25) And It Breaks My Heart
Rating: G
Genre: Hurt/ Comfort
Pairings or Characters: River Song, Brian Williams, Tabetha Pond/ Augustus Pond
Warnings: Angsty
Disclaimer: The Doctor and all other characters mentioned do not belong to me. No profit made from this work, no infringement intended.
Summary: Brian and the Ponds have to deal with the aftermath of Manhattan. But family means nobody hurts alone.
starjargon at 25) And It Breaks My Heart
A/N- Here is my Post- Manhattan Pond tribute. For this reason, I only used moments from the show.
It had only been two weeks for him. Three weeks since he'd sent his son and daughter- in law off to live a life of adventure.
Two weeks exactly since Anthony had arrived with a letter explaining they would never return to him. Two weeks since he'd also taken the Ponds their letter from Amy and together the four of them had grieved and rejoiced in the news of their children. Two weeks of trying to put on a brave face for his friends and in- laws. But now it was time to try to move forward.
He led them into Amy and Rory's house, believing this was a necessary step toward acceptance. They started with the kitchen- Tabetha's pain not allowing her into the more familiar living areas. Augustus went to the front rooms. Well then, if someone had to take the hard parts, it would be him. He couldn't yet make himself open their door, so he started with the spare room his granddaughter and her husband used to occupy when they were over. River had come by now on several occasions, these past couple of weeks, such a magnificent comfort in their time of grief. He decided to just let her deal with her room next time she came.
Of course, that left him with one dreaded room in the house none of them ever wanted to approach. Brian steeled himself, then opened the door to his only child's most private quarters. He looked around and saw all the personal touches of the previous residents everywhere he looked- from pictures to mementos, books and nail polish and combs and clothes. What caught him off guard, however, was the woman sitting in the bed, her body rocking back and forth as she clutched their pillows tightly to her face.
"River?" braved Brian gently.
She turned, surprised at an intruder during her private moment. She considered lying, trying to mask the tears that had been falling so freely down her face, but one look at her grandfather- who stood in sympathy and not judgment- and she couldn't manage it. She simply hugged Amy's pillow tighter to her and looked down before giving her quiet explanation.
"I miss my mum and dad," came the cry of a broken orphan, in a voice smaller than he ever would have thought possible.
"Oh, love," his heart broke for her.
He fell on the bed and wrapped his arms around his granddaughter, his own loss momentarily forgotten as she buried her face in his shirt and cried. Holding her there, this amazing link to the loved ones he'd lost, and he too finally allowed himself the tears that had refused to come for so long.
They cried for what could have been hours or minutes, until both of them were able to sit up and take in the room around them.
He had long ago become one of the only people she'd allowed herself to be vulnerable to, and had stopped apologizing for it when she was a young Mels. So as she glanced around at the only link she could think of to her best friends and parents, she allowed herself to sniff and a few more tears to trail down her face. He, too, let his walls fall with this kindred spirit.
They were silent for a while, simply wallowing in the pain that surrounded Amy and Rory's absence, before he stood up and reached for her hand. She gave a watery smile and allowed him to lead her out of the room and into the kitchen, where her surprised grandmother quickly made her a cup of tea, her other grandfather coming in with a blanket to wrap around her shoulders.
She smiled weakly at their flustered attempts to comfort her, glad for these people still in her life.
Once she had reassured them she would be all right, they stood and collectively agreed that grief should be shared and not experienced alone. So, together, they started in the kitchen, taking stock of every item which would eventually need to be either packed up or tossed away.
The tears came freely as River remembered her mother cooking countless Sunday dinners, her father whipping up a new dessert. Tabetha opened drawers, remembering fixing breakfasts for her feisty little girl not so long ago. Brian saw the kitchen transform as he watched a young Rory listening closely to his mother's instructions as his wife showed his boy how to measure and wait patiently for the best results.
They moved on to the lounge, filled with memories of laughter, heated discussions, and photos of times well- lived. River gently touched one of the plants Brian had still so faithfully tended in her parents' absence. Augustus looked around at all the frames, remembering some captured moments and wondering about the now precious memories he wasn't a part of. They stayed in that room the longest, River once more pulling a blanket around her, sharing it now with a grandparent on each side, as they also went through each album and shared their own memories of Amy and Rory.
They paused in her room, full of the small touches her parents had included to always make her feel welcome. Her mother had always kept a vase of fresh sunflowers in there. Her father had made a sturdy box for her weapons. The TARDIS blue quilt they'd bought together placed on the bed kept a piece of the Doctor near her here when they were apart. The photos that also graced this, her special room, were of a Melody in all her regenerations, placed in such a way that she knew they'd come in here when they needed to remember their child, or to feel close to her when she was off in the stars.
Then, they all once more made their way to her parents' room. To the place where Amy's perfume still graced the vanity and traces of it lingered in the air. Where Rory's scrubs still lay on a chair, one of his kits beside them. Where Amy's short skirts were now folded and moved to the back of a bureau. One of Rory's swords still lay in its box under the bed. This was the place of the everyday life. Of the Girl Who Stopped Waiting and the Centurion Turned Nurse. This was the dwelling of doctor's appointments and money squabbles and lunch meetings and house cleaning. And this was the home of no one who would ever be coming back.
Their parents and daughter looked around, allowing memories and emotions to envelope them, both the good and the painful. The everyday and the extraordinary. The past experiences and now crushed futures. Together they grieved. Together, they tried to heal.
After a day full of tears and few smiles, of taking comfort only in one another's presences, they once more regrouped around the table outside, where River had shared many a night and a glass of wine with Amy and Rory- never to do so again.
"I think we should have a memorial," Brian said, breaking the silence. They looked up at him. "For Amy and Rory. I think we should have a service. Give those who loved them a chance to say goodbye."
"I think that's a great idea, Brian," agreed River, thinking of all the friends who would never understand their absence.
"You mean us, don't you?" asked Tabitha quietly, before looking up into Brian's eyes. "You want me to say goodbye to my baby girl."
"We have to do it, Tabs," whispered Augustus, rubbing her back as tears once more filled her eyes.
"I know. I just… I'm just not ready."
"I don't think any of us will ever be ready," inserted Brian, pain in his every word, "but I won't have my son forgotten."
"He won't be," said River, her father's fierce gaze reflected in her eyes, as her jaw set as stubbornly as her mother's. "There are still legends about the two of them far and wide. But yes, I do think we need to say our goodbyes as well." She looked down as her stomach clenched once more in pain.
Tabetha and Augustus both lifted their heads at this statement. "What kind of legends?" asked Tabetha with hope laced through her voice.
River looked up at that, then sighed as she smiled slightly. "What do you know of the Last Centurion?" she began.
She told stories long into the night, of a man who waited thousands of years for the one he loved, then fought off an army when his beloved was in danger. She talked of a woman who comforted Van Gogh in one of his darkest times, who saved an endangered whale on whose back rode all of England. She told them of another time, where they led a revolution against alien invaders who had long manipulated the human race. She smiled as she talked about a man had never made a distinction between people or their flesh copies, who had punched Hitler in the face and who had once died protecting a man he previously rivaled. Her eyes teared as she spoke of the woman who had forgotten him, but brought him back into existence, who clumsily tried to fight off pirates, who helped melt a cold man's heart, and who had often stopped her own mad man from playing God.
She thought it would hurt, talking about their adventures. That it would be too painful to breathe. And it was at first. But then, as she talked long into the night, she watched the pain melt with joy on her families' faces. The hope and overwhelming love they had for those they had lost became palpable the longer she went on. And then, she realized slowly, she had stopped talking about legends. The soldier who had raised an army to save his wife had also done so to hold his baby girl in his strong arms. The woman who comforted one of the greatest artists to ever live had wrapped her arms around River in her moment of grief. The man who had casually hit a powerful German führer had waited patiently by her bedside when she was ill. The woman who had led revolutions had chastised her for her troublesome ways, bailing her out every time she was in trouble. The soldier on his way into battle had paused to hear her birthday joy. The arms that helped pull time apart had held her close when she was a baby. And the couple who created a paradox that saved New York itself and then couldn't bear to part had once also freely given her to her own spouse.
They weren't the stuff of legends. Not to River Song. They were her mummy and daddy. And now, remembering all that they had been and all that they would be in their new time, she felt the tears fade away. With her mum's parents on her right and her dad's father on her left, she realized she would be fine. She had a loving family who wouldn't let her hurt alone, ever. And, she reflected, in the not- so- distant past, living a life she never could, she had the greatest parents she could ever wish for. And, like their parents surrounding her, she was just so proud.
Genre: Hurt/ Comfort
Pairings or Characters: River Song, Brian Williams, Tabetha Pond/ Augustus Pond
Warnings: Angsty
Disclaimer: The Doctor and all other characters mentioned do not belong to me. No profit made from this work, no infringement intended.
Summary: Brian and the Ponds have to deal with the aftermath of Manhattan. But family means nobody hurts alone.
starjargon at 25) And It Breaks My Heart
A/N- Here is my Post- Manhattan Pond tribute. For this reason, I only used moments from the show.
It had only been two weeks for him. Three weeks since he'd sent his son and daughter- in law off to live a life of adventure.
Two weeks exactly since Anthony had arrived with a letter explaining they would never return to him. Two weeks since he'd also taken the Ponds their letter from Amy and together the four of them had grieved and rejoiced in the news of their children. Two weeks of trying to put on a brave face for his friends and in- laws. But now it was time to try to move forward.
He led them into Amy and Rory's house, believing this was a necessary step toward acceptance. They started with the kitchen- Tabetha's pain not allowing her into the more familiar living areas. Augustus went to the front rooms. Well then, if someone had to take the hard parts, it would be him. He couldn't yet make himself open their door, so he started with the spare room his granddaughter and her husband used to occupy when they were over. River had come by now on several occasions, these past couple of weeks, such a magnificent comfort in their time of grief. He decided to just let her deal with her room next time she came.
Of course, that left him with one dreaded room in the house none of them ever wanted to approach. Brian steeled himself, then opened the door to his only child's most private quarters. He looked around and saw all the personal touches of the previous residents everywhere he looked- from pictures to mementos, books and nail polish and combs and clothes. What caught him off guard, however, was the woman sitting in the bed, her body rocking back and forth as she clutched their pillows tightly to her face.
"River?" braved Brian gently.
She turned, surprised at an intruder during her private moment. She considered lying, trying to mask the tears that had been falling so freely down her face, but one look at her grandfather- who stood in sympathy and not judgment- and she couldn't manage it. She simply hugged Amy's pillow tighter to her and looked down before giving her quiet explanation.
"I miss my mum and dad," came the cry of a broken orphan, in a voice smaller than he ever would have thought possible.
"Oh, love," his heart broke for her.
He fell on the bed and wrapped his arms around his granddaughter, his own loss momentarily forgotten as she buried her face in his shirt and cried. Holding her there, this amazing link to the loved ones he'd lost, and he too finally allowed himself the tears that had refused to come for so long.
They cried for what could have been hours or minutes, until both of them were able to sit up and take in the room around them.
He had long ago become one of the only people she'd allowed herself to be vulnerable to, and had stopped apologizing for it when she was a young Mels. So as she glanced around at the only link she could think of to her best friends and parents, she allowed herself to sniff and a few more tears to trail down her face. He, too, let his walls fall with this kindred spirit.
They were silent for a while, simply wallowing in the pain that surrounded Amy and Rory's absence, before he stood up and reached for her hand. She gave a watery smile and allowed him to lead her out of the room and into the kitchen, where her surprised grandmother quickly made her a cup of tea, her other grandfather coming in with a blanket to wrap around her shoulders.
She smiled weakly at their flustered attempts to comfort her, glad for these people still in her life.
Once she had reassured them she would be all right, they stood and collectively agreed that grief should be shared and not experienced alone. So, together, they started in the kitchen, taking stock of every item which would eventually need to be either packed up or tossed away.
The tears came freely as River remembered her mother cooking countless Sunday dinners, her father whipping up a new dessert. Tabetha opened drawers, remembering fixing breakfasts for her feisty little girl not so long ago. Brian saw the kitchen transform as he watched a young Rory listening closely to his mother's instructions as his wife showed his boy how to measure and wait patiently for the best results.
They moved on to the lounge, filled with memories of laughter, heated discussions, and photos of times well- lived. River gently touched one of the plants Brian had still so faithfully tended in her parents' absence. Augustus looked around at all the frames, remembering some captured moments and wondering about the now precious memories he wasn't a part of. They stayed in that room the longest, River once more pulling a blanket around her, sharing it now with a grandparent on each side, as they also went through each album and shared their own memories of Amy and Rory.
They paused in her room, full of the small touches her parents had included to always make her feel welcome. Her mother had always kept a vase of fresh sunflowers in there. Her father had made a sturdy box for her weapons. The TARDIS blue quilt they'd bought together placed on the bed kept a piece of the Doctor near her here when they were apart. The photos that also graced this, her special room, were of a Melody in all her regenerations, placed in such a way that she knew they'd come in here when they needed to remember their child, or to feel close to her when she was off in the stars.
Then, they all once more made their way to her parents' room. To the place where Amy's perfume still graced the vanity and traces of it lingered in the air. Where Rory's scrubs still lay on a chair, one of his kits beside them. Where Amy's short skirts were now folded and moved to the back of a bureau. One of Rory's swords still lay in its box under the bed. This was the place of the everyday life. Of the Girl Who Stopped Waiting and the Centurion Turned Nurse. This was the dwelling of doctor's appointments and money squabbles and lunch meetings and house cleaning. And this was the home of no one who would ever be coming back.
Their parents and daughter looked around, allowing memories and emotions to envelope them, both the good and the painful. The everyday and the extraordinary. The past experiences and now crushed futures. Together they grieved. Together, they tried to heal.
After a day full of tears and few smiles, of taking comfort only in one another's presences, they once more regrouped around the table outside, where River had shared many a night and a glass of wine with Amy and Rory- never to do so again.
"I think we should have a memorial," Brian said, breaking the silence. They looked up at him. "For Amy and Rory. I think we should have a service. Give those who loved them a chance to say goodbye."
"I think that's a great idea, Brian," agreed River, thinking of all the friends who would never understand their absence.
"You mean us, don't you?" asked Tabitha quietly, before looking up into Brian's eyes. "You want me to say goodbye to my baby girl."
"We have to do it, Tabs," whispered Augustus, rubbing her back as tears once more filled her eyes.
"I know. I just… I'm just not ready."
"I don't think any of us will ever be ready," inserted Brian, pain in his every word, "but I won't have my son forgotten."
"He won't be," said River, her father's fierce gaze reflected in her eyes, as her jaw set as stubbornly as her mother's. "There are still legends about the two of them far and wide. But yes, I do think we need to say our goodbyes as well." She looked down as her stomach clenched once more in pain.
Tabetha and Augustus both lifted their heads at this statement. "What kind of legends?" asked Tabetha with hope laced through her voice.
River looked up at that, then sighed as she smiled slightly. "What do you know of the Last Centurion?" she began.
She told stories long into the night, of a man who waited thousands of years for the one he loved, then fought off an army when his beloved was in danger. She talked of a woman who comforted Van Gogh in one of his darkest times, who saved an endangered whale on whose back rode all of England. She told them of another time, where they led a revolution against alien invaders who had long manipulated the human race. She smiled as she talked about a man had never made a distinction between people or their flesh copies, who had punched Hitler in the face and who had once died protecting a man he previously rivaled. Her eyes teared as she spoke of the woman who had forgotten him, but brought him back into existence, who clumsily tried to fight off pirates, who helped melt a cold man's heart, and who had often stopped her own mad man from playing God.
She thought it would hurt, talking about their adventures. That it would be too painful to breathe. And it was at first. But then, as she talked long into the night, she watched the pain melt with joy on her families' faces. The hope and overwhelming love they had for those they had lost became palpable the longer she went on. And then, she realized slowly, she had stopped talking about legends. The soldier who had raised an army to save his wife had also done so to hold his baby girl in his strong arms. The woman who comforted one of the greatest artists to ever live had wrapped her arms around River in her moment of grief. The man who had casually hit a powerful German führer had waited patiently by her bedside when she was ill. The woman who had led revolutions had chastised her for her troublesome ways, bailing her out every time she was in trouble. The soldier on his way into battle had paused to hear her birthday joy. The arms that helped pull time apart had held her close when she was a baby. And the couple who created a paradox that saved New York itself and then couldn't bear to part had once also freely given her to her own spouse.
They weren't the stuff of legends. Not to River Song. They were her mummy and daddy. And now, remembering all that they had been and all that they would be in their new time, she felt the tears fade away. With her mum's parents on her right and her dad's father on her left, she realized she would be fine. She had a loving family who wouldn't let her hurt alone, ever. And, she reflected, in the not- so- distant past, living a life she never could, she had the greatest parents she could ever wish for. And, like their parents surrounding her, she was just so proud.