Not One Line (Doctor Who fic) - Ten, River
Title: Not One Line (1/1)
Author: Sue DeNimme
Characters/Pairing: Ten, River
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead
Word count: 1081
Summary: His first meeting with her is her last with him. River Song's thoughts in the Library.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC. No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fanfic.
She sends the psychic message, using the technique he had taught her (saying he was tired of finding her graffiti everywhere and would she please stop doing that). She has no doubt whatsoever that he will meet her at the Library, as requested. He may arrive after she does, or he may be waiting for her, but he will be there. He always is. The only question is, which face will he be wearing?
As she steps into the shadowy room, surrounded by walls and walls of dusty books that no one has opened in a century, she feels the familiar mixture of trepidation and anticipation, which of course she will never admit to.
Then she sees him, standing with someone else, obviously his current regular companion. A ginger-haired woman. She might have known. One more thing to tease him about when she gets the chance.
"Hello, sweetie," she says. The same thing she always says. She smiles, but the look he gives her is unreadable, blank.
It's not an incarnation she has met before, though she has seen this face in pictures. How intriguing. A silly flash of thought -- oh good, it's one of the handsome ones, this could be fun -- before she schools herself. Here we go again.
Where is he, in his timeline? Is he before the big-jawed, clumsyish one in the bow tie, or after? He's shown her images of his various faces before, but, infuriatingly, he's never told her what order they came in. Making her guess seems to be a game of his, a way of maintaining at least some sort of upper hand in this topsy-turvy thing they call a relationship. She's always conceded his right to have a little of his own back on that account. More interesting that way. But a bit problematic.
And now, for some reason, he seems to be pretending not to know her.
It's when she opens her diary and starts asking him about specific events, and he answers only with a raised eyebrow, that she realises he's not pretending at all.
This is before the Byzantium for him. Before Asgard. Before everything. This is the first time he's ever met me, from his side. Oh my God, he has no idea who I am!
She's more careful after that. Scrupulously so. And so is he, though it's clearly driving him mad with curiosity that, for once, he dare not satisfy. Then the Vashta Nerada begin to strike, and she's almost relieved by the distraction of the current crisis, and then she feels guilty. It's certainly not a relief for poor Miss Evangelista. Or the Daves. Or Anita, eventually.
Another pang stabs through her when she learns who the ginger-haired woman is. His future self has never told her much about his previous companions, but Donna Noble's is one story that he has related to her. He cried as he did so. It was one of the few things from his personal past with the power to affect him like that, even through the succeeding regenerations. This is the face that will live it, and soon.
The burden she has blundered into, by calling him here, is even bigger than she had thought. She can't reassure him that Donna's road doesn't end here. She can't warn him of where it does, or how. And she can't imagine facing such dilemmas over and over, for centuries, as he has done. How does he stand it?
He's not her Doctor, but there are moments when she can see him, in this slender, wild-haired stranger with the mistrustful brown eyes. He's wary of her, and she understands, really she does, she'd be wary too in his position, but there isn't time, so she finally uses the one thing that will get his attention, silence his doubts, and make him listen. Which might very well have been what his future self had had in mind when he told it to her, remembering this meeting from his perspective. Very clever, Doctor. But I'm sorry anyway.
"I bet I like you," he says at one point.
"Oh, you do," she replies.
Then, later...
"I hate you sometimes!"
"I know!" he shoots back.
And there he is, her Doctor. He's always been there. He was there long before she entered his life, and he will be there long after his timeline catches up to hers and passes it. When he's wearing a face she will never see.
If he manages not to get his damn fool self permanently killed before it even happens, that is.
She won't let him. It's that simple.
She gets it now. Finally, she understands. That night at the singing towers. The haircut, the fresh suit. The look in his eyes when he gave her his screwdriver.
He knew. The bastard. He'd known all along. Oh, Doctor. You knew. You knew your first meeting with me was my last with you. And you'll have this image in your head the entire time we're together, the memory of me dying, and I don't even know if this is the most selfish thing I'll ever do, or the least, and I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could make it easier for you, but someday you'll understand why you had to live past this day. It's not just for me. There's so much you still have to do.
She smiles at him through her tears. Tells him it's okay. He stares, handcuffed, horror in his eyes, as she plugs the last cables together.
She wakes up in white, and shakes her head when she realises what he's done. That mad, impossible man. He never could stand to give in, to not have the last word, could he?
When you run with the Doctor, it feels like it will never end. But however hard you try, you can't run forever. Everybody knows that everybody dies, and nobody knows it like the Doctor. But I do think that all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark if he ever, for one moment, accepts it.
"I'll be waiting, my love," she whispers.
~end