Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The TARDIS was quieter than usual when River stepped through the door. It creaked, as it always did – a familiar, living sort of sound – but beyond that, the ship barely murmured. The usual hum, ever-present yet comforting, had dimmed to something softer, subdued.

She slowed her steps, coat draped over her arm, and surveyed the space. The golden glow that typically bathed the control room was now tinged with red, the console mostly dark except for a few scattered switches and levers pulsing faintly. The central column thrummed in a low, green hum. No groaning of shifting mechanics, no cheerful beeping or whir of unseen machinery. Not even the gentle rattling of that one switch the Doctor stubbornly kept, simply because he liked the noise.

That wasn’t a good sign.

"Anyone home?" River called into the hush.

The TARDIS responded immediately.

The doors swung shut behind her, not rushed, not forceful – just final, like a greeting. The glow of the console brightened, circuitry awakening like a creature stirring from sleep. The middle column came to life, sending a soft pulse of energy through the room. And then, at last, the rattle switch rattled.

River smiled. She adored this ship. This was home.

But beyond the TARDIS’s wordless welcome, the silence remained.

No Amy or Rory calling from somewhere deeper inside. No Doctor popping up from under the console, grumbling about some impossibly complex repair only to abandon it seconds later. No one. Just her.

She let out a breath, draping her coat over the railing before stepping to the console. A quick flick of her wrist swung the monitor around, but all it displayed was the idle screensaver, drifting aimlessly from corner to corner. She tapped a switch, and the Gallifreyan symbols flared to life across the screen.

"Fancy a ride, old girl?" she murmured, fingers hovering over the controls.

The TARDIS purred in answer.

That was all the encouragement she needed. With a knowing grin, River flipped a series of switches, then pushed down the main lever. The lights flickered. The familiar shudder of engines taking flight rippled through the floor, thrumming up her spine; without the groaning and sighing.

As the ship moved, River wandered the control room, taking in the small details that might tell her which version of the Doctor she’d just stolen.

Not that she was new to this sort of thing.

She’d taken the TARDIS out for joyrides before, slipping off while the Doctor was busy elsewhere. He never checked the mileage – he never thought to. And honestly, half the time she hadn’t even meant to steal it. Sometimes she simply found the TARDIS waiting, abandoned in a corner of some distant world, or drifting through the vastness of space, searching for an anchor while the Doctor was off on one of his distractions.

She had a key, of course. But even if she didn’t, the ship would have let her in. The TARDIS had always chosen her, in ways even the Doctor didn’t entirely understand.

Yes, this was familiar.

She had the distinct feeling this would be one of those times.

River had just returned the Stolen Star of Eloaria to its rightful grave.

The fools who had taken it hadn't realized what they were tampering with – hadn't understood that the graveyard and the Star were inextricably linked. That the ancient relic wasn’t a relic at all, but a prison. And when they unearthed it, cracking open a tomb that was never meant to be disturbed, they freed the Vogorian warlord sealed inside.

Things had gone spectacularly wrong from there.

The scientists had tried to contain him, of course. But their efforts had been clumsy, their technology inadequate. The warlord had torn through them, their ship had crashed, and the planet had suffered for their mistake. It had taken River – armed with quick thinking, sharper reflexes, and an impressive amount of explosives – to set things right.

Now, the warlord was back in his prison, the Star buried deep beneath the graves where it belonged. This time, River had made sure it would stay there.

She had intended to steal a spaceship after that, something fast, something sleek. She was ready to leave this miserable rock behind. But then, through the swirling dust and the eerie stillness of the graveyard, she'd seen it.

A blue box.

Standing alone among the tombstones, silent, solemn. Waiting. This was better than any stolen spaceship.

River hadn’t known what to expect when she stepped inside, she never did when she stole the TARDIS. The Doctor could be anywhere in his timeline. He could be anyone. But she could fly every version of the TARDIS – had learned its moods, its quirks – so that part didn't matter. What mattered was knowing which version of him she was dealing with.

There were always clues.

Some Doctors were more chaotic than others, some left their belongings scattered, some kept their ship in pristine order. And then there were the times she found a mess – not the playful, absentminded kind, but something heavier. A mess that wasn’t about forgetfulness, but loss.

The TARDIS hummed softly beneath her fingertips as she moved further inside. And then, just by the staircase, she saw it.

A box.

River crouched, glancing inside and stilled. Melody Malone’s book. Amy’s glasses. A few of Amy and Rory’s clothes.

Oh.

A shiver ran down her spine.

She had travelled with him for a while after her parents… well, they hadn’t died. Not exactly. Not in a way that left bodies behind. But they were gone. Trapped in a time he couldn’t reach, locked away where even the Doctor couldn’t touch them.

She had stayed with him for a week after that. And then, suddenly, she hadn’t.

No goodbyes, no warning – just a moment where she had said something, the wrong thing, and he had dematerialized without her. Sometimes, when the grief was too much, the Doctor shut people out.

River understood. She didn’t blame him. Not for that.

He was someone who loved deeply, fiercely. He wasn’t built to lose. And when he did, he raged like a storm and burned like a dying star.

And Amy… Amy had been one of his brightest lights.

Back then, River had been grieving too. She had lost her parents, just as he had lost his best friends. And at the time, she hadn’t had the strength to do both – mask her pain and carry his. So she had let him sulk, let him push her away, let him disappear.

A mistake, as it turned out.

For a man so loud, so impossible to miss, the Doctor could make himself vanish when he wanted to. He could slip through the cracks of time and space, retreat into the smallest, loneliest corners of the universe. Like a graveyard. On an abandoned planet. In the dullest part of the galaxy.

It had been a year since she lost them.

For him? Not nearly as long. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed in his timeline, but the wounds were still fresh – too fresh.

A sudden pling! cut through her thoughts.

River blinked, looking up as a small alert flashed on the scanner. A maintenance notice. Her fingers hovered over the console before brushing lightly against the TARDIS’s surface.

“Oh… so not alone, then,” she murmured.

She turned on her heel. What is he doing?

The temperature shifted as she stepped into the corridors, the air growing warmer, the ship subtly guiding her toward him. She could navigate these halls as easily as the Doctor could, but she hesitated. For a moment, she considered stopping by her room – fresh clothes, a quick shower. But what the TARDIS had just shown her was more important than shaking off the dust of a long fight.

If he was here, she had to find him.

And she didn’t have to search long.

She heard him before she saw him.

“Seven-four-one, check. Seven-four-two… a little weak, don’t you think? I’ll just add a little more… okay, check. Seven-four-three… works fine. Brilliant. Knew it would. Seven-four-five?… no. Seven-four-four, first. What do we think of seven-four-four?”

River slowed.

His voice carried through the corridor, but something about it was… off. Too casual, too self-contained. He was talking, but was it to himself or to… anyone?

Had he actually listened to her? Had he found someone new to keep him from being alone? She doubted it. It was too soon for him. But still, the way he spoke – it almost sounded like he wasn’t alone.

She stopped, brushing off her shoes to be a little less noisy. Barefoot now, she padded forward in silence, leaving her shoes by the wall. If there was someone else with him, she wanted to know before announcing herself.

But why wasn’t he in the control room?

Hadn’t he noticed the TARDIS was flying? Even if she flew her in silent mode – the way she preferred it, without the ship’s groans of protest – he should have felt the shift, sensed the movement. A Time Lord always knew when his ship was in motion.

Didn’t he?

River reached the open door of one of the machine rooms and stopped.

A faint green glow flickered inside, illuminating the mess of cables and panels within. A steady hum filled the air, broken only by the soft whirr of a sonic screwdriver and the Doctor’s steady muttering.

River edged closer, listening.

She had found him. But something was wrong.

“Seven-four-six, check. Seven-four-seven?… Four… seven – where’s seven-four-seven?… Ah! Right, seven-four-seven! The one with the loose contact, should’ve fixed that ages ago, really! Easy to miss, but no harm in that. Just a tiny adjustment-”

The sonic screwdriver whirred, followed by a sharp snap of electricity.

“See? Done. Right. Where were we? Seven-four… eight?”

“You missed seven-four-five,” River announced, stepping into the machine room and leaning against the doorframe.

The Doctor barely flinched.

River took a moment to survey the space. It was one of the TARDIS’s smaller, tucked-away machine rooms, nestled somewhere beneath the main control room. He had a habit of stashing tech in odd places – sometimes integrating it directly into the heart of the console, sometimes locking it away in labyrinthine corridors. Occasionally, he settled for a hybrid approach, half-exposed, half-hidden, as if even he couldn’t decide what should be accessible and what should stay a mystery.

This setup – this era of his TARDIS – was one of her favorites. The orange glow of the control room above, the balance between functionality and chaos. The essential systems were right underfoot, reachable but just inconvenient enough to demand effort. And with a ship as vast and temperamental as this one, keeping the more sensitive, volatile components separate was a necessity.

Even so, this particular room was new to her.

And the Doctor – he was a mess.

He sat cross-legged in the middle of what looked like pure entropy. A tangled sprawl of cables surrounded him, sprawling like the veins of a living machine. Thick cords, some as wide as her arm, others thinner than a thread, wound through the space in an intricate, chaotic web. Data scrolled in relentless streams across several monitors, numbers and schematics flickering with no discernible pattern.

He was in the eye of the storm, sleeves rolled up, jacket discarded nearby, suspenders holding him together in that casual, scattered way of his. Sonic screwdriver in one hand, a fistful of cables in the other, he looked like he was trying to puzzle something out. And he was alone, apparently he’d just been talking to the TARDIS.

But something was off.

The glow of the room cast strange shadows over his face, accentuating the exhaustion in his features. His hair was a wreck, as though he’d run his hands through it a hundred times without thinking. An oil stain darkened his trousers, creeping up his leg.

Nearby, a bowl of custard sat untouched.

A console component – ripped from its housing – leaned against the wall at an odd angle, half-forgotten.

His eyes flickered up at her, but the reaction was slow. Delayed. Like it took the room a moment to catch up to reality, like he took a moment to catch up to her.

River had come in ready to scold him.

A lecture about security, about awareness – maybe even about being helpful, considering she’d just fought a warlord while he had apparently been here, tinkering. She had expected some kind of reaction when he saw her. A quip, a complaint, something. Anything.

But there was nothing.

Not even the barest flicker of interest. Not even the awareness that they were flying. She had stolen his ship, and he hadn’t noticed. Or, worse – he had noticed and didn’t care.

That wasn’t like him. And that wasn’t good.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was quiet as he lowered the cables in his hands.

River tilted her head, studying him. “Is that how you greet your wife?” she asked, a teasing smile playing at her lips, trying it to get him to become himself again.

The Doctor didn’t smile back. He just stared at her, cables still tangled in his fingers like he’d forgotten what to do with them.

She sighed. “I’m stealing your ship,” she announced, stepping further inside. Her movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if approaching a creature that might startle. She stopped just short of the sprawl of wires, crouching down to get a better look at the mess. “And what… exactly are you doing here?”

The Doctor glanced down at the cables, the dim green light in the corner casting his face in sharp relief – hollowed-out shadows and distant thoughts.

“I’m fixing the ventilation relay,” he said.

River raised an eyebrow.

She reached out, brushing her fingertips over a loose wire he’d pulled from the wall. “No,” she said, voice softer now. “I meant what are you doing here?”

“The v-ventilation rel-” He blinked, suddenly catching up to something she’d said. “Wait. Did you just say you’re stealing my ship?”

“Don’t distract.” River straightened, crossing her arms. “I don’t mean this machine room, Sweetie. I mean Vogoria.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to be?”

River exhaled, running a hand through her curls. She was tired. She needed a shower, fresh clothes, and – if the universe was feeling particularly generous – she wouldn’t say no to sleep.

“This planet,” she said, waving a hand vaguely. “The place you’ve parked your TARDIS. A graveyard, to be precise. Where they buried the Lost Star of Eloaria.” She gave him a pointed look. “That’s why I am here. I just spent my afternoon dealing with a resurrected warlord, thanks to some overenthusiastic scientists who thought they were handling a relic instead of a prison.”

“Oh!” the Doctor exclaimed, as if that explained everything. Then, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, “No, no, I didn’t really have a reason. I set the navigation to random and this is where we ended up.”

River nodded, more to herself than him.

That explained how she’d found the TARDIS here. Or… how the TARDIS had found her.

She and the ship had always had a connection, one even the Doctor never fully understood. And now, looking at him – at the mess, at the distant way his eyes kept drifting, at the cables he was rearranging with no real purpose – she wondered if the TARDIS had been worried about its pilot.

Because River certainly was.

The ventilation relays? That was an excuse. He was drifting. Aimless. Perhaps even hopeless and that was dangerous.

River watched as the Doctor glanced down at the wires again, absently picking them up, sorting them into some kind of order – though whether it was for function or simply for the sake of movement, she couldn’t tell. He muttered something under his breath, the soft whirr of the sonic screwdriver filling the silence as he continued his work.

She knew this pattern well.

When he was hurting, he retreated. Found a quiet corner, buried himself in tasks that didn’t need doing, fixing things that weren’t broken, tweaking systems that had run just fine for centuries. She wouldn’t be surprised if, by now, his screwdriver had twice as many functions as the last time she’d seen it, just because he needed something to tinker with.

But this – this – wasn’t something he could fix like that.

Amy and Rory were gone. Lost in time, locked away where even he couldn’t reach them. He had lost his family. And no amount of rewiring the TARDIS would change that.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from trying.

River just stood there, watching.

And her heart ached. She had hoped – foolishly, perhaps – that he would do the sensible thing for once. That he would find someone new to travel with, throw himself into adventures, live instead of hiding. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even bothered to step outside, to look at where the TARDIS had brought him. That was what unsettled her the most.

Her Doctor was always moving, always everywhere, never truly still.

But now, he sat here, tangled in a nest of wires, not even sparing her a proper greeting.

The Doctor was not well.

She took a breath. “Doctor,” she said softly, careful not to break whatever fragile thing was holding him together, “do you mind if I stay for a while?”

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then, without looking up, he whispered, “No.”

River sighed.

Slowly, she stepped closer, careful where she placed her bare feet among the twisted cables. She crouched beside him, reaching out to slide her hand into the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. It was warm beneath her touch, but unkempt, unwashed.

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

For a second – just a second – he leaned into her. And then, he was gone again.

The moment slipped away, and River pulled back, searching his face. His eyes met hers, but only briefly. There was nothing in them, not really. Just a flicker of recognition before he looked away, turning back to his work.

The whirr of the screwdriver filled the silence once more.

River lingered for a moment longer, watching him, searching for something – some spark of recognition, some flicker of the man she knew. But he was already retreating again, lost in the hum of circuits and the mindless repetition of his work.

“Seven-four-five, then”, he whispered. “Sorry, I almost forgot about you. Let’s have a look at you, shall we?”

She exhaled softly and stood, stepping carefully over the tangled mess of cables. For a brief second, she considered leaving him after all, even though he didn’t mind her here. She considered walking away entirely – giving him space, letting him stew in his self-imposed solitude. If he didn’t want her here, if he barely even noticed her, what was the point?

But as she reached the doorway, she hesitated.

She could leave the room. She could leave him to his grief, his distractions, his silence.

But she couldn’t leave him.

Not like this.

River sighed and leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms as she watched him for a few seconds longer. Then she pushed off and strode back into the corridors of the TARDIS, picking up her shoes on the way and searching for her room.

She’d give him time. Let him sit in his silence if that’s what he needed.

But she wasn’t going anywhere.

Not this time.

Chapter Text

River loved the sounds the TARDIS made.

It was never silent in here. For a ship whose inner workings technically weren't meant to be audible, the Doctor managed to fly her wrong enough that she was always noisy. Even River, who could instinctively pilot the TARDIS, couldn't compensate for all the damage he'd inflicted over time. There was always something – whirring, purring, groaning. A crackle in the walls, a low hum beneath her feet, the occasional long, theatrical sigh. And sometimes, when the old girl was in the mood, playful little chirps like she was laughing to herself.

Even here, in her own room the sounds weren't dulled. But River loved them.

They were part of home, part of the warmth, part of the quiet thrill of being wrapped in the embrace of the vortex. It was perfect. Or, at least, it would be more perfect if the Doctor were here beside her. But she couldn't have it all.

That was her fate.

Stepping out of the shower, she spared a glance at the pile of clothes discarded in the corner. Beyond saving. Burned in places, stiff with dried mud and dirt, blood that wasn't only hers. The warlord's, too. She'd patched herself up before stepping into the shower – nothing but faint scars now – but the clothes? Not worth the effort. She'd toss them.

She wrapped herself in a towel quickly, exhaustion making every movement feel heavier.

The TARDIS was already en route, flying herself now. River had set the course for Gaia Base, where she was supposed to check in anyway. A Luna University outpost, the place where one of her colleagues would be expecting a report, where she still had a degree to maintain – one of the first things in her life she'd truly chosen for herself. She wasn't about to neglect it. She loved the work, loved the chase of discovery. And right now, if the Doctor didn't care where he was going, she might as well go where she was needed. At least for wrapping up this one job.

Tomorrow, she'd finish things up with the University. After that, she'd see about getting the Doctor back on track. He couldn't be alone – not for too long. This was what happened when he was. He lost himself. Drowned in grief, in guilt.

The last him would have burned down the universe in a rage. This one? He just faded. He retreated and stopped engaging, letting himself drift like a ghost. This Doctor didn't destroy everything around him. He only destroyed himself. And for River, who loved him so fiercely, it was unbearable to watch.

She stepped toward the bed and paused. A fresh set of clothes was waiting for her, folded neatly on the sheets – pajamas, soft and familiar, well-worn.

Her smile was small, private, as she brushed her fingers over the fabric.

"Thank you," she murmured, before picking them up and slipping into them.

The TARDIS hummed, warm and content. River let her gaze drift across the room. She had a lot of things stored here in her room.

The one they shared was different – meant for the both of them, shifting and reshaping to fit them together. But this one, this space, was hers alone. And no matter how many times the Doctor rewrote the TARDIS, regenerated, changed the very bones of her structure… this room always stayed the same.

She suspected he didn't even realize it existed.

This was her room. Not their room, just hers alone.

And the space was undeniably hers – curated like an archive of a life lived in fragments. Books lined the shelves in no discernible order, some ancient, some impossibly futuristic. Artifacts from stolen moments and borrowed times cluttered the surfaces: a delicate silver mask from a masquerade in the 51st century, a weathered journal filled with sketches of impossible stars, a broken thief's tool she never quite got around to fixing. A bouquet of dried red roses sat in a glass vase, petals long since withered but still holding their shape.

The lighting was softer here, warmer. The walls shimmered in deep blue, traced with faint gold patterns that shifted like reflections on water. Maps – some of space, some of time – were tacked across one wall, scribbled with half-finished notes and personal annotations. The bed was large but unmade, rumpled from restless nights, an old leather satchel resting at its foot, half-packed for an adventure she hadn't yet decided on. Probably from the last time she stayed here.

The TARDIS had built this room for her, had kept it for her, unchanged no matter how many times the ship's architecture rewrote itself. A more complex, expanded reflection of her quarters at Luna University – except this one held the things she wouldn't, couldn't leave in a place as accessible as the University.

The TARDIS was better suited for artifacts that could unravel reality.

It was also the safest place to keep the things she didn't want the Doctor to know about. Of course, the things regarding their future or past together, the sensitive information… she never left it in the TARDIS. But there was an artifact or two in her room in the TARDIS… the Doctor wouldn't appreciate those.

But the TARDIS got her back, she'd never let him in.

River didn't know if the Doctor had a room of his own – since the whole ship was his room. And he so rarely slept anyway. She'd once had to threaten him to stop him from installing bunk beds in their shared quarters. One would think a man this old would understand how un-fun those are for a married couple.

She smirked at the memory as she placed her blue journal on the nightstand, right beside the lamp and a small blue TARDIS model – the one she'd taken from Amy's room back when she'd still been Mel. With a quiet exhale, she switched off the light and let herself sink into the soft, familiar sounds of the TARDIS.

ʘ ʘ ʘ ʘ

River scanned the monitor, watching as the correct time and space coordinates locked into place. She checked once, twice – just to confirm that the TARDIS did not get lost and was at the right destination.

But she was. Satisfied, she nodded and reached for her backpack.

The Doctor was still in the machine room. She had checked after waking up – cable four-eight-five-nine, which meant he was still working his way through every inch of the ship's ventilation wiring. She had asked how many there were, he had said at least five thousand. She had let him tinker.

River sighed, shaking off the creeping worry at the back of her mind.

She had things to do. She could worry about her man-child of a husband after.

She stepped outside, and the temperature dropped instantly. The TARDIS was warm, comfortable – alive. Out here, in the ship hangar of Gaia Base, everything felt sterile. The air was crisp and regulated, carrying the faint scent of metal, fuel, and the artificial pull of gravity.

The base itself was small, more of a research outpost than a grand station. River knew the type – labs packed with researchers, monitoring systems humming quietly, all dedicated to keeping an eye on this quiet stretch of space. She glanced to the side, eyes drawn to the massive observation window spanning the far wall. Beyond it, the universe stretched out in an endless sea of stars – millions, billions, some ancient, some newborn. Gaia loomed beneath them, its soft blue curve partially obscuring the view.

Gaia.

Unremarkable. No civilization, no great history, nothing to claim it as special. Which was exactly why the Luna University had chosen it. No borders, no governments to negotiate with. Just open land, untouched. A place for scholars to sit, study, and work in peace, surrounded by forests, glades, lakes, and mountains. Quiet.

Nothing special at all – except for one thing. The SC Liberty.

A space cruiser that vanished mid-flight nearly 300 years ago in a completely different part of the universe, only to reappear decades later, drifting and lifeless in Gaia's orbit. The wreckage had scattered across the planet's northern hemisphere, untouched by civilization, preserved like a time capsule.

For the Luna University, it was an archaeological goldmine. A ship disappearing from recorded space and returning long after its passengers should have perished? That was mystery enough. Some believed it had slipped through a time fracture. Others whispered about alien interference.

No records. No explanations. And the ship itself – what remained of it – didn't match human design. Didn't match any known species.

Gaia was peaceful. Beautiful. Undisturbed. And it housed a mystery.

Which, of course, meant the Luna University had to claim it. They had bought the planet outright, built their station in its orbit, and settled in like moths drawn to a flame.

River turned, pulling the TARDIS door shut behind her. She gave it a brief pat before shouldering her bag and stepping through the hangar doors into the base.

She needed a moment to orient herself, but once she found the right corridor, she moved without hesitation. Windows lined the hall, offering sweeping views of Gaia below, but apart from that – and the occasional University banner – the corridors were largely empty. Until she reached the first door.

She knocked once.

Then, without waiting for an answer, she stepped inside.

A young woman sat behind the desk, glancing up with a neutral expression.

"Welcome to Gaia Base. My name is Declan Rufeuh. How can I help you today?" she asked, polite but slightly bored.

She looked human at first glance – except for the slight point to her ears and the delicate line of blue dots around her nose and eyes. Zoccarthian, River thought. They had become rare in the galaxy after Zoccarth was obliterated in the Time War. Her long white hair was braided into a crown, and in front of her sat a terminal and a stack of paper files.

The Luna University still relied on paper. The most important data was always recorded physically. Harder to hack. That was also why it was so damn cold in all their bases, space stations, and outposts. Fire doesn't like the cold.

River smiled. "Professor River Song," she introduced herself smoothly. "Doctor Harlow is expecting me."

Declan glanced down, checking something on her tablet, then looked back up – briefly studying River, as if comparing her to a file. A beat later, her expression shifted. The bored professionalism faded just slightly, replaced with something more genuine.

"Of course, Professor Song," she said, tapping a command into her screen. The door beside her unlocked with a soft hiss. "You arrived with the… blue box, the TARDIS, correct? Do you need us to refuel your vehicle?"

River gave a gentle smile and shook her head. "No, and I won't be staying long." Then, after a pause, she added, "If a man with a bow tie comes out, tell him I'll be right back. And don't let him touch anything."

Not that she expected him to.

Declan hesitated for a second, clearly confused, but then simply nodded and entered a note into her tablet. "Yes, Professor."

River didn't wait any longer. She stepped through the door and was immediately met with another stretch of corridors.

No windows here. No banners.

Instead, the walls were lined with framed star maps, photographs of distant worlds, artistic impressions of civilizations long gone. Occasionally, a board filled with calculations broke up the display – complex equations scribbled in untidy script, half of which even River didn't recognize.

She walked past all of it without slowing, fingers tightening around the strap of her backpack.

She didn't want to spend more time here than necessary, for an obvious reason.

Her mind drifted as she walked, circling around the same problem she'd been mulling over since Vogoria.

No plan.

She didn't know what to do with the Doctor. Didn't know where to take him, what to say. It wasn't as if he'd listen – he barely registered she was there at all. She could just continue on as usual, dragging him along like it was bring-your-husband-to-crime-day, but that wasn't what she wanted.

She wanted him to wake up.

They had seen the most beautiful things together, had taken the most magnificent journeys. She wanted to remind him of that – to make him care, make him feel again. To show him that losing Amy and Rory wasn't the end. That there was more to this life than sitting in the dark, meticulously repairing ventilation cables that weren't broken.

She just wasn't sure how to do that yet.

Before she could dwell on it further, she reached her destination.

The door had Doctor Celeste Harlow printed neatly on the plaque. River did exactly what she had done at reception – knocked once and entered without waiting, but this time she was smirking.

The reaction was immediate.

"What's the point of knocking if you're not going to wait for an answer anyway?" Celeste's voice rang out as the door slid open. "Just be rude! Don't pretend you're offering me a choice – it tricks people into thinking they have control. No respect."

River stepped inside with an easy smile. "May I come in, please, Doctor Harlow?" she asked, all boldness and mischief.

Celeste sighed theatrically, waving a hand in reluctant permission.

The office was small, cluttered, filled with the quiet hum of servers and the scent of burnt cinnamon from a forgotten cup of something on the desk. Overstuffed bookshelves lined the walls, and a compact lab table sat opposite, buried beneath scattered journals and ink-smudged papers.

Celeste barely spared the mess a thought.

Her deep violet skin caught the dim light, the bioluminescent freckles across her cheeks glowing faintly. Silver, pupil-less eyes flicked up from the book in front of her, and the second she recognized River, her frown deepened.

"What are you reading?" River asked, leaning against a sideboard as she slipped off her backpack. "Looks like it's killing you."

Celeste let out a long-suffering sigh and gestured to the heavy tome in front of her. "Doctor Keremian Forke's Theory of Inter-Planar Transfiguration. I've been to funerals more exciting."

River snorted. "Sounds delightful. You should've come with me instead."

Celeste closed the book with a decisive thud. "You're back quicker than I expected," she noted. "What did you find?"

River shrugged. "Not much. Some amateurs dug up the Star without scanning first. Warlord popped out, trashed their ship, nearly took the planet with him. I stuffed him back into the Star and buried him where they found it."

"A shame," Celeste mused, tapping a finger against her chin. "Would've looked great on my shelf."

River grinned. "Thought the same. But he would've had objections."

Celeste leaned forward slightly, her curiosity sharpening. "And?"

"And what?"

Celeste gave her a pointed look. "You're holding back, Song."

River huffed a soft laugh and reached for her backpack. "Some kind of prison gem," she admitted. "Way too advanced for what their tech level was when they left. Couldn't pin down the influences – too busy smacking the warlord back into it. Dimensionally translucent, unknown energy source." She slid the backpack across the desk. "Brought you everything I could."

Celeste pulled it toward her with the kind of reverence most people reserved for holy relics.

River had grown used to just stuffing everything interesting into her coat when she went out on a field trip – the pockets were bigger on the inside – but she couldn't just give her coat away so she had transferred it all to this old backpack.

River could have given her findings to Celeste in a body that had been slashed open, and the excitement would have been no less intense.

"Would've grabbed the Star itself, but people have tried and died doing that, and I wasn't in the mood for another fight to the death. Marked the grave for you, though, in case you feel like tempting fate," River explained calmly.

Celeste hummed in satisfaction, already rummaging through the contents. River knew that look – she was about to get lost in her work.

River watched her for a moment. She liked Celeste. The doctor of xenoarchaeology had once been her teacher, then her mentor, and now, somehow, a friend. Sharp-witted, fearless, obsessed with mysteries – she said that River reminded her of herself in many ways. Well, a younger version of herself – even though River was technically older; time travel. But to River, the woman who had once been called the War Colony Ghost – famous for surviving three weeks trapped in a Silurian war site – had proven to be a sharp but loyal critic.

"If you don't need me," River said after a beat, "I'd like to take some time off."

"How long?" Celeste didn't look up, still flipping through one of River's notebooks. "Few weeks?"

"Maybe more. Maybe less. I can't say," she shrugged. "I got the TARDIS, so maybe I'm back in an hour."

That made Celeste pause. Her silver gaze lifted, piercing straight through River's mask. She knew River a long time and she knew parts of her story, so her first guess immediately hit the bull's eye. "Is there a Doctor in that TARDIS for a change?"

River exhaled. "Yes."

Celeste closed the notebook, resting her hands on top of it. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I found him on Vogoria." River hesitated. "He's… he's just… hiding in his ship, fixing things that don't need fixing. I don't think he's left the TARDIS in weeks. So…" She straightened, folding her arms. "I think I'll go with him for a while, make sure he takes a shower for once."

Celeste studied her for a long moment before nodding. She smirked. "Bring me back something good."

River grinned. "Always do."

She turned toward the door, but before she stepped out, Celeste's voice stopped her. "River."

She glanced back.

Celeste's expression softened just slightly. "Be careful."

River's smile was smaller this time, but real. "You know me."

"Yes, I do. That's why I am worried," Celeste sighed.

River winked. "I'll see you soon."

She stepped out of the office, the door sliding shut behind her.

She didn't stop by the others at Gaia Base, though she easily could have. It would've been effortless to slip into conversation, to spend hours in the archives, letting herself get lost in something other than him.

But River wasn't here to indulge herself.

As she walked back through the corridors toward the reception, she slowed.

Maybe she could find something here to anchor the Doctor. Some small project, some puzzle that wouldn't completely go against his moral compass. The Luna University was rather law-abiding, actually, it just didn't stop people from doing crimes and then bringing the stuff they stole or found to them. And, the Luna University had mysteries – things that needed solving, things that could interest him if he let them.

If he cared.

But then again, maybe she shouldn't push too hard. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel trapped.

She sighed and picked up her pace again.

As she passed through reception, she shot Declan a brief smile. "See you around."

Declan nodded. "Safe travels, Professor."

A few minutes later, River stepped through the blue doors of the TARDIS, letting them creak shut behind her.

Silence. Not the deep, aching kind that had filled the ship before, but something… measured. Controlled. The TARDIS still hummed softly, her presence warm and familiar, but it wasn't the idle hum of a ship left to drift. Not what River had left behind. It was deliberate, like a breath held just a little too long.

And at the console, the Doctor stood waiting, looking at her.

He was dressed properly – jacket, bow tie, hair mostly in place, hands tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world. He looked almost put together. But River knew him too well. The stillness wasn't real.

He was playing over something, smoothing down grief with careful performance.

She stuffed her worry for him and all the twisted emotions back into the corner of her mind where they could rest and smiled at her husband. Never let him see your scars.

"So we've reached five-zero-zero-zero?," River said with an easy smile, but watching him closely.

The Doctor rocked back on his heels, flashing her an easy grin. "Well, you know me. Can't sit still for long."

Except you could, Sweetie. And you did. For far too long.

River let the thought pass unspoken.

"What's all this, then?" she asked instead, strolling toward the console.

"Oh, just–," he waved a hand in the vague direction of the controls. "Tidying up. Bit of routine maintenance. You were off doing boring, dusty archaeology things, figured I'd get the ship in order."

River's gaze flicked across the controls. The settings had been adjusted, little things tweaked here and there. But nothing significant.

Nothing that actually needed doing.

She reached out, running her fingers over a few pointless switches that hadn't been there an hour before and also technically didn't have anything to do on the console. The Doctor had labelled them, though.

"Gravity Redistribution for Cup Holders."

"Mood Lighting: Maximum Drama."

"Quantum Duck Pond Activation."

"In Case of Boredom: Temporal Randomizer."

"Switch for Big Decisions (Do Not Touch Unless Absolutely, Unavoidably Necessary... or For Fun)."

River's lips twitched. Of course.

The Doctor cleared his throat. "So, how was your little field trip?"

"Enlightening," River mused, letting her hand drop, turning her face to look at the Doctor. "Though I wasn't on a field trip, I just ended one when I found you. Now I just wrapped it up, visited old inside-people, surrounded by books. Assumed you wouldn't have enjoyed it."

He scoffed, offence played up for her benefit. "I like books."

"No, Sweetie. You like stories."

He gave a non-committal hum, spinning one of the dials on the console that had nothing to do with navigation, but made a satisfying rattling sound and caused something deep in the TARDIS to sigh.

River leaned back, arms folding as she studied him. He looked fine. Sounded fine. But there was something rehearsed about it, something just slightly off-beat. Still, it was better than the alternative.

She exhaled through her nose, stepping past him to the console screen. "Where are we, then?"

The Doctor shrugged, looking at her but them quickly avoiding her gaze, looking at nothing in particular and fixing his bow tie in a quick motion. "Wherever you like?"

Which meant nowhere in particular. He was waiting. For her to decide. For her to be the one to pull him along. He didn't want to be alone but he was too stubborn or proud to say it. River didn't complain. At least he stopped fixing things. She didn't know how long he could hold up the act, but River would be at his side for whatever outcome.

River tapped the console, watching the star charts flicker under her fingertips.

"All right," she said lightly. "Then let's go somewhere. Together"

The Doctor perked up, rocking forward eagerly. "Oh? Got something in mind?"

River smirked. "Not yet. I'm sure we'll find something. But– no archaeology stuff! I can't have you sneezing on my excavation sites. Also, I just took a few days off, just so I can run away with you."

He grinned at that, a flicker of something real behind the mask. She reached for the controls, brushing past him deliberately. He stilled for just a second before stepping back, giving her space.

"Charming," he chirped and let himself sink down on the leather chairs to the side, leaving the console-control to River.

The professor placed her fingers back on the keyboard on the console. The hum of the TARDIS shifted ever so slightly, like she knew what was coming; like a singer changing the key of the music, to announce the next dramatic scene.

Chapter Text

River moved around the TARDIS console with effortless grace, fingertips gliding over switches, pulling cables, tapping at buttons. A flick of her wrist opened the navigation matrix, revealing the ship's travel history – a feature she doubted the Doctor ever bothered to check. If he had, he might have caught on to her occasional habit of borrowing the TARDIS much sooner.

Not that she made a habit of wiping the logs. No, she liked the evidence, the breadcrumbs of adventure. And from the looks of it, there were still plenty of questionable stops sitting in the records.

She scrolled through them as the Doctor lounged on the worn leather seats across from her, staring off into the distance. Ten stops since Manhattan. Six of them with her. The second to last was Vogoria; the most recent, Gaia Base. He hadn't gone far. In fact, she realized with a slow blink, after abandoning her on that desolate speck of a planet – Treon 50C – he'd only made one detour before Vogoria.

River remembered exactly how miserable getting off Treon 50C without a TARDIS had been. Three days of relentless, searing heat, trudging through the ruins, skin burning, throat parched. By the second day, she'd composed an entire symphony of insults for the Doctor, but by the third, she'd discarded them all. She couldn't yell at him for this.

There were far more deserving reasons to scream at him.

But she'd had to call in a favor to get off that blasted rock, which meant returning to Luna University. Burying herself in work. Keeping busy. Letting grief settle into something manageable.

She had always known how to keep moving forward.

She had been born and raised to be an assassin, engineered with a singular purpose – to kill the man she had, against all odds, married. That was what she was made for, but it was never what she was. Not really. She had rebuilt herself since then, piece by piece. And though the instincts remained – the willingness to take on morally ambiguous jobs when necessary – they did not define her.

Just as the Doctor did not define her. She had her own life. A career. A world that existed beyond him. And yet…

She loved him. Dearly. Helplessly.

Stormcage was also still technically a thing, but after the Doctor erased himself from history, the place had become little more than a formality. Hard to imprison someone for killing a man who, by all accounts, had never existed.

Oh, there were other things they could lock her away for. But not for that. Not anymore.

In the time between Treon 50C and now, she had worked a lot in all of her fields of expertise, and over the time the grief – what she had lost… she had made peace with it.

Mostly.

Amy and Rory had never been her parents in the way parents were supposed to be. They hadn't raised her; they had grown up with her. There was a difference. But that didn't make losing them any easier. They were still her parents. And they were gone. Forever.

That ache, that quiet, hollow space inside her – it would never truly fade. It had settled deep into her bones, a constant companion. But she had learned to live with it. To keep moving.

The year after their disappearance, she had chased shadows, followed whispers, traced the ripples of catastrophes in search of him. The Doctor. Her Doctor. She had dug through his timelines, pored over anomalies, even caused a few of them herself, just to see if he would come running.

She had never expected to find him by accident. And yet, there he was.

He had gone to her parents' home in London after Treon 50C, but before disappearing to Vogoria. Something had drawn him there. Something had made him stop. And whatever he had seen, whatever ghosts he had faced in that empty house, it had been enough to make him set the TARDIS to random. To land on Vogoria seven thousand years in the future. Alone.

For how long, she didn't know.

She could find out – of course she could – but she didn't need to. She could read it in the slump of his shoulders, in the weight behind his eyes.

For a moment, she considered asking. But when she looked over at him, saw the way his fingers tapped absentmindedly against his knee, his gaze distant – she didn't. She really didn't need to know, if he didn't want to tell her. The Doctor and his secrets.

Instead, she let her hand hover over the keyboard, fingers poised. "Any preferences?"

The Doctor blinked, as if pulled from a dream. "Preferences?"

The TARDIS had a mind of her own. For River, she was accommodating – most of the time. For the Doctor, less so. Whether it was his flying or simply the ship's opinion of where he should be, she never quite figured out.

But lately, River suspected something else entirely.

After all, the TARDIS had gone to Vogoria, to be there the exact day River was there. That wasn't coincidence. That was intention. And if the ship was looking for her – well. That meant something.

Normally, the Doctor was the one to choose their destinations. He'd come to her with an idea already mapped out, a date already planned, a set of coordinates primed and ready. Sometimes, he'd ask her opinion. Rarely, he let her decide outright.

This, though – giving her complete control over where they went?

Unheard of.

"Yes," she confirmed, finally pulling her hands back from the console, leaning onto it with a slow, teasing smile. "Anything to avoid?"

"No," the Doctor murmured, leaning forward, his bow tie already slightly askew again. "Go wherever." His lips quirked slightly before he added, "But… we could set her to random again. See where that gets us." His grin turned lopsided. "Works fine for me most of the time."

River scoffed, rolling her eyes, and then – after a brief pause, a moment of consideration – her fingers flew over the keys. Setting the navigation to random? No. That was his thing, his version of tossing a coin to fate, and frankly, the chances of it landing somewhere dull were far too high.

She couldn't have him sitting on a beach, staring at the tide, or worse – brooding atop a mountain, lost in thought. He needed movement. Energy. The electric pulse of the universe pressing in around him.

The Doctor needed to be the Doctor. And right now, more than anything, he needed to be needed.

No, she had a much better idea.

River pulled up the TARDIS communication logs, scanning through the vast network of open channels. Very few people actually had the number to call this ship directly, but that didn't mean she wasn't always listening. Distress calls. Cries for help from drifting starships, struggling planets, lost children – sometimes animals, sometimes even wishes.

Some civilizations believed that Santa Clause didn't come in a sled pulled by reindeer, but in a blue box that had POLICE written on top.

The universe was always calling. Always in need.

Her eyes flicked over the endless stream of requests until one caught her attention. A small hum of satisfaction escaped her lips as she locked it in, fingers moving deftly across the navigation matrix to input the coordinates.

Then, reaching for the lever, she hesitated.

A glance – just from the corner of her eye – toward the Doctor. A beat passed. Then another. With a sharp inhale, she let go of the lever and, instead, circled around the console. She applied the brake before returning to her place. With a fluid, practiced motion, she pushed the lever down.

The TARDIS groaned in response, sighing like a living thing before lurching into motion.

Behind her, the Doctor straightened, coming to life with the movement, that familiar energy returning to his frame. He bounced slightly on his heels, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

River smirked, turning on her heel to face him. "Whoa, stop right there!" she warned, her voice dripping with amusement. "You'll see, pretty boy."

She caught him leaning forward, angling for a look at the monitor.

Quick as a flash, she yanked it out of his reach. His response was just as quick – pressing forward, craning his neck, trying to peer past her. She straightened her spine, tilting her chin up just enough to block his line of sight entirely.

"Oh?" she teased, eyes glinting. "You really want to ruin the surprise for yourself?"

His hands found the edges of the monitor, attempting to tug it back into place.

River moved faster. A firm hand to his chest, stopping him in his tracks. She felt him hesitate. He could overpower her easily if he really wanted to. He was stronger than he looked, and though so was she, she knew the balance of physical power between them. Between her and most people. That was why she carried a gun more often than not.

But the simple touch of her hand against his chest was enough to still him.

He looked down at her, his nose just inches from hers, breath warm between them.

"Step aside," she murmured, lips quirking at the corners, voice a low, velvet challenge. She leaned in ever so slightly, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough for her words to brush against his skin like a promise. "Let me fly, yes, honey?"

The Doctor smirked, but there was something else behind it – something flickering just beneath the surface. A shadow, a weight, something dark and unreadable. River saw it, of course she did, but she chose not to acknowledge it. Not yet.

With an exaggerated sigh, he relented, stepping back toward the railing. His fingers curled around the metal as the TARDIS rocked, steadying himself even though he didn't need to.

For now, he'd behave.

For now.

But she knew he wouldn't have to wait long.

River had chosen carefully. This wasn't about reckless adventure or self-indulgence. This was about him. About reminding him that the universe wasn't just loss and heartbreak and shadows creeping at the edges. That it wasn't just tombstones and last goodbyes.

This was supposed to be simple. An easy win.

They'd go in, save the day, walk away triumphant. No tangled paradoxes, no time-locked tragedies, no innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. Just a clean, undeniable success.

Of course, River knew better. Nothing with the Doctor was ever that easy. There was always something lurking beneath the surface, some complication waiting to rear its head. But at the very least, she had picked something that seemed straightforward. A distress call. Someone needed help.

Surely, there had to be easy ones.

And if not? Well, they both had a lifetime's worth of experience in navigating trouble. Maybe, just maybe, this would help.

The TARDIS landed with a familiar, echoing gong, her engines exhaling as they powered down, settling into silence. The vibrations faded, leaving only the steady hum of necessary systems still running.

River checked the coordinates, the atmospherics. No toxic air, no radiation storms – good. She preferred not stepping outside and immediately choking to death or burning to a crisp.

Only then did she turn to look at him. But he wasn't looking at her.

One hand still gripped the railing, fingers tightening despite the fact that the ship had settled. His gaze wasn't on the console or the screen – he was staring at the doors.

For all the energy, the excitement he'd shown just moments ago, there was something hesitant now. Nervous. As if, suddenly, he wasn't sure he could do this anymore. As if stepping out those doors meant stepping back into the universe, into the responsibility, into the part of himself he'd been trying to avoid.

But then he noticed her watching.

The shift was instant.

That smile – the one that wasn't quite real – curled onto his lips, practiced and effortless.

"Shall we, then?" he asked, pushing off the railing and stepping toward her, fully intending to pass by without another word.

Before he could reach the doors, River grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, yanking him back just enough to halt his stride. He let out a surprised, indignant gurgle, stumbling to a stop as he turned toward her. But before he could complain, before the protest could properly leave his lips, she let go – only to immediately seize one of his suspenders instead.

With a practiced flick, she pulled it back and let it snap sharply against his chest.

The Doctor practically yelped, hand flying up to shield the tragic, mortal wound inflicted by his own questionable fashion choices.

"Ow! River!" he whined, blinking at her with wide, betrayed eyes. He gingerly cradled his abused nipple, now deeply concerned for its continued safety. "What was that for?" His lower lip jutted out just enough to be ridiculous.

River didn't answer immediately. Instead, her fingers trailed down, curling over his hand, her touch suddenly gentle. The shift was seamless – sugar and steel, threat and affection all at once. She met his gaze, her smile soft but filled with promise.

"Should you ever dematerialize without me again," she murmured, voice dipping into something dangerously sweet, "leaving me stranded on a desert planet – or any planet, any space station, anywhere, Sweetie –" she leaned in, the warmth of her breath brushing against his skin, "I will personally reprogram the TARDIS to only land in the most awkward, inconvenient places imaginable. The first chance I get." Her fingers tightened around his as she continued, voice lilting like a seduction. "I will rob you of every single calm, peaceful moment for the rest of your very long life."

The Doctor exhaled sharply through his nose, torn between exasperation and begrudging amusement. "River, you already do that!" he huffed. "Besides, you can't reprogram the TARDIS."

"I can't?" River arched an eyebrow, thumb lazily brushing over the back of his hand. "Are you sure, honey?"

He hesitated. His weight shifted slightly, and she could see his mind working, flipping through every possible scenario in which she might actually be capable of making good on her threat. One beat of his hearts. Then another.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, brow furrowing as he muttered, "Define awkward and inconvenient?"

River's grin was instant.

"Oh, you know," she mused, airily listing them off as if they were casual holiday destinations. "Right in the middle of a Judoon tribunal. The Royal Wardrobe of the Shadow Architect. That one asteroid where everything smells like stinky socks." She tapped a finger of her free hand against her chin. "Ooh, or maybe directly inside a Dalek mothership? See how fast you can talk your way out of that one."

The Doctor straightened at that, puffing up indignantly. "That's just rude."

River beamed. "Isn't it just?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, lips pressing into a thin line, before finally throwing his free hand up in surrender. "Fine. Fine." He exhaled, clearly defeated. "No more leaving you behind. Promise."

River's smile softened, just a fraction.

"Good boy," she cooed, finally releasing his hand and patting his cheek with infuriating fondness before sauntering past him toward the doors.

The Doctor scowled after her, muttering under his breath as he adjusted his suspenders. "You're lucky I like you."

"Oh, Sweetie," River called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with knowing amusement. "You don't just like me."

She didn't have to turn around to see it.

The way he rolled his eyes. The way his lips twitched, despite himself. The reluctant huff of breath that wasn't quite a sigh.

"You love me," she finished, smug as ever.

There was a pause. Then, a mumbled, utterly unconvincing, "Yes, yes."

She heard his footsteps behind her, closing the space between them. River smiled, but more genuinely then smugly. She couldn't let him push her away again.

The first time, she had accepted it. She had been drowning in her own grief, lost in the ache of what had been taken from her. But now, she had steadied. And the one thing that remained, stronger than anything else, was worry.

Worry for him. For the Doctor.

For whatever might happen if one day, the weight of his losses became too much.

The Doctor could never, ever lose his kindness. His big, boundless, foolish heart. But grief had a way of eating through even the brightest souls, hollowing them out, turning warmth into cold, turning light into shadow. And right now, she could see it creeping at the edges of him. And worse – she suspected he might let it happen.

She wouldn't allow it.

River waited until he was right behind her before grabbing the silver handle and pulling the door open, stepping out onto the unknown world.

She barely had time to take in the view before the Doctor was already striding past her. One hand was already in his pocket, rummaging for the ever-present sonic screwdriver, eyes scanning the horizon like a man who had just remembered how to breathe.

River smiled. At least she had gotten him this far.

For a moment, she simply watched him – the way his posture changed, the way he instinctively engaged with the world around him as if nothing had happened, as if there were no ghosts whispering behind his eyes.

And then she turned her attention outward as well.

The landscape stretched before them in vast, endless shades of burnt sienna and ochre. Towering rock formations clawed their way toward the sky, their jagged peaks sculpted by time and wind. The ground beneath her boots was fine, shifting sand, rippled as if once touched by an ancient sea. Overhead, the sky burned a deep, fiery orange, and two suns blazed above them – one high at its zenith, the other still rising, its glow soft but growing.

But it was the dome in the distance that caught her attention.

Glass, shimmering faintly against the backdrop of dust and heat. It was small enough to look insignificant from here, but large enough to house something interesting. And there was a huge mining… thing besides it.

The Doctor was already looking at it.

River took her time, closing the TARDIS doors behind her, adjusting the belt at her hip – her gun, her tools, the things a woman needed to get by in the universe. But when she turned back, stepping toward him, she found his gaze already on her.

"So," he asked, grinning in that way of his – roguish, self-satisfied, a spark of mischief creeping back into his expression as he finally fished out the screwdriver. "Where are we – and when exactly?"

River smirked, sliding her arm beneath his as she leaned into him ever so slightly. "That's your job, Doctor," she purred. "Dazzle me."

His eyes flickered with something playful, something sharp. Slowly, he let the screwdriver slip back into his pocket. Wouldn't be a challenge with it.

Instead, with all the dramatic flair of a performer taking the stage, he licked his finger, held it aloft, and paused. His gaze swept across the dunes, across the sky, across the rock formations that framed the world around them. And just like that, she could see it.

The gears of his brilliant mind turning. Calculating. Deducing.

Coming back to life.

"Orange sands, rugged volcanic spires… and two suns – one small and unassuming, the other a dazzling blue companion," the Doctor mused, his voice laced with a mixture of analytical precision and sheer delight. "I'd wager we're in the Atera system, just outside the Oort belt. Judging by the angle of the suns and the peculiar hues in the atmosphere… hmm… 53rd century. Give or take."

He turned to her then, eyes alight with the kind of boyish enthusiasm that always managed to make River's heart clench, just a little. Her smile deepened, watching him in quiet amusement, waiting – knowing he wouldn't stop there.

"And?" she asked patiently.

"And," he continued, now fully in his element, "taking into account that lovely little glass dome over there, plus that rather imposing mining rig off to the side… we are standing on the fourth planet of this system. Einides." He spun slightly on his heel, without ripping himself from her grip, pointing to the sky before lowering his hand to the shadows stretching across the dunes. "Judging by the way the light falls – give or take a minute or two – I'd peg the local time at 15:34 p.m." His grin turned self-satisfied as he added, "That outpost? That would be Curiosity. Human mining station."

He blinked, the sharpness in his expression softening just a fraction, his usual bravado giving way to something gentler.

"So?" His lips quirked at the edges, eyes crinkling as he met her gaze. "Dazzled?"

River let a breath of laughter slip past her lips as she pressed closer, her hand tightening ever so slightly around his arm. He was, of course, correct. This was Einides, the station was Curiosity, and the year was 5254, local time 15:33 p.m. exactly.

She leaned up, gave him a quick kiss to his cheek and whispered a soft "After you, my love."

The Doctor didn't need to be asked twice.

He strode forward, River's arm still looped through his, the two of them moving in perfect synchrony toward the unknown. As they walked, River felt something loosen in her chest.

Relief.

This was better.

Better than watching him sit in his TARDIS, aimlessly tinkering with broken things. The Doctor wasn't made for solitude, no matter how often he tried to convince himself otherwise. He had always needed motion, purpose, something bigger than himself.

And now, at least, he was moving again. It was a step. A small one, but a step nonetheless.

She knew he would heal – at least, as much as the Doctor ever could. He came from a race that lived for eons, yet he surrounded himself with those who burned bright and fast, lives flickering out like fireflies in the dark. Eighty years, maybe even a hundred, with only fifty or sixty of them truly living, not too sick or too young or too old – it was nothing to him. A fraction of a moment.

By now, he knew all too well what it meant to lose.

And someday, he would find someone new. Another human. Another soul to pull into his orbit, to show the universe to, to remind him why he needed to be out here, why he couldn't lock himself away and let the weight of centuries crush him.

Because he needed someone.

Not just to witness wonders. Not just to be a bright, fleeting spark in his eternal night. He needed someone to stop him. To challenge him. To reason with him when he went too far, when the weight of his grief threatened to tip the scales.

And that was not River Song.

She had never been his perfect companion. She was his wife, yes. She loved him with every piece of herself, without hesitation, without doubt. She saw him – the beauty, the power, the kindness, the desperation – and still, or maybe even because of that, she loved him.

But River Song had never been the one to stop him.

She was too reckless, too unpredictable. Her morality blurred at the edges, shifting when necessary. He never quite trusted her sense of right and wrong, and rightfully so. She wanted to be good for him. Better. To be the kind of person who could anchor him, keep him steady. But she wasn't. And she never would be.

What she could do – what she would do, for as long as it took – was keep him from forgetting. For as long as she was able, she would remind him of who he really was. Because if the Doctor ever let himself forget – if he ever truly lost himself to grief, to darkness – the universe wouldn't stand a chance.

She knew. Even as he smiled, as he played at being himself again, she knew.

This wasn't real.

He was trying – for her, he was trying. Maybe it was guilt, a way of making up for leaving her behind. Maybe it was an effort to balance the weight of his grief, knowing how much he had let his own consume him while hers went unspoken.

Or maybe, just for a moment, he had forgotten. Forgotten that there was more to existence than loss. Even the loss of her, because she saw the way he watched her, the way he measured her reactions, mirrored her effort. And she knew why. Because he knew how her story would end. He knew that she would die.

And she wasn't sure if he did this, right now, out of love.

Not in the way she loved him. She liked to tease him about it, throwing you love me at him like a dare, knowing he could never quite meet her eyes when he answered. But deep down, she understood the truth. How could something as ancient, as vast, as him love someone like her? River Song had been created for a singular purpose: to kill him. And though he had forgiven her – though he had never held it against her – she knew what she had done and she was. Not his murderer, but the woman that would die.

The Doctor… he didn't like endings. She was his walking, talking reminder that this would end.

Every companion he had ever taken on, he knew there would be an end. There always was. But with her… with her, he knew exactly how it would happen and when. And for a man who ripped the last page out of every book, because he couldn't stand the end of things, that was a cruelty beyond words.

And yet, she still returned to him. Selfish, maybe. But he let her. Perhaps because he did enjoy her company, even if he couldn't admit it.

Or maybe it was guilt.

She knew he blamed himself for what the Silence had done – for what had been taken from Amy and Rory, what had been forced upon her before she even had a choice. He had complicated feelings about her. That much had always been clear. He hid from her sometimes. Slipped through the cracks of time, vanished for weeks, months, years. But he was always so happy when he saw her, if he wanted to admit that or not.

And one day, she knew, she would see him for the last time. Her Doctor. With the bow tie and the face of a twelve-year-old.

This moment – this energy, this brightness, right now… it wouldn't last. This was not healing. This was not him coming back to himself. This was just a flicker of a match before it burned out again.

But still, she felt relieved. Because at least, for now, he remembered.

Maybe she couldn't save him. Maybe she couldn't be what he needed – not forever, not the way someone else could be. But she could keep him going until he found someone new. Someone whose face didn't remind him of an ending he couldn't change. Someone who could stand in front of him when he needed to be stopped, and tell him a solemn no.

She had said it before – only one psychopath per TARDIS.

But until then, she would stay by his side. She would loop her arm through his, step in time with him, and pretend – just for a while – that this was enough for both of them. Enough for him, because he would be better if she were there, and enough for her.

Not that she could be anywhere else. She was addicted to him.

Chapter Text

"So," the Doctor's voice sliced cleanly through her thoughts, effortlessly pulling her back to the present. "Why are we here?"

River blinked up at him, momentarily caught between the weight of her own mind and the way he was smiling at her – easy, expectant, as if he hadn't been spending the past few weeks trying his best to disappear into… or maybe hide from himself?

She hesitated for just a second. Then, with a breath, she snapped back into focus, tilting her head with a knowing smile.

"Curiosity sent out a distress call," she said, fingers drumming lightly against his arm where they were still linked. "Something about a monster."

The Doctor perked up at that.

"Oh," he said, interest flickering to life across his face. Then, after a beat: "Good monster or bad monster?"

River smirked. "Define good?"

"Well, some monsters are just misunderstood," he mused, tapping a thoughtful finger against the tip of her nose, "Others, however, have a terrible habit of eating people before you can even begin negotiations."

She hummed. "If I had to guess? Probably the second kind."

The Doctor sighed, pulling a dramatic frown. "Typical."

Their boots sank slightly with each step, the shifting sands making every movement heavier. River had parked the TARDIS further away than usual – just far enough to keep it out of trouble – but what had looked like a short walk to the dome was proving to be a trek.

The wind howled low across the dunes, kicking up twisting spirals of dust that vanished into the thick, shimmering heat. She had the feeling that the wind was getting stronger and stronger, but she couldn't put a finger on it. The twin suns bore down on them, relentless, their golden light turning the endless stretch of red sand into a sea of fire. Still, River could feel the warmth radiating off the Doctor beside her, though his jacket remained cool where her fingers idly drummed against his arm.

The Doctor glanced sideways at her as she did that, then cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "So, um… about before."

River arched a brow, watching him with amusement as he suddenly found walking the most fascinating thing in the universe.

"Before?" she prompted, voice soft against the wind.

The Doctor exhaled, tilting his head just enough for her to catch a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

"I, uh… I do apologize for leaving you stranded on Treon 50C," he said, clearing his throat. "It will not happen again."

River saw the regret there – genuine, quiet, the kind he rarely voiced aloud. Maybe he hadn't meant to leave her behind? Maybe he'd just been carried away by the weight of his own emotions, running before he even realized he was doing it. But now that she'd reminded him, she could see that he truly felt bad for it.

She smiled gently. "I forgive you."

He blinked at her, almost suspicious. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." She gifted him a knowing smile, then tilted her head. "But my promise stands. If you do something like this again…"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Stinky-sock-asteroid?"

"Stinky-sock-asteroid," River confirmed.

A silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, just there. The suns beat down, the wind stirred the sand, and the space between them felt a little lighter – some of the weight undone by a simple, well-earned apology.

Then, as if on cue, they rounded one of the volcanic spires and reached the periphery of the station.

The Curiosity station loomed ahead, half-buried in the dunes. Its glass dome, once pristine, had dulled from years of exposure, its metal supports battered by time and relentless winds. Unlike the atmospheric domes she was used to, this one wasn't designed to hold in oxygen – just to shield against the planet's brutal weather.

Beyond it, towering steel structures stretched toward the sky, casting jagged shadows over the red sands. Mining equipment. Automated rigs, no longer moving. The stillness should have been reassuring. Instead, it was… unsettling.

No movement. No welcoming party.

River slowed instinctively. So did the Doctor, unhooking his arm from hers, eyes scanning the perimeter with quiet intent.

"Not exactly rolling out the red carpet," she murmured.

The Doctor pulled out his screwdriver, flicking it into the air. It whirred, tip glowing green.

"Life signs inside," he confirmed. "Not many. But someone's home."

River arched a brow. "That's the best your sonic can do? Not many?"

The Doctor sputtered, clearly offended. "Excuse you!" He waved the screwdriver dramatically. "Do you know how much data I have to process in real-time? How much ambient interference? The nuance of–"

"Someone, huh?" She rolled her eyes as she interrupted him. "The someone who sent the distress call, then?" Or, her mind supplied, whatever they were running from.

The Doctor huffed, dropping his arm, letting the sonic glide back into his pocket. "Probably!"

River's hand drifted instinctively to the gun at her hip. The Doctor's eyes flicked to the movement, and instead of the pointed glare she expected, there was something else – something almost amused, reluctant but undeniably there.

"You so lightly insult my sonic screwdriver, but what about yourself?" he sighed, shaking his head. "Brought a gun to a distress call. What are you going to do with that?"

"Shoot the evil, people-eating monster, if necessary," River answered lightly, hand easing away from the weapon now that she'd reassured herself it was still there.

"Barbaric," he muttered. "I don't like it when you wear that."

River smirked. "Yes, you do."

His expression remained carefully neutral. "I do not."

"Oh, you absolutely do." She patted the holster with deliberate emphasis.

The Doctor huffed, adjusting his bow tie as if that might distract from the betrayal of his own words. "It's just for emergencies, I presume?"

River's grin widened. "Sweetie, everything is an emergency if you wait long enough."

"That's also something I don't like," he muttered, but there was a smile tugging at his lips now.

They reached the entrance – a reinforced steel airlock embedded into the side of the dome. A console blinked an ominous red beside it, pulsing a silent warning: ACCESS RESTRICTED.

The Doctor leaned in, peering at the interface with the mild curiosity of someone sizing up a particularly stubborn biscuit tin. "Hmm. Locked."

River tilted her head, arms folding as she gave the door an appraising look. "Well, that's just rude. What if intruders want to get in?"

The Doctor straightened, cracking his fingers before reaching into his pocket with a dramatic flourish. "Nothing a little sonic persuasion can't fix."

River smirked. "Or… we knock?"

The Doctor blinked at her. "Knock?" He sounded personally offended by the suggestion.

"They called for us, Sweetie. I think knocking will do."

Before he could protest, River rapped her knuckles against the heavy steel. Once. Twice.

Silence.

Then, static. A burst of noise from a speaker embedded in the console. River and the Doctor exchanged a glance as a voice, low and urgent but eerily monotone, crackled through the comms.

"Turn back. Leave. And whatever you do, be quiet."

A pause. Then, just before the signal cut out – another sound. Low. Guttural. Utterly inhuman.

River felt the Doctor stiffen beside her. His fingers twitched around the sonic, tossing it from one hand to the other without even looking, but instead of concern, there was delight flickering in his eyes.

"Oh," he murmured, rocking on his heels. "Now that's interesting." He turned to her, grinning. "You still think knocking will do?"

River's gaze swept over the door, scanning for anything – any hint of struggle, any sign of a forced entry, anything that would suggest why they had been warned away. But the entrance was pristine, untouched. No desperate claw marks, no smeared handprints from frantic survivors, no signs of panicked civilians trying to get out.

Just that voice. That warning. That sound.

The monster.

River inhaled slowly, grounding herself, before speaking again, towards the comms. "We received your distress call. We came to help." Her voice was steady, careful, pitched just right – non-threatening, but firm.

The comms crackled back to life. The same strained monotone. But this time, the voice carried something new. Exasperation.

"For the love of all the gods, please – be silent."

River's eyebrows lifted. "If you don't want us making noise, maybe turn off the comms? No need to be rude!"

The Doctor spun toward her, scandalized. "River!" he hissed.

"What?" she asked innocently, gaze already drifting across the station's exterior, cataloging structural weak points, potential exits.

"This is serious!" the Doctor whispered, stepping in closer.

River barely heard him. Her eyes had locked onto a small, dark shape tucked into the upper corner of the doorway – the station's security camera. It was positioned just right, a perfect view of the entrance, and whoever was inside was watching them.

She smirked and lifted a hand, giving the camera a small, cheeky wave.

That was when another noise came through the comms. Not a voice, but something else. A growl. It was closer now, and this time it wasn't just background noise. It was deliberate. As if it was aware, as if it was listening.

River felt a cold shiver roll down her spine – a sensation she had long since trained herself to ignore, because very few things in the universe deserved that kind of reaction from her.

She felt like this one did.

The Doctor exhaled sharply beside her, his entire posture shifting. His fingers twitched around the sonic, flipping it from one hand to the other, his expression darkening with something sharp and calculating.

"Right," he muttered. "That's enough of that." Without hesitation, he raised the sonic and muttered, "Knock, knock."

A low hum. A flicker of green light. The console sputtered, short-circuited, and with a final snap, the red warning shifted to green. The airlock let out a slow, mechanical hiss before drifting open.

River barely acknowledged the Doctor's triumphant grin. Her mind was already working through possibilities. Noise-based threats weren't uncommon. Plenty of creatures hunted by sound – echolocation, hypersensitive hearing, creatures designed to listen rather than see. The best way to survive them was simple: stay silent.

But this was different.

The people inside weren't just hiding from the creature. They weren't just keeping quiet for their own safety. They had warned them. Urged them. Begged them. And it hadn't sounded like concern for their rescuers. It had sounded like fear for themselves.

River didn't like what that suggested. Not one bit.

As the Doctor pulled the door open, River stepped inside first, drawing her gun in one smooth, practiced motion. With a quiet click, she released the safety, keeping the barrel pointed downward – more out of habit than necessity. She wasn't here to threaten anyone, just to be prepared.

Mostly, she was careful for the sake of the people they were supposed to be rescuing. But also because she'd never hear the end of it from the Doctor if there was an accident.

She moved forward without hesitation, her steps deliberate, controlled. The Doctor followed just behind her, his own footsteps near silent, a contrast to hers – the practised quiet of a man who spent too much time sneaking into places he wasn't supposed to be.

The corridor stretched ahead, narrow and dimly lit. Like the entrance, it was too clean. No debris, no scorch marks from weapons fire, no shattered glass or twisted metal. No blood. That was the part that stood out. A distress call usually meant chaos – signs of a struggle, of people trying to fight back or escape. But this?

Nothing.

The air inside was thin, carrying a sharp chill that bit through the warmth left by the relentless winds outside. Dust clung to the metal, disturbed only by their movements, catching in the fractured beams of light that seeped through cracks in the dome's panels. The walls, rusting in places, were marked with age, not violence.

It looked old. Worn. But not abandoned. Not in the way it should be.

River stepped through the second door, into the first real section of the dome, and that was when she heard it – the soft, telltale whirr of the sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor had noticed it too.

The first room was clearly a workspace. Mining equipment lay scattered across consoles and tool stations. Control panels blinked in standby mode, tools and suits stood at the ready, large mechanical rigs positioned for work. But none of it had been used – not recently.

River moved carefully, peering around corners, gun still at the ready. That was when she realized something.

There was the sound of her own boots against the floor. The faint hum of the Doctor's sonic. And the distant press of the wind against the glass.

Nothing else.

No beeping control panels, no background hum of active machinery. With a mining rig that large just outside, there should have been some residual noise – an engine, an automated process running in the background, something.

But they had already seen from outside, the entire station had been shut down.

Everything was too still. Eerily silent.

Aggressively silent.

The sound of the sonic screwdriver faded into silence, leaving them standing in the eerie stillness. The quiet pressed down like a thick, suffocating blanket, wrapping around them, unnatural and absolute. River turned slightly, casting a glance at the Doctor. He met her eyes, and after a brief pause, she shrugged.

By now, normally, someone would have found them.

A scientist, a frightened worker, just… someone.

But there was nothing. No movement. No sound.

"Scary," the Doctor whispered, though his voice carried none of the fear the word implied.

River smirked. He sounded almost delighted – as if this was exactly the sort of twisted, dangerous mystery he lived for. And, honestly? It was. He had just forgotten.

This was the Doctor as she remembered him.

"Come on," she whispered back, gesturing toward the next door.

They barely had it cracked open – the Doctor holding it just enough for River to slip through first – when a horrible sound tore through the station.

A screech. Metal on metal, sharp and grating, vibrating through the walls and rattling through River's bones.

Her breath caught as she scanned the corridor ahead, trying to pinpoint where it had come from. The hallway forked not far ahead, the path breaking in two different directions. In the distance, a staircase spiraled downward, disappearing into the dark.

The sound had come from there. River started forward, eyes narrowing toward the stairwell, and then she saw a flicker of movement, a shape, in the far corner of her vision.

On the other side of the tunnel.

She snapped her gun up, twisting just as the Doctor stepped into her path. She barely avoided crashing into him, shifting her weight just in time to keep her aim clear – but the moment she saw who she was aiming at, she lowered the weapon.

A man.

He had a long, red beard, the top of his head completely bald, glasses perched on his nose. His space suit was old, worn-down, scratched from years of use. But what caught her attention most wasn't his appearance.

It was his expression. He looked horrified.

And River wasn't sure if it was because of them – or because of whatever had just screeched from down that hall.

He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stared at them from a doorway not far ahead, body half-leaning out, one hand frantically waving them closer.

River blinked. Once. Twice.

She turned to the Doctor, who was watching the man with a bemused expression, pointing at himself in silent question. You mean us?

The man nodded. More urgently this time.

River and the Doctor exchanged another glance. Shrugged. And, with one last wary glance down the hall, they moved. The second they reached the doorway, the man reached out, grabbed both of them by the arms, and yanked them inside.

River almost protested, almost wrenched her arm free to remind him she didn't particularly like being manhandled – but then he shut the door behind them, locking it silently, pressing a single finger to his lips.

Be quiet.

And suddenly, River didn't feel the need to argue anymore. She took in the room quickly, cataloguing details with the precision of someone used to assessing danger at a glance.

It was some sort of control room, or at least it had been, once. The air smelled of overheated circuits and metal dust, the consoles battered and malfunctioning, screens flickering between static and broken data streams.

Three people.

Closest to the door was the red-bearded man who had pulled them inside. His weathered space suit read O'Riley. His glasses were smudged, his face lined with tension, but there was something else behind his urgent expression – exhaustion. A quiet despair that had settled into the creases of his face.

To his left, standing beside a console that looked thoroughly trashed was a woman. Cooper, according to her name tag. She had sharp features, dark brown hair, and a pointy nose. Her scarred hands gripped a knife, but she wasn't holding it with intent to attack. It was just there, in her grip, like a habit, a lifeline.

The third person was a man with dark skin and sharp brown eyes, his gaze measured as he leaned over a broken monitor. Sarraf it read on the suit. His movements were calculated, his attention flickering between them and the feed on the screen. He didn't flinch. Didn't panic. He was assessing.

River had seen that look before. Judging the threat level. Deciding how much trust to give.

The Doctor, undeterred by the room's silence, rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, ready to launch into introductions.

"Hi! I'm the Doctor, this is Ri–"

O'Riley moved like lightning, swinging his hand forward and smacking the Doctor's arm, hard. The Doctor snapped his head around, mouth already open in protest – but O'Riley just stared at him, wide-eyed, face pale, and pressed a trembling finger to his lips.

His eyes flicked to the door, as if expecting something – someone – to burst through it any second.

No one spoke or moved, and for a second the tension was suffocating.

River's brow furrowed, instinct telling her to scan the room again, and then she saw it. Not someone standing. Someone lying down. A blanket, pulled over the body. But beneath it, a pair of boots, the same kind of boots the others were wearing.

River's gaze softened and as she looked to the Doctor, she saw him notice it too.

She turned to the people in the room, slowly lifting her hands in a silent urge to give her a hint of trust. Her movements remained slow, deliberate, as she slid her gun back into its holster with practised ease. No sudden movements. No panic. Then, when nobody reacted to that, she turned to the Doctor again, she reached for him – grabbing the lapel of his jacket, slipping her hand inside.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, lips parting like he was about to say something, but before he could, she fished out the psychic paper, flipped it open, and held it out to Sarraf, because she judged him to be in charge here.

"Okay?" she asked carefully.

The man hesitated, his cautious steps taking him away from the monitor by which he'd been standing, which displayed the now-open front door of Curiosity station from the perspective of the security camera. So it was him they'd been talking to. Good to know.

His eyes darted from the psychic paper to them, and then back to the paper. For a brief second, disbelief flickered across his face. Whatever he saw, it was enough.

His shoulders slackened, just slightly. He wasn't convinced, not fully, but he was trusting them more. He nodded.

"Good," River mumbled.

River shoved the psychic paper back into the Doctor's inner jacket pocket, smoothing out his lapel before stepping away.

"Now," River whispered, her voice no louder than a breath, yet somehow it carried through the oppressive silence. "Why can't we make too much noise?"

Sarraf barely moved as he answered. "The monster. It devours the essence of anything it hears, leaving the body behind as an empty hull. The louder the sound, the stronger it gets."

River's eyebrows lifted. Well, that was new. But then again, the universe was an ever-growing encyclopedia of horrors. She filed it under disturbing but plausible and moved on.

"That's why you turned everything off?" the Doctor murmured, his voice barely more than a vibration in the air.

Cooper gave a tight nod. "We turned off what could be turned off, everything else we destroyed. We discovered that in complete silence, it's weaker. Slower. But every time we try to leave, the sound of us brings it back. It's a miracle you made it here without dying!"

River tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shifting her weight forward slightly. "Be that as it may, we're getting you out of here."

"But what about Schmied?" Cooper's voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of the words made River's stomach drop.

Beside her, the Doctor tensed as well.

"Schmied?" His gaze snapped to O'Riley, sharp and demanding. "Who's Schmied?"

O'Riley swallowed. "Schmied's our pilot. She was checking the drones underground when it crawled up from the tunnels. We thought she was dead – just like Verdo."

All of them glanced, almost unconsciously, toward the body beneath the blanket.

O'Riley took a slow, measured breath. "But two hours ago, when we sent out the distress call… we heard knocking inside the maintenance pipes. Morse code. Her name, and then some messages. She's alive. But we can't get to her without attracting it. And she can't get out without attracting it."

A glance passed between River and the Doctor. A silent understanding.

Then, the Doctor was already moving, quick and efficient, heading straight for one of the control panels. His fingers worked fast, pulling open drawers, sifting through supplies with barely a sound. His jaw was tight, his expression set, but his hands were steady.

Finally, he pulled out a set of communicators. He turned, stepping back to River, and wordlessly handed her one. She took it without hesitation.

"Arm wrestle over who gets to mess with the monster?" River whispered, as if there would be any question about who did what, a smirk teasing her lips. "Consider that I have a gun."

"Consider it for the monster or the arm wrestle?" the Doctor asked silently.

"Spoilers!" she hummed.

The Doctor didn't rise to the bait. He was already adjusting the frequency, sliding the earpiece into place with precise movements. "The no-noise-thingy is a problem; means we can't fly the TARDIS in here – she makes too much… ruckus."

"Maybe you can't," River corrected, stepping closer, her fingers deftly tweaking the frequency on his device. As she brushed against his hand, she felt the slightest hitch in his breath. "I definitely could."

"Not an option, River," he whispered, matching her tone. "She's too far away anyway."

"Ah, if you say so," River gave in, not going to argue now.

His fingers found her communicator next, adjusting her settings in return. The earpiece crackled softly in her ear.

"Test, test," the Doctor murmured.

River flinched at the double effect – his voice in her ear and standing right in front of her. He smirked. A second later, his own flinch mirrored hers when she whispered, "Check."

His expression sobered as his gaze flicked to the monitors. "I'm going down to find Schmied. You get the rest outside and then come back to distract the monster while we make our way back up. Once we're clear, we'll start the mining rig from afar. That should hopefully pin the creature to Curiosity – if it likes sound so much."

"Hopefully?" River echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Most likely," the Doctor amended, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her forehead.

So he didn't have a plan. Good to know.

River's smirk softened, just for a moment. "Be careful, Sweetie."

"You be careful," he murmured back. "And try not to shoot anyone unless absolutely necessary."

"No promises," she whispered.

The Doctor cast one last glance at her, a silent conversation passing between them – unspoken warnings, unspoken reassurances.

Normally, River had no problem letting him go off on his own, but considering he'd been a wreck just a few hours ago, still reeling from loss and not in a good place mentally... she was worried.

She tried not to let him see it too much – something she was quite good at.

Then, with careful, measured steps, he moved toward the door, pulling it open just enough to slip into the corridor beyond. The shadows swallowed him up as he headed toward the tunnels.

River turned back to the group. All eyes were on her now.

Sarraf, still wary but trusting, took a cautious step forward, his gaze flicking between her and the path the Doctor had taken. Cooper and O'Riley were poised, waiting, tension coiled in their stance.

River clapped her hands together – silently, a controlled motion, but with enough intent to make them straighten.

"Alright, listen up. We need to move quickly and quietly. The Doctor is handling the search for Schmied and keeping the monster occupied. My job is to get you all outside without losing a single one of you." Her eyes flicked between them, firm and expectant. "That means no unnecessary noise, no sudden movements, and absolutely no panicking. If I run, you run, if I hide, you hide. I will not be questioned. Clear?"

The crew exchanged looks but nodded.

"Good," River said silently, her smirk returning. "Now, you're lucky we left a bunch of open doors on our way here, so hopefully" she shot them a wicked look, "this will all go smoothly."

"You don't say something like that out loud, River," the Doctor's voice rang through the earpiece. "That's bad luck."

Chapter Text

River carefully leaned out of the doorway, scanning the corridor with quick, practiced eyes. The crew members stood tense behind her, waiting. Down the hall, the passage forked – one path leading to the unknown, the other sloping downward toward what she assumed were the tunnels.

No sign of the Doctor. No sign of the monster.

She waited another breath, then pulled the door open wider and stepped out, gun drawn. She doubted it would do much good, but it was comforting to have it in hand. A weight. A reassurance. If everything went according to plan, the Doctor would be making enough of a spectacle to keep the creature occupied while they slipped outside.

And really, River didn't think he'd even have to try. It was just a matter of time before he tripped over something, crashed into something, or – more likely – insulted the wrong pile of wreckage and found himself being chased by something.

Predictable. She smirked slightly.

Her husband was nothing if not distracting. But still, a small coil of worry twisted in her stomach.

He was in his element – snapping back into saving mode, throwing himself into the problem like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was only because of her that he was here, that he had let himself care again, but that didn't matter to the three people behind her. Or to the poor human trapped below.

The Doctor was here, helping, and that was all that counted.

And yet, she couldn't shake the worry. Unsupervised, he had the terrible habit of doing something reckless and incredibly stupid.

Yes, he was a grown man. Technically. Yes, he knew how to take care of himself. Mostly.

He understood the natural laws of the universe – he knew where the lines were and just how much he could bend them before something snapped. On a normal day, that was no problem. But he'd just lost Amy and Rory. And, he was also impulsive. And when he cared too much – when the losses weighed too heavily, he became dangerous in ways even he didn't quite understand.

Maybe that was why he was so determined to save Schmied. A person he'd never met. A life he could still win.

River exhaled slowly. First things first – get the others out, get them moving toward the TARDIS.

Then she'd go back for him. Somehow.

The mining rig will pin the creature to the station plan was nothing but a hopeful guess. Not a real plan, not a solution. He had needed to say something, to buy himself time to think of something real. And River had no doubt he would, if the pressure was high enough.

But if not? Well.

Other then him, she already had a backup plan. One the Doctor certainly wouldn't like, which was why she remained silent about it.

He didn't even know the monster yet.

That was why he had to be the one going down – because knowing what they were dealing with was the first step to stopping it. He needed to see it, to get a proper look, to figure out what it was before he could come up with a better plan than hope and good timing.

River and the others moved carefully along the wall, pressing into the shadows as they crept toward the first door. Now that she knew sound was the thing that attracted the creature, she was more deliberate with her steps, making sure each movement was silent.

Her boots weren't exactly built for sneaking, but she was an experienced adventurer – and if she'd managed to run through mud in high heels, she could definitely sneak in these somewhat-high ones.

As they reached the door, she stepped back, gesturing for the crew to move through first. One by one, they slipped past her into the next section of the station. Once the last one was clear, she lifted a hand to her earpiece.

"First door clear," she murmured.

The reply came almost instantly – bright, breathless, and still whispering. "Brilliant! I'm in the tunnels now. This place is an absolute labyrinth, River. And the smell – oh, the smell! Damp metal, a hint of ozone, and a generous helping of malfunctioning space heater that fell into a swamp. Charming."

River smirked but kept her focus locked on the tunnel as she slipped through the door, pulling it shut behind her – but not fully closing it. She, at least, planned to go this way a third time.

"Focus, Sweetie. Any sign of our monster?"

"Not yet," the Doctor admitted, voice quieter now. "But there are echoes. Something's moving down here. And it's not just me."

River slowed, glancing toward Sarraf and the others.

"Good news!" she announced silently, her lips barely moving. "The Doctor is picking up movement!"

O'Riley stiffened. "How is that good news?"

"Because it means our noise-sensitive fellow is currently his problem, not ours!" she said without missing a beat. "And even better – it means your friend might just make it out of here alive."

She flicked her fingers, motioning them forward again.

Sarraf took point, his movements controlled and steady. Cooper followed just behind him, gripping her knife the way River held her gun – ready, but tense, as if she already knew it wouldn't help. O'Riley, on the other hand, looked about two heartbeats away from losing his lunch.

River hushed them forward, leading them across the abandoned workspace. The machinery still lay scattered around, untouched since they'd last passed through.

It was probably worth a fortune. If she were here alone, she might have taken the time to scavenge – just a little. But she wasn't here alone.

She was here with the Doctor. And also for him. That meant, these people were the highest priority. Which meant no distractions, no scavenging.

She had no doubt he'd lecture her about unnecessary risks if she endangered them for something as trivial as salvage.

She sighed internally. Maybe later.

They moved as one, keeping close, every step measured and deliberate. The corridor stretched ahead, leading them straight to the front entrance – freedom just a few doors away. The outside had become louder, since they've come through last.

Sarraf reached for the handle, gripping it tightly, and pulled. Nothing. His breath hitched, and he glanced back at River, eyes sharp with barely contained panic.

She understood instantly.

"Emergency lock," he mouthed. "Level six winds outside. The outer two doors lock automatically in case the dome breaches."

River pushed past O'Riley, stepping up to examine the door and its locking mechanism. The sonic would make short work of it – but, of course, the Doctor had the sonic.

She really should get her own. But not a screwdriver… maybe a trowel?

"Can you override it?" she asked, voice low.

Sarraf turned toward O'Riley, who was already rubbing a hand over his bald head, his expression tight. "Yes," O'Riley whispered. "But since it's emergency protocol, it won't be silent."

River inhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a beat. Then, tapping her earpiece, she whispered, "Where's our monster?"

The Doctor's voice crackled back almost instantly, hushed but still annoyingly upbeat. "Behind me somewhere. Why?"

"We're at the second outer door," River murmured. "It's emergency locked. O'Riley can override it, but manual means loud."

She threw a pointed look at O'Riley. He lifted both hands in a weak excuse of an apology.

"Of course it does," the Doctor muttered. "How much time do you need?"

River turned back to O'Riley. "How long?"

"Forty seconds to override, fifteen more for pressure equalization – then however long it takes us to get through. And the same again for the exit door."

River relayed it. Silence. Then a sigh.

"That is a very long time to make a very loud noise."

"Well spotted," River said dryly. "Which means we'll need a distraction."

A pause. Then, finally, the reluctant exhale of a man who absolutely had a plan and absolutely hated that he had to use it. "Fine. I'll make some noise down here, draw it away. Wish me luck."

River's voice softened, just for him. "Always."

She turned back to the group, locking eyes with O'Riley. His hands hovered over the panel, sweat beading at his temples. River checked the small clock next to the door, giving the Doctor just a little longer to find something loud enough to work. Then, whispering into the earpiece:

"Counting down. Three… two… one!"

Showtime, Doctor.

From the comm, an explosion of sound – metal clattering, something heavy crashing, followed by the unmistakable racket of a Time Lord being an absolute nuisance. River didn't waste a second analysing the details.

She spun back to O'Riley. "Go!"

His fingers flew over the controls. A sharp alarm erupted, slicing through the corridor like a blade. Metal locks thudded open, one by one.

Then – a scream.

Sarraf paled. "It heard that."

River cocked her gun. "Then let's hope my husband sounds more tasty!"

"Husband?!" Sarraf's voice was hoarse, forced into a whisper. "I thought you two were security officers for the mining company?!"

"We are!" River snapped, exasperated. "And also married. Now focus!"

Beyond the door, another alarm blared, its shrill cry bouncing off the metal walls. Then – a crash. Louder. Closer.

River flinched.

"Doctor…" she murmured into the earpiece, voice worried.

"Giving it my everything here, River!" the Doctor answered, and something exploded on his side of the communicator.

She had no idea what the Doctor was doing, but if there was one thing he excelled at, it was being loud, irritating, and impossible to ignore. Right now, she needed him to be all three.

The final lock released with a heavy clunk. The door groaned, hissing as the pressure equalization began. Another scream – closer now.

The Doctor's voice crackled through, breathless but just a little too gleeful. "Oh, it's very angry. But the good news is, so far, it still prefers me! I'd advice you to run!"

The door finally gave way. Sarraf shoved it open, and the group surged forward into the next chamber. Behind them, the tunnels trembled.

"Okay, never mind; now it's after you." The Doctor's voice was rushed but still carried that infuriating edge of amusement. "Hurry, I'm getting close to Schmied!"

River shoved the last crew member through, then grabbed the door and slammed it shut behind her. The Doctor was still down there.

That was a problem for later.

Gun raised, she spun on her heel, covering the door as it locked with a deep, mechanical thud. Air hissed as the pressure snapped into place. O'Riley was already at the next door, hands moving fast over the controls.

Out here, closer to the outer rim of the glass dome, River finally understood why the doors had locked.

The wind had picked up.

It howled, slamming into the reinforced glass with a force that rattled through her bones, throwing sand against the structure like a hailstorm. The sound was grating, grinding against her skull. But staying here wasn't an option.

She pressed a hand to her ear. "Doctor, report."

"I've got her!" The Doctor's voice rang through the earpiece, breathless but triumphant. "She's alive and… mostly intact!"

"Great!" River called back, but there was no relief in her tone.

The moment stretched, too thin, too tense… then the door behind them rattled. A slam, metal bending inward. The monster screamed – a sound so sharp, so wrong, it sent vibrations skittering through River's bones. She spun just in time to see another impact.

The reinforced panel dented. It struck again. Another dent.

The lock held. For now.

River took a slow, measured step back, pressing lightly against Cooper's shoulder, a silent signal to be ready. Behind her, the familiar hiss of pressure equalization filled the air as the outer door released its final locks.

No more waiting.

River shoved her gun back into its holster and pushed the crew forward. "Move!"

They stumbled at first, but no one argued. Seconds stretched into eternity, but at last, the outer door groaned open, and the wind hit them like a freight train.

A blast of sand-laced air whipped against their suits, tiny grains striking exposed skin like needle-sharp bullets. River blinked against the sting, grabbed the edge of the door, and yanked it shut behind them.

The alarm cut out.

For a moment, silence. But it wasn't true silence, only the absence of alarms, the absence of immediate danger.

The storm still howled around them, a relentless force that carried dust in violent, swirling eddies. The world was a shifting haze of rust-colored chaos, the horizon completely lost to the elements.

And yet, through the storm, in the distance River could see the TARDIS. A lone, unmoving beacon, its blue edges barely visible through the golden blur of sand and wind. River turned to the others, voice raised to cut through the storm.

"Blue box! Run!"

For a second, they hesitated – as if their bodies had forgotten how to move after everything they'd just endured. Then, instinct kicked in. They pulled fabric over their mouths, yanked down their goggles, and ran. Within seconds, their silhouettes were swallowed by the shifting storm.

River turned back to the door, the reinforced metal barely visible through the swirling dust and the dim, amber-hued light filtering through the dome's high glass walls. She didn't move. Not yet.

Her breath was slow, steady, her muscles tight with anticipation.

"We're out!" she murmured, "Doctor, do we have a plan yet?"

A burst of static, then – "Uhh…" The Doctor's voice crackled through the interference, wavering slightly. "Working on it! How's coming back inside to pose a distraction?"

River gritted her teeth, blinking against another gust of wind as it slammed against the dome. The reinforced glass groaned under the pressure.

"Not great," she bit out. "We had to lock the doors, or that thing would've followed us outside and ripped us to shreds. There's a storm out here, there's no way you'll make it through with Schmied, especially not if she's injured!"

The air was thick with static, heavy with the metallic tang of electricity from the storm. The sky above was a swirling, endless void of red and gold, thick with sand and dust. Visibility was dropping by the second.

And still, River remained.

"Okay. Okay. Umm… we'll find a way out, River. Get yourself to safety!"

"No!" she barked into the comm, eyes flicking to the door again. The storm was a howling beast, but the scraping from the other side was worse. Closer. Hungrier.

"River! Do what you're told!"

"You do what you're told!" she shot back, voice edged with frustration and something softer – something dangerous.

She grabbed the hem of her shirt, fingers working fast to rip a long strip of fabric. The sound barely carried over the wind. Quickly, she tied it around her nose and mouth, bracing against another violent gust.

"The monster was with us just a moment ago," she continued, "so find a place and hide. Be as silent as you can. I'll get you out with the TARDIS!"

"No! River!" The Doctor's voice was insistent, sharp. "It's too dangerous! What if the monster–"

"Oh no!" River called over the wind, pivoting slightly to glance toward the crew. They were barely more than dark silhouettes now, running full tilt toward the TARDIS, their suits flapping wildly in the relentless gale. "The wind is so strong! I can't hear you! I think the connection is cutting out!"

Time for her backup plan.

The Doctor wouldn't like it, not one bit. Oh, he would rage… but that wasn't the worst thing, not… not for the long game, at least.

"Riv–"

She reached up and switched off the earpiece. Then, without hesitation, she kicked off her boots. They vanished almost instantly beneath the shifting sands. A shame. She had liked those boots.

But running in them through this storm? Impossible.

The moment her bare feet hit the scorching sand, pain shot up her legs, but she ignored it. She ran.

This was the only way. He knew it. If she went back to open the door, she would doom the survivors who were still fleeing across the storm-ravaged desert.

And it wasn't even guaranteed she'd make it out alive. The Doctor's original plan had been bad, and they had both known it. River's plan wasn't much better – and much riskier, but it was the only real option they had left.

She could fly the TARDIS precisely. Silently.

She trusted herself to land without drawing the monster's attention. To get in, grab him, and Schmied, and get out before the creature even registered her presence. And then… Then, she was going to blow Curiosity station to hell.

No traces. No risks.

Because who knew what that thing was?

Maybe it was an anomaly, something ancient – a buried predator woken by mining drills, by the careless trampling of human feet. Maybe the Doctor would love to trap it in a jar, study it, understand it. But maybe some monsters just needed to be stopped.

River pushed herself harder, her breath burning in her lungs as she sprinted through the storm. She wasn't wearing the heavy suits like the crew, which meant she was gaining on them fast.

If she had known the sand would be this relentless, she would have dressed differently. But it was too late for that now.

She cursed herself for parking the TARDIS so far away.

She had only done it to protect her. To keep her from getting caught in the middle of whatever this had turned into – something the Doctor rarely considered when he landed anywhere. And now? Now it was biting her.

River was fit, more than fit, but running through a sandstorm, through this, was brutal. Every step was like wading through tar, the storm fighting her with every ounce of its fury. She kept the crew in sight, keeping them within reach, but it was like running blind.

The wind howled, tearing at her with claws of sand and grit, each grain sharp as glass. The volcanic spires loomed in the distance, jagged shadows against the swirling chaos. Sound was useless – just a deafening, relentless roar pressing against her skull.

The only thing guiding her was the beacon – the steady, reassuring glow of the TARDIS light, cutting through the storm like a promise.

Seconds stretched into eternity. But eventually, finally, she reached it.

River brushed past the people already standing there, gaping for air, slammed into the TARDIS door, gripping the frame as she fumbled for the key, fingers slick with sweat and sand.

"This is your solution?" someone panted behind her, voice barely audible over the wind. "There's no way we all fit in there!"

Didn't matter who said it. Wasn't important.

"Stop whining and get in!" River barked, shoving the key into the lock, twisting hard, and throwing the door open.

Instantly, the chaos cut off. The wind. The sand. The storm. Gone. It was replaced by the soft sounds of the TARDIS, something that came close to silence.

But there was no time to revel in the relief.

River kept running, leaving a trail of sand in her wake as she bolted up the steps toward the console.

"Whoa!" someone gasped behind her.

"Bigger on the inside, time machine, don't have time to explain right now!" River shot back, already flipping switches, fingers flying over the controls. "Close the door, hold tight, and don't barf!"

She spun on her heel, pointing directly at who she guessed to be O'Riley. Hard to tell. They all looked the same, coated in sand, winded, struggling to breathe.

She didn't care.

"What about the Doctor? And Schmied?!" The voice was clearer now, sharper – Sarraf, pulling down his goggles and yanking the cloth away from his mouth. "You said you were going to save her, too!"

"And I will!" River snapped, already turning back to the console. "Stand back and let me work!"

She yanked the targeting system into manual override, knuckles white against the controls. The screen flickered, struggling against the interference from the storm. River narrowed her eyes. "Come on, old girl, work with me here."

The TARDIS hummed in response, the engines shifting under her touch.

Good.

She wasn't just getting the Doctor and Schmied out. She was doing it fast and silent. A drive-by extraction.

Materialize around them – just long enough for their bodies to settle inside – then immediately disappear before the creature could even process what had happened

Not the easiest maneuver.

Especially not when everything hurt, and people were questioning her qualifications. But River Song was nothing if not optimistic.

River reached for the reality-adjusters, fingers poised to make the final calculations – then paused. One more thing. She reached up, ripped the communicator from her ear, and slammed it onto the console's universal port.

Immediately, the TARDIS stuttered. A fractured burst of static rippled through the room, followed by an electric snap before the connection stabilized.

"Don't move. Don't scream. How's the monster?" she asked, still a little breathless.

The response came in a hushed whisper, crackling but clear. "Enormous. Very angry." River's fingers hesitated just for a moment over the controls. "Hasn't noticed us yet."

Good.

"I'm very angry at you, River!"

Oh.

The Doctor's voice cut through the comm, laced with something sharp, something quiet – not more than a breath, a whisper. She could hear it.

The frustration. The absolute fury. The wrath of a man who had lost.

But she'd done what he'd needed her to do. Whether he liked it or not… Not that she'd exactly left him with a choice.

Still. Hearing that he was alive? That was enough for River.

"Yes, yes," she answered dismissively, her hands already flying over the coordinates. "I know."

And then she moved.

River sprinted around the console, her movements a seamless blur of precision and urgency. She didn't need to think – her hands knew. Fingers danced over the controls, her touch guiding the TARDIS as much as the TARDIS guided her.

Fourty seconds. That was all she needed.

The targeting matrix flickered to life, data cascading across the monitor as she fine-tuned the parameters.

"Invisibility engaged."

"Silent mode active."

"All noise sources suppressed."

"Countdown for self-destruction of the Curiosity set to fourty. Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight."

"Does the screen say self destruct?!" someone yelled behind her; but she ignored it.

The TARDIS engines idled at near-zero emissions, vibrations dampened to an imperceptible hum.

She wasn't just flying unnoticed. She was becoming a ghost. Oh, she was good

River, all of the sudden, felt really sexy. She quickly turned around to see if the Doctor had noticed it, but then realised – as she was looking into Sarraf's sandy, displeased face – that he wasn't there yet and with a slightly disappointed gaze, turned back to the console.

River toggled the retrieval lock, rerouting the primary ping through her earpiece, triangulating the Doctor's signal with a precision only she and the TARDIS could ever manage.

Two life signs. One furious Time Lord. One injured human. She exhaled sharply and locked them both in.

"Coming for you now, my love!" she announced.

The TARDIS pulsed under River's fingers, responding to her commands like an extension of her own body. The ship wanted this as much as she did – wanted to bring him home, wanted to do what the Doctor never let her do when she was flying alone.

Land perfectly. Quietly. Flawlessly.

Her fingers closed around the final lever.

"Twenty-seven. Twenty-six."

She pulled it.

The engines barely made a sound, just the faintest hum – nothing more than a breath against the raging storm outside. River barely had time to exhale before the monitors flickered – "Materialization complete."

They were inside. The Doctor and Schmied were inside.

River spun, looking if she'd made it. The Doctor staggered forward, hauling Schmied along with him, his suit torn, face streaked with grit. Blood on his jacket and shirt; but not his. It was dark brown and thick.

His eyes found hers instantly. He was furious.

River barely had time to process it before he marched toward her, one hand still bracing Schmied, the other already pointing at her.

"You!" he bellowed.

She smiled, smug and completely unapologetic. "Me!"

He took a deep breath – the kind that meant he was about to go on a very long, very dramatic rant – but then, the TARDIS lurched, a deep thunk echoing through the room. The station.

"Eight. Seven. Six."

River grabbed the stabilizer and yanked. "Hold that thought, Sweetie – bit busy!" she shot back, spinning the TARDIS back into motion.

The engines purred, shifting around them, and through the monitor, she saw the creature – the thing – lurking just beyond the wreckage of the tunnels beneath Curiosity station, its shadow stretching toward them, its presence hungry. Suddenly River knew whose blood was on the Doctor's clothes.

Too late. The TARDIS blinked out of existence, the last remnants of the station dissolving into the storm. Gone.

"Two. One."

But they were already gone. There was no sound, no noise of explosion sounding through the ship. Just the eerie, unnatural silence the TARDIS normally didn't have. River released the lever, exhaled sharply, then turned.

The Doctor was still glaring at her.

"You turned off your earpiece," he accused, voice sharp.

"Did I?" River mused, tilting her head. "I think it was the storm."

He brought Schmied over to her friends. She looked injured, one of her arms was hanging in an unnatural angle, but she was alive. Once Cooper had a hold of her, the Doctor focused back on River, coming up the stairs towards her.

"You–" He stopped, eyes flashing as he ran both hands through his hair. "You risked your life, the lifes of all these humans and my ship in a stupid, flashy stunt!"

"And they all survived, including you!" River beamed, spreading her arms. She acted lightly, unimpressed, but she was more tense then before. The Doctor was unpredictable right now, even for her. "See? All worked out perfectly!"

"It did not work out perfectly! It barely worked out at all!" he yelled. "What if something went wrong, what if the monster attacked us just the second you materialized around us? What, if something would have blocked her from de-materializing?!"

"Oh, don't be such a grump," she teased, already starting to set new coordinates. "You were never in any real danger."

The Doctor made a sound so deeply exasperated that Schmied, still slumped against Cooper, actually laughed.

River grinned. "See? She gets it."

The Doctor inhaled deeply, held it, then let it out all at once with a silent snarl. River watched, waiting. Finally, he pointed at her again. "You are unbelievable!"

"And you," she said, stepping in close, hands smoothing over his dust-covered lapels, voice dead-serious, "are alive. Look around, Doctor. Everyone is alive."

She wasn't mentioning the body in the control room, Verdo, but they wouldn't have been able to do anything there. But of the people they still could save, all four were alive and, as he'd said so nicely, mostly intact.

His breath hitched slightly, his anger – still simmering – tangling with something softer, something unspoken.

She reached up and patted his cheek. "Now, be a good boy and fetch our guest some water, yes?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, narrowed his eyes at her, and then, grumbling, turned to do exactly that. He stumped down the stairs, vanishing into one of the corridors leading away from the control room.

"Now, to you" River hummed, turning to the crew of the Curiosity. "Where can I drop you off?"

Sarraf stepped up to her, horror in his eyes. "You're not security officers, are you?"

ʘ ʘ ʘ ʘ

A bit later, the Doctor returned with a handful of water bottles and the medical kit, already shifting into caretaker mode – brisk, efficient, utterly focused on tending to their passengers. He knelt beside Schmied first, murmuring something soft, his hands moving with practiced ease as he started checking for injuries.

River kept her eyes on him from across the console, fingers tightening on the controls. She flew with precision, guiding the TARDIS to the coordinates Sarraf had provided, every adjustment instinctive. It had to be. Right now, she couldn't afford anything but instinct.

The air inside the TARDIS felt too still after the chaos outside, even though River had reversed the silent mode. No wind, no sand, no roaring storm to drown out the thoughts creeping in. She watched the Doctor work, his expression set in something close to neutral.

But River knew better.

He was furious. Furious in the way only he could be – where the rage wasn't loud, wasn't explosive, but coiled, waiting. The kind that could stay buried for hours, maybe even days, before he finally turned to her and let it spill out in one great, exasperated rant.

And she would take it. Because he needed to let it out. And it wasn't her he was furious with, even though he may think that. And she could take it.

Her hands moved steadily over the controls, but her knuckles were white against the levers. The vibrations of the TARDIS running smoothly beneath her palms were the only thing grounding her.

She forced herself to exhale, slow and measured, a careful release of breath.

The Doctor wouldn't look at her yet – not really. And that was good. Because she wasn't sure if she was ready for what he'd see if he did.

So instead, she focused on flying. On the steady rhythm of the TARDIS beneath her fingertips. On keeping her hands from shaking.

Chapter Text

He was standing behind her, still and silent.

River kept her head down, fingers twitching against the console. She could feel him there, even when she wasn't looking. She knew he was watching the TARDIS, not her… but at least he acknowledged her existence.

"What has this been, River?" his voice moved through the ship.

River exhaled through her nose, stepping around the console. She flicked a switch, just to do something, and the TARDIS groaned beneath her touch. The sound echoed in the empty room, stretching into the space between them, thick with tension.

She didn't look at him. Just at her hands, at the console, at the sand she had left smeared across the controls.

"What do you mean?" she asked, light, casual.

Behind her, she heard the smallest shift of fabric. The slight rustle of his jacket as he moved. Slow. Deliberate.

"Why did you pick this?" he asked.

He was trailing her now, shadowing her as she moved, his footfalls soft but relentless. River forced herself to stay relaxed, not to react. "Because they needed you," she answered simply. "That's why."

Silence. Not an accepting silence. A loaded one. She glanced up, just enough to catch his reflection in the darkened monitor. His face was blank. Too blank.

That was never a good sign.

I am very angry at you, River! That's what he'd said.

"Are we going to talk about it, then?" she asked carefully, tilting her head, testing, glancing towards him.

The Doctor finally looked at her – sharp and sudden, eyes locking onto hers like a knife being drawn. River stilled. And then – just as suddenly – he dropped his gaze again and turned away.

Hands slipping into his pockets, rocking onto the balls of his feet, shifting his weight in that restless, uneasy way he always did when he wanted to walk away from something but couldn't.

It wasn't a refusal. But it wasn't an answer either.

The Curiosity crew had filled the TARDIS with life for a short moment – chatter, relief, purpose. They had thanked them. They had marveled at the ship. They had laughed. They had congratulated her piloting skills. The Doctor, for his part, had tended their wounds with that quiet, gentle care that only he carried.

And now, they were gone.

Now, it was just him and her. And the silence.

River had been dreading this moment.

And, apparently, she'd been right to.

She knew he wasn't stupid. Of course, he wasn't. But neither was she. The Doctor had known exactly what she had done – and worse, he had let her do it. Had, knowingly or unknowingly, hoped she would do it. She hadn't missed the way he had handed her the TARDIS, had stepped back, let her take control. That hadn't been an accident. It had been a plea – unspoken, but deliberate.

He had needed her to remind him who he was.

And she had tried. She had thrown them both into adventure, let herself believe, just for a second, that it had worked. Maybe it even did for a second. That she had pulled him back from the abyss, if only a little. That maybe, this time, saving lives would be enough.

But then she had shut the earpiece off and the Doctor had realised what they'd been doing as well – that was why he was angry. Not because of what she'd risked – he knew that this was how she handled things – but because it hadn't worked.

He was furious, not just at her. At himself. At the universe. At the fact that none of it had worked. And he was too angry to see that he saved four lives. That she had tried.

Because this was the part that wasn't fair.

She had been willing to carry him. She had been ready to do this for him. And she still was. She always would be. But she couldn't do it without him.

And that was the problem.

The Doctor stepped closer.

River felt him before she saw him – his presence behind her, the weight of his silence. He didn't look at her, just placed a hand on the console beside hers, waiting. Waiting for her to move.

She held her ground for a moment longer, then stepped aside, giving him space. He took her place at the helm.

"I've got it," he mumbled. "Go get cleaned up."

River straightened. "No need."

The Doctor's hands stilled on the controls. "Don't argue with me," he muttered, voice low, rough. A warning. A subtle reminder that the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. Whether it was directed at her or not – that was the real question. "And this time," he added, "do what you're told."

That made her bristle. She almost pushed back, almost fought him on it, but then… Then, she caught sight of herself in the reflection of a metal plate on the console.

She looked like hell.

Her skin was coated in a layer of fine, golden dust, except for the single, clean stripe where she'd tied the cloth over her face. But everywhere else? Sand. Her curls were tangled, weighed down with grit and heat and debris. She could feel the sand clinging to her scalp, stuck in the knots, woven into her. Her outfit – once light, airy, elegant – was now torn and frayed, loose strips hanging from where she had ripped it apart herself. Barely fabric anymore.

And her skin… She hadn't let herself feel it before. The raw scratches up her arms and legs, the sting of heat-burned skin, the dull ache from where the wind had hurled stones at her. She had been hurting this whole time.

And yet, it had barely registered. She had learned a long time ago how to ignore pain. River exhaled slowly, turning her gaze to the Doctor instead.

"What about you?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled. A slow, controlled, measured breath. one that told her everything.

He didn't acknowledge her. Didn't even look at her. Just turned away and started working, hands moving over the console with deliberate, pointed focus.

River understood. She didn't push.

Not yet.

Instead, she turned and left the room, the gentle sound of her bare, sandy feet against the grating the only sound.

By the time she stepped into the shower, the silence was deafening. The heat hit her skin in sharp, scalding bursts, washing away the sand, the sweat, the storm. But it didn't wash away the thoughts.

Because there had been blood on his clothes, blood that hadn't been his. And that should have been a relief.

But it wasn't. Because he hadn't just found another way.

The Doctor always found another way. He never resorted to violence. He never let something push him that far. But something had. Or, someone had.

River inhaled sharply, head lowered down.

She would have done it. If it had come down to survival – if it had come down to stopping that thing before it reached him – she would have pulled the trigger without hesitation. She had blown up that station without hesitation, and she still thought that it had been right.

That was who she was. And he knew that. But him? The Doctor didn't do things like that. The Doctor found another way.

So what had happened down there? The image flickered in her mind: a monster hunched down, blood splattered across the Doctor's clothes. Her stomach twisted. She knew what injured monsters looked like, acted like.

There was a reason the Doctor surrounded himself with brilliant people – clever, independent, hopeful. People who reminded him of the good in the universe. People who never lost that belief, that sense of wonder. He needed someone to stop him when it came to a case like this, but River hadn't stopped him.

Because River Song wasn't built to remind the Doctor of the light. She was something sharper. A blade, where his companions had been shields. She didn't soften the edges of his grief – she cut through them, carved a path forward when he couldn't.

Maybe that was why they never lasted long together. Why their timelines were always too out of sync, too tangled, too wrong.

Maybe that was why, no matter how much she loved him, this would always happen.

And maybe… maybe that was why he had turned to her now. Not because he needed comfort, but because he needed someone who wouldn't hesitate. Someone who could force him forward when he was too lost to do it himself.

Because if River Song was a blade, then he had been waiting for her to cut through the weight holding him down.

And she had failed.

By the time she stepped from the shower, her hair was still a little sandy, a little itchy, even after washing it five times. But she had a plan.

Or, at least, she had something close enough. It was some ideas that, lined up, could maybe become a plan. It mostly involved making him even angrier.

She couldn't change what she had done. Couldn't undo what he had let her do. But she could use it.

The Doctor was angry. And anger – with him – was powerful. It was dangerous, yes, because the Doctor, when angry, could be unpredictable. But River was the one person in the universe who knew how to handle it.

Because the Doctor never talked about his emotions. Not when he was grieving. Not when he was scared. If she had sat him down, if she had gently asked him to open up, he would have just smiled and sent her away.

She had to take risks. She had to push him. Because only when the Doctor was furious did he actually talk. And she had made him furious.

She got dressed – tight pants, a dark green blouse. Slipped on a pair of comfortable shoes. Took one last breath before stepping out into the corridor.

Then, she marched straight back to the console room.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she hesitated for only a second. This was his space. His ship. And right now, she was probably the last person in the universe he wanted to see.

But that didn't stop her.

She stepped over the threshold, crossing into the console room.

She studied him as she made her way up the stairs. He had changed his clothes. The blood was gone. So was the jacket. But his posture – that was the same. Tense, closed off.

She knew he had noticed her.

But he didn't speak. Didn't look at her. His mouth was tight, his hands moving over the console too precisely, too pointedly.

The silence between them stretched, thick and unyielding. She exhaled through her nose, tilting her head. Voice light, casual, like she wasn't prying at an open wound. "You gonna pout all day, Sweetie?"

Every instinct told her to shut up.

To just let him sulk. But now that the damage was done anyway? She wanted him to talk.

And she would make sure he did.

River tilted her head. "Are we going to talk about it, Doctor?" she asked, forcing her voice to be somewhat cheerful. "You've been frowny for too long."

For a second, she thought he might just continue ignoring her. That he would keep working, keep his hands busy, keep his eyes down, but then, slowly, his head lifted.

And oh. There it was. Not just anger – sharp and cutting – but something worse.

He was hurt.

"Oh, I don't know, River!" His voice was too bright, too flippant, a parody of his usual energy. His hand hovered over the big lever, but he didn't push it. Didn't even move. "I feel like I have every right to be as frowny and grumpy as I want!"

River forced a smirk, tried to keep it light. "So dramatic!"

But the Doctor wasn't playing. "Fine, let's talk about it! If that's what you want, River!"

He reached for something on the console, movements precise, clipped, and River knew what it was before he even held it up. The earpiece. Dangling between his fingers, accusing.

"You turned off your earpiece," he grumbled, voice dangerously low.

River barely bit back a sigh. "Oh, come on, Doctor! I could barely hear you over the storm anyway, and–"

"Oh no, the wind is so strong! I can't hear you!" His voice mocked her, echoing her words from hours ago, twisting them back at her with venom. His hand clenched around the earpiece. "You think I didn't know what you were doing?"

"I'm sure you did!" She straightened her spine, meeting his glare head-on. "It worked, didn't it?"

The Doctor groaned, raking a hand through his hair before he started pacing – quick, agitated, energy coiling too tight.

"Yes, it worked! It worked by accident, River! You didn't have a backup plan, no security, should it fail, no– I, we–" He cut himself off, breath catching like the words were fighting their way out. Then he spun to face her, hands thrown up, furious. "You could have died. The humans could have died!"

River refused to look away, refused to back down. She tracked him as he moved, staying locked onto him, refusing to let him go. "But we didn't," she countered, voice steady, even. "I live. You live. The humans live."

It wasn't enough.

The Doctor whirled on her, hands still in the air like he wanted to strangle the words right out of existence. River saw it then. The sharp coldness in his eyes, the way his jaw locked to keep something else – something deeper – from slipping through. She had to blink, once, twice, to keep the stinging in her eyes at bay, to keep her expression stern, controlled. She couldn't waver.

"That's not the point, River!" he snapped.

Her throat tightened. But she forced her voice up, forced it to soften. Just barely, just enough to push – just enough to make him break.

"Then what is your point, Doctor?" she asked, voice quieter now, almost gentle. "Tell me."

He stopped.

Head down. Shoulders stiff. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then, slowly, his hand curled around the edge of the console, gripping it like he needed something solid to hold onto.

When he spoke again, his voice was low, rough, raw in a way that made her stomach twist. "You scared me."

The air in the room seemed to shift.

Colder. Heavier.

Ah, River thought. Here we are.

But the Doctor wasn't done. Before River could even take a breath, he stepped closer, every movement sharp, precise, radiating barely contained fury. His voice dropped, quieter now, but no less dangerous.

"Do you have any idea what it's like?" he hissed. "Running through those tunnels, knowing you were out there? Fighting through a storm, risking everything on a gamble?!"

River answered immediately, her voice soft, steady. "Yes."

The Doctor ignored her.

"And then you shut me off! I had nothing! Nothing but silence while you proceeded with this brilliant plan – oh, let's just land the TARDIS perfectly around living, breathing people in the middle of a monster-infested death trap with no margin for error! Because that never goes wrong!"

River tried to smile, but it was weak, unconvincing, even to herself. But the Doctor wasn't even looking at her properly, so it didn't matter. She bit back the comment that this was also something she could perfectly relate to.

"And yet, here you stand," she murmured instead.

That, however, did the trick.

His whole attention snapped to her, rage flaring like a supernova. His hand lifted, finger pointed at her, sharp and accusing, his face twisted in something deeper than anger. Something closer to desperation.

"That's not a defence, River!" he exploded. "That is sheer, reckless insanity! You didn't have the right!"

"I didn't have the right?!" River's voice cut through his, her control slipping as she stepped forward, fire meeting fire. "Who says that, Doctor? You? Because you're never reckless?!"

"That's different," the Doctor growled, his breath sharp, teeth gritted.

River let out a cold, humourless laugh. "Really? How? How is it different?!"

"Because it's ME, RIVER!"

Her name tore through the air like a whip, ringing through the TARDIS like a warning, like a plea.

River froze.

For a second, all she could do was stare. He was breathing hard, every inch of him tense, barely holding himself together. There were words between them, thick and heavy in the air, unspoken but felt, trembling between them like an unstable star ready to collapse.

But neither of them dared to say them.

So instead, River stepped forward, right into his space.

"And that's supposed to be enough for me, yes?" she whispered, voice silent but still sharp. "To just stand by and watch you burn? Watch you throw yourself into the void while I do nothing?"

The Doctor ran a frustrated hand through his hair – his hairdo completely ruined by now –, turning away for half a second before spinning back, just as agitated, just as furious. "River…"

"No." Her voice was steel. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to decide when to be saved. And you sure as hell don't get to decide what I do in order to save you! You don't get to run into the storm whenever you feel like it and expect me to just watch. You can't expect me to–"

"That is not what I expect!" he snapped.

"Of course it is!" she snapped, eyes flashing. "You throw yourself into danger, take reckless risks, and call it brilliant. But when I do it? Suddenly, I don't have the right? Tell me, Doctor – how is that fair?"

He stared at her, breathing ragged. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "That's different."

"No, Doctor! Don't because-it's-me-River me again, where is this difference?!" River tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Is it because only you get to be foolhardy?"

The Doctor swallowed. When he answered, this time, his voice was raw. "Because I can't lose you, too."

The silence that took over was the kind that settles deep. The kind that presses against the ribs, heavy and suffocating. River inhaled, slow and steady, closing her eyes for the briefest moment.

This was what she had been fighting for, what she had needed him to say.

She had him now.

And yet, why did it feel like she had lost something, too?

She breathed through the desperation clawing at her chest, then opened her eyes again, stepping even closer. Her hand found his, steady, grounding.

"You won't lose me, Doctor," she murmured, quiet and sure.

His gaze flickered down, and for the first time since they started, he looked… truly tired. Not the messed up look from when she'd found him in the machine room, but really, actually tired.

"Yes, I will." His voice was small now. "I lose everyone eventually. And you are not helping with your brilliant, but reckless behaviour, River! Risking your life… I can't watch it."

River exhaled, her grip on his wrist tightening just slightly. She reached up with the other hand, brushing her fingers against his cheek. "But I won't leave you anytime soon."

That's when she felt it. The dampness.

Oh, Doctor…

Tears. She hadn't even noticed them.

His breath hitched, and he turned his head slightly, pulling away from her touch – but not entirely. "You can't promise that."

River's lips curved, just barely, into something softer. "Neither can you."

A breath. A moment. A heartbeat where the universe seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, standing in the dim glow of the TARDIS, caught between past losses and future inevitabilities.

Then, the Doctor let out a breath – not one of relief, but something sharper. Frustration. One that he'd probably held for a long time.

"It's not just about you, River." His voice was rougher now, hoarse, like he was pulling the words from somewhere deep inside himself. "It's everyone. Everyone I try to hold onto, everyone I fight for. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try – I lose them. I can't save them."

River hesitated. She had been ready to comfort him, to tease him out of this moment, but this – this – she didn't have an answer for.

She swallowed. "That's not your fault."

The Doctor let out something close to laughter. Bitter. Hollow.

"Isn't it?" His eyes met hers, searching, restless. "I take them with me. I show them the universe. I tell them to run. And then, one day, they stop running."

River opened her mouth. Then closed it. Because there was no denying it. Not to him. His hands had slipped into his pockets, shaking her grip off, shoulders tense, jaw set – not angry at her anymore, but at everything.

"I just keep doing this," he said, almost to himself now. "I keep running with them, and the universe takes them away. It takes and it takes and it takes." His fingers curled into fists in his jacket, knuckles white."And I just let it."

River reached out, almost instinctively – not to pull him back, not to hold him, just to anchor him. Her fingertips ghosted over his sleeve, barely a touch, a tether if he wanted it

"You don't just let it," she murmured, reaching for something, anything that might reach him. "You fight. You always fight for them, with everything you have. That's why they love you, and that is why they stay as long as they do."

The Doctor gave a short, sharp breath – not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. "They leave all the same."

River sighed through her nose, a quiet, measured exhale. She had no answer for that. None that wouldn't sound hollow, meaningless.

She tried anyway. "That doesn't mean they weren't worth the time you had with them."

His jaw tensed. He turned his head slightly, just enough that she could see the flicker of something in his expression – anger, grief, both. "It does to me," he said quietly.

"You don't mean that, Sweetie," she scolded him, but her voice did carry a flicker of genuine fear that he did mean that.

Finally, his fingers twitched – a motion so small she almost missed it. But just as quickly, he turned, stepping back, slipping just out of reach.

His head tilted slightly, gaze dark, unreadable. "You can't fix me, River."

River met his eyes, steady, unwavering.

"Five hours ago you seemed to think otherwise," she mumbled, which earned her another of those looks from him. She sighed and her face turned softer. "I wasn't trying to fix you, my love," she said softly. "You're not broken. There's a word for what you're feeling, you can go and look it up."

Something flickered across his face – not understanding, not relief. Just acknowledgment.

They weren't okay. This wasn't over. But now, at least, they understood the fight and River felt like, even though they weren't on the best terms, they were fighting this fight on the same side.

"I don't need to look it up," he mumbled.

The Doctor turned, walking away silently, shoulders slumped . River stayed where she was, listening to the quiet hum of the TARDIS around her.

Chapter Text

They continued, after that. The Doctor wanted it.

River hadn't needed to say anything, to tell him that she could only help him if he worked with her here, he had started doing this all on his own. She had thought that, after their little fight, something would change – but that was harder then it seemed. Maybe that was what made him continue… because it was easy.

Very unlike him.

Because what was the alternative? River always went on, always continued, never allowed herself to stop because if you stop, you break. She didn't know what else to do, and the Doctor leaned on her, focused on her to do what was best for him, but… what was there to do?

She tried to do the same for the Doctor, keeping him moving, helping, seeing the universe – because he wouldn't talk to her. Not really.

He would only smile – or not – and turn away, or he wouldn't react at all.

River knew, the Doctor wasn't dumb. He knew what she was doing, that she was angering or teasing him on purpose so he would talk to her, and soon, he stopped reacting altogether. He still let her choose the adventures, and in between those, he hid away again.

But he wanted this. He needed this.

She expected him to refuse. To tell her no – to finally admit he wasn't ready, that he didn't want to keep moving. He was stubborn and if River and the Doctor wanted, they could be two forces of nature crashing into each other, destroying everything in their wake. But he didn't. Every time, when the TARDIS was quiet, and she considered stopping, trying something else – he would walk in, with that forced bounce in his step, and ask, "Where do we go next?"

She almost asked. Almost said, Do you even want this, or do you just not know what else to do?

But she never did. Because she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

The first adventure after Curiosity, River picked in the exact same way. She read the distress call log and picked something with the potential for him to be the Doctor again. When she told him, he looked at her with that grumpy face – the one that used to be playful, but now was just tired.

She waited, let the silence stretch, then asked, "Should I stop?"

He didn't answer. Just turned and walked away. So she flew them to Aros VII.

A planet on the edge of a dying star, its last city crumbling as its people fled. It should have been exciting – the Doctor should have loved the architecture, the ancient technology, the desperate, defiant hope of the survivors.

And at first, he tried. Tried to be the Doctor, tried to play his part, for her sake if nothing else. He cracked a few half-hearted jokes. He asked questions, examined the ruins with a fleeting spark of interest. But it faded. It always faded.

At first, he only dropped the act when she wasn't looking. River had learned her lesson, the blood on his clothes haunting her calm moments – so she took care to not have him wander off alone, but that didn't always work in a situation like this. It didn't take long before he stopped pretending altogether. He did what he had to. He saved a family trapped beneath a collapsing tower. He rerouted an evacuation system to stabilize the last transport out. He made sure they lived.

But there was no commentary. No flair.

He didn't scold River for breaking into an archive vault just to take a peek. He didn't even glance at the murals carved into the ancient walls, the ones she knew he would have once traced with reverent fingers, telling her stories of civilizations long gone.

He just moved.

Like clockwork. Like something programmed. Like something that wasn't him.

River compensated. She cracked jokes, stole small moments of danger to tease him, leaned in when he wouldn't. She kissed his cheek after they teleported out of an explosion, grinning, waiting for his usual River! – but he only blinked at her, something distant in his eyes, and turned away.

The weight of it settled in her chest.

But she didn't stop trying.

That night, in the darkness of the TARDIS library, when she was flipping through a book and considering changing her approach – he strode in once more, with an easy spring to his step, smile on his lips, and asked: "Where do we go next?"

Like he wanted it.

Like he needed it.

Like he was trying to prove something – to her, to himself.

River picked a plague ship next. A vessel drifting through the void, full of people in cryostasis – waiting, hoping.

It was his kind of problem. A puzzle. Something to fix. And he wanted this one. She could tell. The ship's systems were failing, but not due to age or malfunction – someone had sabotaged them. The crew hadn't been simply sleeping; they had been trapped, their stasis pods overridden by an external signal designed to keep them frozen indefinitely.

The Doctor moved with something close to purpose.

He scanned everything, worked the controls fast, threw himself into the problem with surgical precision – re-routing the ship's power, manually overriding the corrupted protocols, purging the foreign signal. And just like that – one by one, the crew awoke.

Dazed. Confused. Alive. It should have been a victory.

But when it didn't fix him – when the survivors were safe, when the mystery was solved – he just… stopped.

He stood at the window, staring into the blackness of space, hands deep in his pockets. River stood beside him – not watching the stars, but his reflection in the glass.

"You did it," she murmured, reaching for his hand.

For a second, she thought he wouldn't take it. But then, slowly, he curled his fingers around hers, lifted her hand to his lips, and pressed a short kiss against it.

It was mechanical. Like muscle memory rather than choice.

River squeezed his hand, desperate for something – anything – to ground him. To ground herself.

"You should be proud of yourself, Doctor," she tried again.

The Doctor exhaled, long and slow, and whispered: "Are you taking me to these places because you think they'll fix me, River?"

She froze. Because – yes. Because she thought if he just kept moving, if she kept him busy, if she dragged him along on adventure after adventure, he would snap out of it. That had worked before. The beauty of the universe had saved him before. Survival had saved him before. Also, he had asked for it. She knew that it wasn't the solution, so much she'd already understood, but… he kept asking for it. He kept trying.

Maybe he had even thought, just like she had, that if he just kept going, someday, it would all be better.

But now, hearing his voice, so heavy, so resigned…

"I'm taking you to the places that need you," she murmured back. "I thought you wanted this."

The Doctor finally turned his head, just slightly, just enough for her to see his eyes. His tired eyes.

"I thought it would help," he admitted.

River turned toward him, stepping between him and the glass, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.

He hesitated.

But then, finally, his arms came around her too, holding her as tight as he always did in his big, warm bear hug, burying his face in the mass of her hair, hiding his face. But she didn't need to see it to know what she would perceive.

ʘ ʘ ʘ ʘ

River stood in front of her bedroom door, staring at the delicate Gallifreyan circles and lines carved into the wood – the ones that formed her name.

Melody Pond.

The door looked old, ancient, as if it had been taken from a tower in the fairy tale her name, the name her parents gave her, belonged in.

Her fingers hovered over the doorknob. She knew she didn't need to turn it – not really. This was a telepathic ship; if she wanted the door to her room to open, it would. The TARDIS listened to her.

But she couldn't bring herself to step inside.

It had been a while since she'd truly slept.

Her nights had been spent elsewhere – in the library, buried in books, or leaning against the console, watching the Doctor tinker aimlessly in between their so-called adventures.

But there hadn't been running or adrenaline in a while. Not since the plague ship.

There had been the Glass Gardens of Camugawa, an untouched, floating biosphere of crystalline flora, tended by an ancient species of caretakers. Their only task had been to repair a malfunctioning light array, ensuring the artificial sun continued to shine. The Doctor had barely spoken. He had only offered a few quiet observations about the way the glass refracted the light.

Then came the Market Moons of Orodria, a sprawling trade hub, teeming with smugglers, scholars, and treasure hunters. River had led them to a rare book dealer, searching for a pre-Time War text, while the Doctor half-heartedly haggled for a stabilizer coil.

He was building it in right now.

No chases. No mysteries. Just bustling noise and too many people.

She hadn't slept. She hadn't needed to. Time travellers didn't live by clocks, and trusting her body to tell her when to rest had never worked. She could go for days without stopping. And the Doctor? He could go even longer.

But after she hadn't gotten the book – after she had seen the way he looked at her, that particular gaze that carried too much sadness and not enough words – she had decided that maybe, just maybe, shutting her mind off for a while wouldn't be the worst idea.

And yet, standing here, hand still on the doorknob of her room, it didn't feel right.

This room was hers.

If she went inside, she would be alone. At peace. Her thoughts the only ones to bother her. A place where the Doctor wouldn't reach her.

But… Did she want that?

It pained her to see him like this. Her beloved Doctor, so… empty. They didn't talk anymore, not really – because she didn't know how to get through to him. Their adventures weren't even adventures anymore.

Because she didn't pick anything exciting. Because she knew it wouldn't work. Because she was running out of strength.

Being there for him was draining, especially because she felt like he didn't even see her. Some days, he looked at her like she was the centre of everything. Like the universe revolved around her, like she held all the answers. And other days he looked through her. Like she was made of glass.

She hid it well. The exhaustion. The weight of it. She tried. Because this wasn't about her.

And yet, she couldn't step into the one place that belonged entirely to her. She could hide for a long time, she was so good at it. But she needed a break and… and she didn't feel like her place was the correct space for this.

Her fingers slipped from the doorknob. Slowly. She turned and walked away.

She knew the Doctor didn't do this on purpose. He wasn't like this on purpose. He was grieving. He was helpless. He didn't know what to do. And he was so consumed by finding himself again, by trying to put himself back together, that he didn't have the capacity to consider what it was doing to her.

River knew this already.

The Doctor helped everyone, never thinking about himself, never considering the cost – but sometimes, he was the most self-centred being in the universe.

And River couldn't even blame him, because she was the person giving him the biggest competition for that title.

She walked. Not knowing where, but trusting the TARDIS to guide her.

There had to be another way to help him. To remind him of who he was without forcing him into the old patterns that weren't working anymore. A way to pull him back to himself – not by running, not by throwing him into another disaster, not by watching him break himself against problems that would never heal him.

But how? She had spent days thinking, weeks waiting, and still, no answer.

The TARDIS hummed around her – low, steady, warm. The sound filled the silence, wrapped around her like an old song.

Not giving up on you two, it seemed to say. Not yet. Because we all wander sometimes, the ship whispered in its own way, deep in her bones. But not all who wander are truly lost.

But River felt lost.

And when she stopped – when she looked up – she found herself standing in front of another door. A familiar one. A door she recognized immediately. She tilted her head slightly, running her fingers lightly over the frame.

"That's not where I wanted to go, old girl," she murmured.

Her hand rested against the wall, feeling the soft, rhythmic heartbeat beneath her palm. The TARDIS hummed again, gentle, knowing.

You're not lost, the ship seemed to whisper. See how I've led you?

River sighed, placing her hand on the door and pushing it open. The door swung open with a whisper, revealing the familiar space beyond.

The room was quiet. Still. The symphony of sounds that the TARDIS had composed for River in the corridors didn't reach in here, as if the machine itself didn't want to enter – not out of fear or disgust, but out of respect. But right now, it was the kind of silence that wasn't just an absence of sound, but an absence of something else – something more important.

River hesitated in the doorway.

She had wanted a place where the Doctor could still find her if he wanted, but where she could have solitude, comfort, a moment to breathe. She had thought about going to the libraries, the laboratories, somewhere with purpose.

But the TARDIS had brought her here instead. And standing here now, she wasn't sure she could bear it.

The room was as it had always been – a tangled blend of two lives that should never have fit together, but somehow did.

The bed lay in the centre, too big, too messy, sheets in disarray from the last time one or both of them had slept there. Pillows stacked haphazardly, books left open on the nightstands, their pages frozen mid-thought. His handwriting scrawled in margins. The air smelled like him. Like old books and TARDIS metal and something warm she had never been able to name.

It should have been comforting.

But all it did was make her ache.

Her eyes drifted across the room, taking in the familiar clutter, the quiet echoes of their life together.

His bow ties, draped over a chair, as if he had left in a hurry and never bothered to pick them up again. One of her holsters, empty, discarded on the dresser, because she never carried a weapon in here. She never needed one in here. The mirror – his mirror, because he insisted he didn't care how he looked but always adjusted his hair anyway – framed with scraps of paper, old coordinates, stolen moments. The single Gallifreyan word scratched into the wooden frame of the bed, the one that meant home.

And yet, it didn't feel like home right now.

It felt hollow. Cold. A place waiting for someone who wasn't there. River exhaled shakily and stepped inside, letting the door close behind her. She wanted to pretend that the bed didn't feel too empty when she sat down on the edge.

The TARDIS hadn't brought her here by accident.

But right now, staring at the unmade sheets, the room that still smelled like him but no longer felt like him, she wasn't sure if she was grateful for that.

Because all it did was remind her of how lonely it felt to share a space with a ghost.

They've spent nights in here together. She remembered laying in the bed with only the blanket covering her, while the Doctor was looking for something in the big bookshelves on one of the walls. She remembered brushing through his hair as his head was in her lap, and feeling the warmth of his skin.

He hadn't been here in a long time. There was no dust, no spider webs or anything, but she could feel it. Just as she preferred to sleep in her own room, the Doctor preferred to not sleep here without her. Why would he? There was no reason to.

River kicked off her shoes, pulling up her legs and settling onto the bed. It felt too big as she turned onto her side, pressing her head against the pillow – all the way to the edge, facing away from the door.

Instead, her gaze fixed on the farthest corner of the room – the one that had always been a little more academic, a little more his.

Bookshelves lined the wall, stacked and cluttered, the organized chaos of a mind that never truly rested. Some books were ancient, pages yellowed and brittle, others brand new, filled with his scrawling handwriting in the edges. A worktable sat beneath them, scattered with unfinished experiments, half-built devices, a model of a star system they had once visited and never quite figured out.

It was the part of the room that felt most like him. And right now, it was unbearable. Because it was untouched.

Not abandoned, not intentionally left behind – just… paused. As if he had meant to come back, but never did. River curled in on herself slightly, pulling the blanket closer, but it didn't help. The room was still too vast, too empty.

The last time she had slept here, really slept, she had woken up to the quiet sound of the Doctor breathing next to her. She had fallen asleep to the rhythmic scribbling of him jotting down notes in some impossible alien script. She had listened to him mutter to himself about some new theory, some half-baked idea, some ridiculous bit of nonsense that didn't matter to anyone but him.

But now the only sound was her own breathing.

She shut her eyes, exhaling slowly, trying not to think too hard about how lonely it felt to lie in their bed and still feel like she was sleeping alone.

The door didn't creak when it opened.

It never did – not for him.

River wasn't sure how long she had been lying there, staring at the bookshelves, the untouched desk, the empty space where he should have been. But she felt it – the shift in the air, the change in the hum of the TARDIS. And then – him.

A shadow in the doorway.

He didn't speak at first. Didn't announce himself. River turned her head, looking at him standing in the doorframe from the corner of her eye. He just stood there. Watching. Waiting. He wasn't wearing his jacket, his long limbs and the dark lighting making him look thinner then he actually was. Not thinner, no… less.

"That's not where I wanted to go," he whispered.

River exhaled slowly. So the TARDIS had done the same thing to him as well… she sighed. That was typical. River turned her head again, facing the bookshelves. He was here now, but she doubted that he would see her; even though she was laying in the bed not exactly hidden. He would probably leave again.

She stared at the books, his handwriting on the wall, waiting for the soft clicking of the door falling shut… but when it came, it was different then she'd expected. She heard the clicking, and then slow steps of familiar shoes towards the bed.

She didn't turn. Didn't move. Just kept her eyes fixed on the books, her fingers lightly curled in the sheets, the familiar ache of missing him even when he was standing right there.

She heard him shifting, like he was uncertain about coming closer. The Doctor – her Doctor – uncertain in his own room. Their own room.

"You weren't in the library," he whispered, softer this time. "Or the console room. Or the observatory. Or–" He hesitated. "anywhere, really."

Still, she didn't answer. She wasn't sure what she would say if she did.

A pause. Then, the bed dipped slightly behind her. Not close, not yet, but closer. She felt him settle, his weight shifting carefully, like he wasn't sure if he belonged here anymore. Like he was waiting for permission to exist in this space again.

River swallowed. "Neither were you," she whispered.

"I was in the console room," the Doctor whispered back.

"Not what I meant," she said, her voice steady, but small in a way she hated.

The quiet stretched, soft and heavy. And then… a breath from him, barely audible, barely there. "I know."

River closed her eyes.

She could feel his presence behind her, the warmth of him, the hesitant way he was hovering just at the edge of something neither of them had the words for.

"Doctor," she murmured, struggling to put the ache sitting so heavily on her chest into words. "I don't know how to help you."

It was barely more than a breath. Smaller than she meant it to be.

But he heard it. Of course, he did.

The Doctor shifted behind her, and for a moment, she thought he might pull away, like he always did these days. But he didn't.

"You're here," he whispered, his voice so unbelievably gentle it nearly unravelled her. "You already do."

"No, I don't."

Her fingers curled into the sheets. She hated saying it. Hated admitting that she had tried – god, she had tried – to wake him up again, to make him want to be himself again, and it wasn't working. She tried to remind him, but it wasn't working. It was not working.

She had thrown him into adventure after adventure, given him the universe, given him her time, her hands, her presence, anything she had to offer…

And still, here they were. He was not fixed. Because he was not broken. And neither was she, but… she was tired.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she confessed, and it felt too raw, too close.

There was a hitch in the way he breathed. For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then there was his hand. Not reaching for her, but close. Hovering just at the edge of her space, just near enough that she felt it before she saw it.

He didn't touch her, not yet.

"You can't fix me, River," he said.

He'd said it before, in their fight, but this time it wasn't dark and threatening. It was something completely different. It was tender, soft. He sounded certain and so, so sad.

River turned her face into the pillow, exhaling slowly.

"I know that," she whispered. "But I can't just watch you disappear."

Her voice was soft, measured – but beneath it, there was something raw, something trembling at the edges. She kept her gaze down, fingers curling into the sheets, grounding herself in their texture.

"You try, my love. I see how you do. But it doesn't seem to work, and it pains me to–" She hesitated. The words refused to shape themselves properly, caught somewhere between her ribs. She sighed, shaking her head slightly, unable to finish.

And that was what did it. Simple, brutal honestly.

She didn't see it, but she felt it.

The way the silence between them shifted, thickened. The way his breath hitched, sharp but barely audible, as if startled by something inside himself. The faint, almost imperceptible tremor in the mattress.

She felt just the lightest brush against her shoulder. Barely a touch at all. If she hadn't been so attuned to him, to every nuance of him, she might have missed it. But she didn't.

A whisper of contact. Hesitant. Careful.

An apology.

For being like this. For making her carry the weight of them both. For letting her watch him slip away and not knowing how to stop it. For burdening her with trying to find a solution but not accepting them.

And then, so quietly she might have imagined it – "I'm sorry. I understand if you… if you want to leave."

"No," she immediately answered. She swallowed and turned, just enough to face him, her head still resting on the pillow, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. "You don't run out on the people you care about."

River didn't know who moved first. Maybe it was her, shifting just enough to turn toward him. Maybe it was him, his hand already reaching, as if he had been waiting for permission.

Either way, the space between them disappeared.

The Doctor curled toward her, moving cautiously, carefully, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed this – if he was allowed her.

River let him.

She didn't speak, didn't tease, didn't break the moment with something witty. Instead, she lifted the blanket, opened her arms just enough, a silent invitation.

He took it

Slowly, hesitantly, he settled against her, his forehead pressing lightly against hers, the tips of their noses barely touching. His breath was soft and unsteady, and when she reached up – fingertips brushing through his hair, down the back of his neck – he shuddered.

Like he had been waiting for this.

His arms slid around her, not tight, not desperate, just present – one wrapped gently around her waist, the other tucked beneath her, anchoring himself in the shape of her. Not to hold on. Just to be close.

River exhaled. This was different.

It wasn't about passion or urgency, wasn't about filling the silence with clever words or sharp banter. It was slow, careful, deliberate – the kind of closeness that came from knowing each other too well, from having too many pieces of themselves tangled together already.

She pressed a kiss, soft and fleeting, to his temple. His hold on her tightened, just a fraction.

"You should sleep," he murmured.

"So should you," she whispered back, her voice barely more than a breath against his skin.

His fingers curled lightly into the fabric of her sleeve, like he wasn't sure if she would still be there when he woke up. River shifted closer, her leg tangling lightly with his, her arms wrapping around him in return, pulling him into the warmth of her. River closed her eyes, just allowing herself to hold the Doctor.

Not the man who saved the universe, not the hero who never slowed down, but someone who was tired, who was hurting, who needed something to anchor him back to himself.

And River held him. Because she was here. And she needed this just as much.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

When River woke up, it was warm around her.

She felt the weight of the blanket draped over her, the way the pillow was scrunched beneath her head. She hadn't prepared for bed – hadn't planned to sleep at all, not really, even though she'd wanted to and they'd both talked about it – so her clothes had left stains on her skin and her curls were a tangled mess, full of knots that would be a nightmare to brush out. Would be quicker to just wash them. Normally, she would have braided them, wrapped them in a silk bonnet, but…

That was in her room. This wasn't her room.

That was her first thought.

Her second was the realization that part of the warmth, part of the weight pressing down on her, wasn't just the blanket.

It was him. Her Doctor.

She opened her eyes and saw the Doctor's head resting on her chest. His hair was a complete mess, flattened in places, sticking up in others. His shirt was crumpled and untidy, the fabric creased from how he had curled against her. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, not really – just as she hadn't.

And yet, here they were.

River didn't wake him. Didn't move. It was so rare that the Doctor truly slept.

Oh, he rested, in his own way – short breaks, the occasional nap, those long meditative silences where his mind drifted somewhere even she couldn't follow. But going to a bed, letting himself sleep properly – that was rare.

Almost unheard of.

Time travellers didn't need it the same way humans did. Not really. And the Doctor had time in his blood. His people withstood the impossible. Their bodies could go days, weeks, even longer without stopping.

So for him to give in to sleep now…

River wondered when the last time had been. A long time ago, probably. Too long. Slowly, she raised a hand, resting it gently on the back of his neck. His skin was warm, the rise and fall of his chest steady, deep, peaceful.

His face – so often lined with tension, with worry, with pain these days – was completely smooth. No furrowed brow. No deep-in-thought expression. No weight of the universe pressing down on him.

Just him. Just this moment. Because these moments were so rare.

Moments where he let himself be held, stopped running, allowed himself to exist without fixing, without saving, without fighting.

River knew why.

To stop – to be still for too long – meant giving worry, doubt, grief, and anger the space to creep in. The Doctor didn't like those feelings. She didn't blame him, she doubted that anybody really enjoyed those emotions. But for a man like him, for someone who had lived so much, seen so much, lost so much, those feelings were not just unpleasant. They were all-consuming.

And that, more than anything, was how they had ended up here.

River let her fingers thread absently through his hair, gaze drifting to the ceiling.

The cuddling had helped. She had felt the way his tension had eased, the way he had allowed himself to be close to her, to say the words he never usually did.

That he was sorry.

Now, those were words he used a lot, and he had plenty of reason to apologize to people, but she so rarely heard them directly with this specific meaning. I did something wrong – I can't help myself. But I apologize because I didn't mean to hurt you. At least that's how she had understood it. That he still appreciated her. That he was thankful she was here. She had known all those things already, of course. But hearing them, if only with two words, had been nice.

Now, she didn't know where to go from here. Just hovering around him wasn't the solution. That much was clear. But she didn't have another one.

Not yet.

She was considering the only other thing that had ever worked, besides throwing him into adventure after adventure.

Miracles. Enigmas. Mysteries.

But she wasn't sure where to begin.

She had always known how to get the Doctor's attention. Drop herself somewhere in history, cause a little trouble, and wait. He always showed up. She had even manufactured mysteries before, just to draw him in. Graffiti-ing the oldest cliffface in the universe, scrawling words on artifacts destined for museums, leaving breadcrumbs in time for him to follow.

But once she was with him? That was harder.

What kind of mystery could wake him up again – truly wake him up – when the entire universe wasn't enough anymore?

She didn't know.

For now, she just lay there, listening to his slow, even breaths, feeling the warmth of him beneath her fingers.

She loved him so much. So deeply. And there was no real way to show it. Not in a way he would understand or believe.

But her peaceful morning moment shattered when the Doctor stirred beneath her hand. At first, River thought he was simply shifting in his sleep, chasing warmth the way he always did. But then he turned his head, green eyes blinking up at her – still tired, still bruised by the weight of grief, but lighter now, if only just.

"Wifey-pillow," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

River huffed a soft laugh, tapping the back of his head in a way that was more affection than reprimand. "You're being silly."

The Doctor made a contented noise and nuzzled closer, burying his face into the fabric of her shirt, his nose pressing into the spot just beneath her sternum. His breath warmed her skin even through the cloth, and the sheer absurdity of it – of him – made her giggle.

"The whole bed is at your disposal, and yet you choose to crush me," she whispered, fingers threading through his hair with more insistence now. He was awake, after all – no use pretending otherwise. "I'm trying so hard not to see the parallels here."

"I don't like being alone in it," he admitted, his voice muffled against her. "You're much more comfortable."

"Oh, the parallels…" she muttered, though her teasing was softened by the way she kept running her fingers through his hair.

Suddenly, before River could even have guessed that this would be his next move, the Doctor got into motion. River let out a giddy shriek as the Doctor held her tightly, rolled them over, tangling them deeper into the mess of sheets and blankets.

"Doctor!" she scolded between laughter, half-heartedly swatting at his ridiculously long limbs as he somehow managed to not just lay on her, but fully trap her under him. "Ugh! You're heavy!"

"How's it now with taking up too much space?" he teased, grinning down at her like an absolute menace. His hair was a mess, his bow tie long since forgotten, and he looked so much younger like this. Less burdened.

As if the vulnerability, the shared moments in the evening, had lifted a weight off of his shoulders, at least for these few moments. As if the sleep had actually repaired some of the broken edges. River allowed herself to enjoy it, to mess around with her husband as if nothing had ever happened.

River arched a brow, adjusting herself just enough to gain the upper hand – she was a trained assassin after all – grabbing his shoulders and flipping them, using his own weight against him, so that she was on top now, straddling his waist, pressing him down with her hips, hands braced on his chest. He could get up if he wanted, but in this position River could also do some real harm if she wanted.

Which, of course, she didn't. But she loved the view of him from up here, the way he stared at her, blinking and slightly dazed, red around the tips of his ears.

"Oh," he murmured, gaze flicking down and back up. "Hello there."

River grinned, smug. "Much better."

"Debatable," he muttered.

She pressed her palms against his scrunched-up shirt, feeling the warmth of him beneath the fabric.

"You're going to wrinkle this beyond repair, Sweetie," River pointed out, pressing down on the fabric of his shirt as if smoothing it out. "You don't sleep in buttoned shirts."

The Doctor scoffed, glancing down at her fussing hands. "River, it's this bed! I have wrestled Sontarans in this shirt, escaped an exploding star in this shirt – Daleks have had less of an effect on it than sleeping in it – wait, what are you doing?"

"Shush," she murmured, utterly unbothered by his protest.

With exaggerated care, she straightened his collar, ran her hands down his lapels, and then – oh, so gently – brushed her fingers over the place where his bow tie should have been. It hung loose around his neck, just a long piece of cloth now, undone and forgotten.

The Doctor stilled. His breath hitched, just slightly. "Fixing me up, Professor Song?" His voice was quieter now, something tentative beneath the teasing.

River smirked. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned down, her knee pressing into his thigh as she let her lips hover near his jaw, so close he could feel her there but not quite touching.

"Someone has to," she whispered.

She heard him swallow.

And then – again, with absolutely no warning – he wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped them back over.

"Oh, you–!" River gasped, but didn't get the chance to finish what she wanted to call him, since she was now pinned beneath him again, her wrists caught in his hands.

She didn't dislike it.

"Much better," the Doctor echoed, smirking down at her.

"Doctor!" she scolded, half-laughing, half-outraged at his sneak attack.

"Yes, honey?" he beamed innocently – except his eyes still had that mischievous glint, the one she lived for.

River arched a brow. "Careful, my love, or I'll start thinking you like having me beneath you like this."

The Doctor opened his mouth – then hesitated. His grip faltered, the confidence in his eyes flickering into something almost uncertain, something almost vulnerable. River saw it. Felt it.

And because she knew him so well, she could read enough into it decide that she wouldn't push further today. Not too hard, anyway. He was a gentle man, a loving man, fire burned in him like wildfire from time to time, but when it came to the more intimate part of their relationship, he was a bit too childish to let himself be that vulnerable. And this was the maximum of vulnerability, which… River understood he didn't love.

They both knew that, even though he was pressing River down now, she was still in charge. But she would be kind on him, not pressuring him into anything. At least not here, not now. Instead, she leaned up, close enough that their noses brushed, close enough that she felt his breath stutter, and whispered, "You wouldn't happen to be ticklish, would you?"

The Doctor's face immediately did something extraordinary – tightened in horror, then smoothed into feigned indifference. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

River grinned. Wickedly. "Oh, Doctor," she sing-songed.

He yelped as she twisted her hands free – not meeting any resistance from his side because of course he just let her do that, he always did, he was hers – and dug her fingers into his sides.

"River! River– my shirt! Don't you dare–"

He dissolved into an undignified squawk as she attacked, laughter tumbling out of him in panicked, gasping bursts. He thrashed, rolling onto his back in his desperate attempt to escape, but River followed, straddling his waist and pinning him down again.

"Not so smug now, are you?" she teased, fingers relentless at his ribs.

The Doctor was cackling so hard he could barely breathe. "I– you– River!"

He managed to catch her wrists, still breathless, still grinning, and River stopped, not giving him much of a fight. When she stopped tickling, the laughter softened into something quieter, something warmer.

Something dangerous.

Because now they were just looking at each other. Still smiling. Still tangled together, still too close, still catching their breath. And River felt it, that shift in the air, that electric something between them, humming, waiting. There it was again.

The Doctor swallowed. Then he cleared his throat, gaze flicking somewhere near her ear instead of at her, and mumbled, "Are we going to…" He trailed off, making a vaguely embarrassing kissy-face.

River gasped, scandalized. "Oh, sweetheart!"

She let loose of him, falling down to the bed beside him and turned to her side so she could look at him. He turned as well and when they were face to face, he quickly scanned her face for something.

The Doctor winced and whispered "Was that– should I– should I not have done that?"

River, grinning like the cat that got the cream, leaned in – slowly, just enough to make his breath hitch. "Did you just mime a kiss at me?"

The Doctor blinked rapidly, very much regretting everything. "…I thought I was being subtle."

"You thought wrong."

"I was being charming!"

"You were being adorable."

River sighed, long-suffering, and tapped their noses together again. She wasn't going to pressure him and he'd seemed unsure before, so she just whispered a gentle "Do you want to…" and mimicked the vaguely embarrassing kissy-face before arching her eyebrows at him in an honest question.

The Doctor smiled. But then, just as quickly, it faltered. Instead of leaning in, he let his forehead rest against hers, closing his eyes as his smile faded into something quieter.

River understood.

She reached up, threading her fingers into his hair again, not even trying to resist the urge to touch him now that she got him this close for once; stroking through the wild, sleep-mussed strands. He smelled like him – like TARDIS metal and something ancient, something starlit and endless, like the space between adventures, like time itself.

When she leaned back again, looking into his green eyes, she smiled at him, brightly and honestly. "You're cheerful," she observed, keeping her voice light, careful.

The Doctor blinked slowly, rolling onto his back. His arms folded behind his head, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling. He looked thoughtful, not entirely present, but there was a faint, lingering smile on his lips. "Am I?"

"Mmhm. Very," River murmured, shifting onto her side to watch him.

His smile didn't disappear – not completely – but something in it faded, like a candle flickering against a draft. River saw it.

She let her fingers trail absently from his hairline down across the skin on his neck, feeling the warmth of him, feeling the pulse of his two hearts just beneath her fingers. Alive.

He was quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling in a steady, measured rhythm. Then, finally, he exhaled. "I'd rather not think about that right now," he murmured, eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

River arched a brow but he didn't look at her.

So she nudged him, pressing her fingers into his ribs just enough to get a reaction. The Doctor startled slightly, sucking in a breath before finally turning his head to meet her gaze.

She narrowed her eyes. He grinned at her.

River exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her curls – trying to, they were tangled after all. Of course. Of course, this was how he was handling it.

The Doctor wasn't fine. She knew that. He knew that. But for now, he was choosing not to acknowledge it, willing himself to be something lighter again, something easier. He had let himself suffer over a long time, but now he was retreating. Pretending.

She wasn't exactly sad because of it. It meant he was still trying. But she also wasn't surprised. This was how he coped. She should be annoyed. But she also knew better than to push too hard.

"You're a menace," she muttered, shaking her head.

The Doctor made a quiet, thoughtful noise, tilting his head toward her on the pillow. "Hmm. I could be worse."

River snorted. "Could you now, you naughty boy!" she mumbled and reached over and giving his shoulder a gentle shove. He barely budged, but he huffed in exaggerated offence, his hand coming up to catch hers before she could pull away.

"Terrible aim, Professor," he murmured, his thumb brushing absently over her knuckles.

She let him hold her hand for a few seconds longer than necessary before she gave his fingers a quick squeeze and pulled away.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The room was warm, wrapped in the quiet hush of morning, the weight of blankets keeping them in place. The Doctor shifted slightly, rolling onto his side, mirroring her position once more. Unable to lie still for long.

She should push him. Should make him be honest about what he was feeling. But he needed this. And so, she let him.

Instead of arguing, instead of prying, she curled closer, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the steady, even beat of his hearts beneath her palm. He hesitated for just a second, then let out a slow breath and covered her hand with his own.

They stayed like that.

They were just here. In this bed. Wrapped in each other.

Just for a little while longer, he needed to pretend, so she would, too. She pretended that she wasn't the assassin, the professor, his support. And he wasn't the legend, the saviour, the last of his kind. Right now, she pretended that she was just a woman, and he was her socially awkward but truly lovely man.

That was, when she got the idea.

River sat up slowly, the sheets slipping from her body as something took shape in her mind. An idea. A terrible, wonderful, perfectly reckless idea.

"Oh…" She twisted her lips, rolling it over in her head. Oh… oh, that's…

"River?" The Doctor's voice was quiet but edged with curiosity, a thin layer of caution beneath it.

River didn't answer immediately. Instead, she let her eyes wander over their room – their space. The shelves crammed with books neither of them had read in order. His impossible tinkering projects cluttering the desk. A rolled-up star map half-hanging from a drawer, Gallifreyan symbols scratched into its edges like half-formed thoughts. A chaos of their clothes tossed about, draped over chairs, hooks, the occasional piece of machinery.

It was messy. Alive. The evidence of them.

And then there was him. Lying there, looking at her with that face – those wide, tired eyes that weren't quite him lately, trying to mirror interest and life right now. His bow ties, his genius, his impossibility – those were all signs of who he was. But right now, none of it felt like him. And he knew it.

"River," the Doctor tried again, shifting slightly on the mattress, watching her hesitate. "What is it?"

She turned back to him fully now, legs folding beneath her, hands running idly over the duvet between them. He was watching her carefully, his expression curious but wary, like he wasn't sure if he had the energy for whatever she was about to say.

"I've got an idea," she said quietly.

The Doctor inhaled through his nose. "That sounds dangerous."

River smirked faintly. "Always." But then her expression sobered. "You said you didn't want to think about it right now, and that's fine. If you want to wander the TARDIS, avoid your thoughts, tinker endlessly in your little corner – fine. But–"

She stopped herself, watching him.

This could go two ways.

Either he'd let himself be pulled in, and it would help something inside of him heal, or it would push him further away. They had been searching for a way to get through to him, for a mystery big enough to shake him awake. But what if the problem wasn't that he had nothing to focus on?

What if the problem was that he couldn't bear to be himself? He tried so hard but he couldn't stand it so subconsciously… yeah, it wouldn't work.

So she changed tactics. Something she's had planned before, but so far just didn't have the idea for what to do instead. She had one now.

"Okay," she murmured, shifting to face him fully. "So you want to pretend it's all fine and all of those terrible things didn't happen? Good. Then let's go further with that thought."

The Doctor blinked at her, propping himself up on his elbows. "You'll have to elaborate, Professor Song."

River pursed her lips, eyes flicking down for a moment as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. "You know how I have a life outside the TARDIS?"

The Doctor tilted his head, brow furrowing. "Yes…?"

"A career. Jobs," she continued.

His frown deepened. "River…"

"And you know how these jobs are sometimes… morally flexible?" she continued, careful, her voice light but watchful.

The Doctor exhaled sharply. "I'm aware."

River lifted a shoulder. "I might just have thought of another adventure." A flicker of something crossed his face – interest, hesitance. "But not like the ones we've tried before," she continued, her voice lowering slightly. "Not the kind where I try to remind you of who you are, where you let me drag you into being the Doctor, into loving the universe again – because clearly, that isn't working, is it? You're not choosing to be the Doctor right now, you're forcing yourself into a shape that you think you should be. Every time it doesn't work, you just fret away more, it only makes things worse."

The Doctor swallowed, looking away. "Ouch."

The disappointment in his voice stung more than she wanted to admit. He wanted it to work. He wanted to feel like himself again. He just… couldn't.

"Sorry, Sweetie," River took a breath. "But listen. What if, just for a while, we stop trying to press you into that shape?" She reached for his hand, fingers brushing over his wrist, grounding him. "What if, instead of trying to bring you back to your life, we start working with you not being you right now, and you try out my life instead?"

That got his attention for good.

He turned to look at her, his gaze sharp with consideration, intrigued but still guarded. His fingers twitched beneath hers, but he didn't pull away.

"I still don't get it," he admitted.

River smiled. "I'm a professor at Luna University, yes, but that's not what people call me for. They send me places. On assignments. Sometimes for archaeology. Sometimes… other things."

The Doctor made a quiet sound of acknowledgment, his expression unreadable.

"You remember how we met on Vogoria?" she prompted. "I was there for a job."

The Doctor nodded, even though River knew that he probably barely remembered what place the name Vogoria even belonged to.

"Exactly." She squeezed his wrist. "I have a job that's been sitting around for years. Not the easiest. I've been putting it off because it's a two person job, but couldn't be bothered to find someone I trusted enough to do it with me. But you, Sweetie?" She tilted her head. "You would be perfect for it."

The Doctor arched a brow, but he was listening.

"No universe-saving," River continued, her voice quieter now, more insistent. "No grand distractions, no innocent lives at stake – well… technically not, just our own. No being helpful, no responsibility, no pressure, no rules. Just you and me, we're both River Song on a selfish adventure just for the sake of immorality, and a very high probability of getting into trouble. A bit of fun!"

The Doctor's gaze flickered. River could see it happening – something shifting. He wasn't sold, not yet, but he wasn't dismissing it either.

"Hmm… worth a try," he mused, but his voice lacked its usual enthusiasm. He sounded tired again, but not the kind she had seen in the mirrored glass of the plague ship a while back.

"Yes?" River leaned in as she murmured, "Then let's rob the Silent Quarters?"

Chapter Text

The Doctor walked beside River, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, brow furrowed in an expression of deep and profound scepticism.

He'd been sceptical from the moment she mentioned the Silent Quarters, and honestly, she should have expected the reaction. He hadn't just been surprised – he'd been aggressively surprised, practically springing upright with the kind of energy usually reserved for an enemy fleet appearing in orbit.

"Why that?" River had asked, tilting her head, the picture of casual curiosity.

The Doctor had thrown his hands up, then let them drop back onto the bed with an exaggerated flop, his voice high with exasperation. "Because there is no way of getting in there, River! That's why! You don't just break into the Silent Quarters! You don't even find the Silent Quarters unless the Shadow Proclamation takes you there – which they don't, because why would they ever–"

River had cut him off mid-rant, tilting her head just slightly, her voice light. "I've broken in before, Sweetie. Twice even."

The way his face had frozen, mid-expression, mid-complaint – it had been adorable.

Of course, she hadn't explained much after that. There wasn't a point in going back and forth when it would be far easier just to show him. He had grumbled about it, had tried to press her for details while she straightened his bow tie – "What do you mean, twice?!" – but she had just smiled, adjusted the fabric one last time, and then led him to the control room.

And now, here they were.

The Doctor had parked the TARDIS on the lawn of Luna University – right between the Humanities Department building and the Archaeological Library. The university grounds were sprawling, a blend of old architecture and modern technology, a place steeped in history but constantly evolving. There was a park nearby, where students sometimes sat with their holo-tablets and coffee, looking very much like a cliché from an old Earth film. She had sat there herself once or twice, taking in the sunlight between lectures.

But now, she strode through the entrance, her grumpy, intrigued, very put-out husband trailing behind her, glancing around with the kind of suspicious scrutiny reserved for a place that had definitely done something to offend him.

River didn't think he'd ever been here before. This had always been her thing.

She had not thought that bring-your-husband-to-crime-day would actually be a thing she considered, or that she would actually bring him here and show him all this, but he was at a low point and she felt like he wouldn't put a stop to her activities. He respected her too much and she could see that spark of interest in his eyes, even though he tried to hide it behind adorable grumpiness.

The Luna University wanted to feel ancient, to exude the weight of history, but no amount of carved archways or flickering torch-like wall sconces could fully hide the seamless joints of the self-repairing walls or the subtle hum of hidden climate control systems. The polished floors gleamed with a soft, artificial patina, as if they had been worn down by centuries of scholars when in reality, they were designed that way – engineered nostalgia.

The Doctor, hands still deep in his pockets, squinted at a digital fresco depicting some long-dead civilization in the act of inventing something grand. The scene shimmered slightly as the program recalibrated, adding new details from the latest excavation reports.

"Right," he muttered, eyes darting around the hall. "Nothing says 'old and mysterious' quite like an automated data stream updating the history while you walk past it. Properly ancient, this place."

River smirked, striding ahead. "Yes, Sweetie, that's the point"

They moved deeper into the corridor, past the offices of faculty members whose names River only vaguely recognized – professors who spent more time debating excavation ethics than actually digging. The Doctor still grumbled under his breath, but River could feel his curiosity, the way his eyes flicked from display to display, analyzing, questioning, already half-intrigued despite himself.

Her office wasn't far, tucked away at the end of the hall where fewer people would bother her. The door slid open with a familiar hiss as she approached, and the lights adjusted automatically to her presence.

The Doctor stopped in the doorway, blinked, and then sighed. "River. Honestly."

River tossed her coat over the back of a chair, entirely unbothered by his tone.

The office was a disaster zone.

Stacks of data slates wobbled precariously on every available surface, together with paper copies of reports – because Luna University loved paper – tangled charging cables snaked around piles of excavation reports, and at least one glowing containment field in the corner was housing something that looked suspiciously cursed. An empty coffee cup floated upside down in zero-G suspension near the desk, probably caught in a malfunctioning gravity dampener.

River hadn't been here for a while, but it looked exactly as she's left it.

"This is organized chaos, it serves a purpose," River stated before he could say anything snide. "Swallow your complaints, I don't need to hear them."

"This is a filing system violation," the Doctor countered, completely ignoring her as he stepped carefully over a precariously balanced stack of books, several of which were in languages that no longer existed. He eyed the containment field warily. "That artifact's humming at a frequency that makes my teeth itch. Should it be doing that?"

"Yes!" River waved him off, already striding toward her desk. "Everything in here is stable. Probably. Give or take. Now, let me find that file, shouldn't take long – as I said, the chaos is organized. Can you clear the monitor?"

She pointed at a monitor half covered by a tapestry she'd taken from… probably somewhere important. She would have to look, she couldn't quite remember.

She reached the console, fingers flying over the interface as she pulled up the archive system. Somewhere in this mess was the file to the Silent Quarters, and she had no intention of wasting time digging through data by hand.

Behind her, the Doctor was still looking around as he strode towards the monitor, brow furrowed. "You really broke into the Silent Quarters? Twice?"

"Yes," River replied, focused on her screen. "And once you stop pouting, I might even tell you how."

The Doctor had just started to yank the tapestry free when he paused, his eyes narrowing as he really looked at it. His entire posture shifted from casual irritation to near-offended disbelief.

"Wait just a moment – is this Jhirongari Emperor Hu'ohg's famous last depiction?" His voice pitched up, hovering somewhere between shock and outrage.

River barely glanced up from her console. "Ahh, now I remember!", she hummed. "Right! Yes, it is!"

"Right?!" The Doctor turned, arms flailing at the sheer audacity of her response. "Right?! River, do you have any idea how valuable this is?"

He let go of the fabric as if he'd just realized he might somehow damage it – though, considering the preservation technology likely woven into every stitch, that was probably impossible. But still.

The tapestry was vast, its heavy crimson and gold fabric rippling slightly as it settled back into place. Intricate geometric patterns danced across its surface, delicate silver thread forming the serene face of Emperor Hu'ohg at the centre. Four arms stretched outward, each grasping a different symbol of power – a scepter, a scroll, a blade, and an hourglass. The bordering script in elegant, looping Jhirongari shimmered under the low light, reactive silk subtly shifting certain phrases between visibility, as if whispering forgotten truths.

"I also got that blade here somewhere," River commented with a slight grin.

"Did you rob the palace or what?!" the Doctor hummed exhaustedly.

"No! I dug it up! Archaeologist, remember?" she huffed, fingers still flying over the interface as she pulled up the file from the archive system. "It's fine!"

"It is not fine, River!" The Doctor ran a hand down his face, staring at the priceless artifact currently serving as screen cover. "This tapestry is a historical masterpiece! A cultural landmark! The last known work of the Emperor's personal weaver!" He reached out, carefully lifting the edge to reveal the tiny spiral signature hidden in the corner. "Do you even know how long people have been searching for this?"

"Clearly not long enough," River murmured, smirking as she scrolled past an unrelated file on The Grandfather Paradox and Other Family-Related Temporal Nightmares. There was a chapter in the paper just about her.

"River…" The Doctor inhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple. "You stole–"

"Dug up," River corrected him.

"Stole a planetary treasure and used it as a glorified dust cover!" the Doctor continued. "And then you forgot what it even was!"

"Oh calm down! It's preserved," she argued, finally glancing up, all of the sudden remembering why she never took him here. "Would you rather I left it somewhere less secure, like the ruins of that palace? This is Luna University, Sweetie. It's safe."

Even though she knew that she had some even more valuable things in the TARDIS, because for those Luna University was not safe enough. But he didn't need to know that!

The Doctor let out a strangled noise, gesturing wildly at the tapestry. "You put it over a monitor!"

River waved him off, returning to her work. "Take it off, then! That's what I asked you to do anyway!"

The Doctor groaned, running both hands through his hair before giving the tapestry one last offended look. Then, finally, finally, he yanked it free – though with considerably more reverence than before. He held it carefully, after helplessly looking around with it in hand.

"Unbelievable," the Doctor muttered, carefully folding the priceless artifact as though it might shatter in his hands, all the while fixing River with an exasperated glare. "You are unbelievable."

River only smirked, entirely unfazed, as she connected her console to the monitor. The screen flickered to life, loading text and graphics from her meticulously gathered files.

"Okay, Sweetie, first of all – if we're doing this, and I would like to remind you that you agreed to consider it, you're going to have to drop that attitude. You're River Song, she doesn't have those kind of moral remorse." She tapped a few keys, bringing up the rest of the file. "Because if you think this is bad, just wait until you see what I actually want to steal. And I cannot have you getting your knickers in a twist the entire time."

She pointed towards the couch, positioned at the perfect angle to see the screen. The Doctor sighed – deep, put-upon, tragic – before slumping down onto the cushions, arms crossed, expression still firmly in grumpy old man territory.

River only smiled wider.

"Now," she purred, spinning toward him, one hand on her hip, the other balancing the keyboard against her palm. "Would you like to hear about how I broke into the Silent Quarters the first two times – or shall we skip ahead to why and how we're doing it a third time?"

The Doctor watched as she sauntered over, sinking onto the couch right beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her against his side. There was a flicker of conflict on his face, hesitation tightening his brow – but then, just as quickly, it was gone, deliberately erased.

Good. He was still considering it.

"Do I want to know how you did it?" he asked, tilting his head toward her. "Is it important?"

River smiled – just a small, knowing thing – and whispered, "No. But it's imposing!"

The Doctor huffed. "But… twice?"

"You want to have the short version?" River whispered. The Doctor nodded, so she cleared her throat. "Yeah. Technically, I only needed to break in once. An artifact, stolen – or rather confiscated – from rich and important people, doesn't matter who. They wanted it back from the impenetrable fortress, so they wrote a job offer to me and I accepted. Not for the money, but for the challenge. Impenetrable sounds so inviting!" she admitted, glancing at the monitor as she pulled up schematics.

She pulled up a mugshot of herself. She kept it because she thought she looked pretty on it, her hair really magnificent on that day.

"I had the Shadow Proclamation arrest me, then I flirted my way through the ranks until I found someone who had the clearance codes for the Quarters and then they took me there," she explained and wiped the mugshot away again. "After that it was easy. It mostly only worked because I'm an anomaly. Anyway, got in, retrieved the artifact, did not get eaten by the security system and got out again. The second time was just to return something."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Return something?"

"Well… mostly." She clicked her tongue, tapping absent-mindedly at the keyboard. "I may have borrowed an artifact that turned out to be significantly more volatile than anticipated. I didn't needed it, but it just sat there, smiling at me all friendly and sexy–"

"Oh, of course," the Doctor groaned, rubbing his face.

"–but it blew up in my face, scorching my eyebrows off. Selling it would have been to dangerous and keeping it would have painted too big of a target on my back… so I had to sneak it back before they noticed."

"Before they noticed?" His head snapped toward her, expression incredulous. "River, they are the most high-security, TARDIS-proof, paradox-locked, slightly-alive archives in the known universe! Even I couldn't get in just like this if I wanted!"

"Yes, yes, all very impressive," she waved a dismissive hand, entirely unbothered. Then she leaned in slightly, her voice dipping into something lower, something sly. "But," she murmured, letting the word linger, her eyes locked onto his, "I have a key."

The Doctor's eyebrows lifted slightly. "What key?"

River didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned to the screen, fingers dancing over the keyboard, inputting a command with casual precision. The monitor flickered for a moment before stabilizing, revealing a small directory buried beneath layers of encryption. She took care to not touch the encryption, but just have a little look.

And then, it appeared – a pattern. A small, shifting thread of light, undulating from side to side like a living thing. It twisted, reformed, and then returned to its original position, repeating the cycle over and over, hypnotic in its simplicity.

She watched it for a beat, the ghost of a smile flickering across her lips.

The Doctor leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "River, what am I looking at?"

"A clearance cipher," she said, tone light, but deliberate. The Doctor's expression darkened, his gaze snapping to hers again. River tilted her head, impressed at how quickly he'd caught on. "Intrigued?"

His mouth pressed into a firm line, but she could see the gears turning in his head, that quicksilver mind of his already running through probabilities, outcomes, risks. "How?" he asked finally.

River tapped a key, the cipher rotating with the motion. "I… borrowed it. First time I was there."

"River–"

"Technically, it borrowed itself." She waved a vague hand.

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. "You stole a Silent Quarters override protocol?"

"Not stole, I don't like the word! I… just kept it."

He dropped his hand, giving her a look.

She exhaled, relenting. "Fine. Stole. Kidnapped. Code-napped, technically… Just a little bit." She gestured toward the shifting cipher. "It's encoded directly into their security system. A pass that lets me walk through the most high-security, paradox-locked, slightly-alive archive in the known universe like I belong there."

The Doctor exhaled slowly. "River, that place is alive. It learns. Even if it cannot lock out a living override protocol, if you've touched it before–"

"–it'll recognize me now." She finished the sentence for him, spinning the keyboard in her hands before setting it down beside her. She turned to him, impressed with how his mind had snapped back to life. "Clever boy! Yes, Sweetie, I know how it works. The cipher still lets people in, just not me. And once I am in, the Quarters recognize me and set off every alarm in there. Which is exactly why this is a two person job," she nodded toward the pattern still looping on the screen, "It won't let me in, but you can use the cipher. This is our way in. And also why the moment we do go in, we'll be on a very strict time limit."

The Doctor turned back to the screen, studying the moving cipher, the way it always reset, never truly stopping. "It's beautiful," he whispered.

"Isn't it just?", River whispered, taking that as progress.

The Doctor groaned, his mood changing as he realized what it all meant and he flopped back against the couch, rubbing his face. "Why am I even considering this?"

"Because," River said smoothly but sternly, shifting closer, letting her shoulder press against his, "you need this." His hands lowered slightly, just enough for her to see his wary eyes watching her. "You need something to pull you out of this, and I've tried the usual ways. They didn't work." Her voice softened, her fingers skimming lightly over his knuckles. "You don't want to be the Doctor right now? Fine. Then don't be. This is the alternative I'm offering."

The Doctor swallowed.

She tilted her head, voice lowering. "Just for one night. Just for this job. You don't have to carry the universe. You don't have to fix anything. You don't even have to think about who you're supposed to be." She leaned in slightly, cuddling against him. "All you have to do," she murmured gently, "is steal something with me."

The Doctor was very, very still. Then, he returned the soft pressure River was applying by bumping into her shoulder as well. "All right. What would we be stealing, then?"

River smiled. A slow, knowing smile that said she had already won.

She leaned forward, fingers tapping lightly over the keyboard. The monitor shifted, the clearance cipher fading into the background as a new set of schematics loaded. A single, pulsating node – isolated, buried beneath a dozen failsafes, hidden in the most secure sector of the Silent Quarters. It showed a few schematics on how the Quarters could be structured – even though there really was no way to be sure, but those were the information River had from the last time and her references.

River tapped the a key on the keyboard and the vault expanded, revealing a line of Gallifreyan script curling across the screen.

"The Codex of the First Song," she murmured, voice almost reverent.

The Doctor's brow furrowed. His gaze flicked over the projection, scanning the encryption, the redundancies, the sheer impossibility of breaking through that many security layers.

"It's not a book," River continued, watching him carefully. "It's a recording – a preserved fragment of the very first species to ever develop language."

The Doctor's eyes snapped to hers, sharp with sudden focus.

"No," he breathed.

River smirked. "Oh, yes."

He shook his head, jaw tightening. "That shouldn't exist. The Shadow Proclamation–"

"–erased them. Every trace of them, in their crusade of righteousness. Every written record, every spoken name, every remnant of their language." River tilted her head, expression unreadable. "Except that the Shadow Proclamation doesn't destroy. It collects."

She turned back to the screen, watching as the simulation looped through a rendering of the artifact. It wasn't physical. Not really. More of a suspended resonance, something trapped between time and sound, flickering in and out of tangible reality.

"Their voices were too powerful," River continued. "Their words, their songs – they didn't just describe reality. They shaped it."

The Doctor swallowed, staring at the shifting light of the projection. "Language as a force of nature," he muttered. "Words that can reshape the fabric of space-time. I've met a species that did this once, using word-based science. Words of power, like witchcraft."

"Reality wasn't spoken into existence," River murmured. "It was sung."

The Doctor exhaled sharply. "And the Shadow Proclamation buried it."

"Wouldn't be the first time they tried to silence something inconvenient."

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, sitting back against the couch. "And you– " He shot her a look, incredulous and resigned all at once. "You decided to steal it."

River shrugged, entirely unrepentant. "I planned to. Years ago. But I was missing a partner. Someone to open the door for me and clever enough to keep up." She leaned toward him, eyes glinting with mischief. "I have one now."

The Doctor didn't respond immediately.

He looked back at the screen, at the pulsing, ancient fragment sealed away in the Silent Quarters, locked behind layers of paradox seals, security barriers, and knowledge that had been deliberately erased from time itself.

He should have said no.

He should have walked away.

But his fingers twitched against his knee, restless. His mind – tired and worn and filled with grief – was already turning, already working, already seeing a dozen possible routes inside.

And this time, for once, there were no lives at stake but their own. No screaming innocents, no desperate cries for help, no impossible choices weighing on his shoulders. If they failed, the universe would remain exactly as it was. No one would die. No planets would burn. No catastrophic consequences. Except for their deaths or maybe imprisonment, but they were smart enough to avoid both. Or at least to somehow get out of it.

There was no grand moral imperative here, no expectation that he had to be better or more than he felt capable of being. No saviour complex to uphold, no impossible standards he needed to live up to. Just a puzzle. A challenge. Something he could throw himself into without it meaning everything.

It was reckless. It was selfish. It was insane.

But so were they.

And if they failed? Still no consequences.

Maybe that was exactly what he needed.

The Doctor exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands over his face before letting them drop back onto his lap. River could see all the complaints he was swallowing down because she'd told them not to worry too much. He could do that, get over his morals. He could not do that silently, though. His eyes flicked to the screen again, to the shifting patterns of the security cipher, to the ancient, impossible artifact waiting in the depths of the Silent Quarters.

"And what, exactly," he muttered, voice edged with exhaustion, "do you plan to do with a reality-warping fragment of the first language in the universe?" His gaze slid sideways to her. "Not sure I can just… accept you having it."

River blinked, a little offended. "Why not?"

The Doctor gave her a look – one that was, unfortunately, both affectionate and deeply exasperated. "Because…" he said, drawing the word out as if the answer should be obvious. "Because of your extensive – extensive – prison record, River. Because you are – well, you are not exactly…" He gestured vaguely, grasping for the right word before sighing, "safe."

River's lips curved in amusement. "You mean, I'm a psychopath?" she offered.

"Kinda," he hummed, almost apologetic. "Sorry."

River didn't look offended in the slightest. In fact, she seemed delighted. "Ah, but I have you with me, no?" She leaned back against the couch, arms stretching lazily along the top of it. "Two psychopaths and a reality-warping fragment of the first language – what could possibly go wrong?"

The Doctor hesitated.

River, sensing he was about to get too Doctor about it, pressed on before he could start brooding. "Relax, Sweetie," she purred, nudging his arm. "I don't want to use it – I just want to steal it! Call it… compensation."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "For what?"

River's grin was downright wicked. "Just like the first time," she said breezily, not going in on his question. "I don't care about the artifact. I read about it in a book, it sounded fun! I'm in it for the challenge. You can have the Codex, I don't care."

The Doctor's head tilted slightly. "You read of it in a book?" he repeated slowly, his exasperation mounting. "What kind of book would that be?!"

"Yes!" River reached over, pulling open a drawer beside the couch. With an entirely unnecessary amount of flair, she produced a very worn copy of Professor Pellix Tharn's A Gentleman's Guide to Disreputable Archaeology and plopped it onto his lap. "There's a section in it with – ah, here we go: Top 20 Artifacts That Are Too Dangerous to Exist But Too Interesting Not to Steal."

The Doctor stared at it. Then at her. Then back at the book. "What do they teach you at this university?" he mumbled.

River just smiled. "I'm the teacher now!"

"A worrying thought."

With slow, deliberate movements, he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The cover was faded at the edges, the title embossed in a once-gold, now-dulled lettering. He flipped it open, skimming the first few pages with an increasingly furrowed brow.

His eyes landed on a chapter title. If It's in a Museum, It's Been Stolen Before: Acquiring Historical Artifacts Without All That Dull Paperwork. The Doctor closed the book with an audible snap. He inhaled through his nose.

"Wow," he said slowly, "Someone actually sat down, wrote this, and considered it a legitimate book?"

River beamed. "Oh, I know."

"And you've read this."

"Cover to cover," she agreed. "Big fan of Professor Tharn. Would love to visit them, but they locked themself in a reality loop to escape law enforcement. Genius! But too bad, really."

The Doctor stared at her, then at the book again, flipping to a random passage. His expression grew more alarmed. "This section is titled How to Pronounce the Names of Ancient Gods You've Just Accidentally Woken Up."

"Mmhm. Very useful."

The Doctor turned another page, his eyes skimming over the bold, unapologetic title. If You Get Caught, Deny Everything and Flirt Shamelessly – Here's How.

He sighed. "You know, I feel like this one should have a disclaimer."

River tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Ah, that one's a classic. Works every time, too. Just like this chapter – truly genius!" She pointed at another heading: The Science of Looking Like You Belong: When to Run, When to Hide, and When to Pretend You Work Here. "Learned a lot from it."

The Doctor scoffed. "No chance that works."

River's smirk widened as she leaned in. "No, dearest husband of mine?" She tilted her head, all mock innocence. "You're mentioned by name in this chapter."

The Doctor's head snapped up, his entire body going still. "I – what?!"

River flipped pages and held it up, finger tracing along the text. "See? Case Study: The Doctor – The Gold Standard of Walking Into Places He Shouldn't Be and Acting Like He Owns Them."

The Doctor exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. With a groan, he muttered, "You are actually quoting a textbook on intergalactic-intertemporal artifact theft."

"Disreputable archaeology, Sweetie," she corrected, all mock innocence.

"This book should not exist."

River patted his knee. "Well, technically, it doesn't. It was banned and erased. But Pellix was a dear and sent me an advance copy before they faked their own death. Again. And one big plus on being a time-space anomaly is that you can hide the books you want to keep from the kind of censorship that erases things from existence retroactively through time."

The Doctor closed the book with a finality that could have shattered time itself. "You're going to be the death of me, River Song."

She leaned in, pressing a quick, feather-light kiss to his temple.

"So," she whispered, voice teasing, "are you in?"

The Doctor sighed, deep and long-suffering. His eyes lingered on her for a beat too long, then flicked to the screen, down to the book, then back to her.

And then – he nodded.

"Yeah…" he said, exhaling one last breath of reluctant acceptance, a smile creeping onto his face. "Let's rob the Silent Quarters."

Chapter Text

River sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sprawl of data chips, scattered notes, and the half-assembled scanner. Somewhere among the mess was her fine tool set – not the good one, unfortunately. That was still in the TARDIS, and at this point, she was far too comfortable to get up and fetch it. She'd considered sending the Doctor, but that would require two things: One, letting him wander around the university's campus unsupervised. And two, letting him rummage through her things.

Neither of those options appealed to her.

Just because she was taking him on a heist didn't mean he needed full access to all of her deepest, darkest secrets.

He, on the other hand, was currently buried in the material she'd gathered on the Silent Quarters – what little existed in public records, alongside university papers and the notes from her last two break-ins. Nothing in those files was harmless. In fact, just owning them was enough to justify locking her up for a very long time – again. But she'd rather have it he informed himself, so she didn't have to explain everything and be exposed to his commentary.

But the Doctor had promised not to get squeamish, and to his credit, he was trying. River could see the way he frowned at the pages, the way his breath hitched slightly at certain paragraphs. But what she couldn't tell was how much of this was new to him. She'd always suspected he knew at least some of it. He was an excellent researcher, had a time machine, and was irritatingly clever. If he was shocked by anything he was reading now, he didn't let it show. Or at least, not as much as he could.

"Ugh, River," the Doctor muttered, leaning against one of the ladders leading to the higher shelves. "That's just rude."

"I told you, Doctor," River murmured, barely looking up as she adjusted the scanner, angling it toward the light from the window. "Complaints are submitted in writing. If you have constructive criticism, put it in a letter and place it on my desk or simply keep it to yourself!"

The Doctor ignored her. "How do you even fly a ship like th–"

"Ah-ah!" River held up a finger, not even glancing away from her work. "What did I just say?"

The Doctor groaned dramatically, placing the diary back in the shelf before climbing a few rungs higher on the ladder. She smirked. That's what she thought.

Finally she spotted it, the small leather-wrapped set of fine tools! She only needed one of the tools from in there for the scanner. River leaned back over her scanner, fingers moving with practised ease.

The Silent Quarters never stayed in one place for long. The Doctor had been right about that. One didn't simply find them. Normally, the only way in was if the Shadow Proclamation dragged you there, and by that point, your concerns were probably less about the architecture and more about the impending sentence. The Quarters were alive and sometimes they needed to eat.

But it all meant that River had to cheat. Fortunately, she was exceptionally good at cheating.

She'd done it before – triangulated their pattern, mapped out their movements. She had data she'd flirted out of a high-ranking security officer at the Shadow Proclamation – a little trade-off from one of her more eventful evenings. The information had been incomplete, but it had given her a start. And with the right algorithm – one that was smart, just a little bit sentient, and aggressively persistent – she could work with that.

The Quarters were massive. And, more importantly, they had gravity. Not just the planetary kind, but also something else – an effect in space-time itself, a pull that scanners couldn't see, but that the right calculations could deduce with a bit of inside information.

River's method wasn't about detecting the Quarters directly – that was impossible. At least with her current knowledge and technology, there was just no way. However, with enough data, she could map out the absence the Silent Quarters left behind. The dead spots. The gaps in time and space where something should be, but wasn't. Or, which was what River was looking for, where they would be. Like animals fleeing the beach before a tsunami.

It was subtle, for normal scanners it was impossible to pick up, but her scanner wasn't normal. And that was where they'd find the Silent Quarters.

River shoved a tiny screwdriver into the latch on the back of the half-assembled scanner. With a satisfying click, the casing snapped open. She grinned, reaching for one of the toolboxes behind her, fingers closing around a data chip she'd swiped from a secure archive months ago. Once it finished uploading, she snapped the latch shut again, reassembling the scanner just enough for a test run and flicking the switch.

It hummed. Then whined. Then, predictably, it shut itself off. River exhaled through her nose. Not unexpected – planetary interference, no proper tether to run a full scan. But even with that, she could still read the output.

"Approximately two-point-six clicks deviation," she muttered, adjusting a few of the dials, biting the inside of her cheek. "Not ideal, but workable."

She caught movement from the corner of her eye. The Doctor was leaning back on the ladder, frowning at her, before he sighed and started climbing down. He dropped onto the floor with all the grace of a gangly giraffe giving up on life, then reached across and plucked the scanner right out of her hands. He crossed his legs and let himself sink down, sitting across from her on the ground with the scanner in hand.

He held it up, turning it a few times, sniffed it and then looked at her with this slightly sceptical gaze that told her, he thought himself superior in this field of knowledge. He probably was.

"Workable?" he muttered, continuing to inspect the device with an exaggerated tilt of his head, as if the angle would tell him more. "You do realize that workable in a break-in scenario usually translates to incredibly high chance of not making it? Two-point-six deviation means, if we're away the full two-point-six clicks, we'd need to fly for… hmm, average ship speed, I'd say – almost an hour? That leaves us barely more then an hour before the Quarters move again, that's not enough. The Quarters don't stay at one point that long."

"We need a quick ship, then," River said, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. "Nothing is impossible, Sweetie."

The Doctor grumbled something under his breath, running his fingers along the edges of the scanner. Then – without warning – he licked it.

River recoiled. "Oh, for – Doctor! Don't lick my scanner!"

He smacked his lips together, eyes narrowing in concentration. He flipped the device over, thumped it twice against his knee like an old telly, then pressed his ear against it. River could not look away. He flicked a switch on the side, turned some tiny adjusters; the device let out a crackle-pop noise, and then he just – whacked it against the floor.

The scanner let out a sharp beep, blinked once, and hummed back to life. It ran the program and then shut itself off again.

River exhaled sharply through her nose. "How–"

"One-point-three clicks deviation," the Doctor murmured, as if this was the most logical, normal, scientific fix in the world, wiggling his fingers in a little ta-da! motion. "With another hour I can get it down to point-six. Point-five if I really want to brag!"

River stared. Then swallowed. Because, god help her, there was nothing sexier than watching him do that – the weird, impossible, completely ridiculous things that only he could do. And he wasn't even trying! She schooled her expression quickly, tilting her head, crossing her arms loosely over her chest.

"Well," she mused, tilting her head just slightly, "that's attractive."

The Doctor blinked at her, then – infuriatingly – grinned. He placed the scanner down on the floor in front of her. "Oh, I know," he said smoothly, casually dusting off his hands as if he'd just performed a routine repair instead of whatever that had been. "Would you like me to do it again? Maybe at a slightly more dramatic angle? I could throw in a flourish."

River's smirk deepened. "Oh, don't stop now. Fix something else. Make it weird."

"Hmm. Tempting," he admitted. The Doctor tapped a finger against his chin, considering. "But I think I'd rather keep you guessing."

He shot her a wink, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his trousers.

River exhaled through her nose, shaking her head as she picked up the scanner again, turning it a little. "Show-off."

"Obviously." The Doctor rocked back on his heels, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

For a moment he bathed in his achievement, but then his gaze turned a bit puzzled again as his brain got to work again. The Doctor let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if this whole conversation had physically exhausted him. "One-point-three clicks," he muttered again, as if the number itself personally offended him. "We still need an incredibly fast ship."

River nodded, still reassembling the scanner with practised efficiency. "I've got one in mind already," she said lightly, snapping a panel back into place.

The Doctor frowned, watching her fingers work. "Why not the TARDIS?" he asked. "She is the fastest, you know. She could easily compensate the deviation."

River froze for just a moment – just a fraction of a second – before letting out a silent laugh. She leaned back, placing her hands flat against her thighs, and gave him a long, incredulous look.

"Oh, yes, brilliant idea!" she said, her voice laced with faux enthusiasm. "Let's take the TARDIS! And while we're at it, how about I'll fit you with a shirt made entirely of blinking lights, Queen Elizabeth's crown, maybe some trumpets for shoes? Oh, and let's not stop there! I'll slap a tracking beacon on my back, wear a sequined jumpsuit that plays the Imperial March every time I take a step, and write thief on both of our foreheads in neon paint that glows in the dark!"

The Doctor blinked. His lips parted slightly, his eyes glimmering with something dangerously close to intrigue, and River's instincts immediately screamed at her. She knew that look. That was the look – the one he always got right before deciding something absolutely ridiculous was a good idea.

Her eyes widened, and she lifted a hand. "Don't," she warned, "answer that."

The Doctor grinned and rocked back on his heels, tapping his chin in deep, exaggerated thought.

River groaned, dragging a hand down her face. Even though it was nice seeing him so playful and unbothered.

But then, finally – mercifully – he gave her a sheepish smile and sighed. "Alright, point taken. No TARDIS."

"No TARDIS," River confirmed with a firm nod. She bent back over the scanner, giving it a final calibration. "Besides, I think her sheer presence would stop the Silent Quarters from appearing, or it would at least set off every alarm there was. We need to fly undercover."

The Doctor gave her a long, knowing look, the kind that suggested he was already predicting exactly where this was going. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe he was going along with this.

"So, just to clarify," he said slowly. "We are not using the TARDIS, because that would be too obvious."

"Correct."

"And instead, we're taking a ship that you… own?" he asked carefully.

"Not technically own," River answered, reattaching another small panel on the scanner. "We'll borrow it. From a colleague, she'll barely miss it."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And this colleague – she's a friend, then?"

River huffed, tightening a screw with just a little too much force. "I wouldn't go that far."

The Doctor sighed. "River, are we stealing a ship from one of your enemies?"

River scoffed, sitting up straighter. "Oh, please. We're borrowing a ship from a very competitive academic rival who has very questionable security protocols that beg to be broken and who definitely deserves to have a little excitement in her otherwise dull, dull life. She loves filing official reports against me, it brings her so much joy!"

The Doctor gave her an unimpressed look, but didn't dignify that with a response – just sighed again, muttering something under his breath as he refocused on the files in front of him.

River smirked. "If you're done reading, you can start transferring the cipher to one of the disks. We're leaving as soon as we have the ship."

"Okay, but…" the Doctor was already rifling through a desk drawer full of curling papers and long-forgotten tech. He held one up, but then just as quickly put it down again. "If we can find it and get in, what exactly is the problem? You've got a key and a scanner. That's two of the main hurdles right there. Bit of an open-and-shut sort of thing."

River arched a brow at him, leaning casually back. "Well, that's not really a plan, no? Walk in, grab the thing, saunter back out while the haunted death maze claps politely?"

"I mean…" He flipped open the file. Squinted. Immediately regretted it. "Yes?"

She sighed. "You're right, getting in isn't hard. Not with what we have. I think that we may even get to the artifact rather quickly. Getting out again, however…"

The room went quiet for a beat.

"The alarm system in this place isn't necessarily designed to alert the Shadow Proclamation. The Quarters itself take care of intruders. But once it's alarmed, it will do anything to keep you inside long enough to… well, to see you die. It's hard to find and difficult to get in, yes, but it's rather easy compared to getting out again."

The Doctor's face shifted – his usual flippant curiosity replaced by a flicker of something else. "Right," he said quietly. "One of those places."

"Yes," River said. "Once we're inside, it will start watching. Slowly at first. Shifting walls, testing doors, rearranging logic. And the moment we try to leave with the artifact…" She paused. "It gets freaky."

"Define freaky," the Doctor said, already dreading the answer.

"Reality-bending. Memory-looping. Possibly time becoming metaphor. But we have an advantage!" she hummed.

"Which is?"

"We're clever!"

With that, they got to work.

The next few hours passed in an easy rhythm, filled with the quiet rustling of packing, the occasional hum of agreement, and the soft clatter of tools shifting against the wooden floor. River watched as the Doctor – grumbling occasionally – methodically packed what they needed into a bag, occasionally muttering about organization and properly distributed weight. She let him fuss. It kept him busy, and if she was being honest, she found it somewhat endearing.

They didn't need much. River had learned a long time ago that a good heist wasn't about how much you brought – it was about what you brought. Precision. Efficiency. The right tools for the job. And this time, she had the most unpredictable, brilliant tool of them all: him

That was a relief.

Not just because he was useful – though he was – but because he was here, engaged, present. There was a certain spark in his eyes that had lacked the past few adventures. Despite the grumbling and the sighing, despite the way he kept casting her sceptical looks over the rim of his glasses – the round ones, Amy's, as River recognized them; he'd produced them from his jacket when River had told him to go read –, he was into it. Even if he was only enjoying the headache she was giving him, he was enjoying something. And that was progress.

As River slid the scanner into her bag, she thought back to the effortless way he'd improved it earlier – the casual brilliance, the playfulness of it. It was still there. He was still there. Maybe, just maybe, she was onto something.

She wouldn't get her hopes up. Not yet. But she allowed herself the smallest spark of cautious optimism.

The Doctor, meanwhile, had fully thrown himself into the preparations. Despite all his protests, all his moral objections, he was recalibrating their data, adjusting settings, making obscure, completely unnecessary improvements to the technology they were taking. He didn't need to do half the things he was doing, but River wasn't about to stop him. By the end of the day, they were down to point-five deviation, which would make a difference.

She liked watching him like this. Brilliant. Restless. Hands moving with an instinctive precision that came from centuries of experience. Even for all her own skill, she had to admit – when it came to this particular brand of nonsense genius, he had her beat.

The sun had long since set behind the university, casting the grand, arched windows of the Archaeology Department into deep, ink-black reflections. The last remnants of golden light faded, stretching the long shadows even further, swallowing the campus in the deep indigo hues of twilight.

River glanced at the clock. Nightfall. Time to steal a ship.

"Alright, are we done?" she asked, closing her small bag with a decisive snap and turning toward the Doctor.

"Yes!" he chirped, holding up his own bag with the enthusiasm of a student who had definitely packed too many books for a weekend trip.

River hadn't paid much attention to what exactly he'd gathered, but it didn't matter. The essentials were covered – the scanner, the cipher resting comfortably on River's cosiest data disk, the ship they were about to borrow, and, of course, her beloved husband. Who, in the last stretch of their preparations, had decided to start rearranging her artifacts, inspecting them with far too much interest for her liking.

"Great, Sweetie!" she said, throwing a final glance around the room, making sure they hadn't left anything crucial behind or anything incriminating out in the open. Then, shouldering her bag, she strode toward the door, pulling it open with a grin. "Then let's go borrow a ship!"

The hallways of Luna University were quiet at this hour, only the occasional flicker of artificial torchlight breaking the stillness. Most of the students had retired for the night, and the few professors who still lingered were locked away in their offices, nose-deep in research, some were stuck in evening lectures. It made sneaking through the corridors relatively easy – at least, for someone like River.

She strode confidently ahead, the Doctor trailing just slightly behind her, hands deep in his pockets. His eyes flicked curiously around them, drinking in the grand architecture with a kind of reluctant admiration.

The Doctor leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "So, tell me about this colleague of yours."

River smirked but didn't slow down. "Very organized, very thorough, very irritating. Hopefully, very not here tonight. She's got a late lecture, so if we're lucky, we'll be in and out before she even thinks about coming back."

"Sounds charming," the Doctor muttered. "And what exactly is she to you? Friend? Rival? Archnemesis?"

River hummed thoughtfully. "Picture it like this," she whispered. "If I were you, she'd be the Master. Only… dumber, less dramatic, not that insane and mentally unstable… actually, scratch that. Technically, she'd be you, and I'd be the Master."

The Doctor let out an offended huff. "Rude." River grinned, but the Doctor continued. "But should we be stealing this ship then?"

River paused at a corner, peeking around it. Clear. She gestured for him to follow. "I told you, it's fine. She barely flies the ship, and I'm just keeping the engines from rusting. It's practically charity."

"So, in this little metaphor," the Doctor mused, trailing after her, "her ship is the TARDIS – only dumber, less insane, and you think you're doing her a favour? You wouldn't steal the TARDIS!"

"Never, Sweetie," River beamed. "Besides, we will bring it back. Eventually." They reached Kara's office. River placed a hand against the door – locked, of course. She turned to him with a pointed look. "Alright, I need a minute to crack this. Be useful, would you? Keep an eye out."

The Doctor leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Oh, so I'm the lookout now?"

"Hush, love," River mumbled. "Mummy needs to work!"

The Doctor huffed but didn't argue, leaning casually against the wall as River crouched down, pulling out her lockpicks. The security system wasn't terrible, but Kara was a professor, not a criminal mastermind. River made quick work of the physical lock, then moved on to bypassing the security pad. It took her all of thirty seconds before the small console beeped softly and the door slid open.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Worryingly fast."

"Don't act impressed," River murmured, slipping inside. "Just shut the door behind you."

Kara's office was meticulously organized, every surface polished to an almost irritating degree. Artifacts lined the walls, labelled with little holographic plaques detailing their histories. Bookshelves were sorted by category and year, with colour-coded tags. A small workstation was set up at the far end, a few digital files still flickering mid-process.

And sitting on the desk, hung neatly on a small rack – the keys. It was small, with a remote attached and the plush replica of a fat unicorn.

River grinned. "Too easy."

"Suspiciously easy," the Doctor corrected, eyeing the office warily.

"Oh, hush," River said, stepping towards the desk. She plucked the keys from their place, twirling them around her finger. "See? Smooth. Efficient. No problems whatsoever."

The second she said it, a mechanical chirp sounded from the desk.

The Doctor's head snapped towards her. "River…"

River turned slowly, watching as the display on Kara's workstation flickered to life. A security failsafe. Silent alarm. Brilliant.

"Well," she muttered, "I didn't expect that. Smart move, Kara!"

The Doctor ran a hand down his face. "Can you turn it off?"

"No," River admitted. "It's not loud – yet – but it probably sent a notification to Kara's personal device. But she's in lecture, she'll need at least four minu–"

The door clicked. The Doctor grimaced. River let the keys slip into her pockets quickly and placed herself in a way that the key rack couldn't be seen from the door. They both turned just as the lock disengaged and the door slid open, revealing a very unimpressed Kara D'Laan.

She was tall, her green skin almost luminescent under the dim office lights, with sharp, rigid spikes crowning her head in a way that made her look perpetually on edge. Her yellow eyes flickered with immediate suspicion, cutting straight through River with the kind of exhausted disapproval that could only be earned over years of very specific grievances. She was curvy in that distinctly Vinvocci way, all long limbs and sharp posture, wrapped in the kind of painfully professional attire that suggested she took her job very seriously.

She had the stance of someone who lived by the rules, and the expression of someone who knew River was breaking them. Again. River could see her already scripting the first three pages of the official report to faculty.

"River Song," Kara said, folding her arms. "Why am I not surprised?"

River flashed her most dazzling smile. "Kara! Lovely night, isn't it? I thought you had a lecture in the C-Building?"

Kara's eyes flicked to the Doctor, ignoring River's comment. "Who's this?"

"Oh," River said lightly, stepping toward her, subtly blocking the Doctor from view. "You know, just a… student of mine, uh… Peter Pan! Wanted to show him the boring side of archaeology, show him how it's not done! He's really promising – bright, eager, but still very obedient, which I'm trying to get out of him!"

The Doctor scoffed behind her. "Peter Pan?"

River kicked his foot.

Kara pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. "River, I am so tired–"

"Oh, me too, love," River said smoothly. "Which is why I would hate for this to turn into a whole thing."

Kara exhaled sharply. "Give me one reason I shouldn't call security."

River smiled. Slow. Lazy. She tilted her head just slightly, shifting her weight onto one hip. Casual and harmless. Just two old colleagues, talking.

"Do it," she murmured, stepping closer, voice dipping into something softer, something dangerous beneath the surface. "I'd love to see Hrotgar again. It's really been a while."

Kara's face barely twitched, but River saw the hesitation – saw the gears turning behind her sharp, calculating eyes.

"Go on, do it," River teased and grinned, placing her weight on one side. "But if you do, I might just remember what really happened on Nautilus Seven and how it wasn't technically me who conducted that little unauthorized research project. You know, the one that resulted in the unexplained structural damage in the planetary archives?" River's voice was honeyed venom. "What is a tiny slap on the wrist for me, but you? Oh, wouldn't you hate to have your spotless record soiled?"

Kara's face hardened, but River caught the flicker of something underneath – frustration, calculation, and just the tiniest edge of panic.

That was the thing about Kara. She followed rules, but only when it suited her. She was like River in that sense. But she had the image of a by-the-book academic, the perfect professor who followed all the rules and never did something wrong. The golden child where River was the disappointment. But River knew she had her own little list of transgressions, buried under layers of plausible deniability.

And the last thing Kara D'Laan wanted was for anyone to start digging.

River watched her, waiting, her smile just a little too sharp. Kara's jaw clenched. But then, to River's surprise – she exhaled sharply, straightened her shoulders, and stomped toward her desk anyway.

"I'll not have you get away with this!" she snapped. "You keep breaking into my office, and only the gods know what you want this time! I'm not buying your student-story! So what if security finds out? It didn't cost you your job, it certainly won't cost me mine!"

The good news was that Kara still didn't know they would steal her ship. The bad news was, that River's blackmailing wasn't working.

River barely had time to blink before Kara moved – faster than expected, heading straight for her desk, where the panel with the security override buttons sat. But before she could reach it, the Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver in a single fluid motion, barely even looking before he pointed it at the desk and let it loose. With a sharp electric snap, sparks burst from the control panel. The lights flickered. The hum of holographs and monitors died. The entire office powered down.

"Oops," the Doctor hummed.

Kara froze. The system blinked as it started to reboot, but too slow for her to do anything anytime soon. Her fingers twitched near the panel, pressing buttons, but it was dead. "Wait – what did you just do, Pan?!" she hissed.

The Doctor grinned, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"Oh, you know," the Doctor said breezily, slipping his screwdriver back into his pocket like he hadn't just fried half the office. "Just a reboot. Nothing permanent! Once it's rebooted it will work just as fine again, which is in… ten minutes? Twenty? Hmm, hard to say, really, these things are so delicate."

"You can't just reboot the system, there's a dozen safety mechanisms in the way!" Kara complained.

"Guess so," the Doctor answered. "Check it yourself if you don't believe me."

Kara's expression darkened instantly. She spun toward her desk, fingers flying over the control panel – only to be met with a mockingly polite system message flashing across the screen:

ERROR 421 : SYSTEM REBOOTING. ESTIMATED TIME: … UNAVAILABLE.

Her jaw clenched. "You little–"

River leaned in, grinning. "Careful, darling. Think of your blood pressure."

Kara whipped back toward them, furious, but they were already moving, now that she wasn't blocking the door with her body anymore. River, grabbing the Doctor's arm comfortably, stopped by the door.

Kara seethed. "You cannot just–" She gestured wildly to the useless console, then to them, then back again. "I am still going to report this!"

"Oh, of course you are. Professor River Song and undergrad Peter Pan, remember the names!" River cooed. "Right after the system comes back online. And that takes, what? A while?"

They were still going to get in trouble. But until the security system was back online it would take a while and that was the time they had to get away from here and… well, this planet.

Kara's hands clenched into fists. River, never one to resist a dramatic exit, blew her a kiss before slipping through the door. The moment they were outside, River grabbed the Doctor's arm a bit tighter and ran. By the time Kara noticed her keys gone, the two of them were running full tilt through the dim halls of the university, stifling laughter as they barrelled toward the shipyard.

The Doctor panted, glancing sideways at her. "You really make a lot of enemies."

River grinned. "And you, my love, were absolutely brilliant!"

The Doctor smirked. "Oh, I did enjoy it."

River grinned, satisfied with herself.

The shipyard loomed ahead, vast and quiet under the artificial glow of the campus lights. River led the way, moving with practised ease through the shadows, the Doctor close behind. They slipped past security sensors, ducked under camera arcs, and in minutes, they were standing before their prize.

The Starbolt 900C. Sleek, predatory, and obscenely fast. Obsidian-black with a seamless finish, its swept-back wings housed high-output sublight thrusters, and its core was built around an illegal Phase-Shift Hyperburst system – one of only ten ever made. A Ferrari of the skies, designed for speed and precision, leaving everything else choking on its ion trail.

The Doctor let out a low whistle. "Now that's a ship."

"Right?" River smirked, already keying in the unlock-codes. "And she barely flies it. Waste of a beauty like this."

The hatch hissed open, revealing the impossibly sleek cockpit. The controls were crisp, lined with reactive neural interfaces that adjusted in real time to the pilot's reflexes. The seats – luxurious, built for precision flying, practically molded for her.

The Doctor slid in beside her, stored away the bags, and then ran a hand over the console. "This is overkill. This ship was built for high-stakes racing, not casual cruising. Where did your colleague even get this?"

"Her Daddy is rich," River hummed, a hint of disgust in her voice. River's fingers danced over the controls, bringing the ship to life with a deep, purring hum. Not the first time she borrowed the Starbolt. "And what, exactly, about this heist suggests casual to you?"

She'd tried stealing the Starbolt once without the keys. Just once. And promptly decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

The ship's security systems were better than most high-security vaults she'd broken into – biometric locks, encrypted neural link verification, and an onboard AI that had nearly taken her fingerprints off for trying. River had long since concluded it was far easier to simply steal the keys.

And once you had the keys? The ship welcomed you like an old friend. Every system fell into place. Every lock disengaged. Smooth as butter.

After every trip, Kara would become extra cautious – triple hiding the keys, setting new passcodes, sometimes even locking them in a safe. But inevitably, she'd get lazy. Or distracted. And once her guard dropped, River helped herself.

It had been going like that for years. A quiet little game they never acknowledged. River borrowed the Starbolt, and Kara pretended not to know exactly who had. Everyone was happier that way. And River always brought it back, placing the keys where she found them.

The Doctor huffed but buckled himself in. "I was hoping for something a little more… unassuming. How is this at all better than the TARDIS?"

"This one has no temporal drive, it's the same size inside and outside, it has the same colour as space, and it's registered – not to me, but close enough," River concluded, then grinned. River grinned, flipping the final launch switch. The ship responded instantly, engines flaring. "Besides, if you had wanted unassuming, you should have married someone else."

The thrusters ignited. The Starbolt shuddered beneath them, then surged forward – fast, fluid, untouchable. Below them, alarms began to blare, security lights flaring to life – too late. With a single pulse of energy, they shot into the sky, disappearing into the vast black of space.

Chapter Text

The Starbolt cut through the upper atmosphere of Korjkas like a whisper.

Her sleek, obsidian hull caught just enough starlight to look like the outline of something imagined – the idea of a ship rather than its presence. Korjkas itself was nothing more than a forgotten speck of dark rock in the void. Uninhabited. Barely big enough to earn the title of planet. But it was perfect: a ghost stone orbiting in silence, hidden just enough to go unnoticed by the wrong kind of eyes.

They'd been drifting here for almost an hour now, nestled in the planet's thin atmosphere, disguised as space debris. This was a dangerous corner of the universe, they were surrounded by unstable nebulas, debris fields from battles long forgotten and slightly carnivorous planets. This was exactly the kind of place the Quarters would appear at. The scanner sat between them, humming faintly – picking up bursts of data, parsing the silence. Now, that they were no longer on a planet but borderlining outer space, it was starting to pick things up.

River had her boots kicked up on the console, one hand adjusting the scanner's settings, the other resting lazily on the throttle. Her curls were pinned back with just enough chaos to suggest she hadn't touched them in hours, which she hadn't. She had considered braiding them back before the adventure, but had then decided against it. Not dramatic enough.

"If the scanner's right," she murmured, "the Quarters will show up in just under four minutes. And thanks to your very sexy improvements to the scanner, we won't even have to fly half an hour to reach them!"

The Doctor huffed.

She didn't say if they showed. That wasn't how it worked. The Silent Quarters weren't summoned. They slipped into being like a ghost remembering it once had form. But all the signs were here. River had seen them appear before. Twice, to be exact. The first time they had materialized directly in front of her nose, the second time she had to fly almost an hour and had to run to put the artifact back. The scanner gave a low click. This time it was more predictable where they would be.

River leaned forward, tapping the monitor, and gestured out the window. "You see that?"

The Doctor squinted through the viewport, forehead crinkling as he leaned into the glow. Just beyond the curvature of the horizon, something shimmered – not light, exactly, but the absence of it. A patch of not-quite-space, like a smudge on the universe.

"Negative corridor," River said softly. "No signal bounce. No refraction. A gap in space. The memory of something that hasn't arrived yet… like a premonition."

She pointed to the scanner who was picking it up, and then to the Starbolt's own scanners, who weren't even so much as twitching.

The Doctor exhaled slowly. "Looks like a rendering error."

River smirked. "It's not."

He bent his long frame into the co-pilot's chair, knees awkwardly folded. This ship was definitely not designed with lanky Time Lords in mind. "Was it like this the last time?"

"Exactly the same." Her fingers danced across the control panel, gently guiding the Starbolt's drift. The ship remained in slow, subtle motion, always adjusting to Korjkas' erratic gravity field – never fully still. "Best protection against detection is pretending to be part of the background noise. Motion blur, Sweetie. No-Space with excellent cheekbones."

The Doctor hummed. "You know," he mused, "if this weren't deeply illegal and teetering on the edge of paradoxical catastrophe, I'd be fascinated."

"By what?" she asked, though she already had an idea.

He gestured toward the shimmer outside. "That is some grade A time-space engineering. And I don't hand out that kind of praise lightly. I've seen Time Lord designs less clever than this."

River shot him a glance. "That's a terrifying endorsement."

He nodded, solemn. "The Time Lords would've hated this. It's fundamentally wrong. Dangerous, too. But it's ingenious."

River tilted her head, intrigued. "Because?"

"Because it doesn't just fold space. It sniffs out where it will be, hiding by avoiding places with eyes, preferring places where physics are already broken – ohh, that's clever! Tricking scanners by not existing until it does and not existing after it vanished… It scans all the time, it learns. Adapts. It remembers." His voice dropped. "Living space-travel, that's… Every time it jumps, it gets smarter. Something that bends reality to move. Not in the way a TARDIS does, but way more… primal. Beautiful."

River didn't stop her smile. "Thank god you're not fascinated!"

She loved it when he explained things to her. This was already rather known to her, she'd seen it twice before, but it was something different to have it perceived through his eyes. The eyes of an ancient entity who actually understood enough of reality and science to comprehend what was happening. He was so sexy when he was being smart!

This was the kind of marvel she was used from him. Fascinating that it needed something impossible to lure it out again. But she didn't watch him. She just stared out at the emptiness, watching that shimmer at the edge of visibility begin to shift. Grow. Stabilize.

The Silent Quarters did not arrive so much as they asserted themselves into existence. One moment, there was only space – empty, quiet, dismissible. Too quiet actually, as if something was pressing everything that was away. The next, there was something there. As if space sneezed.

A shape bloomed in the void just above the dark rock of Korjkas, about point-two clicks from the Starbolt. It was smooth, monolithic, impossible. Not built. Not landed. Just there, like it had always been and was only now deciding to be perceived. River saw gravity adjust on her scanner, the space making way for it.

The Quarters looked almost like a ship, but weren't. Not quite. Their surface was matte black and seamless, a distortion against the stars that bent light too softly, too precisely, as if reality had been asked to look the other way. There were no visible doors. No windows. Just edges that didn't quite meet and corners that didn't seem to obey Euclidean geometry. The structure shimmered faintly – not with light, but with memory. Like the idea of something that had been removed from time, and never entirely came back.

River felt it before she saw it. A hum, low and bone-deep. The kind of vibration that buzzed in the chest, in the teeth, in the folds of the brain. It was a presence. A warning.

The Doctor leaned forward slowly, eyes narrowing. "Well," he whispered. "That's properly unsettling."

And it was. The Silent Quarters weren't just an archive – they were a vault. A place for the things the Shadow Proclamation didn't want touched, let alone remembered. Forbidden knowledge. Dangerous truths. Outlawed technology. Artifacts not meant to be seen or understood. The building itself was alive in the way a predator was alive: always listening, always watching, always calculating.

River had never properly found out how the Shadow Proclamation had built it. Maybe they had stolen it, maybe they had found it. They had shackled it, in a way, because they always knew where it was and they had tamed it enough to use it. But it was a miracle to River that something this clever hadn't stopped obeying earlier.

Because it didn't keep people out by force. It didn't allow everyone in, but once you found it you could get in rather easily, actually. But once you were in, it made them regret going in. And worse – it remembered who tried. The Silent Quarters didn't simply lock out intruders. It marked them. And if you lingered too long inside… it didn't just trap you. It kept you.

You had to get in and out while it was still anchored to this slice of space. It never stayed for long – about two hours – before it shifted again. And when it shifted, it didn't care about what was inside. That kind of displacement wasn't meant for anything organic to survive.

Her hands moved with calm, confident precision over the Starbolt's controls, guiding the ship closer with a grace that made the maneuver look effortless. The Starbolt responded like a well-trained predator – sleek, silent, and just the slightest bit smug. Beside her, the Doctor sat stiffly, one hand braced against the copilot's seat, the other clutching his jacket like it might offer some illusion of control. His eyes were locked on the thing ahead, his brow furrowed deep.

River turned the ship into a slow, careful arc, skimming the Quarters at a distance. The Starbolt slid through the vacuum like a held breath, silent and smooth, disturbing nothing.

"There's no way in," the Doctor muttered, leaning forward toward the viewport, scanning the obsidian monolith. "No docking ports. No windows. No lights. No entry."

River smiled. "Illusion," she murmured. "There's a seam around the back. I've used it before. There's a proper front door somewhere, but it's boring."

They coasted closer, the ship nearly brushing the black hull. And just when it looked like they would slam into solid nothing, the Quarters blinked – just once – and the optical camouflage peeled back. A small docking bay shimmered into existence, barely large enough to hold the Starbolt.

River eased the ship in. No landing lights. No docking clamps. No welcoming system. Just the soft, controlled hum of the repulsorlifts as the Starbolt settled onto the platform like it belonged there. The landing was silent.

River stood, shouldering her bag and adjusting the strap with one practised tug. She pulled two earpieces from a pocket – the same ones from Curiosity. She offered one to the Doctor without fanfare.

He frowned. "If you're planning to shut me out again –"

River raised an eyebrow, playful and dangerous. "Divorce?"

He sighed, but there was a twitch of a smile behind it. She handed him the earpiece. He took it and slid it in. So did she.

Then, just before she hit the hatch release, she turned to him, more serious now. "Stay sharp, baby. We've got ninety minutes, max. I want at least ten to spare. If it shifts while we're still inside –"

The Doctor cut her off gently. "We're jelly. I know." He adjusted his bow tie, voice low. "No second chances."

"We get in, we get what we want, we slip out again. No lingering. If there's a cool hat, you will not, I repeat, not touch it!" she hummed.

The Doctor frowned. "You said this would be fun."

"It will be fun! But the hat may be cursed, so maybe don't risk it?" River argued softly. "Learn from my mistakes."

"Fair," the Doctor gave in.

The airlock hissed. The doors opened. The moment they stepped outside, the temperature dropped like a stone. A low vibration crawled across River's skin – a pressure in the teeth, in the spine. The kind of hum that didn't make noise so much as it whispered run into the bones.

The Quarters' welcome.

River kept her hands tucked carefully into her coat pockets. So far, the Silent Quarters hadn't recognized her – then again, they had barely left the ship, so there hadn't been much to recognize. Still, she took every precaution. She locked the Starbolt down with a few quick gestures, priming it for a rapid escape, just in case.

Then she nodded toward the entry console.

The Doctor moved ahead, the data disk holding the clearance cipher already in hand. He approached the panel like he might approach a wild animal – curious, cautious, quietly fascinated.

River trailed behind, watching him work.

He stopped just short of the door, eyes scanning the unfamiliar tech. Without hesitation, he inserted the disk into the universal port. The panel responded immediately, lighting up beneath his fingers. It scanned him, flickering through unknown scripts and glimmering sigils. The cipher moved – alive in a way most technology wasn't – spilling itself out and then curling back, like a conversation being had in a language neither of them spoke.

A deep, resonant groan rolled through the floor, humming in their bones.

The door hissed open.

"No alarm yet," the Doctor noted, voice cautious.

"Yet," River muttered.

She stepped past him. The moment her boot crossed the threshold, the tone of the hum shifted – lower, sharper, wrong. The Quarters shuddered, and the hallway beyond began to ripple and realign, dark metal sliding with the sound of grinding stone. It was no longer an opening; it was a reaction.

The Doctor flinched, eyes wide. "Okay! You could have just told me it would do that! No need for the full haunted house entrance, River!"

River knew that the alarm had already reached the Shadow Proclamation. It was unlikely that they would be followed inside, but it meant that the Quarters were less nice and easily walkable and that could become a problem.

River didn't slow down, strode forward confidently. "Come on, space-boy. We've got ninety minutes – if it likes you better than me, now's the time to prove it."

The hallway ahead creaked and twisted, almost like it was making space for them. Or watching them walk in. Either way, there was no turning back now.

The hallway seemed to breathe around them – walls pulsing ever so slightly, like lungs expanding in the dark. The lights were low and cold, more suggestion than illumination, casting strange shadows that moved when they didn't.

The Doctor fell into step beside her, adjusting his bow tie with unnecessary focus. "You know," he whispered, "for a vault run by someone who likes to play space police, this place really leans into the horror aesthetic."

"It's an intimidation tactic," River replied, eyes scanning the shifting metal ahead of them. "Not everyone keeps their nightmares locked behind metaphor. Some just build them into the walls."

"Charming."

She glanced at him sideways. "You scared?"

The Doctor sniffed. "No."

"Liar."

He shot her a look, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "Mildly unnerved. There's a difference."

Ahead of them, the corridor shifted again. Subtle. Slow. Like something ancient turning in its sleep. If you weren't watching closely, you'd miss it entirely – but River wasn't the type to blink. She saw it. She'd felt it before. And more than that, she knew what it meant.

The Silent Quarters were aware of her. She could feel it in the pressure gathering at the base of her skull, like invisible screws tightening with every step she took. The sensation wasn't pain. Not quite. Just a presence. Unblinking. Heavy. Familiar in the worst way.

It remembered her. And she knew – it didn't particularly like her. Still, it let them pass. Probably because so far they hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't done more then simply entering and walking through. Alarms were ringing but the guard dogs remained in their kennels.

River didn't hesitate. She walked forward like she'd been born in this place, like the shifting metal and whispering walls were nothing new. Confidence wasn't optional here; it was currency. Beside her, the Doctor kept pace, his eyes flicking across the walls, the floor, the ceiling – tracking the space like it might reach out and bite. And maybe it would.

The corridors didn't move with sudden violence. They shifted with a glacial sort of grace, flowing and folding in on themselves like the passageways of some vast, breathing organism. Ancient. Hungry. Not quite hostile – but certainly not safe.

Curious, maybe. Or calculated. Something River didn't want to consider too closely. Maybe it wasn't interested in her, not exactly. Maybe it was him. The Doctor – impossible, contradictory, unknowable even on a good day. He was interesting. Complicated enough to earn a second look. Or difficult enough to digest. That was another possibility.

"Do these hallways move us to where we want to be? How do you navigate through something that guides you?" the Doctor murmured, voice low, cautious. "Like the TARDIS – is it psychic? Is there logic to it?"

River's eyes stayed forward, scanning every edge, every flicker of shadow. "Don't think too hard," she said, calm but alert. "It can smell uncertainty. And it doesn't like being mocked. They key is acting as if you know where you want to be."

That last part came with a subtle glance toward him.

Pressure suited her. Always had. She thrived in it – threaded through chaos like she belonged there. And in a way, she did. She had the scanner for outside the Quarters. She had the key to get in. But now that they were inside, that meant very little. Navigation here wasn't logical. It wasn't spatial.

It was personal.

"Sentient architecture," the Doctor muttered, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets like he was trying to disappear inside them. "Always so touchy. It's bad enough with the TARDIS. How did you find what you needed last time?"

River didn't answer – not right away. Instead, she reached out, took one of his hands from his pocket, and wrapped her fingers around it. Not for strategy. Not for theatrics. Just for comfort.

The corridor didn't like them. She could feel that, too. But it hadn't swallowed them yet. And that was something. She moved forward with purpose, each step deliberate, steady. Not because she knew the way. Not exactly. But because hesitation got noticed.

And here, being noticed was a liability.

"You did read my diaries, didn't you?" she asked, voice light as ever, like they weren't walking through the steel ribs of something half-alive. "I explained everything. That's what I gave them to you for."

"Please," the Doctor huffed, his tone somewhere between annoyance and affection. "Half of them were bragging. The other half felt like you were flirting either with yourself or the reader. It's not a very good diary."

River smiled faintly. "I find them rather entertaining."

The corridor responded again – another long, slow breath. The lights above flickered, shifting hue for half a second, and the air thickened just slightly. River didn't pause. Her eyes flicked across the walls again – the faint shimmer of movement behind the surface, the ceiling's barely-there tilt, the way the floor seemed to list ever so slightly to the left.

She could tell when the Quarters were reacting.

The walls would narrow – just slightly. The low hum would shift in pitch, not mechanical, but more like a throat clearing. Subtle, but deliberate. The way a predator might shift its weight. River walked like she belonged there. Like she had every right to pass through this place – even if the walls disagreed.

"Don't show doubt," she murmured, half to herself. "It won't hesitate if we do."

Ahead, a low groan rolled through the corridor. Not the sound of metal under strain – no. It was too organic. Something between a yawn and a growl. The air thickened. Warmer. Shadows stretched just slightly too far.

"Reassuring," the Doctor said quietly.

"It's fine, we haven't done anything wrong so far," River replied. "It's just alarmed."

His brow furrowed. "Alarmed as in... run-for-our-lives or...?"

"But not hostile. Not yet," she continued. "Right now it's just watching. Fascinated, maybe. We don't act like prey, it doesn't act like a predator."

They reached a fork. Two corridors, unmarked, identical in their wrongness. River paused. Briefly. Not long enough to seem unsure. The left path was utterly still. The right hissed – soft, like wind behind a sealed door. But there shouldn't have been wind. There shouldn't have been doors.

She turned left without hesitation. The Doctor followed.

They didn't speak much after that. Silence felt safer here. Talking felt like it might draw the wrong kind of attention. River never faltered. Her pace was steady, her posture composed, each step more performance than movement. The Doctor adjusted quickly. No more second-guessing the layout, no muttered commentary. He mirrored her stride – not out of faith, exactly, but instinct. A kind of shared survival mode. Maybe he was regretting coming here. But the way his hand was reaching out for the walls occasionally, his other hand gripping hers tighter, and he looked around, watching in marvel, calculating and brilliant, she doubted it.

The Quarters responded to her. Every step was answered. The hum shifted pitch, the temperature dipped or rose, the light bent ever so slightly. It wasn't random. It was watching. Reacting.

But the way stayed open. That was the reward.

Ten long minutes. The metal tunnels never quite repeated, never quite stayed still – but they led somewhere. Eventually, the corridor exhaled. They stepped into a space that felt... still. Not safe, but paused. Like something was holding its breath. And ahead of them: a door.

It hadn't been there a moment ago. Not a sound, not a flicker – just there now, like it had always been waiting.

The metal was dark, almost black, matte and cold, but something was carved into it, an inscription. It wasn't Gallifreyan or human. But it was properly ancient. Etched not just into the surface – but into the air around it. Like it had shaped the room around itself. Like it had always known they would come.

The Doctor stepped closer, frowning, hands twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to touch.

"That's not writing," he murmured.

River tilted her head. She wasn't reading it either. Not really. She was feeling it. A soft pressure at the edge of her thoughts. A presence. Not a voice exactly – more a knowing. A phrase she hadn't heard, but had somehow always carried with her.

Welcome back, Melody.