mnemosyne-musing

[mnemosyne-musing]

11/River + come back + after Manhattan (as angst as possible but with a happy ending pls haha)

River is gone before the kettle ever reaches a boil.

He knows because her diary no longer rests on the Tardis console. The smell of vortex bites at the air like acid, and it's all the evidence he needs to know she left in a hurry. Her shoes are forgotten in a pile by the jump seat, and the Doctor stares blankly at the place where his wife had stood, an empty space now echoing with the sound of her voice and how she pleaded with him to not travel alone.

The scream of the kettle, the only sound on board his ship, is nearly as piercing as the realization that all his Ponds have left him, all of them by choice.

And he is crushingly, hauntingly alone.

He tries his best to find her, to loop back and visit younger versions, to steal time where he doesn’t have any, to play pretend with a version of his wife that doesn’t look at him with ghosts in her eyes.

He comes up empty, always a fraction too late or dangerously close to crossing his own timeline. He curses his younger self for being so greedy, for lingering too long in moments when he didn’t even realize what he had.

What he would one day lose.

He goes looking for her older self, too, tries to time accidental run-ins at places he knows she frequents. He wears his old tweed coat, hoping that she’ll humor him if she thinks he’s a younger man. Maybe, for a moment, it will be like it used to. Maybe if he pretends he hasn’t lived it yet, she’ll pretend it hasn’t happened. Maybe then he could lure her back to the Tardis, convince her to stay for a day or a week or a decade.

She doesn’t. She dodges his calls like she knows. She hides from him now the same way she hid her broken wrist. Protecting him or protecting herself from him, he’s never quite sure which. All he knows is that when River Song hurts the most, she runs from him the way he runs from endings. And in this way, he chases her the way the sun chases the horizon, the way light is in constant free fall around black holes, spiraling down a gravity well only to never reach the bottom.

So he stops. He stops looking and running and grasping desperately at things that are long gone. He does the thing she’s always accused him of being incapable. He sits still. He parks his ship high in the sky with only clouds for company.

Which is why it’s all the more concerning and curious when the door to his ship creaks open. The Doctor abandons where he’d been tinkering beneath the console, stilling like a predator in the grass as he watches his wife creep into his ship.

She glances around nervously, listening. The silence must reassure her because her footfalls quicken, shoulders easing, and a soft tune whistling from her lips as she begins plundering through his things. The Doctor watches in awe as River pops open one round thing after another, rifling through cupboards he didn’t even know he had as if his ship were her own personal armoire.

Gangly limbs shift, twisting to get a better look, to discover what it is she’s after, when a wrench clatters to the ground. The sound of it echoes like gunfire off the metal hull of his ship, and River freezes, strung tight like a bow ready to snap. There's no sense in being stealthy now; the Doctor bolts for the stairs that lead to the doorway, cutting off her exit before she can make another grand escape. Taking the steps two at a time, he crosses the room in time to watch as she seals the hideaway in his ship's wall.

“Sweetie,” she turns to greet him, flashing a smile that almost makes him believe she wasn’t moments away from darting out the door. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

For a moment, he wishes he didn't know her better than he knows the turn of the universe, that he couldn't tell her age by the color of her hair or the tenseness around her eyes. He wishes he didn't know all her tells, that it wasn't written all over her face that she’s surprised to see him in his own ship. Didn’t want to see him, his brain corrects. She didn’t come here for him, just his taxi services.

He buries that thought away for later, skipping around the console to meet her. He hopes he doesn’t reek too badly of despair as he puts on a show, a flourish to his hands as he gestures around the room. "Where else would I be?"

"Oh, I dunno," she sighs, meeting him half way, both in distance and their practiced coquet. "Knee deep in trouble is pretty par for course.”

"I could say the same to you, Professor," he grins, a futile attempt to be chipper and light and delighted, and all those things they used to feel when they happened upon each other.

He must make a poor portrait of his younger self, because River's eyes rake over him like an all-knowing sphinx. River studies him, piecing together his brown coat and weary eyes like a puzzle that doesn’t fit. They don’t match, the skip in his step and the shadows in his eyes. The tunes don’t sync, the sound of his voice and the slow stutter of his aching hearts.

“I do like to keep you on your toes.” She plays along anyway, flirting her best defense when she’s on uneven footing, when there’s a truth they’d rather not see lingering in the air.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He nods to the round things, and River’s façade slips, if only for a moment.

He isn't the only one with secrets tugging his smile downward.

“More or less.” She flashes him a tight lipped smile and eyes that try a little too hard to twinkle as she asks, “Shall we do diaries, then? When are we, Doctor?”

“Utah, again,” he lies, and River’s skeptical eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Your coat is looking a little rough for wear.”

“Then I’ll get a new one. Come with me to The Rings of Akhaten.” He grins, waggling a non existent brow. Doing his best to tempt her, hungry for the pleasure of her company and entirely too eager as he adds, “I’ll let you pick one for me.”

River hums, a softness that might be remorse as she says, “Can’t, I’m afraid.”

She never, ever can. Or does. And he's giving up hope that she ever will. He’s realizing far too late that maybe twisted timelines were always just a feeble excuse, a reason he foolishly gobbled up because he didn’t want to see the truth.

She doesn't need him like he needs her. She never has and never will.

It must be written in his hollow cheeks. Hurt must spill from lips that part but have no words, all his confessions and promises and pleading reduced to dust, that which he held dear crumbling to nothing.

"What’s happened?” she asks. It’s quiet, as if the walls might hear her, as if the past were a feral thing ready to sink its teeth into the now.

River takes a step closer, the Doctor finds himself suddenly captivated by the control panel. Looking anywhere but her as he flips switches and levers and- “Just one trip. I’ll let you drive.”

Even to his ears, it sounds like for old time’s sake.

“When are we, really, Doctor?" River asks again, closing the space between them, dissolving any disguise that distance may have granted him. Her gaze burns as she peers into him, noting the lines around his eyes. She lifts a hand to caress his face, to trace skin she knows so well. The creases in his brow are brail, an ancient rune she can decipher and read by touch alone.

He leans into her palm like a man starved, his best defenses crumbling under the weight of her gentle touch. "Manhattan," he sighs, and River blanches like he's slapped her.

“How long has it been?” she whispers. His silence is answer enough, and River’s entire frame sags beneath the weight of it, summoning the truth from him the way gravity claims all things as she asks instead, “Why did you lie?”

“I was hoping there was a version of me you’d still speak to.”

Her lips part, then close, lost for words. And isn’t that exactly the problem? The chasm between them has grown too far for words. Only the echo of their own voices rings back on them now.

“Travel with me,” he begs, sounding like a broken record. “Just one trip. Please.”

Desperate eyes seek her out, drinking her in while he can. This may be the oldest he's ever seen her, well, apart from that first day. But he tires to never think about that, about libraries and dust and the way her eyes gleamed before she realized how young he was. She could almost be that woman now, if he didn't know any better. She looks happy, her skin a honeyed gold, eyes green as the sea. In their reflection he sees a broken man. It’s never been more clear that he is trying to squeeze blood from a stone than when River answers, “I really can’t.”

His face falls, and River presses further into him, as if his sadness is something she can chase away. And she could, if only she would stop running from him.

He takes advantage of their proximity while she let’s him, his fingers daring to toy with a particularly springy ring of hair. “Can’t or won’t?”

"It’s not like that,” she swears, her own hands sliding over his chest and making a home over his hearts. Her teeth capture her bottom him. There’s something she’s not saying, some inner debate that has him waiting with baited breath. He steels himself to hear her newest excuse, an argument already brewing on his tongue when- “I’m already traveling with you.”

That makes him brighten, the spoiler lighting the spark of possibility. They still have time. He still has days with her, of running and laughing and spoilers. They get past this, and the revelation gives him courage enough to ask, “Where did I take you, this time?”

“Darillium,” she’s smiling as she say it, blushing even, and never before has something so horrendous been born from a sight so beautiful.

The single word nearly undoes him completely, nearly erodes the last of his composure and demands his knees to buckle. The Doctor tries not to sound like he’s been sliced open from naval to neck as he stammers, “You’re at Darillium? Now?”

She wiggles in a playful, giddy way that clashes with the nausea bubbling in his gut. “Yes, I just popped out for a quick trip. I need to get bac-“

The rest of her words fade away to ringing in his ears, far away, underwater and overwhelmed because he’s flabbergasted that she left in the middle of Darillium of all things. That she couldn’t even stand to be around him for one night, their last.

“You couldn’t even stay the full night?” he blurts, and she must miss the way the fringes of his words hiss at the air, the simmering anger hot on his tongue.

“Well, it’s quite a long night,” she chuckles. It’s a half-hearted laugh, her cavalier tone the final straw that breaks him. Because nothing could have prepared him for this, for River to be flippant when he’s all but falling apart. He has seen her be callous and cold and caring, play the maiden and martyr and murderer. But he’s never seen her quite so full of levity in the face of loss.

And maybe that’s because his presence in her life isn’t something she really minds losing, not anymore. Not after what he took from her in Manhattan.

“You’re always leaving,” he sighs, and she must misunderstand, must miss the bite in his voice because-

“Well, we need another fission-plotter. You broke ours, or you will do, rather. I figured no one would notice if I popped out and borrowed this one.”

She’s talking but he barely hears her over his own pain, the slow build of it boiling over as he shouts, “It isn’t fair.”

Green eyes widen in surprise. “Fine, I’ll put it bac-“

“Not that!” he blurts, pulling away from her. “I don’t care about..” - his hands flutter- “Whatever you took. I care that you left me. Future me,” he corrects quickly, because it’s less petulant somehow, to argue on behalf of a man who isn’t here. “Did it ever occur to you that I might miss you?”

“Well, of course, but-“

“That maybe I need you.”

“Sweetie, I-“

“That it might be nice if you needed me, for once? That-“

“Doctor, of course I need you!” she snaps. “What's gotten into you?”

He steps away from her before her trigger hand gets the urge to slap him. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it. “Funny way of showing it, swanning out on our- on Darillium,” he catches himself before he confirms it’s their last. And it’s not fair to rage at her for things she doesn’t know, for history that can’t be changed, and yet, “You’re always going, always disappearing without a word. You just left. Didn't even say goodbye after-”

The names of her parents catch in his throat, choking him. River's eyes cast downward, blinking past memories of angels and headstones and broken bones. “I know,” she confesses, the softness of it only making his voice grow louder.

“Am I so horrible to be around?” He is, probably, judging by the fit he’s throwing. The irony doesn’t escape him, but anger is the only emotion she’s ever stuck around to endure. He wonders why that is, why she sticks around for his rage but not rainy days, why she’s more comfortable with his shouting than shuddering breaths.

“It had nothing to do with you.” She is calm where he is crazed. When he turns to see her, she is every bit the woman who left Manhattan with him. She looks like a graveyard, her voice just as quiet as she says, “I left because of me. I couldn’t look at you after.”

He’d have preferred the sting of her palm on his cheek, he thinks. A sigh or a sob or the last of his hope slips from his lips, shoulders sagging, because nothing is worse than the confirmation that, “I couldn’t save them. I failed you.”

“No,” she says, rushing forward to close the space between them. Her palm does find his cheek, then, framing his face in her hands. “They made a choice to leave,” she says it like mantra, like she’s said it over and over until it soothed her aching hearts. “It was the right choice, but-“ words nearly fail her, or perhaps she’s fighting the urge to swallow them the way she usually does. To his surprise, she doesn’t. She gathers her courage, his brave girl, and tells him, “I had to leave before I watched you make the same choice.”

It doesn’t make sense, because, “I asked you to stay with me, to travel with me.”

“But I didn’t know if you meant it, or for how long you’d want it." Her green eyes glisten with a softness she so rarely lets him see. She sounds like an epilogue, a summary of a story she closed long ago. "So I left. Because I thought it would be easier to be the one who leaves, rather than be left behind.”

He has no intention of letting her go. He wouldn’t know how to say goodbye, not to her. He’s clawing for more time even now, with a version of her on their last night in his arms. He’s borrowing precious moments from his future the same way he scolded his younger self for soaking up moments before he knew what he had.

His fingers dig into her skin as if she might slip away. He clings to her with selfish abandon that’s bound to leave bruises, and why? Why is it so hard for her to trust that- “I want you around, River. More than anything.”

“I know,” she nods, running her fingers through his hair. “I didn’t then, but I do now. I’m sorry.” The Doctor's lips part, ready to drown her apologies with his own. She quiets him with a gentle caress, her fingertips tracing over his lips like they're something she hasn't seen in eons. “I shouldn’t have avoided you. I was hurting and I built walls to keep the pain at bay. I can’t take it back, but I can promise we’re somewhere good now.”

Her eyes are bright and green and he covets it, wants to steal her from his future self to ease the burden of now.

“How long, for me, until I’m there?” How long until he sees her again? How many years will pass  before she welcomes the sight of him showing up at her doorstep again?

Her eyes are wet as she answers the only thing she can, the one thing he doesn’t want to hear. “Spoilers.”

It draws a smile out of him anyway. His eyes track over her face, memorizing her the way he’s done a thousand times before. She knows that he’s preparing to go without, collecting her micro expressions like rain water, to sip on in the long days ahead without her.

“You’ll see me soon enough." She brushes her lips against his, feather light and not enough. He sways into her even as she pulls away, the quirk of a smile tugging her cheeks as she taps at the fission-plotter tucked in her belt. "I have to return this, remember?”

“You’ll come back?” It tastes like hope, like some bitter, dangerous drug.

“Don’t I always?” Even as she says it, she’s pulling away, rushing back to his future self.

He can’t imagine being the man she spoke of. How long must he wait? What must he endure before he’s able to be the man who can take her to Darillium, who’s worthy of extended time with her, who’s earned her trust enough to see her heartbroken as well as headstrong.

He lets her leave. Because maybe, waiting for him in his future, there are days where River Song doesn’t run from him when she hurts. Maybe somewhere out there, they’re traveling the stars, making one night last a millennia.

And who knows, maybe, if he stays on this cloud a little longer, she’ll find her way back to him, too.

[mnemosyne-musing]

11/River prompts, hmm? How about… “You still manage to surprise me.”

River Song has been called a great many things in her life- reckless, impulsive, imprudent, uninhibited. But the truth is, River Song is nothing if not an avid planner.

Meticulous and fiercely prepared, she leaves nothing to chance. Why bother? With all of history at her fingertips, why shouldn’t she treat every undertaking like an open book test? She made a habit of research, of peeking back or taking a cheeky look ahead. She routinely strolls through a bustling street at breakfast only to dig up its ancient remains by dinner.

Similarly, if she wants to organize a date with her husband, she diligently plans when and where to leave her love notes and invitations. If she fancies a romp with Pretty Boy, she need only look as far as impersonating the nearest ancient queen or galactic empress. That face really did have a habit of endearing himself with the aristocracy of any era. When she misses her floppy haired Sweetie, a museum is always her best bet. With a nostalgic streak a mile wide, there's no keeping that man from waltzing through glass covered exhibits, reminiscing about all the ways he’s molded history.

And on days like today, when she goes looking for trouble just for the hell of it, when the secrets locked in an impenetrable bank vault have tickled her fancy, River always, always does her research on the people who built it.

Tapping in the twenty-seven digit numerical sequence, River bypasses any and all security codes with a three thousand year old fail safe password that was programmed by the client who commissioned the place. Juliana Primean, lovely woman, great at golf, had a terrible habit of using her grandchildren’s birthdays as passwords.

A green light grants her entry, the door hissing as it pressurizes, preparing to open. An easy smile twitches River’s lips, because its almost too easy.

The door yields, swinging wide to reveal nothing but bare walls and stale air. 

Well, she did say almost too easy.

It isn’t often someone beats her to the punch. Being fashionably late typically suits her just fine. The static in the air tells her she is most definitely late, even if only by a few seconds. Singed neutrinos reek of time travel, and River allows the buzz of it to draw her deeper into the empty vault.

Her heels click across ancient metal, echoing for naught but dust as she comes to a stop at the center of the room. There’s a note, intentionally placed and thoughtfully written, that reads, “Dinner?”

Space-time coordinates in script that could only belong to her husband make for a tempting summons. No sooner has a smirk curled the corners of her red lips than quick fingers are tapping at her vortex manipulator.

Matter shatters and rebuilds around her, smoke and vapor and the sudden smell of something divine.

“If I knew you delivered irreplaceable artifacts, I wouldn’t have bothered breaking in,” River coos in that honey velvet voice she saves just for him.

She hasn’t turned around to greet him yet, but she hears the grin in his voice clear as day as he says, “Yes, you would have.”

When she turns to face that cheeky husband of hers, a small gasp falls from her lips, breath momentarily stolen. There's a table set for two beside a giant wall of glass. Around her is intentionally dim lights and sound-proof walls, and her mind races with all the ways she could put it to good use.

Shame its primary function is a viewing platform. She doesn't have to wonder what for. Beyond the glass is a blazing Protostar, all oranges and purples and electric greens as matter and chemicals condense and swirl. It's the earliest stage of stellar evolution, only lasting about 500 millennia, a blink of an eye in the turn of the universe.

And maybe it's the way his tweed contrasts with stardust or the giddy way he rocks back on his heels, awaiting her approval, but River finds herself pulled toward him, the irrevocable fusion of hydrogen and helium and sharp edges and soft curves.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” she purrs, all joy and baited breath even as her eyes narrow in suspicion. “What's the catch?”

"Nothing!" he sputters and flails in protest, nearly upending a bottle of champagne. "I’m allowed to spoil my wife.”

River hums, studying him. Spoil her he does, often and with enthusiasm. He swings by in a top hat and tails and whisks her away to dance on ice rings and to see nights filled with stars and to watch planets be born. But he’s never taken a page from her playbook, never left her a carefully crafted and impeccably timed invitation before.

River chances a glance over her shoulder, making certain there isn't a carnivorous swarm or hostile planetary takeover on the horizon. Finding only starlight, she turns skeptical eyes back on her husband. “How’d you know I’d rob that vault?”

“Hah,” he barks out a laugh, his left arm leaning against the back of a chair, all self-assured swagger as he pins her in place with a crooked smile. “Two things are always bound to end up in uncrackable vaults. The rarest and most beautiful and impossible thing in the universe-“ he pulls out a chair for her in invitation, buzzing with secrets as he adds- “and the Primean family fortune.”

He’s on fine form today, and doesn't he just know it. The curl in his cheek is insufferably smug and devilishly handsome, and she’d be a damn fool if she didn’t allow herself to be pulled into the gravity of him.

Swaying into his personal space, River catalogs the way his gaze drops to her mouth the way a compass finds true north. Her skin hums from the undivided attention, the delight in her voice a betrayal of her contrary words. “Many ambitious thieves have had a go at breaking into that vault."

“But only you could pull it off,” he whispers, all seduction and sly smirks.

It's her turn to be captivated by his mouth, by the lips of the man who beat her to the punch, who emptied the impenetrable room of all but a handwritten note. “Look whose talking.”

Her husband merely shrugs, knowing full well she’s a sucker for mischief as he explains, “I cheated.”

“Dirty talk already, my love?” Green eyes dancing in that way she knows drives him to distraction, River slips past him, taking her seat before temptation demands she go straight for dessert.

"Behave," he half-heartedly scolds her. The answering hum she gives is warm and low, the rumble of something wicked on her tongue when he blurts, "I want to show you something."

Pity, she much prefers it when he makes her eyes flutter shut. River bites her bottom lip to keep from telling him so.  Her gaze shifts to the view beyond the glass, to a black vacuum that swirls with glittering matter and shrapnel from the nearest nebula. She inhales deep, the rich aroma of fine cuisine from some far off time and place delighting her senses.

Bless him, he's gone through such trouble.

"It's gorgeous, Sweetie."

"Hm?" the Doctor looks up from where he'd been digging through his top pocket, eyes glancing to her and then the Protostar. "Oh, yes, I thought you'd like it." Half his arm still buried in his coat, he steps around to face her, nearly tripping over his own feet as he wrestles a small jewelry box from its hiding place. "But this is what I wanted to show you."

Pale fingers crack open the box, holding it out to her. River's breath catches in her throat. "Is this.." she exhales, all wonder and reverence as her eyes drink in one of the lesser known but highly coveted treasures rumored to be stashed within the Primean fortune.

"The Eye of Infinity," he tells her, giddy and full of the very magic that makes the universe turn. "It’s a micro galaxy encased in a Neuron Pearl inside a necklace made of pure Lonsdaleite diamonds." It's complicated and rare and physics defying, and it has nothing on the grin splitting her husband's cheeks as he says, "May I?"

"By all means," she breathes, but the Doctor is already brushing her hair aside, draping it around her neck before the air has left her lungs. Long fingers set to work, diligent in their task. It still thrills her, the way his fingertips brush against the back of her neck, the way his breath ghosts over the shell of her ear.

She wonders how long he’s been planning this. Unlike her, the Doctor is typically a creature of whimsy. No sneak previews, just barreling in and hoping for the best, his standard method of operation. But, with this, River can feel the precision, the planning, the perfection that went into this night.

As his hands fall away from their task, his knuckles trail across her shoulders and down her biceps before gently turning her toward the glass. In the reflection, she sees herself, fresh from a heist and still dressed for the occasion. Behind her, the most impossible man in the universe is grinning like the cat who ate the canary. A flush creeps over her skin at the sight of it, at the feel of the Doctor's breath on the side of her neck as he leans in to get a closer look.

Across her chest rests the most beautiful necklace she’s ever seen, and River’s voice drops an octave, ripe for misbehavior as she sighs out, “Oh, I am so keeping this.”

“I was hoping you might.”

She catches his smirk in the reflection, her interest peaked. “Not like you to encourage grand larceny. Quick, take me to bed before my husband comes back.”

He chuckles at her wicked tongue. “It’s not stealing. It’s a gift, from its owner.”

River’s incredulous brow arches as she turn to look at him properly. “Since when were you the sole heir to the Primean fortune?”

“Since I won it in a game of golf," he offers flippantly, tapping the tip of her nose. He dances away from her then, a flourish to his gangly arms as he removes the lid that's been keeping their dinner warm. "And not the whole fortune. Just the bits I thought you’d like.”

“When you said you cheated…”

“At the golf, definitely.” his coat swishes, hair falling into his eyes as he mimes swinging a golf club.

"I didn’t know you played," River offers, eyes locked on him, because she really isn't hungry anymore. Well, not for what's on the menu, anyway.

"I’m full of surprises," he grins.

Their eyes meet, the gold in his refracting the distant starlight. It's far more entrancing than nebula clouds or priceless heirlooms could ever dream to be.

Her own eyes must be filled to the brim with love and delight and desire. It must be written on her face, her appetite for something besides dinner, because that husband of her flushes crimson, entirely too pleased with himself as River confesses, "Yes, you are."

[mnemosyne-musing]

Thoughts on Agatha All Along

Overall I think the series was amazing! I really love the idea of Ghost Mentor Agatha, I think her transition from power hungry villain to empowering, if morally ambiguous, mentor was well set up throughout. I think she has so much room to grow in that role and I’m excited to see where they take her character.

However, I was rather disappointed with the finale. I really wanted more from the flashback in episode 9. I think this series was exploring the question of Agatha character, and why she is the way that she is in present day. But I don’t think the flashback answered any of the questions posed:

-What was Agatha’s motivation in seeking all that power - both in siphoning witches and seeking the Darkhold. If she was siphoning witches prior to Nicholas’ death, why did she continue after he passed away?

-How does the circumstances of Nickolas’ death impact her choices made afterward. Why does she feel ashamed and guilty, to the point that she can’t face her son and chooses to be a ghost if she's just continuing to do what was was already doing?

-How did she court Death? What was their relationship like prior to Nicholas being born. We really needed to see a before so that we would have greater context for the after.

I really wish the show was more explicit in disclosing Agatha’s motivations for gaining power, especially after losing her son. Was it to fight Death, to an attempt to get Nicholas back from her? If so, I really wish we could've seen her fight Death. And it would have made her line “You can’t fight death” even more significant because she would be speaking from experience and it would further underscore her role as mentor - that she has valuable experience and perspective.

[mnemosyne-musing]

Chapters: 24/30 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/River Song Characters: River Song, Eleventh Doctor, Jack Harkness, Original Characters Additional Tags: timebabies, post library, Canon divergent past season 7 Series: Part 2 of And the rest is rust and stardust Summary:

“She’s gone,” River admits, stepping back into her office alone. Jack and the Doctor stare back at her, disappointment carving lines in their brows. They blame her. She can tell by their pursed lips and tilted heads, by the silence that lingers just a little too long.

River swears it’s the child in his arms that keeps the Doctor’s voice from shouting as he narrows his eyes and says, “What did you do?”

[mnemosyne-musing]

@riversongsource river song appreciation week: day 4 - favorite trait

Versatile / Renaissance Woman

inspired by (x)

[mnemosyne-musing]

[mnemosyne-musing]

Title: Forgetting, Chapter Five

Rating: M

Word Count: 3920

Summary: River whirls to face the Doctor – maybe the youngest Doctor she’s ever seen. “Sweetie,” she gapes, surprised, and nearly loses her footing again.

[mnemosyne-musing]

Title: Forgetting Chapter 1

Rating: M

Words: 4532

Summary: Various incarnations of River and the Doctor are stranded on an ice planet for 24 hours each after their younger selves make a temporal mess.

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Doctor Who (1963) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Doctor/River Song, Twelfth Doctor/River Song, Eighth Doctor/River Song Characters: Twelfth Doctor, River Song, Eighth Doctor (Doctor Who), Nardole (Doctor Who), Other Character Tags to Be Added Additional Tags: Episode Rewrite: 2015 Xmas The Husbands of River Song, this has been MANY YEARS IN THE MAKING but only theoretically really it was just like january Summary:

The TARDIS had been uncharacteristically overt in her displays of concern… She seemed to think she ought to keep cheering him up. This was at least the sixth time in as many weeks that she’d landed in the midst of Christmas celebrations on some planet, as if he still enjoyed that sort of thing. Well, if that overgrown child wasn’t dead, he was at least having a bit of a coma. Which sounded pretty attractive, actually.

There was a knock at the door. If it was more carol singers who couldn’t read, they deserved what they got.

[mnemosyne-musing]

🤌🏼 ✨

🤌🏼 what feels does it hit?

Ok so what I'm shooting for is... lots of comedy but not slapstick, interspersed with gut-punch angst, sort of emotional highlights of the wonderful weird life they've had and also the things they've missed along the way because they were both a bit too afraid, some brutal honesty, leading to hopefully, a very happy ending??? :)

✨ random spoiler?

Six and Seven are about to join the party 😂

[mnemosyne-musing]

Rating: Mature Relationship: Eleventh Doctor/River Song Chapter summary: They’ve spent the last few days holed up in the TARDIS going over and over what has happened with Amy and Rory. He can tell that they’re trying very hard to come to terms with what they’ve learnt in such a short space of time.

A couple of times Amy has had to leave the room rather abruptly citing a need to go to the bathroom and has come back with suspiciously red-rimmed eyes. No one mentions it. Apart from that though, they are really holding up remarkably well.

[mnemosyne-musing]

Rating: Mature Relationship: Eleventh Doctor/River Song Chapter summary: They’ve spent the last few days holed up in the TARDIS going over and over what has happened with Amy and Rory. He can tell that they’re trying very hard to come to terms with what they’ve learnt in such a short space of time.

A couple of times Amy has had to leave the room rather abruptly citing a need to go to the bathroom and has come back with suspiciously red-rimmed eyes. No one mentions it. Apart from that though, they are really holding up remarkably well.

[mnemosyne-musing]

The dead stay silent...and we must wait.

[mnemosyne-musing]

Do you remember that time I was transporting dragon eggs?

[mnemosyne-musing]

@creatornet server event | day six: favourite pairing/group (one of many…)

eleven x river; doctor who (2005 - ); ep 7.13, the name of the doctor

[mnemosyne-musing]

Young!11/River kissing for a bet pls (extra points for featuring Amy and Rory) 💕

Omg Anon I thought this ask was lost to the sands of time but it's still here and if you are too, well, you're in luck!! (ao3 link)

“Tell me you saw that,” said Amy.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Rory replied.  “I’ve seen a lot of things today, and I’m pretty sure I can’t remember half of them.”

“River and the Doctor!  They are obviously shagging, right?”

“Do I really have to think about this?” Rory whinged.  “I’ve got enough of a headache from all the alien memory erasure.”

“Come on.  There’s no way you didn’t notice.”

“I, uh, did get that impression,” he reluctantly admitted.  “I’m just not sure he knows it yet.”  Amy snorted.  “River said something to me, back when this all started.  From her point of view, it’s... like he’s slowly forgetting her.”

“That’s horrible,” Amy said softly.

“Yeah.  I wanted to say something helpful, you know?  She can be a bit scary, but it’s obvious how this hurts her.  But I don’t think there’s really anything to be done.  Whenever he does work it out, it’ll already be in her past.”

“Poor River,” said Amy.  “The Doctor’s a complete moron about this stuff.  A big, genius, stupid moron.  And even we needed a little shove.  If Mels hadn’t said anything, who knows how long it would have taken us—”

The sonic whirred, and the tiny red bulb flashing amongst the instruments on the TARDIS console blinked out.  The live feed went silent.  

Alone with the humming of the time rotor again, the Doctor slumped over the console.

Well, fine, maybe he was a moron.  But it wasn’t as if anything about this was easy.  It hadn’t been easy when she died before his eyes, telling him not to dare change one line of their life together that he’d yet to live.  It hadn’t been easy trying to keep her from winding her way into his hearts— in fact, he’d failed rather spectacularly on that front, despite his best intentions.  

It wasn’t easy to begin, when he’d already seen the end.  When he couldn’t change her future because it was already his past.  Wasn’t it all set in stone already, then, no matter what he did?  So how did it still feel like he was making a complete mess of everything?

Maybe it was past time he started clearing up after them.

___

“I won’t lie,” River called as he emerged from the TARDIS, “I was rather hoping you’d be back.”  She was sat half-curled on her bunk, her back against the cell wall and her diary open on her lap.  “How long has it been?  A few decades?”

“Er, about half an hour?”

“Oh.”  There was a quiet brittleness to the sound, her initial bravado faltering as she laid down her pen, and the Doctor noticed for the first time the red tinge around her eyes.  “Me too,” she said softly.

River Song had never looked so uncertain.  The memory of her warmth still tingled on his lips; the blaze of joy that had spilled out of her mind and suffused every place they touched.  How quickly and utterly he’d doused that exquisite glow with a thoughtless word.  He wouldn’t dare think River fragile, but something was on the verge of breaking here, if he didn’t handle it with the proper care.

No pressure.  The Doctor took a deep breath and gripped a bar of her cell, pausing in the still-open doorway.  “I was, uh, hoping I could give that another go.”  His cheeks felt so hot there was no doubt he’d turned a very unattractive shade of tomato.

“Doctor,” she said, placating, her gaze dropping to her lap as she sat up and valiantly cobbled together a façade of composure, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”  He forgot how to swallow for a moment, but basically managed not to audibly choke on his own tongue.  What was worse than tomato?  Molten lava?  The distance between them was humiliating.  He couldn’t have such a mortifyingly sensitive conversation shouting across a room.  Somehow, when he forced his unreliable legs to carry him jerkily over the gulf between them, it was only a couple of steps.

The Doctor sat down on her bed.  He made sure not to think about the fact that he was sitting on her bed.  River watched him, frozen and wide-eyed.

“River, I— I want this,” he managed to wrench out.  You.  Us.  Even as he made her an offering of his pride, his tongue couldn’t seem to shape the truer words.  He desperately hoped she understood.  No, no, that wasn’t good enough.  He reached out, taking both of her cold hands in his.  “River,” he repeated, the word creaking past his lips, raspy and low.  A plea and an admission.  He was tired, so tired of fighting it.  It hadn’t worked, anyway.  He was done for.  And every time he ran away, he only hurt her more.

He lifted one hand to tuck her spectacular hair behind her ear, and her eyes fluttered ever-so-briefly shut.  She still hadn’t moved; she seemed almost afraid to breathe.  Miscalculating their relationship like that must have been shockingly painful for her.  She’d reached out to touch him and been burned.  The urge to reassure her gave him courage enough to speak again, but god knew what was going to come out of his mouth when he did.

“River,” he muttered again, maybe just because he’d always loved the way her name felt on his tongue.  He brushed the backs of his fingers feather-light over her face, then his hand slowly lowered, hovering hesitant between them.  “Can I…”

“Yes,” she said, though it came out as a breath without sound, and she cleared her throat.  “You can touch me.”

Her whispered words sent a startling spike of heat through him, and almost before the Doctor knew it he was kissing her, slowly; scarcely moving but to lean in and cradle her face in his hands.  He did his best to take in the little details: the slight friction of her lips sliding soft against his, the stifled whimper she exhaled over his cheek.  He pulled back just enough for a shared breath to warm the air between them, for his nose to brush hers, then kissed her again.  When he dared to trace over her lower lip with his tongue, she sighed contentedly as her lips parted.  Surely it had been this lovely before, too, but the shock had gotten the better of him.  Now he felt he could just melt into her; forget everything in the universe but how good it was to finally let himself love her.

She’d been generous with her permission, so he didn’t hesitate to slip an arm around her back and pull her closer.  The warm, solid shape of her under his hands, pressed to his chest, was intoxicating.  It was baffling.  He was a fairly indiscriminate hugger, but he’d always been too terrified to touch River like that— maybe afraid once he started, he’d never stop.  And good job he hadn’t, because this was not what it was normally like.  This was… bigger.  And the more he kissed her; the more he leant over her for a better angle and his palms pressed into her back and she shifted her body beneath him, making a ragged, desperate little noise in her throat; the more he realised this was very quickly becoming something he hadn’t exactly planned on.  Of course, he could stop any time.  River was following his lead, accepting whatever he offered but making no demands of her own.  That didn’t seem fair.  She deserved so much better than he’d given her.

“You’re, uh.  Sure I can’t convince you to come with me?” he muttered in her ear, and he actually felt her shiver.  Mental note of that, check.

“I really shouldn’t…” she whispered, but the ellipsis was audible, hanging in the air between them.

“I’ll have you back before they miss you.  And, ah, Amy and Rory have gone to bed.”  Not that he was implying they were going to require privacy, or anything— no, actually, maybe that was exactly what he was saying.  Thankfully not aloud, although somehow he felt like River knew just what he was thinking anyway.

“Hang on,” she said, squinting off into the near distance with a frown, “I’m just figuring out how weird something is.”

“Um, okay.”

“Mm, decided I don’t care.  Let’s go.”

__

Sneaking River out of prison (which surely shouldn’t have been so easy to do— what kind of operation were they running, anyway?) and into the darkened TARDIS console room made the Doctor feel, for some reason, positively giddy.  (It was also completely unnecessary, because it was his ship, and his companions had gone to bed, and there was also no reason she shouldn’t be there with him just like she had been an hour ago, anyway— except that it all felt very different now.)  She was holding his hand, and that was another completely mundane thing he did with friends and acquaintances every day without a second thought, but which suddenly seemed unusually intimate and warm and wonderful when it was River.  He couldn’t seem to stop giggling, which might have partly been nerves, and partly the unnecessary sneaking, but was mostly because he was, actually, ridiculously happy.  

River kept shushing him, but she was laughing too, which made him laugh more, which made her laugh and shush more and then, in a moment of wildly impulsive bravery, he backed her up against the console and kissed her.  That stifled both their giggles, as she let out a long sigh and wrapped her arms around his neck.  She really was outrageously, staggeringly, miraculously wonderful.  It was nice to just let himself think that for a moment, without five tonnes of weight attached to it; without all the shadows it cast.  Instead, just for now, he thought: They really could have been doing this all along?  He was definitely a moron.

“...and you really think this is going to work?  Challenging him to a bet?”

“Worth a shot.  Believe me, he’s a sore loser.  That’s how I got him to go to Space Florida.”

“Um, what is that?” River groaned mournfully.

“Ah, probably bumped into Amy’s nanorecorder, it was somewhere on the console,” the Doctor muttered over the dull chatter.

“Could you please shut it off?” she whinged, which seemed a bit out of character, but he obligingly fumbled one-handed over the controls for it in the dim light.  He didn’t find anything immediately, but he did crane his head to the side enough that he wound up pressed into River’s neck, and her skin was so very warm and soft under his lips as he breathed her in.  The sounds she made in response to that were even more enticing, and he forgot all about whatever it was he’d been looking for, until the echoey chatter came through again, louder:

“Oh, you should’ve seen him the first time I met River.  Before that, I sort of thought he was asexual?  But, not like a person is— like an amoeba.  But then he was trying to be grumpy with her and obviously kept coming up with horny instead.”

River burst into riotous laughter as the Doctor choked on air, searching frantically along the console for the stupid bloody little lightbulb — but then River hopped up onto the console and wrapped her legs around him, beaming at him as she pulled him down for another kiss and, well.  A little more humiliation was really a small price to pay.

“Oh, no.  Um, retreat.  Retreat!”  Rory was urgently whispering, but it didn’t sound as faint as it had before.

“What?  Is that— oh my god!” Amy shrieked.

Reluctantly, the Doctor pulled back from River, breathless and blushing, and almost immediately locked eyes across the console room with Amy.  Who was not talking to Rory in their room, but instead standing beside him in the corridor entrance, looking scandalised and delighted whilst he very deliberately averted his eyes.

“They do not need our help, clearly,” Rory said, trying to tug her away, but Amy whooped and cheered instead of following.

River covered her mouth, shaking with laughter.  

The Doctor sighed heavily, mustered up the few remaining crumbs of his dignity, and commanded, “Ponds, out!”

“Right on the console, Doctor, really!” Amy shouted back, grinning wickedly.  “Well done, River!”

“Out!” he repeated, a bit more desperately.  Amy’s boisterous laughter finally started to fade away down the corridor as he groaned and buried his burning face in River’s shoulder.

“There, there, sweetie,” she said, patting his back sympathetically.  “They’ll see worse.”

“That… is really not terribly comforting, River.”

“Yeah.  You have no idea.”