Inevitable for writers_muses
"You're impossible."
"What?"
The response came from a near slip of a man in a pinstriped blue suit situated right by the exit of the small museum shop. If there was more to him, he would have been blocking it. Instead the people leaving just fanned around him, water breaking over an obstacle.
"I said," River enunciated, drawing out the last word and savoring the taste of it. This was only her third trip with the Doctor, but she's already found the appeal in teasing him. "That you're impossible."
"Oh, not impossible. Just a bit unlikely."
He smiled then, and she could feel herself getting caught up in the captivation again. She sighed at her own reaction. The Doctor cast a careless net with that smile. It tugged at her and at least a half dozen other people in the room, sending them tumbling one over the other. They'd be bruised in the morning, of they didn't take care. She almost laughed, then.
Who was going to land at his feet first, beached and gasping for air?
It was something about him. Some didn't see it. A quick, accessing glance around the room confirmed that. But the ones that did couldn't seem to look away. The clerk behind the counter. A little boy, being pulled out of the shop by his harried looking mother. River too, if she was counting herself.
If she was being honest about it all.
He was all angles and unknowns. Questions without answers. Oddities and abnormalities he wore like everyday clothes. She didn't even want to think about what it was going to look like when he decided something was worth dressing up for.
His smile stretched a bit further at her silence, something encouraging in it. Pressing her to speak so that he didn't have to. It was then River saw the sadness that was there before he shuttered it out of reach for them both. She wondered, then, what would happen if she got up to her elbows in the dirt and dust of that strained expression.
She wanted to know what he looked like underneath. Past all those layers of mire and mirth and mess. If there was anything there at all, of course. Maybe he was just a false point of interest, a bit of information misinterpreted. Maybe there wasn't anything there but sand. The stuff that was once something that mattered, until the world ground it down into bits of what was.
He had his smile at least. His unlikely one, today.
"You spend all afternoon prattling on and on about 'the little shop'," River closed up the space between them with words and her feet. "'I do hope there's a little shop. I love shops' I could barely get through all the exhibits. That whole, beautiful museum nearly gone to waist if not for my unflappable dedication. The one you made such a grand show about dragging me back to see. So now we're here, in your shop. And you want to leave?"
He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, the right one lifting a little higher than the left.
"I've seen it."
River blinked.
"No you haven't."
"Yes I have."
"No. You have. Not."
He made quite the show of turning his head all ways, up and down and everywhere in between.
"There. Now I've seen it twice."
River made an exasperated sound from the back of her throat.
"Oh, now. Have you really?"
His smile was different now. Now anything she'd ever seen before, but she wasn't about to be distracted.
"How many people are here? What are they wearing? What's so important to them that they had to bring it with them? That they couldn't leave behind back at home? Who are the lovers? Who's not? What's so fascinating back in all those exhibits that people have to find little artificial bits of it to take back with them? How does the wood smell here, that are used for those shelves? Does it smell like your home? Or maybe mine? Which parts of the floor are the most worn from attention, and what's next to those bared, telling spots? What sort of books do they..."
River felt her own silence a full breath before her voice actually stopped. Distraction always hit her this way. In hard, fast waves as it became full fascination. She walked over to the nearby bookshelf, crouching down low to reach for a book that sat in the bottom left corner.
"It looks just like it."
"Her."
"What?"
"It looks like her."
"Right," River countered briskly, much more focused on the bit of blue leather that rested in her hands. It made sense, in a way. One of the more popular exhibits in the museum seemed to be the one on twenty-third century cultural icons. It intrigued her to see history cut short, mid story. Or at least how she knew it. The man just behind her never missed an opportunity to point out the holes in her own knowledge.
"Well Doctor, take a good look. This is how you're going to be remembered."
Her words were light and teasing as she stood. But River was startled by the difference that short distance made in his expression. He was still smiling, oddly. But a definite chill had settled in. And as much as this one equally intrigued her, River knew then and there this wasn't an expression she would be allowed to explore.
Winter had come early to their conversation. And like permafrost, with a deceptive layer of dirt scattered over it, there was all cold rock underneath. Watching him, she shivered.
In an effort to diffuse the moment she bumped his chest with the book between them.
"There are worse things to be remembered for, you know."
"You should have it."
River's eyebrows knitted together as the Doctor seemingly entered a conversation all his own. It certainly wasn't the one she was attempting to engage it. There was something about him that just was not there. There was something here that she did not understand. Her frustration was evident in the coiled tension of her wrist as she pulled the small journal back.
"You're right. I should. And I can write in it faithfully every night about how daft you are sometimes." With that pronouncement River spun on a singe heel and headed to the counter with obvious determination.
Until a hand wrapped over her wrist.
His fingers were longer than she'd accounted for. But now taken in independently from the rest of him, there was something oddly elegant about them. They were looped firmly around her wrist with some to spare. She could even feel his callouses against her skin. The Doctor's eyes did a bit of digging of their own, finding hers.
River found herself not looking right into them, but the the corners and the tiny lines that fanned from them. They seeped to deepen, cracking further underneath her attention. Finally her eyes flickered to his own.
"You should have it," he repeated. "I'll get it for you."
His voice was oddly calm. To the point it almost rendered him unrecognizable. She hardly knew him, River reminded herself. There were hundreds of thousands of things she didn't about this man. Probably a great deal more than that.
"I'll get it." Even to her own ears her voice sounded almost petulant. "Besides, what would you use to pay? You never have money."
Without releasing her, he reached his other hand into the pocket of his coat. Privately, River loved that coat. It smelled like the things she loved to explore. They were both surprised when the same hand pulled free a rumpled wad of bills. Like maybe he wasn't even entirely sure where it came from.
"Where was that last time," she accused. "When we really needed it."
"It's here now, isn't it?"
He released her then, and River fell silent as he pulled the leather journal free from her hands. She watched as he opened it, flipped through a few of the empty pages and then closed it again. His fingers shouldn't seem smaller now, but they did.
Wordlessly he headed to the counter.
Wordlessly he finished the transaction.
Wordlessly he placed the neatly wrapped brown package into her hands.
River hadn't moved. The silence seemed to have infected him. Just like his smile from before, she couldn't look away.
"There," he said.
She watched as he pushed off on his toes and headed towards the exit, slipping out into the day's traffic. Almost instantly, he got lost inside it. No one seemed to notice him now. River wondered how they didn't get cut on the sharpness of his silhouette, the twin peaks of his shoulder blades visible where he coat was pulled tight with something left unresolved.
...and I stood there, watching the way the crowd swallowed him whole.
I find lost things. It was what I do, what I love. I pull them free of the dirt and the muck and share their beauty with others. I see that their stories are retold. But as I watched return to his ship, the doors of the blue box opening wide to swallow him whole I could not help but think that I was watching what I do with my life be turned end over end. That this strange, impossible man was more lost for knowing me, not found. The ground was closing over him. I have no idea how he can can breath with it.
I have no idea if he even wants to. If he needs to.
I need to. I need to breath. Full and deep, everywhere that I travel. Because it is never the same. The air inside the TARDIS seems seemed especially stale that night, on the return trip home. As if it had not been used properly in a long, long while.
What the Doctor doesn't know is that I never needed his tricks or grand gestures to believe what he was. What he could do. All I needed to do was breathe in the air in his ship. It's always different. And something about him always seems altered with it.
I wonder if I will see him again.
I wonder what the air will taste like then.
"What?"
The response came from a near slip of a man in a pinstriped blue suit situated right by the exit of the small museum shop. If there was more to him, he would have been blocking it. Instead the people leaving just fanned around him, water breaking over an obstacle.
"I said," River enunciated, drawing out the last word and savoring the taste of it. This was only her third trip with the Doctor, but she's already found the appeal in teasing him. "That you're impossible."
"Oh, not impossible. Just a bit unlikely."
He smiled then, and she could feel herself getting caught up in the captivation again. She sighed at her own reaction. The Doctor cast a careless net with that smile. It tugged at her and at least a half dozen other people in the room, sending them tumbling one over the other. They'd be bruised in the morning, of they didn't take care. She almost laughed, then.
Who was going to land at his feet first, beached and gasping for air?
It was something about him. Some didn't see it. A quick, accessing glance around the room confirmed that. But the ones that did couldn't seem to look away. The clerk behind the counter. A little boy, being pulled out of the shop by his harried looking mother. River too, if she was counting herself.
If she was being honest about it all.
He was all angles and unknowns. Questions without answers. Oddities and abnormalities he wore like everyday clothes. She didn't even want to think about what it was going to look like when he decided something was worth dressing up for.
His smile stretched a bit further at her silence, something encouraging in it. Pressing her to speak so that he didn't have to. It was then River saw the sadness that was there before he shuttered it out of reach for them both. She wondered, then, what would happen if she got up to her elbows in the dirt and dust of that strained expression.
She wanted to know what he looked like underneath. Past all those layers of mire and mirth and mess. If there was anything there at all, of course. Maybe he was just a false point of interest, a bit of information misinterpreted. Maybe there wasn't anything there but sand. The stuff that was once something that mattered, until the world ground it down into bits of what was.
He had his smile at least. His unlikely one, today.
"You spend all afternoon prattling on and on about 'the little shop'," River closed up the space between them with words and her feet. "'I do hope there's a little shop. I love shops' I could barely get through all the exhibits. That whole, beautiful museum nearly gone to waist if not for my unflappable dedication. The one you made such a grand show about dragging me back to see. So now we're here, in your shop. And you want to leave?"
He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, the right one lifting a little higher than the left.
"I've seen it."
River blinked.
"No you haven't."
"Yes I have."
"No. You have. Not."
He made quite the show of turning his head all ways, up and down and everywhere in between.
"There. Now I've seen it twice."
River made an exasperated sound from the back of her throat.
"Oh, now. Have you really?"
His smile was different now. Now anything she'd ever seen before, but she wasn't about to be distracted.
"How many people are here? What are they wearing? What's so important to them that they had to bring it with them? That they couldn't leave behind back at home? Who are the lovers? Who's not? What's so fascinating back in all those exhibits that people have to find little artificial bits of it to take back with them? How does the wood smell here, that are used for those shelves? Does it smell like your home? Or maybe mine? Which parts of the floor are the most worn from attention, and what's next to those bared, telling spots? What sort of books do they..."
River felt her own silence a full breath before her voice actually stopped. Distraction always hit her this way. In hard, fast waves as it became full fascination. She walked over to the nearby bookshelf, crouching down low to reach for a book that sat in the bottom left corner.
"It looks just like it."
"Her."
"What?"
"It looks like her."
"Right," River countered briskly, much more focused on the bit of blue leather that rested in her hands. It made sense, in a way. One of the more popular exhibits in the museum seemed to be the one on twenty-third century cultural icons. It intrigued her to see history cut short, mid story. Or at least how she knew it. The man just behind her never missed an opportunity to point out the holes in her own knowledge.
"Well Doctor, take a good look. This is how you're going to be remembered."
Her words were light and teasing as she stood. But River was startled by the difference that short distance made in his expression. He was still smiling, oddly. But a definite chill had settled in. And as much as this one equally intrigued her, River knew then and there this wasn't an expression she would be allowed to explore.
Winter had come early to their conversation. And like permafrost, with a deceptive layer of dirt scattered over it, there was all cold rock underneath. Watching him, she shivered.
In an effort to diffuse the moment she bumped his chest with the book between them.
"There are worse things to be remembered for, you know."
"You should have it."
River's eyebrows knitted together as the Doctor seemingly entered a conversation all his own. It certainly wasn't the one she was attempting to engage it. There was something about him that just was not there. There was something here that she did not understand. Her frustration was evident in the coiled tension of her wrist as she pulled the small journal back.
"You're right. I should. And I can write in it faithfully every night about how daft you are sometimes." With that pronouncement River spun on a singe heel and headed to the counter with obvious determination.
Until a hand wrapped over her wrist.
His fingers were longer than she'd accounted for. But now taken in independently from the rest of him, there was something oddly elegant about them. They were looped firmly around her wrist with some to spare. She could even feel his callouses against her skin. The Doctor's eyes did a bit of digging of their own, finding hers.
River found herself not looking right into them, but the the corners and the tiny lines that fanned from them. They seeped to deepen, cracking further underneath her attention. Finally her eyes flickered to his own.
"You should have it," he repeated. "I'll get it for you."
His voice was oddly calm. To the point it almost rendered him unrecognizable. She hardly knew him, River reminded herself. There were hundreds of thousands of things she didn't about this man. Probably a great deal more than that.
"I'll get it." Even to her own ears her voice sounded almost petulant. "Besides, what would you use to pay? You never have money."
Without releasing her, he reached his other hand into the pocket of his coat. Privately, River loved that coat. It smelled like the things she loved to explore. They were both surprised when the same hand pulled free a rumpled wad of bills. Like maybe he wasn't even entirely sure where it came from.
"Where was that last time," she accused. "When we really needed it."
"It's here now, isn't it?"
He released her then, and River fell silent as he pulled the leather journal free from her hands. She watched as he opened it, flipped through a few of the empty pages and then closed it again. His fingers shouldn't seem smaller now, but they did.
Wordlessly he headed to the counter.
Wordlessly he finished the transaction.
Wordlessly he placed the neatly wrapped brown package into her hands.
River hadn't moved. The silence seemed to have infected him. Just like his smile from before, she couldn't look away.
"There," he said.
She watched as he pushed off on his toes and headed towards the exit, slipping out into the day's traffic. Almost instantly, he got lost inside it. No one seemed to notice him now. River wondered how they didn't get cut on the sharpness of his silhouette, the twin peaks of his shoulder blades visible where he coat was pulled tight with something left unresolved.
...and I stood there, watching the way the crowd swallowed him whole.
I find lost things. It was what I do, what I love. I pull them free of the dirt and the muck and share their beauty with others. I see that their stories are retold. But as I watched return to his ship, the doors of the blue box opening wide to swallow him whole I could not help but think that I was watching what I do with my life be turned end over end. That this strange, impossible man was more lost for knowing me, not found. The ground was closing over him. I have no idea how he can can breath with it.
I have no idea if he even wants to. If he needs to.
I need to. I need to breath. Full and deep, everywhere that I travel. Because it is never the same. The air inside the TARDIS seems seemed especially stale that night, on the return trip home. As if it had not been used properly in a long, long while.
What the Doctor doesn't know is that I never needed his tricks or grand gestures to believe what he was. What he could do. All I needed to do was breathe in the air in his ship. It's always different. And something about him always seems altered with it.
I wonder if I will see him again.
I wonder what the air will taste like then.