River took the corner hard, the force of her own steps as they struck the hard floor running right back through her feet and the balk of her calves. Like they didn't have anywhere else to go. She was so angry with him
( ... )
Her head shook from side to side, daring him to deny her the past. She was Professor River Song, archaeologist from the 51st century. And Timelord or no, he could not have her past. His future.
When she stopped, and met the Doctor's gaze he was looking at her as if she were already dead. River wanted him to quit insisting that she was taking his place. Because this place, and the decisions that put her there? That was hers too.
But she couldn't take him looking at her like that either. Not now.
"It's ok," River softened, trying to sooth the expression away. Like a mother as she pressed a kiss to a scraped knee -- or a bruised cheek. "It's ok, it's not over for you. You'll see me again. You've got all of that to come."
The corners of her eyes itched with unshed tears. There wasn't time for them though. They just sat there, blurring the lines of River's vision. And then it wasn't her Doctor anymore. This Doctor. Donna's Doctor. The young Doctor, hard work that he was. The Doctor
( ... )
No. It wasn't enough. She couldn't sit there and comfort him like it would all be okay because it wouldn't. That place wasn't hers, his life wasn't hers to keep safe. Not yet.
And she---
He didn't even know who she was, not really. River Song, archeologist. Pain in the arse and general know-it-all with a strong backbone and a mean right hook. That was it. What did she mean to him? What would she mean to him?
"River." It was almost begging, almost. Just sitting on the verge of begging. "River, you know my name."
Surely if she knew his name she would know the significance behind that. Not a soul. Not a soul alive knew his name. Most days he didn't even know his name, it just melted away into the background. Some days he even referred to himself as 'the Doctor' when he thought. 'Ooooh, about time we went to the grocery store, isn't it, Doctor?' or 'There they go, Doctor and Donna, off to the fair.' But she knew it. Knew who he really, truly was
( ... )
River glanced at the countdown. She supposed it made it look as if she wasn't listening. She was of course. She heard every single word. But that didn't mean it could alter a single thing between them.
It just couldn't.
"Hush now."
He was looking at her that way again. As if she was betraying him somehow, betraying herself. River wondered if that was the expression he wouldn't let her see on Barrilium, the feeling of a lifetime slipping through his fingers. Just more dust, really.
River remembered thinking when they first met that here was a man that would understand better than anyone how they were all just dust. How it started, where it ended and the breeze that carried them in between. But he didn't. He didn't understand it
( ... )
The light was bright and even though he promised himself he wouldn't look away he did, and his body was thrown back with the shock of the energy
( ... )
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Her head shook from side to side, daring him to deny her the past. She was Professor River Song, archaeologist from the 51st century. And Timelord or no, he could not have her past. His future.
When she stopped, and met the Doctor's gaze he was looking at her as if she were already dead. River wanted him to quit insisting that she was taking his place. Because this place, and the decisions that put her there? That was hers too.
But she couldn't take him looking at her like that either. Not now.
"It's ok," River softened, trying to sooth the expression away. Like a mother as she pressed a kiss to a scraped knee -- or a bruised cheek. "It's ok, it's not over for you. You'll see me again. You've got all of that to come."
The corners of her eyes itched with unshed tears. There wasn't time for them though. They just sat there, blurring the lines of River's vision. And then it wasn't her Doctor anymore. This Doctor. Donna's Doctor. The young Doctor, hard work that he was. The Doctor ( ... )
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And she---
He didn't even know who she was, not really. River Song, archeologist. Pain in the arse and general know-it-all with a strong backbone and a mean right hook. That was it. What did she mean to him? What would she mean to him?
"River." It was almost begging, almost. Just sitting on the verge of begging. "River, you know my name."
Surely if she knew his name she would know the significance behind that. Not a soul. Not a soul alive knew his name. Most days he didn't even know his name, it just melted away into the background. Some days he even referred to himself as 'the Doctor' when he thought. 'Ooooh, about time we went to the grocery store, isn't it, Doctor?' or 'There they go, Doctor and Donna, off to the fair.' But she knew it. Knew who he really, truly was ( ... )
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It just couldn't.
"Hush now."
He was looking at her that way again. As if she was betraying him somehow, betraying herself. River wondered if that was the expression he wouldn't let her see on Barrilium, the feeling of a lifetime slipping through his fingers. Just more dust, really.
River remembered thinking when they first met that here was a man that would understand better than anyone how they were all just dust. How it started, where it ended and the breeze that carried them in between. But he didn't. He didn't understand it ( ... )
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