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i.
The first time he meets River Song, he is nothing but scared. This woman knows him; it's not strange, and it is hardly the first time he meets someone from his future. It's okay, he tells himself.
It's not okay. River Song cares for him, she has a diary that looks like a small copy of his TARDIS, and she knows his bloody name. His name that he hasn't heard someone say in centuries, and it makes his chest ache because there's only one reason why he'd tell anyone his name. And now, knowing how it ends before it's even begun, he promises himself that he'll do everything in his power to never make it happen — so when the time comes, he never has to see the woman with the hair of a goddess fade away in front of his very eyes.
**
It goes well at first. As he happens to find out, River Song is infuriating. It helps a lot. She's also flirty and irresistible, and she may be the cleverest person he's ever known, including himself. So no, it doesn't go that well, after all.
He tries anyway. The Doctor resists her as long as he can; he pretends he doesn't get her innuendos, he doesn't look her in the eye, always keeps her at arm's length, and never, never travels without a companion to insinuate between them. He actually manages to last a few decades before River Song kisses him in the dark of her cell. It's not unexpected; she's been flirting at him shamelessly for quite a while now. It's unexpected as hell because, while he knew it was going to happen one day, he never thought it would feel like this — like the explosion of the universe, like the theft of the TARDIS right under the noses of all those cleverish Time Lords, like the birth of a star, and even more. It feels like everything he's ever craved and didn't even know he has.
He's not sure what to do with his hands, they are too long and clumsy, and he feels that touching a woman like River Song is something sacred, something he needs to cherish, and in this new body, he doesn't quite know how yet (blimey, who does he intend to fool? None of his regenerations have ever been ready for a moment like this). And to be honest, this young body of his doesn't help at all, reacting to her the way it does.
The Doctor wants to pull away; to forget this kiss has ever happened, for his sake and for her own because he knows it'll hurt. Been there, done that, that's what he thinks about hurting, and relationships, and women; and, scared of getting burned again, he almost pulls away.
She pulls him closer. He's not surprised that she does, nor that he doesn't actually mind it. Because kissing River Song feels somewhat like a blessing, and the Doctor has been nothing but cursed his whole existence.
**
He learns to live with it. He learns to live with his little goddess, with her laughing with and at him, running with him towards the edge of the universe whenever he asks her to and whenever he doesn't, with her loving him, and him growing to love her in return.
It's painful. Loving her hurts every moment of the day, it haunts him for centuries because, however happy they may be, he always knows how it ends. The Doctor counts days before the Library comes and forgets to live them with her, to cherish what little time they have — centuries, really, but could it ever be enough with a woman like River Song? Not for him anyway.
So, when the Library finally comes, he finds himself unprepared, neither for saving her nor losing her. His little goddess is smiling and bubbling happily about finally becoming a Professor — and he could never imagine her bubbling, he thinks, and there's still so much he wants to show her, so much he needs to learn from her, so much he... — she's packing her clothes, and if she sees how heartbroken he is, she doesn't mention it. He wouldn't have either. It's just easier this way.
He'd like to stay in their small bubble of happiness for the rest of his almost immortal existence because she's the only person that makes him feel alive. He smiles reassuringly and keeps her close, hugs her for what feels like hours but is seconds in reality. Or maybe it's hours that feel like seconds because his time with River is so precious and it's just never enough?
It's never enough, he thinks, and when the door closes after her, the Doctor lets himself break. He cries and destroys the TARDIS's rooms, all except their bedroom, and then he sobs on their bed that still smells like his wife; the word itself seems so small and insignificant, compared to what he feels for River. She's his companion in life, his equal, his everything, he admits to himself, seconds before she becomes a ghost on the other side of the galaxy.
ii.
And then it happens all over again. His life with her begins just when her life with him comes to an end. And this is his biggest curse.
This Doctor is angrier with life and the universe, and he doesn't let himself fall for River for a century. He pushes her away when she kisses him for the first time and doesn't visit her for years. He's cruel, and he knows it but it's just too much to bear. He keeps travelling with his companions but none of them feel like River Song. The Doctor hates comparing the others to her as he knows they could never even hope to stand a chance. He hates comparing River to the others that travel with him because there's no one quite like her.
At the realisation of this, he stops resisting and gives in. They're at the lake Silencio, and the Doctor doesn't bring his friends this time. When River comes to kill him, he's been waiting for her for hours, and he kisses her the moment he sees her. He knows she's young, younger than any other version of her he's met but he can't resist it. She hacks the system — because she's River, his clever and amazing River, and how could he ever imagine willingly living his life without her? – and they stay at the beach until the dawn comes.
It's difficult then because she didn't kill him and because the universe is tearing apart, but how can he bring himself to care about the universe when he's holding River in his arms, they're in their bedroom in the TARDIS, she smells like rain, and time, and mint tea, and it's everything he's ever needed? The universe can wait a little, just this one time.
They fool the universe. They fool the Silence and run towards the edge of the universe together again. A few times she almost jumps but the Doctor keeps his psychopath still and warm, loving her the best he can, showing his love for her the best he can. It's new and precious, and it still hurts but life without her is more painful anyway, so he just shrugs and says he's all in. It finally feels like their happily ever after.
The Library comes anyway.
iii.
The Doctor doesn't feel like helping the universe anymore. Why should he when all it does is make him lose the only person that really matters all over again? He could say he'd die for her but he'd die for an innocent child, and for an old friend, and even for one specific Sontaran if he had to. For her, he'd finally live again, freeing himself from the desire to end this all he'd felt for centuries before she fell out of the sky and changed his life completely. Finally, someone who matches him perfectly, who makes him feel the way all these humans do when they meet him. He's always wondered what's so exciting about a madman in a box. The madwoman with a gun made him see.
So, the Doctor is selfish this time 'round. He meets River halfway and never lets go of her again. She doesn't seem to mind, his little goddess.
He doesn't count days before the Library comes anymore. Instead, he counts days before he's there to catch her. And it takes him more than one, or two, or five hundred attempts to do it but it's the only way that feels right, the only way his own life seems right. He changes his face, and when it's time to go to the Library, he gives River a screwdriver, just like his. Her sun to his moon.
It'll take time, he knows, but it'll be worth it in the end (or in their new beginning, as he likes to think of it). It took him precisely 824 years to find a solution; now he'll wait another eight hundred years for his plan to work. His screwdriver will not only save her to the database, it will then save every part of her life, every detail, and every personality trait, everything she is and has ever been, and keep it safe in the Library. And when the time comes, it should be easier to transfer her back as someone's physical body doesn't take up a lot of space, it's people's memory that makes it so hard to come back. But River Song, his little goddess, will.
By the time, he'll have changed his face again, he feels it. Maybe he'll finally be ginger. Or blonde, or brunet, or bald, really, because with River in his life, these little things he was so worried about before don't matter anymore. He knows now that however he looks, she'll always be everything he needs to be happy.
iv.
The Doctor has travelled with her fam for quite a while now. She likes them, though she doesn't always understand them, and she knows they don't understand her either. They want to, but they never can. It makes her feel sick because the only person who's ever understood her perfectly is still a ghost in the database, somewhere.
The Doctor's started counting days again. It's not long, only a few months now, but these last few months seem an eternity to her. She's excited and sad, and nostalgic, and she has so many things to ask her wife about. About River, mostly, and her life there, her friends and lovers (she hopes not but it's been a long time, and the fact that the Doctor has never felt attracted to anyone but River doesn't mean River hasn't either); but she also has to ask her so much about this new, female, body because it's complicated. It's strange and pleasant at the same time; it feels like the body of a stranger but she also knows that she's never felt more like herself than in this weak, fragile body that doesn't like fish fingers and custard but enjoys fruit and sometimes beer, and ohh, salty caramel is amazing.
Apparently, she also has periods now, something she doesn't know how to deal with either. She wants to ask River if they can have periods together, lying in their bed all day (because hell, it hurts, and she can't even walk on her first day) and watching Netflix (because hey, humans are brilliant, even if they haven't quite got the hang of time travelling, like every other planet has, yet; Netflix is fascinating anyway) until they feel sick of everything but each other.
Sometimes they will be sick of each other too, she thinks. It will be pleasant, however; she'll finally have her River to be sick of, and her life will finally feel right. Her life will finally be full again.
**
When the day comes, the Doctor is anything but calm. She's scared and happy, and just a little bit more in love with her wife than she was back then.
The childish man in a fez she used to be would always mumble about his feelings under his breath because he didn't do sentimental and because River knew he loved her even without him telling her, didn't she? He'd married her, after all.
The Scottish man with a dirty mouth and angry eyebrows would never tell his wife about his affection at all. He would've done something about it instead — like kissing her, and showing her the brightest stars in the whole universe, and saving the world just to see his little goddess's smile again.
Now the Doctor knows she'll whisper the words of affection in River's ear every moment of every day they'll have together because that's what she deserves, being loved and knowing about it. Her wife will call her an idiot and mock her for being so stupid, and sentimental, and so very much in love with a human but her bright smile will be the only thing that'll matter to the Doctor. "You're not human, River Song," she'll say. "You're just like me. Ancient, and broken, and beautiful."
"I'm happy you don't suffer from low self-esteem, sweetie," River'll tell her then.
"I love you," the Doctor'll whisper and squeeze her tighter. "I love you, I love you, I love you" (and that will be a promise).
**
The Doctor lands on the planet early in the morning. She waits worryingly, squaring her shoulders and drumming on the console impatiently. She worries, of course she does, because she knows it wasn't 100% safe and there's still a small chance River won't come back to her at all.
So, when she sees her wife finally beginning to materialise — the sun has long gone down, and she's been biting her nails for hours now — she lets out a sigh of relief. River is almost here now, she opens her eyes and looks at the Doctor, in shock. The Doctor reaches out for her wife's hand and before she can take it in hers, River is suddenly gone. Like ashes, scattered to the wind.
The Doctor cries out, and it takes her a few moments to realise that River Song is really, properly gone this time. She doesn't believe it, refuses to. She cries, and sobs, and curls up on the cold floor of the Library because there's nothing that gives her hope anymore, nothing that gives her the strength to go on with her life.
She doesn't know if it's been minutes or hours, or days, really, lying there, on the planet that has become her little goddess's prison. She can still smell her, somehow — rain, and time, and mint tea — and it breaks her heart all over again.
**
She's still lying on the cold floor of this God-forgotten place, filled with self-loathing and grief for her beautiful, beautiful wife when she hears a voice calling for her. It's familiar, though she can't quite single it out from all the voices in her head.
"Doctor," the voice says. "Doctor, open your eyes." She does, and for a moment she can't register where she is or who's talking to her until the realisation dawns on her and makes her sob.
"You've been screaming in your sleep," Graham whispers gently. "It was just a dream, Doctor."
Just a dream, she thinks. It didn't feel like one. It felt real and so very heartbreaking, and she's just glad that it's over now. The Doctor looks at Graham, wide-eyed, her breath hitched, and refuses to ever close her eyes again. She should've never fallen asleep in the first place. "Want to talk about it?" He inquires quietly.
"It was about my wife," she whispers sadly. Graham nods reassuringly because she told them. Of course she did, she's not that brainless idiot who'd never — ever — let any of his companions know he had a wife. He was selfish, wanting to keep River to himself. This Doctor wants to scream about her love to the world. "I'm taking her home today," she shares with Graham, and her voice nearly breaks.
If he notices, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Good for her," he says instead. "It will be all right, Doc. No need to worry."
"What if I can't bring her back? What if something goes wrong and-" She stops, feeling Graham pat the back of her hand.
"Of course you can," he gives her a warm laugh. "You're brilliant. And from what you've told us, she is brilliant too. She won't let some measly excuse for a planet take her away from you. Not when you're holding her hand, Doc," he smiles at her, and for the very first time in centuries, she feels like she may really be strong enough to survive this day, whatever the outcome is.
"I just hope I'm doing the right thing," she sniffs. What if River has a life there? What if she has a family, people she truly loves, and the Doctor's just going to take it all away from her because she's selfish enough to want her wife back?
"We'll have to see," Graham admits then honestly, not so cruel to give her false hope. "But I think you are," his gaze is warm and calming, and the Doctor finally lets herself breathe out. So much to think about, so much to consider but she doesn't care a bit. All she cares about is bringing her little goddess back home.
**
When the sun goes up, the Doctor is already there, sighing and roaming around, never being able to sit still. It's hours before she can finally see the first signs of River, materialising in front of her. She almost runs up to her and holds her tight, refusing to let go.
When River is standing in front of her very eyes, all safe and sound, the Doctor lets out a watery laugh, takes the screwdriver that's been kept in the Library for all these years, and scans River with it, projecting all of her memories into her mind. She knows it's important to do this the very first moment after being transferred because later, when River comes to her senses, all this memory may be too much to bear for her.
River blinks at her, still shocked. "River, do you remember me?" The Doctor asks patiently, though she's already beaming innerly. "I'm the Doctor."
River frowns at her. "Are you here to treat me?" She asks. The Doctor's hearts sink.
Her wife is standing in front of her, alive and saved from the Library, and she doesn't remember her. Suddenly, the Doctor's out of breath and wants to cry so badly. Of course she knew there was a risk of damage to her memory but she had never even considered it. She never had because it's the screwdriver the TARDIS had made — it's the same as the one that'd saved her own life so many times — and because she could never imagine River forgetting her, not like this. She should have, really. She's so stupid, so incredibly stupid, and now River-
"For God's sake, stop thinking," she lifts up her gaze and realises that diving into self-blame all too soon, she's missed a wicked glint in her wife's eyes. "Of course I remember you, idiot."
The Doctor chuckles awkwardly. "You do?"
River nods. "I could never forget you, sweetie," she whispers, her voice full of love. "Never."
The Doctor laughs again, staring at her wife in awe. "You're even more beautiful than this stupid brain of mine ever cared to remember," she huffs.
"How long has it been for you?" River asks suddenly, her expression worried, and oh, why should her little goddess always be so selfless and kind? She's been dead for centuries and now that she's finally back, all she can bring herself to care about is her Doctor, silly and awkward, and so lost without her in this world.
The Doctor smiles, "Didn't really have time to count but I think about eight." River arches her eyebrow. "Hundred years," the Doctor adds sheepishly.
River stares at her in surprise. "You could've skipped some of them," she says, collecting herself. "All of them, really."
The Doctor snorts. "Of course I couldn't."
Her wife squares her shoulders and looks like she's readying herself for a fight. "Don't be ridiculous, of course you could!"
The Doctor shakes her head no. "You are not listening to me, love," she says, smiling. "I was able to, yes. But I couldn't bring myself to do it because you deserve so much more. You are worth waiting for, honey," she smiles even brighter, the endearments slipping off her tongue like it's been days, not centuries, since the last time she saw her wife. She's caressing River's hands and looking her right in the eye. "And I know I wasn't exactly a perfect husband — wife?" She chuckles at that, "but I want you to know that wherever and whenever you are, I'll always be there to catch you."
"This version of you is very sentimental," River frowns but her eyes get watery at the confession. "I'm not sure I like it."
"No," the Doctor answers immediately. "This version of me just has eyes and a brain to finally appreciate you the way I should've ages ago." She reaches out for River, and the woman meets her halfway. They hug each other tightly, while the Doctor murmurs, "And I think you like it pretty much, thank you." And then her little goddess chuckles — what a wonderful, wonderful sound — and kisses her, her lips soft and demanding all at once, and the Doctor sees sparks everywhere, though her eyes are still closed shut. River has always made her see the stars with nothing but her mouth.
The Doctor pulls away a little, inquiring, "What do you think, by the way?"
"Of what?" River asks quietly, playing with her wife's — that's certainly one very pleasant bonus — hair.
"My new body, River," the Doctor grumbles.
"Oh, I'll let you know," she replies coquettishly. "I've only seen the face."
The Doctor lets out a low sound and doesn't blush. She likes that for a change. "You will see the rest of it," she says, grinning widely, practically beaming. "After I've taken you home."
River almost feels her body shiver. "Home," she repeats, tasting the word on her tongue, and admits, "I love the sound of it."
"And I love you," the Doctor whispers in her ear. Later that night, when they've returned to the TARDIS and she has taken her friends back home for some time, they're lying in their bed that smells like River again – rain, and time, and mint tea — and the Doctor keeps whispering, "I love you, I love you, I love you" (and that is a promise).