Because Rory Will Always Be Rory
Title: Because Rory Will Always Be Rory
Author: jenniferjf
Pairing: Eleven/River
Characters: Eleven, River, Rory
Genre: het/gen
Rating: Adult
Summary: Fill in Scenes for A Good Man Goes to War, expanding upon River's visit with the Doctor to the Frost Fair in 1814.
The date had sat there, like a black hole in her future, drawing her inexorably towards it, for a very long time. It had started out simply as sort of a curiosity, something noted but not really taken too seriously: "Oh, look what the next decade is." Then it had been only a few years away. But, still, those were years she could spend not thinking about it at all. Or, rather, years she could spend mostly not thinking about it.
But then it had been the year. And then the month. And she was reminded of the day every time she looked at a calendar or wrote in her diary.
It became impossible to ignore.
She couldn't discuss it with the Doctor, either. She wasn't even sure if he was aware of the date approaching her. Neither his younger self traveling backwards to that cornfield in Leadworth nor the Doctor skipping forward with her like a pebble across water had ever once mentioned it. And as confused as their time streams were, how could he be expected to notice one date? And even if he did, why would he even think it mattered to her now?
She wasn't even sure why it mattered.
Except that it did.
A sense of dread, a strange foreboding she couldn't have described even if she'd had anyone to explain it to, came over her whenever she thought of it. And that morning, waking up on the TARDIS and knowing that, finally, today was the day...
It surprised her to roll over and find him there, watching her with a smile playing across his face, exactly as always. She was surprised again when, a short time later, he dropped her back in Stormcage and her cell looked just as it had when she'd left it. Later still, the guard, passing on his rounds, wished her a good morning exactly like he had every other morning for years.
Nothing had changed. The world hadn't splintered around her.
Of course.
Except it had.
Because, right then, that very day, far, far away on an asteroid called Demon's Run, her mother was going into labor. And in a very few short hours, she herself would be born into the arms of a woman who would see her not as the newborn she was, nor as the woman she could become, but as a weapon she could, and would, twist into being. Shattering four lives and, quite nearly, the universe itself, in the process.
She could feel the knowledge of it crawling through her like a living thing, screaming for her to act. To stop it. To save her mother and the infant she had been, to bend time itself in order to prevent all the pain and suffering she knew would follow.
Only she couldn't.
Even if the paradox wouldn't have torn apart the fabric of the universe, she wouldn't. Because somehow, despite it all... because of it all... she had him.
But that didn't make it easy to sit there quietly in her cell and do nothing while, out there, her life and the lives of the people she loved were being ripped to shreds.
Until the mail came. And while she didn't get mail as a general rule, when she did, it was always from him. This time was no exception. Ripping the envelope open, she smiled as she pulled out the card inside. It's yellow cover wished her a "Happy Birthday" in large red letters. But her smile grew still wider as she read the message he'd scrawled inside:
"Pick you up, 3:30pm. Dress warmly. And for 1814. Bring skates if you have any. If not, we'll fix that. - Me."
And while she could tell by the way he'd signed that it wasn't her Doctor - which she'd already suspected or he'd have just given her the card that morning - still, he had remembered. At least once. And maybe that meant he understood, too.
At least a little.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
He careened across the ice, all knees and elbows as he crashed against her. She grabbed onto him, offering support as he regained his balance. When he finally stood next to her, still shaky on his skates, but at least no longer moving in three or more directions at once, she asked, "Still sure this was a good idea, sweetie?"
He nodded. "Absolutely. I'll have it in a minute. Muscle memory and all that. The body never forge..." His final word cut off as his left skate slid right just as his right slipped backwards. Her quick reflexes in grabbing his elbow was all that kept him from sprawling face forward onto the ice.
Again.
She laughed as she helped him to right himself. "If you say so."
"I do," he said. Then, kicking off and away from her, his eyes sparkling as brightly as the ice surrounding them, he did a perfect full spin on the ice before coming to a sharp stop half a meter away from her. A grin split across his face as, holding out his hand, he asked, "May I have this dance?"
She shook her head in disbelief. Maybe one day he'd lose the power to render her speechless, but she rather hoped he wouldn't.
His grin slashed sideways. "Told ya I could skate."
"It's not the skating that's worrying me now," she said, laughing as she took his hand and let him pull her into his arms. "Sweetie, I've seen you dance."
"I promise I'll be good. Cross my hearts. Besides," he began, spinning her around against him so she was looking back the way she'd come, "Look who I've got to sing for us."
She wasn't quite sure she could believe what her eyes were seeing. "Is that...?"
He chuckled, the sound reverberating against her back. "Yup."
"Isn't that breaking at least three laws of time?"
He laughed again. "Yup. But it is a special occasion."
She twisted back around to face him. Stevie Wonder began to sing behind her. Reaching up, she gently tucked his forelock back behind his ear, stroking his temple as she did so. "Thank you."
The laughter died on his face, replaced with a look of such intensity she felt it. And she knew he'd understood. Her gratitude wasn't for Stevie Wonder or the broken laws of time but for his having chosen to celebrate at all. His gaze held hers for a minute, and she couldn't imagine he'd ever thought - would think - she needed to hear the words. Then a smile broke across his face; he was five years old again. The moment was gone. Clasping her in his arms, he danced her across the ice.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
She stood at the bars for long moments after her father had left, staring after him down the shadowed corridor. He had been so... Rory. Forever unwilling and unable to ignore anyone injured or in pain. Even if what was hurting was beyond his ability to repair. He cared so acutely about everything and everyone. But more than anyone else in the universe, he loved her mother.
She'd heard it in his tone when he'd told her, "They've taken Amy." The despair and the determination. The willingness to tear worlds apart to get to her. To save her. The fear that, even then, nothing he could do would be enough. That he would still lose her.
River understood that only too well.
But what she'd never understood, not really, not until that very moment listening to him, was how that love included her. When he'd added, "And our baby," she'd felt it then, too. That same despair. That same determination. That same fear. And denying that love - refusing him help without offering real explanation - had been more difficult that she could ever have imagined. Especially when she'd seen the shock of it in his eyes, the pain of her betrayal wash across his features as though he'd been hit. As though she had hit him.
So it had been almost a physical relief when he'd left, turning away from her in anger and confusion. Only she knew that, hidden around the corridor, he must have returned to the TARDIS which had brought him. And to the Doctor who had sent him. And she was certain the betrayal would - already had - hurt him no less than it had her father.
A sudden change in the atmosphere behind her, a shift in the pressure or the temperature or something, cut through her thoughts. She was no longer alone. Turning from the bars, she saw the thin vertical line of light hanging in the air of her cell. She stepped forward, pushed the TARDIS doors open the rest of the way, and went inside. They'd dematerialized again as soon as she'd closed the doors behind herself.
He was standing at the top of the stairs leading up to the console, leaning back against the railing. He'd traded in his customary tweed for his black evening jacket, complete with top hat.
As she stepped up to join him, he smiled gently. "You okay?" he asked.
She nodded and tried to return his smile. "Yeah. I will be."
He tilted her chin up to look him in the eyes and said, simply, in a voice so quiet she had to strain to hear, "I'm so sorry, River." His thumb caressed her cheek. Softly. Invitingly.
Her facade broke. She couldn't bear to keep it up longer. Suddenly, unbelievably tired, she stepped into his waiting arms. Lowering her head to his shoulder, she rested against him. She stood there, soaking in his strength, for several long, long minutes. Then, breaking the silence, she spoke against his neck, "I do know why you sent him, love. And why you didn't warn me later."
She felt him nod. "I know. Still..." His voice trailed off; his arms tightened around her.
Lifting her head to look at him, she observed with a smile, teasing, "You do have guilt down to a science, dear, don't you?"
He chuckled and managed to look at least a bit embarrassed. "Well... yes."
"Not that I'm complaining, you understand. The Frost Fair was lovely. And your skating..."
"Atrocious?" he asked, releasing her to rock back on his heels proudly.
Now it was her turn to chuckle. "Surprising," she corrected.
He laughed. "Aren't I always?"
"Though," she continued, "I'm still not quite sure you were being fair to Father. He looked awfully - "
"Confused?"
"Hurt," she corrected again.
"Ah..."
"So maybe you should be apologizing to him."
"Do you think he'd like a dance?" the Doctor joked, stepping away from her and toward the TARDIS controls.
"I'm trying to be serious."
He reached out and absentmindedly twisted a knob on the console before glancing back up at her. "You know... I wouldn't worry about Rory if I were you," he observed.
"Why not?"
"Because your father isn't actually as stupid as he looks."
She laughed despite herself. "Be serious."
"You know what I mean. But think about it for a minute, dearest... What else did he see?'"
She did think about it. Remembering. And then, in a sudden flash of insight, River understood. It wasn't the second half of her conversation with her father that was important, but the first. Her, returning to prison after a day with the Doctor, still almost literally walking on air. Her happy. Despite everything.
The Doctor, continuing to fiddle with console controls she knew perfectly well did not need to be adjusted, went on, in a tone far too casual, "Because, you know, he's Rory. And he'd want to know... He'dneed to know. And it's not like I could have sat him down and explained it. Even if I'd had the time. Even if he'd been completely him." He chuckled, though she knew him well enough to recognize it as forced. "Which he wasn't. And, under the circumstances, I'm not sure even I could have gotten him to believe it if I had..." His voice trailed off as he became engrossed in the readout on the overhead monitor, slapping the side as though certain that would fix the problem.
She smiled as she watched his pointless activity at the controls. Because even the man who'd tied himself to her on that pyramid that never was hadn't yet dared to hope he could ever make her truly happy. Hadn't yet really seen and believed what had always been right before his eyes. And he could certainly never have promised it to Rory. Even Rule Number One had its limits.
But this man... In order to recognize what he'd unwittingly shown to her father, he must have finally seen it for himself. Realized the truth. So she let him get away with the evasion. It was, after all, as close to an admission he'd been wrong as she was ever likely to get. After a minute she observed, intentionally changing the subject, "You're a bit overdressed for a night in the box, though, aren't you?"
He straightened up from the console and turned back to her. "It's a special occasion," he announced, adjusting his lapels.
"We've already done that," she reminded him.
"That," he declared, poking her on the nose, "Was ages ago."
"Or an hour."
He laughed. "Or an hour," he agreed. "Still. Not now. Now is still a special occasion."
"So, where are we going?" she asked, reaching for the controls herself.
"Nowhere."
She looked over her shoulder at him, letting her gaze take in his entire outfit by way of making a point. "And now we're back to overdressed."
He preened under her scrutiny. "And I already told you, it's a special occasion." Then, carefully rolling the syllables out into separate words, he continued, "Your birth day."
"Which still doesn't explain the fancy dress."
"Yes it does."
"What's it for, then?"
He carefully adjusted his bow tie before, looking up at her from under his brows, his green eyes grown so dark they seemed to be nearly black, his gaze so intense he seemed to see right through her... and he knew perfectly well she had absolutely no defense against that look... he finally answered, "Wrapping paper."
A long time later, curled up in bed next to him, half asleep and wholly satisfied, she observed with a chuckle, "You know... though... I was sort of hoping for a Ferrari."
He handed her the keys.
Author: jenniferjf
Pairing: Eleven/River
Characters: Eleven, River, Rory
Genre: het/gen
Rating: Adult
Summary: Fill in Scenes for A Good Man Goes to War, expanding upon River's visit with the Doctor to the Frost Fair in 1814.
The date had sat there, like a black hole in her future, drawing her inexorably towards it, for a very long time. It had started out simply as sort of a curiosity, something noted but not really taken too seriously: "Oh, look what the next decade is." Then it had been only a few years away. But, still, those were years she could spend not thinking about it at all. Or, rather, years she could spend mostly not thinking about it.
But then it had been the year. And then the month. And she was reminded of the day every time she looked at a calendar or wrote in her diary.
It became impossible to ignore.
She couldn't discuss it with the Doctor, either. She wasn't even sure if he was aware of the date approaching her. Neither his younger self traveling backwards to that cornfield in Leadworth nor the Doctor skipping forward with her like a pebble across water had ever once mentioned it. And as confused as their time streams were, how could he be expected to notice one date? And even if he did, why would he even think it mattered to her now?
She wasn't even sure why it mattered.
Except that it did.
A sense of dread, a strange foreboding she couldn't have described even if she'd had anyone to explain it to, came over her whenever she thought of it. And that morning, waking up on the TARDIS and knowing that, finally, today was the day...
It surprised her to roll over and find him there, watching her with a smile playing across his face, exactly as always. She was surprised again when, a short time later, he dropped her back in Stormcage and her cell looked just as it had when she'd left it. Later still, the guard, passing on his rounds, wished her a good morning exactly like he had every other morning for years.
Nothing had changed. The world hadn't splintered around her.
Of course.
Except it had.
Because, right then, that very day, far, far away on an asteroid called Demon's Run, her mother was going into labor. And in a very few short hours, she herself would be born into the arms of a woman who would see her not as the newborn she was, nor as the woman she could become, but as a weapon she could, and would, twist into being. Shattering four lives and, quite nearly, the universe itself, in the process.
She could feel the knowledge of it crawling through her like a living thing, screaming for her to act. To stop it. To save her mother and the infant she had been, to bend time itself in order to prevent all the pain and suffering she knew would follow.
Only she couldn't.
Even if the paradox wouldn't have torn apart the fabric of the universe, she wouldn't. Because somehow, despite it all... because of it all... she had him.
But that didn't make it easy to sit there quietly in her cell and do nothing while, out there, her life and the lives of the people she loved were being ripped to shreds.
Until the mail came. And while she didn't get mail as a general rule, when she did, it was always from him. This time was no exception. Ripping the envelope open, she smiled as she pulled out the card inside. It's yellow cover wished her a "Happy Birthday" in large red letters. But her smile grew still wider as she read the message he'd scrawled inside:
"Pick you up, 3:30pm. Dress warmly. And for 1814. Bring skates if you have any. If not, we'll fix that. - Me."
And while she could tell by the way he'd signed that it wasn't her Doctor - which she'd already suspected or he'd have just given her the card that morning - still, he had remembered. At least once. And maybe that meant he understood, too.
At least a little.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
He careened across the ice, all knees and elbows as he crashed against her. She grabbed onto him, offering support as he regained his balance. When he finally stood next to her, still shaky on his skates, but at least no longer moving in three or more directions at once, she asked, "Still sure this was a good idea, sweetie?"
He nodded. "Absolutely. I'll have it in a minute. Muscle memory and all that. The body never forge..." His final word cut off as his left skate slid right just as his right slipped backwards. Her quick reflexes in grabbing his elbow was all that kept him from sprawling face forward onto the ice.
Again.
She laughed as she helped him to right himself. "If you say so."
"I do," he said. Then, kicking off and away from her, his eyes sparkling as brightly as the ice surrounding them, he did a perfect full spin on the ice before coming to a sharp stop half a meter away from her. A grin split across his face as, holding out his hand, he asked, "May I have this dance?"
She shook her head in disbelief. Maybe one day he'd lose the power to render her speechless, but she rather hoped he wouldn't.
His grin slashed sideways. "Told ya I could skate."
"It's not the skating that's worrying me now," she said, laughing as she took his hand and let him pull her into his arms. "Sweetie, I've seen you dance."
"I promise I'll be good. Cross my hearts. Besides," he began, spinning her around against him so she was looking back the way she'd come, "Look who I've got to sing for us."
She wasn't quite sure she could believe what her eyes were seeing. "Is that...?"
He chuckled, the sound reverberating against her back. "Yup."
"Isn't that breaking at least three laws of time?"
He laughed again. "Yup. But it is a special occasion."
She twisted back around to face him. Stevie Wonder began to sing behind her. Reaching up, she gently tucked his forelock back behind his ear, stroking his temple as she did so. "Thank you."
The laughter died on his face, replaced with a look of such intensity she felt it. And she knew he'd understood. Her gratitude wasn't for Stevie Wonder or the broken laws of time but for his having chosen to celebrate at all. His gaze held hers for a minute, and she couldn't imagine he'd ever thought - would think - she needed to hear the words. Then a smile broke across his face; he was five years old again. The moment was gone. Clasping her in his arms, he danced her across the ice.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
She stood at the bars for long moments after her father had left, staring after him down the shadowed corridor. He had been so... Rory. Forever unwilling and unable to ignore anyone injured or in pain. Even if what was hurting was beyond his ability to repair. He cared so acutely about everything and everyone. But more than anyone else in the universe, he loved her mother.
She'd heard it in his tone when he'd told her, "They've taken Amy." The despair and the determination. The willingness to tear worlds apart to get to her. To save her. The fear that, even then, nothing he could do would be enough. That he would still lose her.
River understood that only too well.
But what she'd never understood, not really, not until that very moment listening to him, was how that love included her. When he'd added, "And our baby," she'd felt it then, too. That same despair. That same determination. That same fear. And denying that love - refusing him help without offering real explanation - had been more difficult that she could ever have imagined. Especially when she'd seen the shock of it in his eyes, the pain of her betrayal wash across his features as though he'd been hit. As though she had hit him.
So it had been almost a physical relief when he'd left, turning away from her in anger and confusion. Only she knew that, hidden around the corridor, he must have returned to the TARDIS which had brought him. And to the Doctor who had sent him. And she was certain the betrayal would - already had - hurt him no less than it had her father.
A sudden change in the atmosphere behind her, a shift in the pressure or the temperature or something, cut through her thoughts. She was no longer alone. Turning from the bars, she saw the thin vertical line of light hanging in the air of her cell. She stepped forward, pushed the TARDIS doors open the rest of the way, and went inside. They'd dematerialized again as soon as she'd closed the doors behind herself.
He was standing at the top of the stairs leading up to the console, leaning back against the railing. He'd traded in his customary tweed for his black evening jacket, complete with top hat.
As she stepped up to join him, he smiled gently. "You okay?" he asked.
She nodded and tried to return his smile. "Yeah. I will be."
He tilted her chin up to look him in the eyes and said, simply, in a voice so quiet she had to strain to hear, "I'm so sorry, River." His thumb caressed her cheek. Softly. Invitingly.
Her facade broke. She couldn't bear to keep it up longer. Suddenly, unbelievably tired, she stepped into his waiting arms. Lowering her head to his shoulder, she rested against him. She stood there, soaking in his strength, for several long, long minutes. Then, breaking the silence, she spoke against his neck, "I do know why you sent him, love. And why you didn't warn me later."
She felt him nod. "I know. Still..." His voice trailed off; his arms tightened around her.
Lifting her head to look at him, she observed with a smile, teasing, "You do have guilt down to a science, dear, don't you?"
He chuckled and managed to look at least a bit embarrassed. "Well... yes."
"Not that I'm complaining, you understand. The Frost Fair was lovely. And your skating..."
"Atrocious?" he asked, releasing her to rock back on his heels proudly.
Now it was her turn to chuckle. "Surprising," she corrected.
He laughed. "Aren't I always?"
"Though," she continued, "I'm still not quite sure you were being fair to Father. He looked awfully - "
"Confused?"
"Hurt," she corrected again.
"Ah..."
"So maybe you should be apologizing to him."
"Do you think he'd like a dance?" the Doctor joked, stepping away from her and toward the TARDIS controls.
"I'm trying to be serious."
He reached out and absentmindedly twisted a knob on the console before glancing back up at her. "You know... I wouldn't worry about Rory if I were you," he observed.
"Why not?"
"Because your father isn't actually as stupid as he looks."
She laughed despite herself. "Be serious."
"You know what I mean. But think about it for a minute, dearest... What else did he see?'"
She did think about it. Remembering. And then, in a sudden flash of insight, River understood. It wasn't the second half of her conversation with her father that was important, but the first. Her, returning to prison after a day with the Doctor, still almost literally walking on air. Her happy. Despite everything.
The Doctor, continuing to fiddle with console controls she knew perfectly well did not need to be adjusted, went on, in a tone far too casual, "Because, you know, he's Rory. And he'd want to know... He'dneed to know. And it's not like I could have sat him down and explained it. Even if I'd had the time. Even if he'd been completely him." He chuckled, though she knew him well enough to recognize it as forced. "Which he wasn't. And, under the circumstances, I'm not sure even I could have gotten him to believe it if I had..." His voice trailed off as he became engrossed in the readout on the overhead monitor, slapping the side as though certain that would fix the problem.
She smiled as she watched his pointless activity at the controls. Because even the man who'd tied himself to her on that pyramid that never was hadn't yet dared to hope he could ever make her truly happy. Hadn't yet really seen and believed what had always been right before his eyes. And he could certainly never have promised it to Rory. Even Rule Number One had its limits.
But this man... In order to recognize what he'd unwittingly shown to her father, he must have finally seen it for himself. Realized the truth. So she let him get away with the evasion. It was, after all, as close to an admission he'd been wrong as she was ever likely to get. After a minute she observed, intentionally changing the subject, "You're a bit overdressed for a night in the box, though, aren't you?"
He straightened up from the console and turned back to her. "It's a special occasion," he announced, adjusting his lapels.
"We've already done that," she reminded him.
"That," he declared, poking her on the nose, "Was ages ago."
"Or an hour."
He laughed. "Or an hour," he agreed. "Still. Not now. Now is still a special occasion."
"So, where are we going?" she asked, reaching for the controls herself.
"Nowhere."
She looked over her shoulder at him, letting her gaze take in his entire outfit by way of making a point. "And now we're back to overdressed."
He preened under her scrutiny. "And I already told you, it's a special occasion." Then, carefully rolling the syllables out into separate words, he continued, "Your birth day."
"Which still doesn't explain the fancy dress."
"Yes it does."
"What's it for, then?"
He carefully adjusted his bow tie before, looking up at her from under his brows, his green eyes grown so dark they seemed to be nearly black, his gaze so intense he seemed to see right through her... and he knew perfectly well she had absolutely no defense against that look... he finally answered, "Wrapping paper."
A long time later, curled up in bed next to him, half asleep and wholly satisfied, she observed with a chuckle, "You know... though... I was sort of hoping for a Ferrari."
He handed her the keys.