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She spends three weeks poring over blueprints—entrances and exits, underground passages, security and authorised personnel areas. She barely sleeps, though she doesn’t let it show—at least not to Rory, who remains perky and oblivious. He goes to school and paints his nails and chatters excitedly about upcoming spring hols. He talks to Amy and Rory on the telephone and goes to lunch with them on weekends and reads his favourite books aloud before bed, and River smiles and soothes her fingers through his hair and doesn’t say a word, just kisses his forehead and tucks him in like always.
Except after, instead of joining John in front of the television or dragging him off to bed, she contorts herself over the desk in the study, papers strewn about, and plans.
“River,” he sighs, “It’s not as if we’re breaking in.”
“Of course not,” she snaps, “But I’d like to be able to break out if necessary.”
He holds back a sigh. “We’re not going to need to break out.”
River turns on him with a glare. “You know that for certain, do you? Got a Magic 8 Ball stashed on that tweed of yours?”
Her voice is clipped, far too close to being properly angry, and John tries again, a hand on her back.
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re saying I’m overreacting.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
He sighs, crouching down next to her, prying her hands away from the keyboard. “No,” he murmurs. “I’m not. I know how you feel about this. If it’s too much too soon—”
River sets her jaw. “It’s fine.”
“You haven’t slept in weeks.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, pulling her hands away and returning to the files. “I have to do this.” If her voice shakes, he doesn’t mention it.
“At least let me help, then.”
She shakes her head. “You’ve been working—”
“I made the arrangements, River, the easy part. Everything’s taken care of.” He pauses. “It’s going to be—”
“If you say ‘it’s going to be fine’ one more bloody time, John I swear to god—”
“Brilliant? Perfect? Flawless?”
She glowers.
Deflating, John rises to his feet, watching as she returns her attention completely to the plans in front of her. When he’d suggested this plan months ago, he had no idea she’d take it so hard. He understands, of course he does, why she needs to do this, but it doesn’t make it any easier watching her chase her ghosts.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly, watching her shoulders jump and tense at his words.
Without meeting his gaze, she nods once. “Yes. I do.”
--
The drive is tense and silent. Rory alternates between sleeping and listening to his walkman, occasionally pointing at something out the window. River grips the steering wheel and tries to smile, and John tries to talk her out of it one more time.
She doesn’t budge.
“It’s for Rory,” she’d said the night before they left. “How could I not?”
He can’t really argue with that, so instead of talking, he reaches across the space between them and pries her hand from the steering wheel to hold in his own.
For the first time in weeks, River smiles.
--
They check into a hotel late, and River goes over her notes one more time after Rory’s asleep. At close to midnight, John snatches the papers from her hands, turns off the lights and holds her close, her hair tickling his nose.
“Am I crazy?” she asks finally, barely a whisper against his chest.
“Undoubtedly,” he murmurs.
She smacks his chest. “I’m serious. I know it’s—I know it’s—I just—”
He tightens his arms around her. “I know, dear.”
“We’ve never done anything like this before. What if—”
He silences her with a kiss.
--
They eat breakfast in the hotel and Rory giggles at the French newscaster on the television and River looks paler than he’s ever seen her; he tries, one more time, telling her they could just make a day of it here, or go back to the city, or even go home.
The glare she levels him with gives him his answer, and he shrugs, snatching Rory up by the waist and holding him over his shoulder.
“You ready, young sir?”
“Ready for what?” Rory laughs, clawing at John’s back upside down.
“Adventure!”
--
At the entrance to the complex, Rory freezes. His eyes widen and his hand grips River’s so tight it almost hurts.
“Well?” John asks, crouching down next to him. “What do you think?”
Rory’s mouth open, and though he doesn’t turn, John knows the question is meant for River. “We can go?” he whispers.
Swallowing tightly, River nods. “We can go, sweetheart.”
There’s another long moment of silence, crowds milling past them as Rory stands, frozen in place.
And then he squeals. A high-pitched, joyous sound that makes River wince even as she smiles, and then he’s tugging on her hand, dragging her full tilt toward the gates.
“Mummy! Mummy! Disneyland!”
--
River is an absolute wreck.
She tenses every time someone bumps into her, which is often; her grip on John’s hand is vice-like, second only to the firm hand she keeps on Rory’s shoulder the entire time. They’d laid down ground rules—no wandering off, no running, no hide and seek. Rory’s been fairly accommodating, too awed by the rides and the people and the cotton candy John had finally bought him just to shut him up for a moment.
Leaning into River’s side, he murmurs, “You okay?”
Her only reply is a tight smile, and then the mask is back in place when Rory turns and begs her to take a picture with Buzz Lightyear with him. She even wears the Mickey Mouse hat.
“It’s a good look on you,” John smirks as they follow Rory to the line for the next ride.
River grits her teeth. “I know six ways to kill you with this map.”
“Only six?”
She turns, map raised to slap him, and John laughs, snatching her wrist and pressing his lips to her balled up fist.
“I hate you,” she mutters.
John grins. “No, you don’t.”
--
When the attendant tells Rory they aren’t taking anyone else for Space Mountain before closing, he bursts into tears. His little eyes well up and his cheeks flush and he wipes a pudgy fist under his nose and hiccups.
John tries to console him, bending down to his level and brushing the tears from his cheeks. “It’s okay, Rory. It’s a rubbish ride, anyway. All dark and scary and uncomfortable. We’ll find better rides.”
Rory’s lips trembles. “But I want to ride this one.”
“Rory,” River says gently, “Why don’t you and John go get some popcorn? I saw a stand over—”
“No! I want to ride Sape Mountain!”
He stomps his Mary Jane clad foot in what John assumes is supposed to be terrifying, but River looks nonplussed.
“Go get popcorn with John.”
“But—”
“Now, Rory.”
Her voice is low, firm, but without a trace of anger, and Rory looks up at her through his fringe. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”
River bites down a smile as Rory takes John’s hand.
“What are you going to do?”
He knows that smirk, and with impending dread, quickly steers Rory away. They aren’t gone five minutes when River joins them, offering Rory a hand. “How’s about a trip on Space Mountain?”
Rory lights up, and when they return to the line, the attendant backs away from River, scrambling over the ropeline. “Sorry about that,” he says, “Enjoy the ride, miss. I mean ma’am. I mean—”
Her smile is far too sweet. “Thank you, Geoff.”
Geoff nods and closes the rope behind them and ushers them down the secondary lane, to the front of the line. Oblivious, Rory clings to his mother’s hand and bounces on his heels and when they reach the front, throws his little arms around Geoff’s legs.
“Thank you, Mr. Attennant!”
Geoff gulps, eyes frozen on River as he pats Rory’s head awkwardly. “No—no problem.” Slinking out of the hold, he ushers them into the next car that pulls up. “There you go, have a great ride, thank you, enjoy the—” He trips backwards. “Enjoy.”
John waits until the car starts down the track. “Do I even want to know?”
Smirking, River shrugs. “Probably not.”
--
They stay for a week, with one day at the aquarium, and frequent breaks back to the hotel to let Rory nap. River spoils him rotten, worse than John, buying him stuffed animals and t-shirts and, Rory’s personal favourite, a rhinestoned crown and wand. He wears them constantly, only taking off the crown on rides, demanding River keep it safe for him until it’s over.
John loses count of how many wands and crowns the two of them—well, mostly him—break or lose, but she somehow always manages to replace them before Rory notices.
By the third day she’s relaxed enough to actually enjoy herself, and while she’s still on alert constantly, still tenses at people running into her and keeps a hand firmly on Rory’s shoulder, she laughs more, and smiles brighter, and for the first time in weeks, grabs him by his bowtie and drags him into the shower with her while Rory’s sleeping.
When later asked, he insists the third day was the best.
--
By the time they leave, they have to buy another (Disney) suitcase to fit all of Rory’s things. He insists on presents for his friend Myra, too, and something for Nana and PopPop, and Auntie Donna and Uncle Jack and pretty soon everyone has a trinket because River can’t bear to stifle her son’s generosity.
John rolls his eyes, but dutifully wears the Little Mermaid necklace Rory picks out for him.
Even on the plane.
--
“Oh, thank god,” River sighs, collapsing into their bed, face pressed into the pillows. “Home.”
John’s heart swells at the term. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he runs a hand over her spine.
“You were amazing,” he murmurs.
“‘M ‘sahusted,” she mumbles, and John laughs, leaning over to kiss her cheek. River turns, grabbing the back of his neck and hauls him down, her lips slanting over his. He loses his balance, crashing into her and River laughs, her hand slipping beneath his jacket to push it off his shoulders.
“Clumsy oaf,” she murmurs fondly.
John snorts. “Says the woman who’s trying to seduce me half asleep.”
“Like I even have to,” she mutters, nuzzling her face into his neck, and John sighs, sitting up briefly to squirm out of his button-up, braces, and trousers. River does the same, shedding her clothes until she’s down to her underwear, and slips under the covers. The moment he does the same, she drapes herself over him, head pillowed on his chest, legs intertwined.
“Your feet are cold,” John whines.
River drags a foot higher up the inside of his thigh.
“Wench.”
She smiles against his chest, and when it fades, he assumes she’s fallen asleep. He reaches out and turns off the light and burrows deeper under the covers, content with the soft press of her against him, her smell.
“John?”
“Hmm?”
Her voice is quiet, almost small. “Do you think it’ll get easier?”
“What’d you mean?”
“Going places. Large crowds. All the research, all the—the security.” She looks up at him, her eyes bright. “Is it always going to be like this?”
John slides a hand over her ribs and buries his nose in her hair. “Nah,” he murmurs, “It’s not.”
“How do you know?”
Against her crown, he smiles. “Magic 8 Ball.”