DW Fic: meet me at the gates of laughter (come meet me there) (The Doctor/River Song)
Title: meet me at the gates of laughter (come meet me there)
Pairing: The Doctor/River Song
Rating: PG-13 (character death…kind of)
Words: 504
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Title from the Asha Ali song “Fire, Fire.”
Spoilers: Through the end of season five.
Summary: There’s power in names, River.
She won’t always have the upper hand; she won’t always get there first.
She knows this all too well.
A memory, the first---his face glimpsed through bars, a thin line of blood dripping down his brow. He passes her the book; it’s blank but for one word. One name.
“What is this?”
He winks as the guards come to take him away.
“Spoilers.”
*
She watches him die.
This is her secret.
No.
It’s worse than that.
She pulls the trigger, spills the blood.
“It’s okay, River. It’s okay…don’t you worry…me and you, we’re not done yet.”
He takes her hand in his and she lets him without understanding why.
“Who are you?”
“The Doctor.”
His last words.
*
“Doctor?”
“Hmm?”
He’s stretched across her lap on a sunny day in 19th century Scotland. For once his suspenders are appropriate. He’s at ease, his body slack, comfortable. The still moments are rare between them, fleeting. They’ll be up and running again soon enough.
She wants to tell him, Don’t trust me.
It won’t be long now. She’s running out of time, running out of places.
He tugs playfully at her hand.
“A question must be asked to be answered, remember? That’s generally the order of things.”
“Generally, doesn’t really apply to us.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Always, dear. I’m always right.”
Their time isn’t up yet.
*
She buys the book from a stall on a planet where the sky runs green, has them wrap it in delicate paper that glistens when the light hits it.
She gives it to The Doctor to open.
“A present?”
He rips the paper away with abandon, pauses when he sees the familiar blue of the cover.
“River, this is your book.”
She turns away, braces her hands on the TARDIS console.
“Not yet.”
*
She doesn’t watch them carry him away, the last Time Lord. The very last, dead and gone (so they say, so they think.)
Instead she wanders back to his cell, finds the book fallen to the floor. She picks it up, staining the first page with his blood, and sounds out the word with all of its impossible syllables, speaks it aloud and shivers when the air around her seems to change, to charge, to spark.
She remembers something her mother used to say, There’s power in names, River.
She snaps the book shut.
*
He comes back.
Different face, same cheeky grin. He’s ginger this time.
Her breath catches in her throat.
“All this time, that was your secret?”
“I killed you, Doctor. Isn’t that enough?”
He kisses her with his new lips, runs his new fingers through her same old hair.
“You said my name. That’s very important, very, very important. More important than the killing. You tangled us up, River Song, without ever even knowing it. That’s a much better secret, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
He drops kisses along her jaw line working his way to her lips again. He pauses there, speaks the words against her mouth.
“I’m not.”
*
Years and worlds and lifetimes away River Song sits in her own cell, pen poised to write their first story.
Pairing: The Doctor/River Song
Rating: PG-13 (character death…kind of)
Words: 504
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Title from the Asha Ali song “Fire, Fire.”
Spoilers: Through the end of season five.
Summary: There’s power in names, River.
She won’t always have the upper hand; she won’t always get there first.
She knows this all too well.
A memory, the first---his face glimpsed through bars, a thin line of blood dripping down his brow. He passes her the book; it’s blank but for one word. One name.
“What is this?”
He winks as the guards come to take him away.
“Spoilers.”
*
She watches him die.
This is her secret.
No.
It’s worse than that.
She pulls the trigger, spills the blood.
“It’s okay, River. It’s okay…don’t you worry…me and you, we’re not done yet.”
He takes her hand in his and she lets him without understanding why.
“Who are you?”
“The Doctor.”
His last words.
*
“Doctor?”
“Hmm?”
He’s stretched across her lap on a sunny day in 19th century Scotland. For once his suspenders are appropriate. He’s at ease, his body slack, comfortable. The still moments are rare between them, fleeting. They’ll be up and running again soon enough.
She wants to tell him, Don’t trust me.
It won’t be long now. She’s running out of time, running out of places.
He tugs playfully at her hand.
“A question must be asked to be answered, remember? That’s generally the order of things.”
“Generally, doesn’t really apply to us.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Always, dear. I’m always right.”
Their time isn’t up yet.
*
She buys the book from a stall on a planet where the sky runs green, has them wrap it in delicate paper that glistens when the light hits it.
She gives it to The Doctor to open.
“A present?”
He rips the paper away with abandon, pauses when he sees the familiar blue of the cover.
“River, this is your book.”
She turns away, braces her hands on the TARDIS console.
“Not yet.”
*
She doesn’t watch them carry him away, the last Time Lord. The very last, dead and gone (so they say, so they think.)
Instead she wanders back to his cell, finds the book fallen to the floor. She picks it up, staining the first page with his blood, and sounds out the word with all of its impossible syllables, speaks it aloud and shivers when the air around her seems to change, to charge, to spark.
She remembers something her mother used to say, There’s power in names, River.
She snaps the book shut.
*
He comes back.
Different face, same cheeky grin. He’s ginger this time.
Her breath catches in her throat.
“All this time, that was your secret?”
“I killed you, Doctor. Isn’t that enough?”
He kisses her with his new lips, runs his new fingers through her same old hair.
“You said my name. That’s very important, very, very important. More important than the killing. You tangled us up, River Song, without ever even knowing it. That’s a much better secret, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
He drops kisses along her jaw line working his way to her lips again. He pauses there, speaks the words against her mouth.
“I’m not.”
*
Years and worlds and lifetimes away River Song sits in her own cell, pen poised to write their first story.