pictures and dream dreams. Enough to come find River and make mad plans with her on top of a pyramid.
"They're saying, 'Of course'," she smiles, a lump in her throat, "They're saying of course they'll come help him, anything he needs."
"Why?" Amy asks, and River can see her, struggling to remember.
"Because he went to them first."
"And they remember?"
River smiles at her, remembers a little girl with full cheeks and a stubborn scowl, "do you?"
"Not really."
"But you're here."
An understanding smile blooms across her face, "I am, aren't I?" she steps back and tilts her head up to the stars, all the planets, all the voices answering back, "Did he save me too?"
"Yes," River says.
"And all of them?"
"Yes."
"And you?"
"Most definitely, yes."
"You know what Clara, I'm glad I was there too."
Clara smiles at her, bright and honest and River feels that twist of guilt that is starting to become familiar.
"It's hard to believe I just met you yesterday, Mo."
"Why's that?"
"I feel like you're my best friend."
River takes a long swallow of tea to give her a moment to fix a smile on her face, "That's what I'm here for, Clara."
River doesn't manage to extricate herself from Clara's post-drunken miseries until the afternoon, and by the time she makes it back to Antony's blessedly quiet little neighborhood it has been well over 24 hours since she'd left. Anthony had given her a key. She doesn't really need it, but it feels good to slip the key into the familiar blue color of the door.
Anthony isn't home, but there's a note tucked pointedly under the frame of the picture that had caught her eye the day before.
In blue ink he'd written, "I'll be back after 6:00, I'm bringing curry for two, Mom said you liked curry, hope you still do."
And it was signed, 'Love always, Anthony." River slipped the note in her pocket to add to her collection of letters from him. If she could ever find her collection again, of course, who knew where all of her things had ended up during the 13 years she'd spent in the Library.
River taps into the feed she'd set up on the trackers in Clara's blood stream and turns on the nearly invisible, wall mounted surveillance camera she'd installed in Clara's dorm room, leaving both programs open and running on her handheld computer as she slips into the shower, washing away the scent of the seedy club and the straightness of Mo's hair. The trickle of guilt doesn't wash away as easily, but she pushes it away, deactivating the perception filter over her stomach to remind herself of why she's manipulating sweet young Clara like she is. It's important.
When she emerges from the shower she wipes the fog from the glass and looks at herself in the mirror. The new face and body still don't really seem like hers yet, but with the drying curls recoiling themselves around her shoulders and the bump between her hip bones where her son is sleeping, she feels more like herself. She happily by-passes Mo's frumpy clothes for a silky tunic (with a V-neck, thank you very much) and leggings, and doesn't bother to turn the perception filter back on.
She spends the rest of the afternoon unpacking and setting up everything she'll need to stay in touch with Clara over the next three years of her personal time stream within the space of two weeks. Most of the equipment is black-market time agency materials, or soddy boot-legged knock offs. Not exactly Tardis-level time manipulation, but hopefully it will hold for just two weeks.
By the time Anthony gets home, trailing the scent of curry and hospital in a very Rory-reminiscent way, she's transformed his guest room into something resembling a tactical war room. Anthony stands in the doorway, studying the map on the wall of Clara's timeline, the 21st century laptop and cell phone surrounded by futuristic time-warping technology, and the mad tangle of blinking lights, wires and glowing energy fields.
"Well," he says, "I guess this means you're staying for awhile?"
Over curry, River explains as best she can about the library, the baby, regeneration and (a bit shamefully) about Clara.
When she's finished, Anthony sits back in his seat and says, "Wow".
"Pretty crazy, isn't it?"
"Completely."
They're quiet for a moment, and she can see Anthony thinking, processing everything she's told him.
"Ok," he says, sitting forward again, "One thing I don't understand."
She nods, and he continues, "Why this elaborate plot to…infiltrate the Tardis? Why don't you just go find the Doctor and tell him?" He searches her face with his eyes, his voice growing gentle, "Did something happen, between you two, after Mom and Dad left?"
"You mean other than that part where I died? To be honest, that did put a bit of a damper on our relationship," she jokes, standing up and gathering their empty curry containers.
"Melody," Anthony says, his hand covering and stilling hers.
With a sigh she sets the trash back down on the table and settles back into her seat. His hand doesn't leave hers and she twists hers around to grip his fingers.
"Two things happened," she says, steeling herself to finally voice the things she's not yet been able to say aloud.
"First, I saw it all from his perspective, at the end, and I had a long time, stuck in the library, to think about what it meant."
She stops again, staring down at Anthony's fingers wrapped around hers. There's an age spot, brown and misshapen at the base of his pointer finger.
"The first time he met me, I died, and he watched. I took his place, and I died, and I saved him. Saved myself too, really, but he wouldn't see it that way."
It all makes sense now, and finally she can see him, her Doctor, in the growing horror on this very different face as he realizes she is going to die, and he is helpless to stop it.
"Ssshh, you'll see me again, it's not over for you, you have all that to come."
Even as the words slip out, she realizes that they're not comforting. Every time he sees her, he will remember this. He had remembered this.
It's too late to fix it now. Back to front and this is his beginning and her end.
"You and me, time and space, you watch us run."
"And then?" Anthony prompts, gently, and she looks up from the dark spot on his hand.
"And then he kept meeting me, and I think, probably, at first he thought he would avoid it, us becoming…us. He thought he could re-write it."
"Is River Song your wife?"
He's all taught lines and frustration as he snaps, "Yes, I am mister grumpy pants today."
"But then he went to Demon's Run."
She sees recognition in Anthony's eyes, a shadow of Amy's pretty face twisted in pain over the glint of a silver gun and an empty cradle.
"He realized, then, who I was, what I was, and how I became this way, why I became this way. And then he found out he couldn't save me."
She realized, one day, as she sat next to Charlotte with the blue diary in her hands, that the day he'd given it to her had been his final surrender to the future he'd already seen the end of.
"We were married for 406 years, before the library. From my perspective, anyway."
Anthony looks suitably shocked at that number, but he stays quiet, and his hand stays wrapped around hers.
"I know him so well."
She has to stop again, looking down as she gathers the words, "he felt guilty, Anthony, so very guilty. He gave me the one thing I asked him for, at the end, but…. that doesn't mean that it was what he would have chosen, what he wanted."
She stops, meeting Anthony's eyes, "Do you understand what I mean?"
He nods, "and the second thing?"
She smiles, feeling the sadness twist the corners of her mouth, "I saw him move on. He always does, he has to, really. He's alright now, and I think it's better, to just… leave things the way they are now. It's not so bad. I got my goodbye, my closure, and so did he. It's better to end this way."
She squeezes his hand, forces a wider smile, "Anyway, I'm alright now. I've got you, and this baby, and we're going to be alright."
"Of course you do, but, well," he grins softly, "I am pretty wonderful, no doubt about that," she laughs and nods, agreeing, "But I know you miss him, Melody. I can tell because, well, I'm missing someone too, aren't I?" he looks down, at their joined hands, "And I know how it is, the missing someone, it just sort of stays with you; when you're happy or sad, no matter who you're with," he squeezes her hand, "no matter how many wonderful people you manage to fill your life with, the missing person's spot is still empty, and the missing them just sort of lingers. I can't imagine choosing that, if, you know, there was another way. Are you sure you want this?"
"No," she answers him gently, "but this is… it's better than the alternative." She gives his hand a final squeeze, and then she stands picking up the garbage and walking over to the sink. He doesn't stop her this time, and he's quiet for a long moment, the soft cluttering of dishes and the hum of the refrigerator the only sounds in the still kitchen.
"Because," he says, a bit abruptly, apparently unconvinced, "you're afraid you might find out he doesn't, and never did, love you the way you love him."
River grips the sink, her knuckles turning white as she wills her hearts to slow down, "Or maybe I just don't want a husband who only stays with me out of guilt, is that so bad?"
Behind her she hears the scrape of Anthony's chair legs on the floor, and then his hands on her shoulders. He turns her around gently, ducking his head to catch her eyes.
"I can't imagine anyone not loving you," and then he hugs her, warm and solid, and she wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder. The Rory-ness of him slows her hearts and she feels the tension drain out of her.
"You're completely right about one thing though, you have got me, and I'm not going anywhere, no matter what, alright?" he says, his chin bumping against the top of her head as he speaks.
"Ok," River answers him, tightening her arms around him. She knows better than anyone that nobody can stay forever, but he's here with her now, and it's enough.
Reviews are cool, just saying.