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Everybody knew the Doctor danced. It was hard to miss him when he did. But few people knew that he could dance the way River knew he could. That was a secret between him, her and a handful of sleepy orchestras scattered across time and space.
The lights were always dim by the time they took to the floor together, most all the courtiers or crowds having turned in for the night. Perhaps even the staff would begin to appear from the kitchen, clearing banquet tables and mopping around the edges of the dance floor. They would do everything within the bounds of polite society to silently say, “Will you go home already? We’re tired.”
And River might have felt sympathy for them, really, but it was only every so often that she found herself swept up in her husband’s arms, swaying in time to the music. Less and less now as the years went on, too, and she kept bumping into younger versions of him. He’d warned her, of course, but it only made her cling harder to him when they did share a dance like this, not that she would ever admit it aloud.
His gangly limbs and jerky movements smoothed out, and he matched her step for graceful step. Not that River didn’t find some amusement with his typical style of dance — only the Doctor would lack the sense of shame to dance with such childish abandon and often draw others into it with him. But this was something he only did with her, for her, and that made it special. That made it theirs.
Could she help it that she wanted it to last? After all, so long as they stayed there, alone on the floor but for the mournful notes of some poor sod not paid enough for this, it was still nighttime. Their time. Stormcage or her classes at the university or her various expeditions and other side hobbies could wait just a few moments more.
The beat slowed, and River lifted her head from his shoulder, catching him gazing at her with open fondness. She focused instead on fixing his bow tie, which had been knocked slightly askew.
“One more, Professor?”
Her hearts did a tiny leap in her chest, but River kept a languid smile on her face. “Oh, what can it hurt?”
With a snap of his fingers and a, “Maestro, if you please,” the two of them were off, accompanied by a few weary sighs up on the bandstand.
It wasn’t over until the last dance, and that was for them to decide.