Work Text:
River Song stands amongst the damp, musty books as the shadows rise, watching the Doctor vaulting over bookcases and sonicing everything in sight.
It has been so long, so long, since she ran with him. The last adventure for her before she came to the Library was the Fields of Trenzalore. After that, he took her to Darillium, to see the Singing Towers. The towers sang, and he cried. That night, she told him she had signed up with Strackman Lux's expedition to the Library.
He promised her he would come when she called. But the message left too early, and the Doctor she has received is so impossibly young. Two hundred years before her Doctor, if she has her timelines correct.
With her eyes on him, River watches the Doctor as he kneels before one of the shadows. Tonight, he is her only hope. Young as he is, she needs him to know what they face, otherwise they are lost. The last of the Time Lords must be the hero of the hour, because she can't be, and she feels so damn helpless.
The Doctor she has come from is so conceited, with his bowtie and love of hats. At the same time, he is a power all on his own, even as he steps back into the shadows. He has just lost his companion and now, in her knowledge that she may never return from the Library, River feels guilt for leaving him alone.
This Doctor is always on his feet, and talks at a hundred miles per hour. His glasses are almost the same as her Doctor's, except for the square lenses that sit on his face, in front of brown eyes that are so young, yet so old. Even his sonic screwdriver is different to the screwdriver of the Doctor she knows. It's so out-dated - it doesn't even have red settings yet.
But one thing that has remained the same through the incarnations is that the Doctor has absolutely no sense of fashion.
In a sudden movement, her husband shoots to his feet and swings around, flipping his torch end over end as he does so, and two words fall from his mouth.
"Vashta Nerada!"
Those two words tell her there is nothing to do, except run.
