FIC: Watch Us Run Out
Author: Regency
Title: Watch Us Run Out
Pairing: pre-River/Doctor
Warning: character death
Rating: G
Spoilers (no pun intended): Silence in the Library for the introduction to River Song and a passing reference to The Big Bang.
Word count: ~529
Summary: Some days, the Doctor expects too much of time. River Song dies on the wrong day and now he’ll never learn all he should have.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable as being from Doctor Who. They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.
~!~
Sometimes, the Doctor expects too much of time. He expects it to run in order when it’s not nearly so…orderly. He expects it to run like trains on a track - a completely haphazard, mostly curved, and nearly broken track, mind you, but a track. There are even moments when he forgets and expects it to keep itself. But time never does that; it keeps everyone else, even Time Lords trapped in the prison of one day more, a year less. Ever forward and back, almost boring in a way. He’s gotten too used to the monotony of life-threatening peril its derailment can bring: adrenalin and panting, gasping breath, the lingering scent of perspiration and that hint of fear left by those who’ve faced him. He’s become complacent about time and now it’s all gone pear-shaped again.
River Song died today. She was younger still than she’d been on the day he truly met her, first kissed her, last saw her. She didn’t die giving her all for four thousand strangers, she didn’t save the universe. She died waiting for him, running from danger-perhaps of her own making, but danger just the same. He was minutes late and far too far away.
He’s close now though, fingers twined in curls more ginger than he ever expected, left to wonder why she ever changed it. She is all of the lovable clichés of death: a peaceful countenance, almost smiling. Her fingers have stilled around her weapon, just shy of the trigger pulled. She is smug at rest and beautiful, but he already knew that.
Her pursuers have long since melted away into a crowd too accustomed to violence to be truly shocked, and they mill onward to complete their shopping and return to their lives. It’s just River that won’t be returning to hers, or his. But for a lever pulled wrongly and a miscalculation where there usually is none, she’s left him again, left him for good. His River song.
She would have been.
Had she lived to give him one more kiss, he would have fallen as surely as all things in time must perish. She could have played his heartstrings with her lacquered nails and he would have danced to the tune. She is sleeping, now ever-sleeping and she still plays them.
He sonics away the mortal damage at her throat, thinking it too ugly a mark for such a beautiful doctor, and lifts her from her place among the dust. Lighter than a breath she is; at least, lighter than his hearts. He can’t properly mourn her, knowing what he knows now. And knowing what he will know, what lies written between the pages of the book she left behind, will not lighten the load. It’s a story now half-told and fading from the corners of his mind: her bright-eyed apology and sacrifice, honey curls in her face after a wedding; spoilers, teasing and flirtatious. That woman never was and, now, she’ll never be.
She’s in his arms long after he’s forgotten why and he lays her to rest with uncomprehending care. Whoever she was, whoever she would have been, she’d called for him and he’d been too late. He owes her fanfare, dignity, and apology, at least for that.
You watch us run, something in his memory whispers, and he runs from it, for no reason at all that he can remember.
Title: Watch Us Run Out
Pairing: pre-River/Doctor
Warning: character death
Rating: G
Spoilers (no pun intended): Silence in the Library for the introduction to River Song and a passing reference to The Big Bang.
Word count: ~529
Summary: Some days, the Doctor expects too much of time. River Song dies on the wrong day and now he’ll never learn all he should have.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable as being from Doctor Who. They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.
~!~
Sometimes, the Doctor expects too much of time. He expects it to run in order when it’s not nearly so…orderly. He expects it to run like trains on a track - a completely haphazard, mostly curved, and nearly broken track, mind you, but a track. There are even moments when he forgets and expects it to keep itself. But time never does that; it keeps everyone else, even Time Lords trapped in the prison of one day more, a year less. Ever forward and back, almost boring in a way. He’s gotten too used to the monotony of life-threatening peril its derailment can bring: adrenalin and panting, gasping breath, the lingering scent of perspiration and that hint of fear left by those who’ve faced him. He’s become complacent about time and now it’s all gone pear-shaped again.
River Song died today. She was younger still than she’d been on the day he truly met her, first kissed her, last saw her. She didn’t die giving her all for four thousand strangers, she didn’t save the universe. She died waiting for him, running from danger-perhaps of her own making, but danger just the same. He was minutes late and far too far away.
He’s close now though, fingers twined in curls more ginger than he ever expected, left to wonder why she ever changed it. She is all of the lovable clichés of death: a peaceful countenance, almost smiling. Her fingers have stilled around her weapon, just shy of the trigger pulled. She is smug at rest and beautiful, but he already knew that.
Her pursuers have long since melted away into a crowd too accustomed to violence to be truly shocked, and they mill onward to complete their shopping and return to their lives. It’s just River that won’t be returning to hers, or his. But for a lever pulled wrongly and a miscalculation where there usually is none, she’s left him again, left him for good. His River song.
She would have been.
Had she lived to give him one more kiss, he would have fallen as surely as all things in time must perish. She could have played his heartstrings with her lacquered nails and he would have danced to the tune. She is sleeping, now ever-sleeping and she still plays them.
He sonics away the mortal damage at her throat, thinking it too ugly a mark for such a beautiful doctor, and lifts her from her place among the dust. Lighter than a breath she is; at least, lighter than his hearts. He can’t properly mourn her, knowing what he knows now. And knowing what he will know, what lies written between the pages of the book she left behind, will not lighten the load. It’s a story now half-told and fading from the corners of his mind: her bright-eyed apology and sacrifice, honey curls in her face after a wedding; spoilers, teasing and flirtatious. That woman never was and, now, she’ll never be.
She’s in his arms long after he’s forgotten why and he lays her to rest with uncomprehending care. Whoever she was, whoever she would have been, she’d called for him and he’d been too late. He owes her fanfare, dignity, and apology, at least for that.
You watch us run, something in his memory whispers, and he runs from it, for no reason at all that he can remember.