"Who needs a life when you have a job?"
"Did that hurt?"
The Doctor's gaze snapped towards her. Face twisted and hair even more askew he appeared every inch the petulant school boy that had just been informed he would have to play better with others. A school boy that had just kicked his beloved TARDIS. Hard.
"Good."
Oh. Oh but wasn't he pleased with that. His gaze darkened by several measures. When she remained seemingly unimpressed? He darkened it several more, as if it were just another dial on the glittering console.
"I am not one of your things that go bump in the night Doctor." River reconsidered that and let her smile tilt almost rakishly, taking over her features. "All right, all right. On occasion I'm just that. But don't think you can stare me down." The dramatic whisper was not much of one at all, and she did not bother to hide the affection brimming there. "It won't work."
To that she added --
"I need my own space again."
"I just don't see why you can't stay here. There's plenty of room."
River shook her head. Because the man in front of her was so bloody smart, so ridiculously intelligent. But there were some things he just failed to understand.
"I didn't say rooms though. I said space. Do you know what they call places with lots of rooms, hallways after hallway of them all dedicated to remembering specific places and times? People? Filled to the brim with artifacts and relics and memories? They're called museums Doctor, and they always have their ghosts. Somehow I don't think you want me doing to them what I do, any more than I like being here to watch you do what you do with them."
He was silent now, watching her. But River didn't allow that matter. There was a point to be made.
"You aren't ready for me to go rummaging through their lives, cataloging and researching. And I want to, you see. I want to do just that. And I shouldn't, because it would be for the wrong reasons. I'll always want to. But it should be when I want to learn about them, not more about you."
"So what? Back to the 51st century? Back to a house with windows and doors. No more adventure and travel, no more --"
"No more you?" River finished the idea for him, because she didn't think he would. "I didn't say that. I never could say that. This?" She held up her battered diary between them. "It still has a lot more pages left to be filled. There is no way I am ever close to done with you, Doctor."
River paused, shoving the small bit of blue leather into the napsack that also carried the majority of her tools.
"But yes. I do need that. A house with windows and doors and dust beneath my feet that maybe, just maybe yours haven't touched. Dust that I don't have to feel guilty kicking up, for wanting to explore. Because I do feel guilty. I do want to explore. And?"
"And."
His said the word like it was a dead thing, like he had already heard and accepted her argument before she even said it. Like there was nothing else to say. It was times like this? That she hated him, at least a little.
"And I need some more time." It was always a strange word between them, River thought. Always meaning more or less than it should and somehow never landing on exactly right. "I need to live in that house. To open and close its shutters and doors. I need to work. To leave my own mark, my very own footprint in the dust."
"But why."
He thought this was about him. In a way it was. But mostly, it wasn't.
"Because I am an archaeologist," River explained cleanly. "How good of one would I be if I left nothing of myself behind for the next one to discover." She took a moment to pull her bag up squarely between her shoulders, and adjust its straps.
"I can't be everything to you Doctor. That isn't how this works. But you can't be everything to me either."
His gaze shuttered itself, like a light turning off. The bright that was not there to begin with, and the dark too. But then he looked at her. That pulled, distant look that River always felt before she saw it. The one that he most often cast at her back, or when he thought she wasn't looking.
"Fine," he managed. "Go."
She did.
The Doctor's gaze snapped towards her. Face twisted and hair even more askew he appeared every inch the petulant school boy that had just been informed he would have to play better with others. A school boy that had just kicked his beloved TARDIS. Hard.
"Good."
Oh. Oh but wasn't he pleased with that. His gaze darkened by several measures. When she remained seemingly unimpressed? He darkened it several more, as if it were just another dial on the glittering console.
"I am not one of your things that go bump in the night Doctor." River reconsidered that and let her smile tilt almost rakishly, taking over her features. "All right, all right. On occasion I'm just that. But don't think you can stare me down." The dramatic whisper was not much of one at all, and she did not bother to hide the affection brimming there. "It won't work."
To that she added --
"I need my own space again."
"I just don't see why you can't stay here. There's plenty of room."
River shook her head. Because the man in front of her was so bloody smart, so ridiculously intelligent. But there were some things he just failed to understand.
"I didn't say rooms though. I said space. Do you know what they call places with lots of rooms, hallways after hallway of them all dedicated to remembering specific places and times? People? Filled to the brim with artifacts and relics and memories? They're called museums Doctor, and they always have their ghosts. Somehow I don't think you want me doing to them what I do, any more than I like being here to watch you do what you do with them."
He was silent now, watching her. But River didn't allow that matter. There was a point to be made.
"You aren't ready for me to go rummaging through their lives, cataloging and researching. And I want to, you see. I want to do just that. And I shouldn't, because it would be for the wrong reasons. I'll always want to. But it should be when I want to learn about them, not more about you."
"So what? Back to the 51st century? Back to a house with windows and doors. No more adventure and travel, no more --"
"No more you?" River finished the idea for him, because she didn't think he would. "I didn't say that. I never could say that. This?" She held up her battered diary between them. "It still has a lot more pages left to be filled. There is no way I am ever close to done with you, Doctor."
River paused, shoving the small bit of blue leather into the napsack that also carried the majority of her tools.
"But yes. I do need that. A house with windows and doors and dust beneath my feet that maybe, just maybe yours haven't touched. Dust that I don't have to feel guilty kicking up, for wanting to explore. Because I do feel guilty. I do want to explore. And?"
"And."
His said the word like it was a dead thing, like he had already heard and accepted her argument before she even said it. Like there was nothing else to say. It was times like this? That she hated him, at least a little.
"And I need some more time." It was always a strange word between them, River thought. Always meaning more or less than it should and somehow never landing on exactly right. "I need to live in that house. To open and close its shutters and doors. I need to work. To leave my own mark, my very own footprint in the dust."
"But why."
He thought this was about him. In a way it was. But mostly, it wasn't.
"Because I am an archaeologist," River explained cleanly. "How good of one would I be if I left nothing of myself behind for the next one to discover." She took a moment to pull her bag up squarely between her shoulders, and adjust its straps.
"I can't be everything to you Doctor. That isn't how this works. But you can't be everything to me either."
His gaze shuttered itself, like a light turning off. The bright that was not there to begin with, and the dark too. But then he looked at her. That pulled, distant look that River always felt before she saw it. The one that he most often cast at her back, or when he thought she wasn't looking.
"Fine," he managed. "Go."
She did.