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"I've come from the Doctor, too."
"Yes, but at a different point in time."
"Unless there's two of them."
"Now. That's a whole different birthday."
--River Song and Rory Williams, A Good Man Goes to War
It is her birthday, and she is wearing a ridiculous conical paper hat of the sort favored by earth children in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. It is precisely the sort of hat her husband—he of ridiculous fashion sense—had affirmatively declared “cool.” She had, of course, objected strenuously when Amy had first presented the hat to her, but with hands on her hips, Amy had admonished, “River Song, you are my daughter, and it is your birthday. We will have a party, and you will wear a party hat.”
When she had looked to her father for support, Rory had simply shrugged and given her a look that silently expressed, “It’s better just to listen to your mother.”
And so, it is her birthday, and she is wearing a party hat while standing on the back porch of the Pond residence with a glass of white wine in her hand, listening to the festivities through the open door to the living room. It is a perfectly lovely party with many of her parents’ friends—her friends in another lifetime—in attendance, but she cannot help but feel a tinge of disappointment.
The Doctor had promised they would go traveling to celebrate her birthday. He had even agreed to dinner at the restaurant overlooking the Singing Towers of Darillium. The stories of the Singing Towers had always fascinated her, and she’d been asking him to take her there for some time now.
Things always seemed to come up, however, and they had never made it there despite her many requests. So she had looked forward to this night with the Doctor in front of the Towers.
The Doctor was at the party tonight, currently inside dancing and entertaining the guests with his juvenile antics. River couldn’t quite imagine Amy would have hosted a party without inviting her raggedy man, but the Doctor who showed up at Stormcage to break her out and escort her to the party was a much younger version than the one who had promised to take her to the Towers.
For a time traveler, he had never been great at keeping track of time, and he stubbornly refused to learn how to truly run the TARDIS. So, she supposes, she cannot be entirely surprised that he had gotten it wrong. She knows she should take comfort in the fact that the Doctor—her Doctor—would never deliberately lie to her, and it's likely that another later version of herself is currently enjoying a lovely dinner in front of the Singing Towers.
But, still, it is a bit disappointing. Glancing up at the sky once more, as if she could somehow see through galaxies and years to where she is enjoying Darillium with the Doctor, she sighs and lifts the wine glass to her lips and empties it.
She’s just turned her back to the expansive yard, ready to go back inside and dance with her husband—maybe whisper innuendos in his ear that will make this younger version blush all the way to the tip of his ears—when a familiar wheezing sound comes from behind her. River doesn’t have to turn around to know someone is landing a TARDIS on the Pond’s lawn, but she does anyway.
A smile creeping to her face, she reaches out and sets her empty glass on the table and takes a hesitant step toward the blue box. She’s only taken a few steps onto the grass when the door opens and her Doctor—much older than the Doctor who is currently cutting a rug inside her parents’ home and dressed in a black tuxedo with an inappropriately bright red bow tie around his neck—steps out of the TARDIS.
“Hello Sweetie,” He calls out in a perfect impersonation of her usual greeting, and he leans back against the side of the blue box in a pose that demonstrates more bravado and less childish awkwardness than the younger version of her husband possesses.
“Hello, Pretty Boy,” She greets with a smile, closing the distance between them with hurried steps and practically throwing herself at him in a most undignified fashion.
Their lips fuse, and the kiss is new and familiar all at once. It's a benefit of their backwards love story. Nothing can ever be boring and predictable when it's impossible to predict which version will be meeting up with which.
She is reaching into the pouch she always keeps at her waist to retrieve her diary for comparison and his hands are tangling in her hair as he pulls her deeper into the kiss when a voice familiar to them both calls from behind her, “Oh, River. Where are--”
They break off the kiss, and she turns and glances guiltily over her shoulder. Standing in the doorway, a party hat on his head and a gaping and confused expression on his face, is the younger version of the man who just had his tongue down her throat.
Oh no. Things are never boring and predictable.
“Hello Sweetie, did you come to join us?” She raises her eyebrow and lowers her voice in such a way that she knows the double entendre will not be missed, her eyes darting between the two men, “What ever did I do to deserve two of you for my birthday?”
The Doctor standing on the back porch glances nervously back to the party behind him, and she knows exactly what he’s thinking.
“Mummy doesn’t have to know, Sweetie.” She jerks her head back toward the TARDIS and teases, “It’s a time machine. We’ll take it and do whatever we want for as long as we like and pop it back a second later. She’ll never know we were gone.”
She glances back at the tuxedo-clad version of her husband who just grins and shrugs before focusing his attention on his younger counterpart, “She's quite clever, isn't she?”
She can see his resolve crumbling and knows they have all but convinced him when he finishes crossing the lawn toward the TARDIS and protests lamely: “Crossing time streams.”
“You know, sometimes I forget that you're really just an old codger under that ridiculous face,” River rolls her eyes. She reaches out and curls her fingers around the lapel of his jacket tugging him forward and into the TARDIS with her in a simple command.
Both versions of her husband follow her into the TARDIS. One—she isn't sure which because her back is turned—lets out a nervous giggle as she hurries up the steps to the console, her excitement at the prospect of two Doctors on her birthday almost too much to bear.
“Where to, River Song?” The older one wonders, taking his position next to her at the console as he begins flipping levers to activate the machine, “Mars is quite nice this time of year.”
“Oh no, my love, you promised me Darillium.”
She's already inputting the coordinates into the TARDIS mainframe, and she nearly misses the look that passes between her companions at the suggestion. The younger Doctor, who has just now made his way to the console, has turned ghost white and sputters, “Da-Darillium. As in the Singing Towers?”
“Oh yes, dinner in front of the Towers. I hear their lovely.” She confirms, noting his hesitation.
“That restaurant is rubbish,” The tuxedo-clad Doctor interrupts, hastily erasing the coordinates from the console.
“Absolute rubbish,” his counterpart agrees.
“You can't keep cancelling on me.”She demands, trying desperately not to allow her frustration to crush her excitement at a birthday with two Doctors.
The air hangs heavy for a moment, and she's preparing to unleash a torrent of fury and demand they explain themselves, when the older version of her husband slips an arm around the small of her back while his free hand types something into the console. Heat radiates from his body as his breath ghosts across her cheek before he suggests, “How do you feel about cocktails?”
“On the moon,” The other Doctor finishes, and suddenly he's standing much closer than before on her other side.
She shivers just a bit as the younger Doctor ghosts his fingertips tantalizingly along her left forearm, and she cocks a flirtatious eyebrow while wondering, “With both of you?”
* * *
Her head is still swimming with an intoxication that is only partly a result of the multiple Samarian Sunsets and Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters she had enjoyed on the moon when they finally return the TARDIS to the Ponds’ lawn much later. Well, she considers with a smirk, it is much later for the inhabitants of the TARDIS; ideally, it is but a few minutes later on planet earth.
As far as birthdays go, she can’t quite complain. Though they never did make it to Darilium, River has no plans to allow that idea to fall by the wayside. He had once promised to take her there, and she will personally assure that Rule Number One does not apply to this promise.
But, just right now, she's having a difficult time truly dwelling on the Doctor’s belayed promise as she bids farewell to the older of her two husbands and grasps the hand of the younger version to pull him out of the TARDIS with her and onto the lawn. River pulls the TARDIS door shut behind her, and she’s still laughing as she pulls the Doctor along with her up to the deck.
The laughter slips from her lips as a red-haired woman storms from the back door, followed closely by her husband who is clearly trying desperately to placate her. With her hands on her hips and an expression that absolutely screams angry Scottish woman, Amy demands, “Melody Amelia Pond, where have you been?”
Obviously, they hadn’t timed their return as perfectly as River had planned. Really, she only had herself to blame. She’d been a bit distracted when the older version of her husband had been piloting them back to the TARDIS. She’ll have to remember that, in the future, she should be the one in charge of navigation.
Speaking of her husband, River notes with a bemused eye roll that the Doctor is literally cowering at the angry woman in front of him, situating himself behind River so as to avoid the majority of the wrath. Perhaps it's because she spent much of her life as Amy and Rory’s best friend or because she has the genes and temper that exclusively belongs to the Pond women, but River does not cower under Amy’s glare.
Instead, she shrugs and flippantly answers, “Cocktails. On the moon.”
Amy’s eyes flare in anger, but before she can demand further explanation or lecture River and the Doctor, the familiar wheezing sound of a departing TARDIS disrupts whatever it was she had been going to say. A look of confusion crosses Amy’s face, and she looks from the Doctor standing next to River to the disappearing TARDIS.
“How… But, I thought you two came by way of the vortex manipulator. What was a TARDIS doing here?” Amy wonders.
The Doctor noticeably shifts in discomfort, but River just laughs, “Well, another Doctor was so kind as to pay me a visit on my birthday. You know, fulfill certain, shall we say… wishes of mine?”
A look of realization dawns on Amy’s face almost immediately, and River is almost certain she can spot an appreciative smile curling the corners of her mother’s mouth. But Rory does not quite seem to have followed the entire train of thought, and wonders, “Wishes?”
Never one to miss an opportunity to make a man blush or squirm in discomfort—even if that man does happen to be her father—River just grins, “Let’s just say, there were two of them…”
It takes a few moments to comprehend her implication, but soon the color is draining from his face. Rory’s mouth hangs open and his expression is some mix of horror, disgust, and disbelief. His gaze shifts between the Doctor, River, and the spot on the lawn where the TARDIS vacated just moments before.
He glances to his wife, but Amy’s indignation and anger of just moments before has been replaced with an expression of amusement at her husband’s obvious discomfort. Crossing her arms over her chest, she just smirks at Rory who finally sputters out, “You did what? With my daughter?”
Smirking, River picks up the empty wine glass she had set aside when the TARDIS had appeared on the lawn earlier as she starts into the Pond’s home calling over her shoulder, “Mummy, dear, I think father needs a drink.”