River Fic
Title: In the Privacy of her Grief
Author: RLN14
Rating: G
Characters: River, mentions of 11, 12 and Clara
Disclaimer: Moffat owns the characters
Summary: River has one more entry in her diary
Word Count: 1,275
A/N: This just popped into my head. What happens to River after Eleven leaves? How does she handle it? And i hope that she is there when he does regenerate. I'd like one more ep with them, even if it does rip my heart out. But just in case, here's how i see it going...
The TARDIS knew what was happening. She always did. He was dying and yet it was not death. He would continue anew, but this man, this impossible man, was at his end. It was at these moments that she wished she could comfort. But she could just stand there and watch. And hurt. Oh, it hurt. Especially this one. …
River doesn’t remember every single detail, it’s all a blur and she likes it that way. What are memories but little torturous dreams? She recalls how it happened, why, how she felt, how he felt. How they felt. She can remember trying to give comfort to Clara and then realizing that Clara already knew. She may have never seen it first hand, but she knew. So it was River who needed comforting. It was River who needed a shoulder. That was new. She remembers the beautiful, hateful light as it surrounded him. She remembers how he looked at her. And she saw the love, the guilt, the anger over having to leave. They had so much more to do together. That’s what she feels from him. She touched him, she just had too. She touched his face and whispered that she loved him. And he reached up and caressed her cheek and brought her closer to his face. The kiss is gentle and precious and it hurts. It hurts so much but she smiles at him. He gives her a sad smile and says goodbye. She wants to shake the light clear and cling to him. She steps away as the light engulfs him. Clara puts a reassuring hand on her arm and River wants to knock it off. She wants to rage, yell, scream, cry, whatever it takes. But she doesn’t. She stands there, dry eyed, as the man she loves, as her husband vanishes right before her eyes.
She looks away, she can’t help it, as the light fades, as her man is gone. She doesn’t want to be there. Suddenly the TARDIS is too constricting, too small. She needs to get out of there. But she forces herself to look, to see if he is okay. Of course he is. He’s babbling about how different everything is and she smiles a little. It’s always a jolt to meet yourself. But she can’t. They can’t expect her to stay. So she looks and she sees and she walks away. As quickly as she can. Just a little corner of the TARDIS. She just needs a small moment.
She can’t feel him anymore. That was something she wondered about. Would she still feel him and right now, she can’t. All she feels is this wall of grief, its blackened fists beating against her hearts. She wants to rip it out, she wants to nurse it, for it’s something, after all. She wants to feel nothing.
She hears him approach and she braces herself. She wants out. She wants to go back to his room and just wallow. She almost made it to the door. She doesn’t know why she stopped, but she almost made it.
He clears his throat and that sounds so strange. This man, clearing his throat. He touches her lightly on the shoulder and its petty, but it takes all of her strength, not to shrug him off.
“He’d want you to have this.”
It hurts to hear this. His voice is wrong. Her doctor doesn’t sound like that. All grown up and mature. But her doctor is gone. Her husband is gone.
She turns towards him, her eyes swimming, but she will not cry.
Not River Song.
She braces herself to look into this new face and it hurts so much. He’s all wrong and she curses Fate that he should wear her doctor’s clothes. She knows that behind these new eyes, that he’s in there, somewhere. Buried deep and looking out at her, but she can’t see him. She can’t reach him. It should be comforting, easier somehow that he seems to be erased, but it’s not. It’s horrid.
His clothes look ridiculous on this new fellow and she wants to tear them off him, yank them off him and ball them into her arms. They don’t belong to him. Who knows what he’ll do with them. She can’t remember anything he ever told her. She knows that his old clothes are strewn about somewhere in the TARDIS, but she can’t remember where.
She finally looks down at the item he’s holding out to her and her hearts twist. She lets out a choked gasp and its in her hands before she even thinks to move.
His bowtie. Their bowtie. From their wedding. Had she noticed that he was wearing it? She wanted to remember everything and yet, she missed this. How like him. How just like him. She brings it up to her nose and inhales him. It still smells faintly of him. And for a second, for a brief beat of a heart, everything is okay. She has him back again. He’s right there with her. Like always.
The new doctor drops his hand and takes a small step back. She looks at him and she sees understanding and sympathy in his eyes.
The bowtie is gripped tightly in her hand and she remembers. He’s not here anymore. He’s gone and she’s all alone now. Its so hard to keep calm and not break. She just wants to break.
The tears are going to come, she can feel herself loosing control and so she has to get out. She has to move. She gives a slight nod, she doesn’t trust herself to speak and she quickly uses her vortex manipulator to get the hell out of there. Away from the walls of grief threatening to close in on her.
She pops back home and finally, finally she is alone, in the privacy of her grief. And she falls to the ground, just collapses, and cries. Her shoulders shake so violently but she doesn’t care, her sobs echo back at her, filling up the room and she doesn’t care if she ever hears another sound. She curls up into a ball and rides out her pain.
It’s weeks later. It’s weeks later when she presses the bowtie into the pages of her diary. It will take her a while longer to write down what happened. And when she reads that passage (which isn’t often) she can feel the pain all over again. She saw him one last time, her last time and he kissed her like he missed her, like it had been eons since they’ve seen each other. It was for her, for her it was endless, but this time was all about him. How he hurt to see her.
. How he always could hear, see and feel her. And she is comforted. It’s silly, but knowing that he felt what she felt (or will feel) made it a bit easier to slip back into the computer world.
She has one more entry after all. She takes out the bowtie and lovingly strokes a finger down it, she was so grateful that he let her keep her diary, the one who came before. She picks up her pen and writes about the last time she saw her doctor.
She’ll always have a piece of him, she can bring back his smell, if she tries really hard. And now she can remember that kiss. And the look in his eyes.
Her sweetie.
Her husband.
Her Doctor.
Author: RLN14
Rating: G
Characters: River, mentions of 11, 12 and Clara
Disclaimer: Moffat owns the characters
Summary: River has one more entry in her diary
Word Count: 1,275
A/N: This just popped into my head. What happens to River after Eleven leaves? How does she handle it? And i hope that she is there when he does regenerate. I'd like one more ep with them, even if it does rip my heart out. But just in case, here's how i see it going...
The TARDIS knew what was happening. She always did. He was dying and yet it was not death. He would continue anew, but this man, this impossible man, was at his end. It was at these moments that she wished she could comfort. But she could just stand there and watch. And hurt. Oh, it hurt. Especially this one. …
River doesn’t remember every single detail, it’s all a blur and she likes it that way. What are memories but little torturous dreams? She recalls how it happened, why, how she felt, how he felt. How they felt. She can remember trying to give comfort to Clara and then realizing that Clara already knew. She may have never seen it first hand, but she knew. So it was River who needed comforting. It was River who needed a shoulder. That was new. She remembers the beautiful, hateful light as it surrounded him. She remembers how he looked at her. And she saw the love, the guilt, the anger over having to leave. They had so much more to do together. That’s what she feels from him. She touched him, she just had too. She touched his face and whispered that she loved him. And he reached up and caressed her cheek and brought her closer to his face. The kiss is gentle and precious and it hurts. It hurts so much but she smiles at him. He gives her a sad smile and says goodbye. She wants to shake the light clear and cling to him. She steps away as the light engulfs him. Clara puts a reassuring hand on her arm and River wants to knock it off. She wants to rage, yell, scream, cry, whatever it takes. But she doesn’t. She stands there, dry eyed, as the man she loves, as her husband vanishes right before her eyes.
She looks away, she can’t help it, as the light fades, as her man is gone. She doesn’t want to be there. Suddenly the TARDIS is too constricting, too small. She needs to get out of there. But she forces herself to look, to see if he is okay. Of course he is. He’s babbling about how different everything is and she smiles a little. It’s always a jolt to meet yourself. But she can’t. They can’t expect her to stay. So she looks and she sees and she walks away. As quickly as she can. Just a little corner of the TARDIS. She just needs a small moment.
She can’t feel him anymore. That was something she wondered about. Would she still feel him and right now, she can’t. All she feels is this wall of grief, its blackened fists beating against her hearts. She wants to rip it out, she wants to nurse it, for it’s something, after all. She wants to feel nothing.
She hears him approach and she braces herself. She wants out. She wants to go back to his room and just wallow. She almost made it to the door. She doesn’t know why she stopped, but she almost made it.
He clears his throat and that sounds so strange. This man, clearing his throat. He touches her lightly on the shoulder and its petty, but it takes all of her strength, not to shrug him off.
“He’d want you to have this.”
It hurts to hear this. His voice is wrong. Her doctor doesn’t sound like that. All grown up and mature. But her doctor is gone. Her husband is gone.
She turns towards him, her eyes swimming, but she will not cry.
Not River Song.
She braces herself to look into this new face and it hurts so much. He’s all wrong and she curses Fate that he should wear her doctor’s clothes. She knows that behind these new eyes, that he’s in there, somewhere. Buried deep and looking out at her, but she can’t see him. She can’t reach him. It should be comforting, easier somehow that he seems to be erased, but it’s not. It’s horrid.
His clothes look ridiculous on this new fellow and she wants to tear them off him, yank them off him and ball them into her arms. They don’t belong to him. Who knows what he’ll do with them. She can’t remember anything he ever told her. She knows that his old clothes are strewn about somewhere in the TARDIS, but she can’t remember where.
She finally looks down at the item he’s holding out to her and her hearts twist. She lets out a choked gasp and its in her hands before she even thinks to move.
His bowtie. Their bowtie. From their wedding. Had she noticed that he was wearing it? She wanted to remember everything and yet, she missed this. How like him. How just like him. She brings it up to her nose and inhales him. It still smells faintly of him. And for a second, for a brief beat of a heart, everything is okay. She has him back again. He’s right there with her. Like always.
The new doctor drops his hand and takes a small step back. She looks at him and she sees understanding and sympathy in his eyes.
The bowtie is gripped tightly in her hand and she remembers. He’s not here anymore. He’s gone and she’s all alone now. Its so hard to keep calm and not break. She just wants to break.
The tears are going to come, she can feel herself loosing control and so she has to get out. She has to move. She gives a slight nod, she doesn’t trust herself to speak and she quickly uses her vortex manipulator to get the hell out of there. Away from the walls of grief threatening to close in on her.
She pops back home and finally, finally she is alone, in the privacy of her grief. And she falls to the ground, just collapses, and cries. Her shoulders shake so violently but she doesn’t care, her sobs echo back at her, filling up the room and she doesn’t care if she ever hears another sound. She curls up into a ball and rides out her pain.
It’s weeks later. It’s weeks later when she presses the bowtie into the pages of her diary. It will take her a while longer to write down what happened. And when she reads that passage (which isn’t often) she can feel the pain all over again. She saw him one last time, her last time and he kissed her like he missed her, like it had been eons since they’ve seen each other. It was for her, for her it was endless, but this time was all about him. How he hurt to see her.
. How he always could hear, see and feel her. And she is comforted. It’s silly, but knowing that he felt what she felt (or will feel) made it a bit easier to slip back into the computer world.
She has one more entry after all. She takes out the bowtie and lovingly strokes a finger down it, she was so grateful that he let her keep her diary, the one who came before. She picks up her pen and writes about the last time she saw her doctor.
She’ll always have a piece of him, she can bring back his smell, if she tries really hard. And now she can remember that kiss. And the look in his eyes.
Her sweetie.
Her husband.
Her Doctor.