Doctor Who: The Girl Who Is Loved
Title: The Girl Who is Loved
Author: ssw_loved
Rating: PG
Beta: lizzledpink, the most fabulous of fab things
Characters: Young River Song, Eleventh Doctor
Summary: “I think you had a very, very scary life. One that I can’t even imagine. And you’ve seen things and been told to do things beyond your control. But I think that’s in the past. Everyone’s got a past.”
He has literally been to the ends of the universe and back, he has travelled across lands stranger than any here and seen things so different from any on earth or Gallifrey - and none of it surprises him. He’s fascinated, of course, but so few things shock him these days, really shake him to his core. Things with nine heads and two toes that speak only in vowels can’t halt his course, but what stops him cold is a nine year old mostly-human girl.
“No, no.” He murmurs, sitting cross legged on the floor of Melody Pond’s bedroom. “No, no, no, no. Why would you say that, River?”
That’s what she wants them to call her. When they found her again, she was so hardened, so brainwashed, and it took years to strip away even part of that. What they’ve been left with is a nine year old girl, refusing to use her birth name. A nine year old girl who hates herself, a very far cry from the woman she’ll become.
“Well, I am.” She’s sitting on her bed, high up enough so she can see over the top of his head. Once the years of brainwashing had begun to fade, she’d been scared of him. Because of everything she’d done. Because she’d been told to be afraid of what would happen if she failed to kill him. Being higher up leaves her with the power.
“You, River Song, are not a monster.” He says when she doesn’t answer him. “I’ve met monsters.”
“So have I.” The way she crosses her arms over her chest reminds him of a different little girl, one who’s all grown up and he knows Is standing outside the door. This is the first time the Doctor has been alone with her: something miraculous, considering what’s been done to her. Months ago, she couldn’t have talked to him without her parents in the same room. Just a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she spoke. But never mind, baby steps. She’s neither crowded in the corner afraid of him or trying to kill him. In fact, she was the one who asked for this “meeting”, as she’d called it. (“River is requesting your presence for a meeting.” Amy had said, and with the amusement in her eyes the Doctor knew that was exactly how River had said it.)
If this was what she wanted to talk about - that she thought she was a monster - well, he’d talk to her. Of course he’d talk to her! But oh, how he wished it was something else. He wished that this were normal, that the Ponds could have a daughter who hadn’t been trained to be a weapon, that he could be the crazy Uncle from her future.
But none of that’s important. There are things in this universe that are fixed points. Times that can’t be rewritten. She told him that once. Don’t rewrite a second of it.
“Were they purple monsters?” The Doctor asks, trying for playful. “Blue? Teal? I like teal monsters. Or metal with lots of fancy parts. Like clockwork. Or ask your mother. She knows monsters.”
“Some were purple.” She’s set her jaw, looking braver than he knows she feels. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not one!”
“I don’t think you’re a monster. And between me and you, I’m always right.” He grins and straightens his bowtie, lifting his chin like a stubborn toddler.
“No! You’re not! Your bowtie is stupid!”
The Doctor does a great job of looking affronted. “Bowties are cool.”
“Nah-uh.”
“Oh, come on! Did your Mummy tell you to say that?” Just to get under his skin, he supposes. Amelia Pond, the fairy tale that’s always trying to get under his skin.
“Mum’s always right.”
He senses it, the opening he can grab. “Well, of course she is. Mum’s are always right. Your Mum doesn’t think you’re a monster.”
She seems to contemplate this. Despite this being their first time interacting alone, she’s been moderately comfortable around him for awhile. Enough so that Sundays he comes over for dinner. (He hates landing on Sundays. “I know.” Amy had said. “Exactly why I planned it, mister grumpy face.”) That’s all good. It’s progress. He knows where they end up, that she’ll be alright, that she’ll be River Song, archeologist, but nobody knows exactly how they need to get there. Except River herself.
And she’s a different person right now, because she’s River Song his best friend’s daughter, and that’s a different person from River Spoilers Song, the adult possibly his wife.
He fiddles with his hands like he does when she’s nervous. One of these days, she’ll recognize that for exactly what it is: the awkward nine hundred year old trying to distract himself from his own head, but right now all she sees is the Doctor, the man of cold legend and fairy tale, and she’s still not sure which one is right.
“You wanna know what I think?”
“Are there spoilers?”
He thinks that maybe, his eyebrows shoot straight into his hairline.
“Cause Mum says that sometimes the Doctor can’t tell me everything, but I should trust him anyway, because he’s the mad man with the big, blue box.”
“No, River.” He tries not to let his voice sound sad, because he knows she’ll detect it. It’s harder than he thought. “No spoilers this time. “
The nine year old blows her curly hair from her face. “Okay. I guess.”
“I think you had a very, very scary life. One that I can’t even imagine. And you’ve seen things and been told to do things beyond your control. But I think that’s in the past. Everyone’s got a past.”
Her voice shakes. “But all those things. I did them. I shoulda just let them k-“
“Never.” The Doctor inches closer. “Don’t ever think that. Don’t ever say that.” His voice is fierce, not to be reckoned with. Both hearts are thundering. “You. You are so, so loved. Nothing could change that. You are River Song, the girl who is loved.” The Doctor grins. “I like that title. I think I’ll let you keep it.”
River wipes a hand underneath her eyes.
"Oh, no, no. Why are you crying? Was that me? Did I make you cry?"
It’s both relief and confusion when she shakes her head.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
He’s not sure, but he thinks he hears her mumble “everything”, and his eyes are going towards the door, where Amy is, because crying children are one thing. He’ll go to the ends of the earth to save one. But this is crying Amy’s daughter, and that is so, so different. But Amy doesn’t come running to save him and neither does Rory the Roman Father, and oh, he is so thinking about retracting their family vacation to twenty-ninth century Disney World - or, no, it’s Disney Planet by then. Even better.
Only, right then, there’s a miracle. Little River Song pats the spot beside her on the bed.
“You want me to sit up there? With you?”
The look she’s giving him should be patented.
“I’m not daft!” The Doctor mumbles while standing and sitting back down, precisely on the spot she’d patted.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You thought it. Underneath all those curls.”
“Dad says if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. So I thought it.”
“Does he really say that?”
She nods. He wonders at what age she’ll break that rule. He gives her until seventeen. Right now, though, she’s nine and she’s back to crying.
“You’re so…good.” River begins. “And they said you were bad, the worst of all possible things, so I … I listened and I was the bad guy. Like all the other things that tried to hurt you and Mum and Dad. I was the bad guy. Like the Daleks, or…” She bites her lip. “And you don’t hate me. Why?”
“The Daleks don’t have emotions. They’re mean, and cold, and they only want to win. They never want to help anyone else, only themselves. They can’t even touch. And you, you can touch, and do so many cool things. You are not made of metal. You’re the coolest person I know. Just don’t tell your Mum. She likes to think she holds that title. Kind of does, except now you’re sharing.”
“But you don’t hate me.”
“Never.” He promises, and she scoots closer so their knees are touching. “Do you hate me?”
She looks surprised at that, really surprised. “That’s dumb. Of course not.”
“Why?”
River furrows her brow. “’Cause you’re good. And Mum and Dad like you.”
The Doctor’s grin is ear to ear. “We have the same reasons. Isn’t that neat? I think it is.”
She’s brightened a little. “Promise?”
“Remember what I told you on the beach?” The Doctor asks, mad at himself that he brought it up but knowing, without a doubt, that it’s the one thing she’d believe him for.
“Your name.”
“And you can’t tell that to anyone. That’s our little secret, because I trust you.”
Just like she’d trust him one day, but that was neither here nor there.
“You really promise?”
“On all the stars, Miss Song. There are a lot of them. I know.”
And some day, they’ll go to all of them.
--
When he stays for dinner, it’s fish fingers and custard and broccoli. He hates broccoli. Broccoli is gross. Worse than apples. So much worse than apples. But he’s afraid that Rory and Amy’ll run him through with Rory’s sword, so he swallows the offending vegetable and smiles.
And when he gets back in the TARDIS, there’s someone waiting for him.
When things are always back to front, it’s nice to know they’ve finally reached the middle.
Author: ssw_loved
Rating: PG
Beta: lizzledpink, the most fabulous of fab things
Characters: Young River Song, Eleventh Doctor
Summary: “I think you had a very, very scary life. One that I can’t even imagine. And you’ve seen things and been told to do things beyond your control. But I think that’s in the past. Everyone’s got a past.”
He has literally been to the ends of the universe and back, he has travelled across lands stranger than any here and seen things so different from any on earth or Gallifrey - and none of it surprises him. He’s fascinated, of course, but so few things shock him these days, really shake him to his core. Things with nine heads and two toes that speak only in vowels can’t halt his course, but what stops him cold is a nine year old mostly-human girl.
“No, no.” He murmurs, sitting cross legged on the floor of Melody Pond’s bedroom. “No, no, no, no. Why would you say that, River?”
That’s what she wants them to call her. When they found her again, she was so hardened, so brainwashed, and it took years to strip away even part of that. What they’ve been left with is a nine year old girl, refusing to use her birth name. A nine year old girl who hates herself, a very far cry from the woman she’ll become.
“Well, I am.” She’s sitting on her bed, high up enough so she can see over the top of his head. Once the years of brainwashing had begun to fade, she’d been scared of him. Because of everything she’d done. Because she’d been told to be afraid of what would happen if she failed to kill him. Being higher up leaves her with the power.
“You, River Song, are not a monster.” He says when she doesn’t answer him. “I’ve met monsters.”
“So have I.” The way she crosses her arms over her chest reminds him of a different little girl, one who’s all grown up and he knows Is standing outside the door. This is the first time the Doctor has been alone with her: something miraculous, considering what’s been done to her. Months ago, she couldn’t have talked to him without her parents in the same room. Just a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she spoke. But never mind, baby steps. She’s neither crowded in the corner afraid of him or trying to kill him. In fact, she was the one who asked for this “meeting”, as she’d called it. (“River is requesting your presence for a meeting.” Amy had said, and with the amusement in her eyes the Doctor knew that was exactly how River had said it.)
If this was what she wanted to talk about - that she thought she was a monster - well, he’d talk to her. Of course he’d talk to her! But oh, how he wished it was something else. He wished that this were normal, that the Ponds could have a daughter who hadn’t been trained to be a weapon, that he could be the crazy Uncle from her future.
But none of that’s important. There are things in this universe that are fixed points. Times that can’t be rewritten. She told him that once. Don’t rewrite a second of it.
“Were they purple monsters?” The Doctor asks, trying for playful. “Blue? Teal? I like teal monsters. Or metal with lots of fancy parts. Like clockwork. Or ask your mother. She knows monsters.”
“Some were purple.” She’s set her jaw, looking braver than he knows she feels. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not one!”
“I don’t think you’re a monster. And between me and you, I’m always right.” He grins and straightens his bowtie, lifting his chin like a stubborn toddler.
“No! You’re not! Your bowtie is stupid!”
The Doctor does a great job of looking affronted. “Bowties are cool.”
“Nah-uh.”
“Oh, come on! Did your Mummy tell you to say that?” Just to get under his skin, he supposes. Amelia Pond, the fairy tale that’s always trying to get under his skin.
“Mum’s always right.”
He senses it, the opening he can grab. “Well, of course she is. Mum’s are always right. Your Mum doesn’t think you’re a monster.”
She seems to contemplate this. Despite this being their first time interacting alone, she’s been moderately comfortable around him for awhile. Enough so that Sundays he comes over for dinner. (He hates landing on Sundays. “I know.” Amy had said. “Exactly why I planned it, mister grumpy face.”) That’s all good. It’s progress. He knows where they end up, that she’ll be alright, that she’ll be River Song, archeologist, but nobody knows exactly how they need to get there. Except River herself.
And she’s a different person right now, because she’s River Song his best friend’s daughter, and that’s a different person from River Spoilers Song, the adult possibly his wife.
He fiddles with his hands like he does when she’s nervous. One of these days, she’ll recognize that for exactly what it is: the awkward nine hundred year old trying to distract himself from his own head, but right now all she sees is the Doctor, the man of cold legend and fairy tale, and she’s still not sure which one is right.
“You wanna know what I think?”
“Are there spoilers?”
He thinks that maybe, his eyebrows shoot straight into his hairline.
“Cause Mum says that sometimes the Doctor can’t tell me everything, but I should trust him anyway, because he’s the mad man with the big, blue box.”
“No, River.” He tries not to let his voice sound sad, because he knows she’ll detect it. It’s harder than he thought. “No spoilers this time. “
The nine year old blows her curly hair from her face. “Okay. I guess.”
“I think you had a very, very scary life. One that I can’t even imagine. And you’ve seen things and been told to do things beyond your control. But I think that’s in the past. Everyone’s got a past.”
Her voice shakes. “But all those things. I did them. I shoulda just let them k-“
“Never.” The Doctor inches closer. “Don’t ever think that. Don’t ever say that.” His voice is fierce, not to be reckoned with. Both hearts are thundering. “You. You are so, so loved. Nothing could change that. You are River Song, the girl who is loved.” The Doctor grins. “I like that title. I think I’ll let you keep it.”
River wipes a hand underneath her eyes.
"Oh, no, no. Why are you crying? Was that me? Did I make you cry?"
It’s both relief and confusion when she shakes her head.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
He’s not sure, but he thinks he hears her mumble “everything”, and his eyes are going towards the door, where Amy is, because crying children are one thing. He’ll go to the ends of the earth to save one. But this is crying Amy’s daughter, and that is so, so different. But Amy doesn’t come running to save him and neither does Rory the Roman Father, and oh, he is so thinking about retracting their family vacation to twenty-ninth century Disney World - or, no, it’s Disney Planet by then. Even better.
Only, right then, there’s a miracle. Little River Song pats the spot beside her on the bed.
“You want me to sit up there? With you?”
The look she’s giving him should be patented.
“I’m not daft!” The Doctor mumbles while standing and sitting back down, precisely on the spot she’d patted.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You thought it. Underneath all those curls.”
“Dad says if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. So I thought it.”
“Does he really say that?”
She nods. He wonders at what age she’ll break that rule. He gives her until seventeen. Right now, though, she’s nine and she’s back to crying.
“You’re so…good.” River begins. “And they said you were bad, the worst of all possible things, so I … I listened and I was the bad guy. Like all the other things that tried to hurt you and Mum and Dad. I was the bad guy. Like the Daleks, or…” She bites her lip. “And you don’t hate me. Why?”
“The Daleks don’t have emotions. They’re mean, and cold, and they only want to win. They never want to help anyone else, only themselves. They can’t even touch. And you, you can touch, and do so many cool things. You are not made of metal. You’re the coolest person I know. Just don’t tell your Mum. She likes to think she holds that title. Kind of does, except now you’re sharing.”
“But you don’t hate me.”
“Never.” He promises, and she scoots closer so their knees are touching. “Do you hate me?”
She looks surprised at that, really surprised. “That’s dumb. Of course not.”
“Why?”
River furrows her brow. “’Cause you’re good. And Mum and Dad like you.”
The Doctor’s grin is ear to ear. “We have the same reasons. Isn’t that neat? I think it is.”
She’s brightened a little. “Promise?”
“Remember what I told you on the beach?” The Doctor asks, mad at himself that he brought it up but knowing, without a doubt, that it’s the one thing she’d believe him for.
“Your name.”
“And you can’t tell that to anyone. That’s our little secret, because I trust you.”
Just like she’d trust him one day, but that was neither here nor there.
“You really promise?”
“On all the stars, Miss Song. There are a lot of them. I know.”
And some day, they’ll go to all of them.
--
When he stays for dinner, it’s fish fingers and custard and broccoli. He hates broccoli. Broccoli is gross. Worse than apples. So much worse than apples. But he’s afraid that Rory and Amy’ll run him through with Rory’s sword, so he swallows the offending vegetable and smiles.
And when he gets back in the TARDIS, there’s someone waiting for him.
When things are always back to front, it’s nice to know they’ve finally reached the middle.