this time
title: this time
fanfiction: short
fandom: doctor who
characters: river song/the doctor (eleven and twelve)
rating: K+
status: complete
original publish date: 13 august 2011
River Song has become used to her life not making much sense. When she confesses this to her friend, the Doctor, he chuckles slightly to himself.
"You know, I told your mother once, back when she was only a little older than you are now, that she was the girl whose life didn't make any sense."
She sees it sometimes, his age. Nearly a thousand years old with a thirty-something face and a nine-year-old's wonder, River often forgets just how much history this strange man (her strange man, incidentally) has. She imagines that it's partially why she's become an archaeologist; she'll only tell him that she wants to make more educated decisions in where they visit.
At some point she stops thinking of the Doctor as a constant. After all, she's the one stuck in a singular time line, save for a few jaunts in the TARDIS, and he just waltzes in and out of her life, cryptic and cheeky about her future, his past. River will never admit that she also studies history to try to out-do him, or at least to catch up, though the Doctor's got the better half of a century on her, or that she often combs through old stories looking for mention of an impossible man with a quirky sense of style who somehow saves the day, no matter how bleak.
One afternoon, she sits in her office reading through a paper detailing the purpose of the Mayan pyramids, raising an incredulous eyebrow, then realizing that arguing, "That's not true, I know because I was there," wouldn't necessarily hold up in current circles. Her thoughts are interrupted by a gangly man bursting through the door, nearly knocking over a beautiful and, more notably, ancient vase that stands quite a ways from where he comes to a stop, somewhat remembering his long arms and curling his arms up to leave loose fists near where his braces bent over his shoulders. She stands up, quickly but carefully, so as to avoid further upsetting any of the other priceless artifacts residing about the small room, measuring some control and gearing up for a spectacular harangue, but he interrupts her with a salamander smile. "Well then, River."
It takes only that for her to recognize him, the way her name sounds, though the way he looks incredibly pleased with himself, despite her clear annoyance, adds to her shock that she didn't realize it right away.
///
"River, this is very important," he says to her just before stepping back into his blue box. She would've laughed, or accused him of treating her like a child, were it not for the shadow passing through his clear blue eyes. He searches out her hand while studying her eyes and she wonders if, just as he's suddenly gotten incredibly old, she all at once seems incredibly young.
"The next time we meet, I'll have a new face," he says this seriously, as if he's been diagnosed with some horrible disease, and now she really does giggle, if somewhat nervously.
"You've done that before," River remembers, tracing the pattern of his celery green collar. "Just before--well, I was rather young. You got angry with me for mentioning."
"I was probably rather cross that day, and hearing you say that I was due for a new face won't be-- in a manner of speaking, our tenses are different, you know-- something I will want to do that day. No one ever wants to hear--" The Doctor realizes that her hand is trembling a bit. "I waited a very long time to be a ginger, you know." This earns him a smile.
"You never properly explained it to me," River realizes. "I wanted to avoid it because you were so against discussing it then, I figured I'd either discover it myself or you'd tell me eventually."
"I died," he explains, but quickly backpedals at the shock on her face. "Well, not strictly speaking, exactly, but that's why the new face; came with the new body, which came with the wearing out of the old one, more or less."
"So before this, you were different--" River is met with a nod. "--But you died in between seeing me? Did it--?"
The Doctor sighs and runs a hand through his rusty hair. "Dying is dying, there's really no way about it. Time Lords just cheat a bit." He pulls her into a hug, sensing that words don't really make up for explaining the death that he's already had. "I'm alright, it's already happened to me. Several times, actually."
River pulls back to look at him and he lifts her chin with the top of a loosely curled fist. She wants to memorize everything about this moment: the way his arm feels wrapped around her, the strange curve to his lips that she's often convinced marks him as alien, the rough spot on his index finger worn into by the TARDIS's parking brake. "It's very important that you don't mention it to me." She nods, studying his smallish nose and the slope of his light eyebrows, committing to her heart the low tones of his voice and the small click to his deeper breaths, his two hearts beating evenly beneath his light-knit jumper.
"So how many different yous do I get?" She asks, willing a sparkle to her eye. "Just the one more, or...?" She trails off waiting for an answer as she tries to nail down the exact scent of his coat, which falls between the Korpalian equivalent to a mothball, closely related to a cinnamon-cedar blend, and very dark coffee, a habit that she notices has lessened a bit as he grew younger.
He kisses her, which brings to mind a whole list of other things she tries to catalog. "You know what I would say to that," he murmurs against her lips while he gives her time for her to catch her breath.
"Stay with me," she insists as he takes a step towards the TARDIS. He looks hesitant. "You have a time machine, don't tell me you have somewhere to rush off to after telling me that you're dead. That you're dying? That you... died." He gives a breathy laugh (it makes his ears wiggle ever so slightly, she records). "Oh, stop it. Tenses are bothersome."
///
"Have we done 'Jim the Fish', yet?" He continues, and River thinks with a pang of something that doesn't quite feel like sadness that with the bow-tie, braces, and large leather shoes, he looks rather clownish.
"The what?" She reaches for her diary, which is nestled on a shelf just next to a few books he'd brought her the last time, back when he was... different.
"Ah," he smiles triumphantly. "Spoilers! Oh, I do love being able to say that to you. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll relish every time you say that to me." As he says this, he flips his hair, the fluffy brown mop of it decidedly strange when she compares it to the burnt orange curls that he had-- will have.
"You know, you really ought to be more careful with those limbs of yours," she chides, hoping that acting cross will hide the hundreds of other emotions coursing through her. "As much as I'd like to go back and get another vase, I'd rather go somewhere new."
River walks around her desk. "So, Doctor, what have you in store for me this time?"
The Doctor grins. "I was thinking we could visit another planet, if it's all the same to you. Did you know that there's a planet whose mothballs smell rather like cinnamon?"
She can't help herself at this point and throws her arms around him. He's taller, and more spindly than he was--will be--than she's used to. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and inhales; still a touch of cedar, but no cinnamon or coffee, a hint of motor oil and cucumber soap, and some other scent which she doesn't have time to figure out because, although he's different, he's still very much the same.
He hugs back, a bit cautiously at first, moving a hand to gently rest upon her curls. "River?" For some reason, she feels like he's more comfortable in this body than the one she last saw him in, probably because he was new in it last time. She wonders how long he's had in this one, and curses herself when tears spring to her eyes. "River, what's wrong?"
She blinks rapidly before shaking her head, forcing herself to think of all the experiences the Doctor's yet to have. River kisses him to buy time, following the new angles of his jaw with her fingertips, trying to learn him as quickly as possible. She's surprised him, which works to her advantage as she breaks away and tries her best to smile.
"Spoilers."
---
--for readingredhead --
a/n: this became MUCH longer than i meant it. i found while trying to write this that doctor who fic only makes sense to me when i'm writing in the present tense. i love river, but she's surprisingly difficult for me to write, haha. (also, i was slightly inspired by a verse (and a few subsequent lines) from "from the mouth of gabriel" by sufjan stevens, which i listened to while brainstorming, hence the title.)
thanks for reading!
fanfiction: short
fandom: doctor who
characters: river song/the doctor (eleven and twelve)
rating: K+
status: complete
original publish date: 13 august 2011
River Song has become used to her life not making much sense. When she confesses this to her friend, the Doctor, he chuckles slightly to himself.
"You know, I told your mother once, back when she was only a little older than you are now, that she was the girl whose life didn't make any sense."
She sees it sometimes, his age. Nearly a thousand years old with a thirty-something face and a nine-year-old's wonder, River often forgets just how much history this strange man (her strange man, incidentally) has. She imagines that it's partially why she's become an archaeologist; she'll only tell him that she wants to make more educated decisions in where they visit.
At some point she stops thinking of the Doctor as a constant. After all, she's the one stuck in a singular time line, save for a few jaunts in the TARDIS, and he just waltzes in and out of her life, cryptic and cheeky about her future, his past. River will never admit that she also studies history to try to out-do him, or at least to catch up, though the Doctor's got the better half of a century on her, or that she often combs through old stories looking for mention of an impossible man with a quirky sense of style who somehow saves the day, no matter how bleak.
One afternoon, she sits in her office reading through a paper detailing the purpose of the Mayan pyramids, raising an incredulous eyebrow, then realizing that arguing, "That's not true, I know because I was there," wouldn't necessarily hold up in current circles. Her thoughts are interrupted by a gangly man bursting through the door, nearly knocking over a beautiful and, more notably, ancient vase that stands quite a ways from where he comes to a stop, somewhat remembering his long arms and curling his arms up to leave loose fists near where his braces bent over his shoulders. She stands up, quickly but carefully, so as to avoid further upsetting any of the other priceless artifacts residing about the small room, measuring some control and gearing up for a spectacular harangue, but he interrupts her with a salamander smile. "Well then, River."
It takes only that for her to recognize him, the way her name sounds, though the way he looks incredibly pleased with himself, despite her clear annoyance, adds to her shock that she didn't realize it right away.
///
"River, this is very important," he says to her just before stepping back into his blue box. She would've laughed, or accused him of treating her like a child, were it not for the shadow passing through his clear blue eyes. He searches out her hand while studying her eyes and she wonders if, just as he's suddenly gotten incredibly old, she all at once seems incredibly young.
"The next time we meet, I'll have a new face," he says this seriously, as if he's been diagnosed with some horrible disease, and now she really does giggle, if somewhat nervously.
"You've done that before," River remembers, tracing the pattern of his celery green collar. "Just before--well, I was rather young. You got angry with me for mentioning."
"I was probably rather cross that day, and hearing you say that I was due for a new face won't be-- in a manner of speaking, our tenses are different, you know-- something I will want to do that day. No one ever wants to hear--" The Doctor realizes that her hand is trembling a bit. "I waited a very long time to be a ginger, you know." This earns him a smile.
"You never properly explained it to me," River realizes. "I wanted to avoid it because you were so against discussing it then, I figured I'd either discover it myself or you'd tell me eventually."
"I died," he explains, but quickly backpedals at the shock on her face. "Well, not strictly speaking, exactly, but that's why the new face; came with the new body, which came with the wearing out of the old one, more or less."
"So before this, you were different--" River is met with a nod. "--But you died in between seeing me? Did it--?"
The Doctor sighs and runs a hand through his rusty hair. "Dying is dying, there's really no way about it. Time Lords just cheat a bit." He pulls her into a hug, sensing that words don't really make up for explaining the death that he's already had. "I'm alright, it's already happened to me. Several times, actually."
River pulls back to look at him and he lifts her chin with the top of a loosely curled fist. She wants to memorize everything about this moment: the way his arm feels wrapped around her, the strange curve to his lips that she's often convinced marks him as alien, the rough spot on his index finger worn into by the TARDIS's parking brake. "It's very important that you don't mention it to me." She nods, studying his smallish nose and the slope of his light eyebrows, committing to her heart the low tones of his voice and the small click to his deeper breaths, his two hearts beating evenly beneath his light-knit jumper.
"So how many different yous do I get?" She asks, willing a sparkle to her eye. "Just the one more, or...?" She trails off waiting for an answer as she tries to nail down the exact scent of his coat, which falls between the Korpalian equivalent to a mothball, closely related to a cinnamon-cedar blend, and very dark coffee, a habit that she notices has lessened a bit as he grew younger.
He kisses her, which brings to mind a whole list of other things she tries to catalog. "You know what I would say to that," he murmurs against her lips while he gives her time for her to catch her breath.
"Stay with me," she insists as he takes a step towards the TARDIS. He looks hesitant. "You have a time machine, don't tell me you have somewhere to rush off to after telling me that you're dead. That you're dying? That you... died." He gives a breathy laugh (it makes his ears wiggle ever so slightly, she records). "Oh, stop it. Tenses are bothersome."
///
"Have we done 'Jim the Fish', yet?" He continues, and River thinks with a pang of something that doesn't quite feel like sadness that with the bow-tie, braces, and large leather shoes, he looks rather clownish.
"The what?" She reaches for her diary, which is nestled on a shelf just next to a few books he'd brought her the last time, back when he was... different.
"Ah," he smiles triumphantly. "Spoilers! Oh, I do love being able to say that to you. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll relish every time you say that to me." As he says this, he flips his hair, the fluffy brown mop of it decidedly strange when she compares it to the burnt orange curls that he had-- will have.
"You know, you really ought to be more careful with those limbs of yours," she chides, hoping that acting cross will hide the hundreds of other emotions coursing through her. "As much as I'd like to go back and get another vase, I'd rather go somewhere new."
River walks around her desk. "So, Doctor, what have you in store for me this time?"
The Doctor grins. "I was thinking we could visit another planet, if it's all the same to you. Did you know that there's a planet whose mothballs smell rather like cinnamon?"
She can't help herself at this point and throws her arms around him. He's taller, and more spindly than he was--will be--than she's used to. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and inhales; still a touch of cedar, but no cinnamon or coffee, a hint of motor oil and cucumber soap, and some other scent which she doesn't have time to figure out because, although he's different, he's still very much the same.
He hugs back, a bit cautiously at first, moving a hand to gently rest upon her curls. "River?" For some reason, she feels like he's more comfortable in this body than the one she last saw him in, probably because he was new in it last time. She wonders how long he's had in this one, and curses herself when tears spring to her eyes. "River, what's wrong?"
She blinks rapidly before shaking her head, forcing herself to think of all the experiences the Doctor's yet to have. River kisses him to buy time, following the new angles of his jaw with her fingertips, trying to learn him as quickly as possible. She's surprised him, which works to her advantage as she breaks away and tries her best to smile.
"Spoilers."
---
--for readingredhead --
a/n: this became MUCH longer than i meant it. i found while trying to write this that doctor who fic only makes sense to me when i'm writing in the present tense. i love river, but she's surprisingly difficult for me to write, haha. (also, i was slightly inspired by a verse (and a few subsequent lines) from "from the mouth of gabriel" by sufjan stevens, which i listened to while brainstorming, hence the title.)
thanks for reading!