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What’ll I do
What’ll I do
When you are far away
And I’m so blue
What’ll I do?
Ol’ Blue Eyes was in excellent voice tonight. It wasn’t even an official concert, just a few close friends around a piano in a Manhattan penthouse. A silver-haired man was at the keyboard, wearing a velvety black coat, red sweater, and plaid trousers. Leaning against the curve of the piano was a woman dressed in a tight-fitting blue suit, her curly hair somewhat tamed into a chignon. Unlike everyone else in the room, her eyes were on the man whose long fingers were caressing the keys as Sinatra sang.
River Song and the so-called Twelfth Doctor were still enjoying their Darillium years. They’d used her vortex manipulator to pop over to New Years’ Eve in 1963 to hear Frank and the rest of the Rat Pack relaxing. So of course the Doctor was behind the piano. To be honest, this was even better than having Stevie Wonder sing on the River Thames for her birthday.
What’ll I do
When I am wondering who
Is kissing you
What’ll I do?
She flashed a wicked little grin to the Doctor, thinking back to the way she’d kissed Ramone before knowing who he was on Mendorax Dellora. She’d probably never live that one down. But he did know she’d been “married” numerous times throughout her unusually long human life. He also knew that he, no matter the face, was the true love of her life. And he, damn him, knew exactly what she was thinking, based on the scowl that crossed his face. It wasn’t often that he invaded her thoughts, but he decided to break his own self-imposed rule. It was a rule he’d had in place since removing Donna Noble’s memories all those years ago. ‘Behave,’ he thought to her. That brought another smile to her face, this one completely mischievous. “Never,” she mouthed to him.
They rang in the New Year in each other’s arms, while the Rat Pack broke open the champagne. River kissed the Doctor, murmuring softly to him. “Our very first New Years’ kiss. Why did we wait so long?” He brushed a stray curl from her forehead, pressing a softer kiss to her temple. “I rather think it was worth the wait, darling,” he whispered. “Shall we go?”
What’ll I do
With just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?
He sat in his office at the university, staring at the two photographs on his desk – his wife, and his granddaughter. He was missing them both today. He was guarding his oldest frenemy in a vault, locked into a thousand year term. His only companion was Nardole, who he’d cut from the Hydroflax robot. Nardole rarely left him alone, probably on the orders of the late River Song.
He often wondered if he’d done the right thing, letting her go to the Library. He’d known it was a fixed point, that her consciousness had to go into the data core, and his tenth face had to be the one to put her there. He also wondered if she’d found a way around her fate. She’d had him as an example, after all. She’d had plenty of adventures between Darillium and the Library. Her screwdriver was well worn, that much he remembered.
The one bright spot in his life was the young woman who’d been auditing his class. Bill Potts. She had a keen mind, and a spirit River would have loved. He was going to schedule an appointment with her next week. Nardole would bleat, of course, but he still had a responsibility to mold as many young minds as would accept it.
When I’m alone
With only dreams of you
That won’t come true
What’ll I do?
The Doctor was trying to do some basic TARDIS maintenance. Emphasis on “trying,” since he kept throwing the maintenance manual in the trash. Missy was really much better at this sort of thing, but he wasn’t confident enough to let her out of the vault. He had to give her credit, she was trying. So was he, come to that. Hope was such a dangerous emotion.
The TARDIS let out what could only be described as a high-pitched squeal. Had he done something wrong? “What is it, old girl? Did I re-wire the gravities anomaliser incorrectly? River would laugh at me, wouldn’t she?”
“Well, actually, yes I would. Hello, sweetie,” a familiar voice chuckled. The Doctor moved so quickly, he hit his head on the underside of the console. “Dammit,” he muttered, slowly getting to his feet to stare at the woman standing in the doorway of the TARDIS. “Is this a dream? You can’t be real. You’re…” his voice trailed off.
“I’m not dead, darling. And technically, I haven’t changed a fixed point. I just took a page from your book, with a few modifications. My consciousness is still in the Library, as it should be. Our old friends at the Justice Department owed me a few favors. After I left Darillium, I helped them with a few problems. In fact, how do you think Missy came to be in your custody? I swore Nardole to secrecy, obviously. But I realized I can’t stay away from you. Am I forgiven, darling?”
He stared at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Always and completely.”