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Primal Constructs (Doctor Who, River Song/Oswin Oswald), PG13/R
Title: Primal Constructs
Author: ALC Punk!
Recipient: nenya_kanadka
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: River Song/Oswin Oswald
Rating: PG13/R (adult situations, non-explicit sex)
Word count: 2500+
Warnings: I'm not entirely sure how old Oswin is, at the beginning of this, I am arbitrarily deciding that she's at least seventeen.
Summary: Time runs sideways, and Oswin and River learn their feet.
They don't meet in a bar, because that's too cliche. River decrees the cliche a fantasy, even as she stands on the bridge, staring out across San Francisco bay.
"I've never seen anything like this--" Oswin tells her, fingers gripping the rails tightly, as though she's afraid that any moment, she'll fall forever. The bay spreads before her, a glittering, watery monstrosity. Her world tilts, tilts--
"Steady on." One hand on her shoulder, the other still gripping the railing, River holds her steady. "There isn't anywhere to fall."
The world settles, stills. The lights freeze, boats and waves, wind and surf all picked out like a painting once done on a long ago night. The sort of thing one might put in a dorm room, plaster on the wall and think this is the art I'll be remembered for having. Right before one's roommate throws a half-empty beer bottle at it.
"We haven't met yet," Oswin says, then she closes her eyes.
-=-
The Daleks killed everything human about Oswin, every physical thing that marked her out as not-a-Dalek, but still she is herself. She is Oswin Oswald, and she will survive. She will burn souffles, and she will talk to her mother, and she will remember her friends and her lovers.
I won't be able to save you. River had said that, once, with such sadness in her eyes, and Oswin hadn't asked.
Never ask your sometime lover what she means about the future you might not have.
Oswin never tells River about the library. It's a fair exchange.
-=-
Ten years, four months, six minutes. Oswin tells herself that counting is so bloody human, she should cling to it. She wonders how long it's been for River.
Less time, if she's any judge of the youth in the other woman's face.
"Hello, darling," Oswin says cheerfully as she drops into the chair across from River. There's something suspiciously antique about the tablets River is concentrating on, but Oswin isn't about to ask her about them. Being lectured on Gallifreyan language once was more than enough, thank you.
"What's a gorgeous girl like you doing in a place like this?"
Such a trite pick-up line, but River's smiling that twisted smirk that makes Oswin's legs go at the knees. So she doesn't object, instead leans forward to give River a nice view of the shirt she picked out on a whim, knowing it shows off her breasts to advantage.
"Trying to pull," shoots back Oswin, smug in her own complacency.
River laughs, fingers busy with her tablets as she wraps them in canvas and stores them in a bag. "Well, then. Mustn't disappoint you."
-=-
There are things River doesn't entirely remember--too much of her life wrapped up in a childhood that was constantly over-written, the Silence, her mission, regeneration and starvation. But she remembers Oswin Oswald, older and important in a way that River couldn't quite place at the time.
So when they meet again, and this Oswin is younger, different, River flirts. Just a little testing of the waters, she tells herself, enjoying their easy banter and the way Oswin's eyes light up.
Just two students out for a prowl on the town, River tells herself as they get drunk and giggle incessantly together in a corner.
It's not until Oswin asks how her dissertation is going that River feels things slipping out of place. "I'm not even on my second paper--dissertation's next year."
Mostly the truth, and Oswin looks surprised, then shakes her head. "It's all such a jumble, darling. I'd forgotten--forget I asked."
River doesn't, of course, not even when they're making out like a pair of teenagers in the toilets, Oswin's mouth and teeth knowing exactly which things to do to make River grip her hips hard.
-=-
River is so young. Oswin watches her for half a day before finding the courage to approach. She feels older, herself, older than she really is or should ever be.
She wonders if River felt the same, so long ago.
"Hello, darling." Oswin finds the words inadequate, and exactly what's required.
River's eyes are appraising, but teasing. Already, there's that instant connection between them, and Oswin tells herself that it's not a lie. That they've been here before and always will do again.
"Do I know you?"
"You will--I'm not a Time Lord," best to get bad impressions out of the way first, even if Oswin was never all that interested in ancient history. "You might say I'm the embodiment of a primal construct."
"Might I?" Eyebrow raised, River does at least appear to be thinking matters over.
There are a hundred things Oswin could say to convince her, secrets that River has told her over the years--but none of them are her secrets to tell, so she sticks with her own. "I've never mastered the art of souffle-making. In case you're wondering."
-=-
River Song in the conservatory with the lead pipe.
"You should remember my name," she taunts the Daleks--an entire parliament, just waiting to be burned, how could any self-respecting assassin resist? There's enough Dalekanium to blow up half the universe buried in their hold, and the trigger device is on her wrist.
"Identify yourself!" The Dalek Prime doesn't even sound agitated. Perhaps it has more puzzling things to worry about, like the blue box it doesn't understand anymore.
River's not going to really help, there.
"My name's River Song." She can't feel their telepathic connection filing her name away in their databanks, but it's early days yet. They won't feel they have need to remember her. Not yet.
"Try not to forget it."
Fingers shaking, she presses the correct sequences.
-=-
One upon a time, there is a princess in a library. Oswin doesn't really think 'princess' is the right term, but for a vast, echoing library filled with people and books, there is something about it that seems to fit. A fairy tale ideal for a fairy tale place.
She finds herself almost dancing between the aisles, running from collection to collection, until it is all just a whirl of books and that library smell.
Turning a corner, she finds a woman standing there, leaning against the shelves.
"Hello."
"Hello." The woman's lips curve into a smile that seems wistful. "I'm River Song. You must be Oswin."
-=-
"Have we done the Cybermen yet?"
It's amazing to River that Oswin Oswald asks such artless, time-continuum destroying questions without seeming to care. She glares, not wanting to know, even if the prospect of meeting them is vaguely entertaining. "No, we haven't. And I've told you--"
"Mustn't know anything about our futures--but this is my past." There's something dark and quiet in Oswin's eyes. Something different than River is used to seeing.
River's seen that look herself, a time or two. When she's remembered more of her childhood, or spoken to her parents. There's always that raw moment where she can't quite feel at ease anymore, knowing the darkness that's torn her life to shreds. Quietly, she says, "I know. Perhaps there's someone else you can tell about it, though."
Of course, this wasn't exactly the sort of way she wanted to introduce her mother to her other timey-whimey, wibbly-wobbly relationship, but Amy Pond lives in 1948, and could probably do with a distraction from the post-war era.
"If you'd said it was talking to your mother you had in mind," Oswin says, nervous and fidgety on the front stoop of the house in Manhattan, "I would have run the other direction."
River smiles. "I know." Her fingers link with Oswin's just as Amy opens the door to them. Her gut is churning in sudden worry and discomfort, and she thinks this must be what it's like for normal people bringing a girlfriend home. Still, best to get on with it. "Hello, Mother. This is Oswin."
-=-
"Were we best friends at university?" Oswin asks, artless in her sprawl in River's bed.
Feasting her eyes on the lines of the other woman's body, River doesn't answer for the moment. It's times like these that she misses linear existences, proper timelines, a universe that existed in lock-step.
Then again, she's never been one for regimentals.
"Of course."
"Or not at all," contradicts Oswin, propping herself up on one elbow, "We were rivals--working against each other for scholarship and department perks. You hated me until that night--"
"You can't recreate whole storylines." River really isn't sure why she's objecting, then again, it's not a storyline that existed in the first place. Maybe. Probably. It's not like she remembers everything about her life--there's a lot of muddle in there, after regeneration and before the death of the Doctor.
"Of course I can." Insouciant, Oswin jumps up, hands on her hips. "And you can't stop me."
"Can't I just?" River asks softly before reaching out, her hands almost harsh against Oswin's hips as she pulls her back in.
They're kissing again, light, chuckling things, and River stops thinking in timelines and consequences. She's no Time Lord to predict which stories stay true.
-=-
"Memory comprised of illusion and dream."
"Don't lecture me," Oswin begs. Two years, ten months, five days (she's not counting, truly). Her fingers grab for River's, tugging her into a half-run as the class ahead of them lengthens their lead. Joining River on some sort of archaeology field trip had seemed less exciting before the alien invasion.
"It's what we are to each other," snaps River, tugging her forwards when she would have slacked.
"That's a--" whatever Oswin had been planning to say is lost in the laser fire that burns a nearby tree. They run faster, River cursing under her breath about forgetting her blaster at the dig site.
Oswin doesn't shout back that River relies on blasters and technology far too often. Now isn't the time, not if they're going to work out a plan to take the alien invaders out before anyone gets killed.
-=-
"I like her," Amy tells River as they're putting the finishing touches on snacks in the kitchen. A frighteningly domestic thing for both of them, but they've had to adjust. "And Oswin. Such a strange name..."
When she trails off, frowning suddenly, River feels a chill go down her spine. "It's not strange in the future."
"No. No, I s'pose it isn't. Dime a dozen in her era." Brightly, Amy claps her hands, "I'm sure that awkward silence is your father's fault. Shall we rescue your girlfriend?"
Girlfriends. River grins herself, liking the way that sounds. Which is a ridiculous, romantical, childish thing. But she's all right with being childish, these days. Sometimes, one has to, to be one's self. Still, she can't help wondering what it was about Oswin's name that put her mother in such a strange face.
Making a mental note to look a bit more into Oswin's life, River hoists the tray and follows her mother out to a baffled-looking Oswin and a blushing Rory Williams.
-=-
"Once upon a time, a princess in a tower was rescued." Oswin is writing, her handwriting flourishing and tangled, her fingers almost cramping at the unfamiliar utensil and the angle of the paper.
"By a dashing heroine," suggests River from where she's working on her dissertation. Again. It seems there's nothing she does these days, outside of eat, sleep, and breathe dissertation. And Oswin. There's always Oswin, and for the distraction, she's grateful.
"But of course."
"What are you working on?" It's only to stop herself worrying over the phrasing of a particular passage, River tells herself.
"Application for a starliner. I've always wanted to see the universe."
River thinks of Oswin alone among the stars, having adventures without her. She's jealous, but proud. Oswin will be fine, she's sure of it, and-- "You'll visit me on leave."
"Oh, obviously, darling." Oswin winks and returns to what she's doing, sucking a bit on her lip. It's endearing, and something River might spend hours watching--if there weren't a phrase to fix and an entire four paragraphs to rip to shreds before her panel does.
-=-
"We're backwards and sideways and clock-wise and anti-clock-wise, and--" Oswin says the words against River's belly, her lips trailing kisses. It's no longer awkward, these meetings, these places.
She never felt like she belonged, until now.
"I know, darling," murmurs River, twisting and reaching down to tangle her fingers in Oswin's hair. "We're forever moving."
Afterwards, with River's skin cooling, and her own beginning to heat in the anticipation, Oswin reflects on the stars she can see through River's bedroom window. Someday, she's going to be among them, flying the spaceways.
"Do you know? I think I like it that way." The words are a non sequitur, as thought they've been having a conversation whilst River moaned and gasped, pleaded and begged.
Perhaps they have.
Oswin closes her eyes and tells herself they'll always have this moment.
-=-
"Of course we've met." River says, in answer to Oswin, who still has her eyes closed. "A hundred, a thousand times--all across the worlds and space. Snatches when you snuck off work or I snuck out of lectures--"
"Days that were so golden, we both fought to make them last." The words taste bitter in Oswin's throat, and she tells herself that she's happy.
A hand touches her shoulder, and even now, River can still affect her. "They did last."
Forever, in a library, in a tower--locked into a life of non-existence. "It's not what I want."
But River knows her and Oswin takes comfort in the arm around her waist and River's chin on her shoulder. "But it's what you have, for the moment. You know there are advances in science, that one day we might--"
"Live again. Yes." Oswin likes the taste of that idea, and she smiles, letting the wind buffet her back against River, savoring the feel of their bodies and minds against each other. "Let's show those scientists a thing or two, shall we?"
-f-
Author: ALC Punk!
Recipient: nenya_kanadka
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing: River Song/Oswin Oswald
Rating: PG13/R (adult situations, non-explicit sex)
Word count: 2500+
Warnings: I'm not entirely sure how old Oswin is, at the beginning of this, I am arbitrarily deciding that she's at least seventeen.
Summary: Time runs sideways, and Oswin and River learn their feet.
They don't meet in a bar, because that's too cliche. River decrees the cliche a fantasy, even as she stands on the bridge, staring out across San Francisco bay.
"I've never seen anything like this--" Oswin tells her, fingers gripping the rails tightly, as though she's afraid that any moment, she'll fall forever. The bay spreads before her, a glittering, watery monstrosity. Her world tilts, tilts--
"Steady on." One hand on her shoulder, the other still gripping the railing, River holds her steady. "There isn't anywhere to fall."
The world settles, stills. The lights freeze, boats and waves, wind and surf all picked out like a painting once done on a long ago night. The sort of thing one might put in a dorm room, plaster on the wall and think this is the art I'll be remembered for having. Right before one's roommate throws a half-empty beer bottle at it.
"We haven't met yet," Oswin says, then she closes her eyes.
-=-
The Daleks killed everything human about Oswin, every physical thing that marked her out as not-a-Dalek, but still she is herself. She is Oswin Oswald, and she will survive. She will burn souffles, and she will talk to her mother, and she will remember her friends and her lovers.
I won't be able to save you. River had said that, once, with such sadness in her eyes, and Oswin hadn't asked.
Never ask your sometime lover what she means about the future you might not have.
Oswin never tells River about the library. It's a fair exchange.
-=-
Ten years, four months, six minutes. Oswin tells herself that counting is so bloody human, she should cling to it. She wonders how long it's been for River.
Less time, if she's any judge of the youth in the other woman's face.
"Hello, darling," Oswin says cheerfully as she drops into the chair across from River. There's something suspiciously antique about the tablets River is concentrating on, but Oswin isn't about to ask her about them. Being lectured on Gallifreyan language once was more than enough, thank you.
"What's a gorgeous girl like you doing in a place like this?"
Such a trite pick-up line, but River's smiling that twisted smirk that makes Oswin's legs go at the knees. So she doesn't object, instead leans forward to give River a nice view of the shirt she picked out on a whim, knowing it shows off her breasts to advantage.
"Trying to pull," shoots back Oswin, smug in her own complacency.
River laughs, fingers busy with her tablets as she wraps them in canvas and stores them in a bag. "Well, then. Mustn't disappoint you."
-=-
There are things River doesn't entirely remember--too much of her life wrapped up in a childhood that was constantly over-written, the Silence, her mission, regeneration and starvation. But she remembers Oswin Oswald, older and important in a way that River couldn't quite place at the time.
So when they meet again, and this Oswin is younger, different, River flirts. Just a little testing of the waters, she tells herself, enjoying their easy banter and the way Oswin's eyes light up.
Just two students out for a prowl on the town, River tells herself as they get drunk and giggle incessantly together in a corner.
It's not until Oswin asks how her dissertation is going that River feels things slipping out of place. "I'm not even on my second paper--dissertation's next year."
Mostly the truth, and Oswin looks surprised, then shakes her head. "It's all such a jumble, darling. I'd forgotten--forget I asked."
River doesn't, of course, not even when they're making out like a pair of teenagers in the toilets, Oswin's mouth and teeth knowing exactly which things to do to make River grip her hips hard.
-=-
River is so young. Oswin watches her for half a day before finding the courage to approach. She feels older, herself, older than she really is or should ever be.
She wonders if River felt the same, so long ago.
"Hello, darling." Oswin finds the words inadequate, and exactly what's required.
River's eyes are appraising, but teasing. Already, there's that instant connection between them, and Oswin tells herself that it's not a lie. That they've been here before and always will do again.
"Do I know you?"
"You will--I'm not a Time Lord," best to get bad impressions out of the way first, even if Oswin was never all that interested in ancient history. "You might say I'm the embodiment of a primal construct."
"Might I?" Eyebrow raised, River does at least appear to be thinking matters over.
There are a hundred things Oswin could say to convince her, secrets that River has told her over the years--but none of them are her secrets to tell, so she sticks with her own. "I've never mastered the art of souffle-making. In case you're wondering."
-=-
River Song in the conservatory with the lead pipe.
"You should remember my name," she taunts the Daleks--an entire parliament, just waiting to be burned, how could any self-respecting assassin resist? There's enough Dalekanium to blow up half the universe buried in their hold, and the trigger device is on her wrist.
"Identify yourself!" The Dalek Prime doesn't even sound agitated. Perhaps it has more puzzling things to worry about, like the blue box it doesn't understand anymore.
River's not going to really help, there.
"My name's River Song." She can't feel their telepathic connection filing her name away in their databanks, but it's early days yet. They won't feel they have need to remember her. Not yet.
"Try not to forget it."
Fingers shaking, she presses the correct sequences.
-=-
One upon a time, there is a princess in a library. Oswin doesn't really think 'princess' is the right term, but for a vast, echoing library filled with people and books, there is something about it that seems to fit. A fairy tale ideal for a fairy tale place.
She finds herself almost dancing between the aisles, running from collection to collection, until it is all just a whirl of books and that library smell.
Turning a corner, she finds a woman standing there, leaning against the shelves.
"Hello."
"Hello." The woman's lips curve into a smile that seems wistful. "I'm River Song. You must be Oswin."
-=-
"Have we done the Cybermen yet?"
It's amazing to River that Oswin Oswald asks such artless, time-continuum destroying questions without seeming to care. She glares, not wanting to know, even if the prospect of meeting them is vaguely entertaining. "No, we haven't. And I've told you--"
"Mustn't know anything about our futures--but this is my past." There's something dark and quiet in Oswin's eyes. Something different than River is used to seeing.
River's seen that look herself, a time or two. When she's remembered more of her childhood, or spoken to her parents. There's always that raw moment where she can't quite feel at ease anymore, knowing the darkness that's torn her life to shreds. Quietly, she says, "I know. Perhaps there's someone else you can tell about it, though."
Of course, this wasn't exactly the sort of way she wanted to introduce her mother to her other timey-whimey, wibbly-wobbly relationship, but Amy Pond lives in 1948, and could probably do with a distraction from the post-war era.
"If you'd said it was talking to your mother you had in mind," Oswin says, nervous and fidgety on the front stoop of the house in Manhattan, "I would have run the other direction."
River smiles. "I know." Her fingers link with Oswin's just as Amy opens the door to them. Her gut is churning in sudden worry and discomfort, and she thinks this must be what it's like for normal people bringing a girlfriend home. Still, best to get on with it. "Hello, Mother. This is Oswin."
-=-
"Were we best friends at university?" Oswin asks, artless in her sprawl in River's bed.
Feasting her eyes on the lines of the other woman's body, River doesn't answer for the moment. It's times like these that she misses linear existences, proper timelines, a universe that existed in lock-step.
Then again, she's never been one for regimentals.
"Of course."
"Or not at all," contradicts Oswin, propping herself up on one elbow, "We were rivals--working against each other for scholarship and department perks. You hated me until that night--"
"You can't recreate whole storylines." River really isn't sure why she's objecting, then again, it's not a storyline that existed in the first place. Maybe. Probably. It's not like she remembers everything about her life--there's a lot of muddle in there, after regeneration and before the death of the Doctor.
"Of course I can." Insouciant, Oswin jumps up, hands on her hips. "And you can't stop me."
"Can't I just?" River asks softly before reaching out, her hands almost harsh against Oswin's hips as she pulls her back in.
They're kissing again, light, chuckling things, and River stops thinking in timelines and consequences. She's no Time Lord to predict which stories stay true.
-=-
"Memory comprised of illusion and dream."
"Don't lecture me," Oswin begs. Two years, ten months, five days (she's not counting, truly). Her fingers grab for River's, tugging her into a half-run as the class ahead of them lengthens their lead. Joining River on some sort of archaeology field trip had seemed less exciting before the alien invasion.
"It's what we are to each other," snaps River, tugging her forwards when she would have slacked.
"That's a--" whatever Oswin had been planning to say is lost in the laser fire that burns a nearby tree. They run faster, River cursing under her breath about forgetting her blaster at the dig site.
Oswin doesn't shout back that River relies on blasters and technology far too often. Now isn't the time, not if they're going to work out a plan to take the alien invaders out before anyone gets killed.
-=-
"I like her," Amy tells River as they're putting the finishing touches on snacks in the kitchen. A frighteningly domestic thing for both of them, but they've had to adjust. "And Oswin. Such a strange name..."
When she trails off, frowning suddenly, River feels a chill go down her spine. "It's not strange in the future."
"No. No, I s'pose it isn't. Dime a dozen in her era." Brightly, Amy claps her hands, "I'm sure that awkward silence is your father's fault. Shall we rescue your girlfriend?"
Girlfriends. River grins herself, liking the way that sounds. Which is a ridiculous, romantical, childish thing. But she's all right with being childish, these days. Sometimes, one has to, to be one's self. Still, she can't help wondering what it was about Oswin's name that put her mother in such a strange face.
Making a mental note to look a bit more into Oswin's life, River hoists the tray and follows her mother out to a baffled-looking Oswin and a blushing Rory Williams.
-=-
"Once upon a time, a princess in a tower was rescued." Oswin is writing, her handwriting flourishing and tangled, her fingers almost cramping at the unfamiliar utensil and the angle of the paper.
"By a dashing heroine," suggests River from where she's working on her dissertation. Again. It seems there's nothing she does these days, outside of eat, sleep, and breathe dissertation. And Oswin. There's always Oswin, and for the distraction, she's grateful.
"But of course."
"What are you working on?" It's only to stop herself worrying over the phrasing of a particular passage, River tells herself.
"Application for a starliner. I've always wanted to see the universe."
River thinks of Oswin alone among the stars, having adventures without her. She's jealous, but proud. Oswin will be fine, she's sure of it, and-- "You'll visit me on leave."
"Oh, obviously, darling." Oswin winks and returns to what she's doing, sucking a bit on her lip. It's endearing, and something River might spend hours watching--if there weren't a phrase to fix and an entire four paragraphs to rip to shreds before her panel does.
-=-
"We're backwards and sideways and clock-wise and anti-clock-wise, and--" Oswin says the words against River's belly, her lips trailing kisses. It's no longer awkward, these meetings, these places.
She never felt like she belonged, until now.
"I know, darling," murmurs River, twisting and reaching down to tangle her fingers in Oswin's hair. "We're forever moving."
Afterwards, with River's skin cooling, and her own beginning to heat in the anticipation, Oswin reflects on the stars she can see through River's bedroom window. Someday, she's going to be among them, flying the spaceways.
"Do you know? I think I like it that way." The words are a non sequitur, as thought they've been having a conversation whilst River moaned and gasped, pleaded and begged.
Perhaps they have.
Oswin closes her eyes and tells herself they'll always have this moment.
-=-
"Of course we've met." River says, in answer to Oswin, who still has her eyes closed. "A hundred, a thousand times--all across the worlds and space. Snatches when you snuck off work or I snuck out of lectures--"
"Days that were so golden, we both fought to make them last." The words taste bitter in Oswin's throat, and she tells herself that she's happy.
A hand touches her shoulder, and even now, River can still affect her. "They did last."
Forever, in a library, in a tower--locked into a life of non-existence. "It's not what I want."
But River knows her and Oswin takes comfort in the arm around her waist and River's chin on her shoulder. "But it's what you have, for the moment. You know there are advances in science, that one day we might--"
"Live again. Yes." Oswin likes the taste of that idea, and she smiles, letting the wind buffet her back against River, savoring the feel of their bodies and minds against each other. "Let's show those scientists a thing or two, shall we?"
-f-