Work Text:
Time Lines Redistributed
The doctor sighed as he closed the doors to the TARDIS, leaving Rory and Amy to hash out her preference of talking to her best friend over her husband, and relieving him of the discomfort of watching them... constantly. It wasn't that he minded kissing – exactly – but he still saw Amelia Pond as seven years old, and watching her kiss anyone was just... wrong. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with kissing. Not at all. He liked kissing, actually. Well, he had liked it. This particular body hadn't spent a lot of time doing it, but his previous body had spent its share of time in the practice. Frankly, it was one of the advantages of regenerating into a younger body. They were quite simply more fun.
But this body had not, so far, had much opportunity to kiss. Well, he had been kissed by River earlier that night, but it had been... unexpected. Maybe the kiss itself hadn't been so unexpected, but the familiarity with which she kissed him was more than a little disconcerting. She hadn't kissed him like it had been a first kiss. Instead, she had kissed him as though she had done it for years – and so had he – and it had been overwhelming.
He walked around the console of the TARDIS as his mind went back to the kiss. Casual. It had started so easy and casual, as though she did it every day, and then it had deepened so quickly. He supposed he had expected it to be quick, as first kisses normally are, but it hadn't been. It had stretched, and he had floundered. Truthfully, he had flailed a bit, he remembered with a bit of embarrassment. What must she have thought? He truly wasn't a teenager, despite the way he often acted. The look on her face...
But she hadn't been laughing. Now that he thought about it – he hadn't really done so at the time, so anxious he had been to get out of there – she had been far from amused. Her expression had been... hurt. Anguished? Why was that, he wondered? Why would she...
He puzzled on it for a good long while before an answer came to him. Understanding the female mind was never easy, and understanding a human female mind was even more difficult. She had looked so very sad. Her expression had first been puzzled, asking why he had reacted as he had. When he had told her it was his first time, her face had fallen. Her expression had crumbled. Her entire being had...
His firsts were her lasts. Of course. Just as the first time he had met her had been the last time she would be seen, their time lines had a tendency to work in reverse. It was infuriating at times, and the more times he saw her the less he believed that their experiences were entirely linear. They didn't have to meet in reverse order. They didn't have to meet in any particular order. They both traveled in space and time at will; it wasn't the random whims of the universe that decided their fate, but rather their own decisions.
At some point, they would marry. He knew that much from their first meeting. He had given her his name, so they must be married. That being the case, and given her belief that they were meeting in reverse, it was no wonder she had been so upset. He couldn't help but grin at his own cleverness. He understood! He knew why she had been so upset, and it was something he could fix. All he had to do was break the pattern. If he showed her that the pattern was flexible, then they would be back on even footing. He might still know how her life ended – something he could not change without sacrificing four thousand lives, including his own – but he didn't have to watch her face fall every time he experienced a first.
He checked the TARDIS records, made a couple of mental calculations, and then asked a favor. “Come on Old Girl,” he said softly. “You like River. Help me out, here.”
With more than a little care he brought her in gently, softly and silently, and invisibly. Once he had landed, smiling in pride at the quiet job he had made of it, he flipped switches and swung monitors about until he had a good view of River Song.
She sat on her cot, her chin resting on her knees, a blue book open next to her as she flipped through pages. Her journal – the same one that rested in his wardrobe, folded into yards of wool – must hold each of the adventures that they were yet to have. What one was she reading, he wondered? After the expression on her face when he left her, he could only imagine what she was searching for in the pages she turned. He couldn't see her face now, as it was hidden by the curls which fell forward. He hoped that it would be less desolate than when he had left her a few moments before.
He scanned the equipment in the small cell, and smiled in triumph. This wouldn't even be difficult. Opening the door of the TARDIS as quietly as possible, he slipped out and pointed his sonic screwdriver towards first one camera – setting three hundred, twelve – and then another. Finally, as River's head swung around, he pointed the sonic towards the door and chose a lower setting. The door clicked open.
Her face was wet. He suppressed a moment of panic at the tears, resisting the urge to turn and run. These tears were because of him, he was sure. They were because she was certain that something she enjoyed was ending. He knew better, and it was time she learned. If they were going to be together on this ridiculous jaunt through time, they needed to get some things straight.
He gave a quick zap to the camera in her cell – setting four-fifty this time – and sat down on the edge of the cot to reach for her face, cradling it between his hands as he used his thumbs to wipe away the tears. “No more of that,” he advised. His tone was firm, no-nonsense.
She gave a sniff. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “What's wrong?”
“I'm a little slow,” he told her with a sheepish grin. “It didn't register until everything got quiet. I guess I didn't see it until then, or think about it. And when I did, I knew I had to come back.”
She looked at him in utter confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You kissed me,” he answered.
Her expression wasn't any clearer as she looked back at him, and if anything she looked sadder than she had before. She was still lost.
He closed his eyes, trying to put his thoughts into words. He just wasn't good at this kind of thing. Finally he laid his forehead against hers, willing the understanding into her. “It's a rule,” he told her. “There are a lot of rules when you deal with time-travel, but this is one of the most important. When you travel through time, it's not the boss of you.” He didn't know how to explain it any better. “Time isn't linear, coming and going. Time is... circular, sort of.” He thought a moment more. “Wibbly-wobbly,” he added.
She shook her head, still not getting his point.
He took a deep breath, moved his glance to her mouth, and did what he'd been wanting to do since she had kissed him earlier that night. He'd been off guard, but he really did know how to do this. He kissed her. This time, he was the one in control of it, the one who expected it.
And she was the one who flailed. But she only did so for a moment. His lips were on hers only a few seconds before she reciprocated, albeit not so energetically as she had earlier in the evening. Her expectations were altered, he realized. He found that he both liked and didn't like it. He enjoyed having the upper hand, having her off-balance. But he did not enjoy the tentativeness or the uncertainty.
He ended the kiss gently, keeping his hands on her face. “You gave me my first kiss earlier tonight,” he told her. “But it wasn't our last. As long as we live, we can make our own choices. Either of us can reach across time. Right this minute, nothing is ending.” He gave her another short kiss, very gentle. “I hate endings,” he said firmly.
River just looked at him, and for a few moments her heart was in her eyes. “So you came back just because I was upset?”
“There are worse reasons,” he offered, pulling back to give her a smile. “Besides, I dropped off Amy and Rory, and I hate traveling alone. Are you quite certain I can't talk you into a quick trip? Just to Palmora and back again? I promise I'll have you back before you know it.”
She shook her head. “You're incorrigible.”
“Thank you.” He ran a thumb across her cheek just one more time before lowering his hands and standing up.
She smiled at him. “How quick a trip?”
“Dinner and a quick show,” he offered. “I have the camera on a ten-minute loop, and we'll be back before it's done.”
She gave him a look as though she was seriously considering a refusal, and then she grinned. “Palmora has the most amazing wine,” she told him. “One of the fruits is very similar to a cherry, and the wine is the deepest red.”
“Kira-fruit wine,” he agreed. “Never liked it.”
“Just as well,” she said. “Maybe I don't like to share.”
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, leading her towards the TARDIS. He came to an abrupt halt when he didn't see her. “Damn.”
River laughed, deep and throaty. “You brought her in all stealthy,” she said with some surprise. “I'm very impressed.”
“Yes, well... now I have to find her,” he said in disgust.
She laughed again and reached for his hand. “She resonates,” River told him as she held out her other hand. “Feel.”
He lifted his hand and reached out... concentrated. Nothing. He shook his head.
“Close your eyes,” she told him. “She's there.”
He followed her instructions, reached out, and there she was. He could feel the faint thrum in his fingertips and he moved towards it slowly. The closer he got, the more he could feel it. By the time he touched the door, he could almost see her in his mind. “I hadn't noticed,” he said in surprise. “I feel it on the inside, but I never tried from out here.”
“She reaches for you,” River told him.
“Yes.” He opened the door and led her inside, moving over to the console. Then he stopped and turned to face her. “Spoilers aside, how did you get so good at... understanding her?”
She cocked her head to the side, taking her time to answer. “Mostly, she taught me,” she finally said. “We just... get along. So much of it I really can't tell you – not yet – but I will say that she... speaks to me. Not in words, of course, but almost like...” Her voice trailed off, sounding frustrated.
“Almost like thought?” he asked. “Only it isn't what you're thinking at all. It's like an outside thought, answering what you're thinking. Sometimes, answering what you're saying. Like the answer's just... there.”
She nodded her head. “She's always... spoken to me.”
He looked at her a long time, and then he stepped away from the console. “Palmora,” he told her. “Late twenty-third century has the best wine, or so I'm told. It all tastes like rotten fruit to me.”
River grinned and stepped forward. She flipped switches, smoothly threw a lever, and then pulled down a hanging control. Swiftly she rounded the console, making adjustments as she went, easing their flight and fine-tuning her destination. She concentrated, but she didn't seem to work very hard at it. She lacked his flair for the dramatic, her movements fluid and efficient rather than twirling and playful, but she got the job done very well.
He was impressed, although he would never tell her that. He had watched her fly the TARDIS before – had sent her to do so when dealing with the Pandorica – but she had always seemed to be showing off. This night, she was merely demonstrating competence. She did it very well. And she was right about the TARDIS. The Old Girl liked her. She responded to River even more easily than she did to him, and he knew that the ancient time transport was sentient in her own way. Time Lord technology at its best, he thought. Flown by a human. That was what he simply didn't understand.
They left the TARDIS hand in hand, something else he was oddly comfortable with. For the longest time he had been uncomfortable with physical displays of affection, but his last few centuries had mellowed him. He supposed that it had truly started with Rose. She had definitely been a physical person. Still, he had been the one to take her hand, not the reverse. So perhaps it had something to do with his ninth regeneration, rather than the nature of his companions. Martha had been a hand-holder as well, though Donna had not. Amy held his hand, but there it was different. There had always been a certain trust in holding Amy's hand, as though little Amelia Pond was once again putting her life in his hands.
And now there was River. She tended to reach for his hand, even when they weren't walking. And she didn't just hold it, but threaded her fingers through his. With River it always seemed more... intimate. Even just walking, out here in public, was different with River.
Was this all a part of their odd little loop? Knowing who she became – what she did for him – had to have colored his perceptions of her. Knowing that she was his wife – would be – that she knew his name, and every detail about him... was that what was leading him to want to be near her? Was this all just some misaligned temporal displacement, its own self-perpetuating, self-fulfilling prophesy? And the last question... did it matter? He felt about River the way he felt about no other. Did it matter where that began?
In a way, it was rather odd. She had developed feelings for him because of the feelings he had for her. He developed his feelings for her because of the feelings she had for him. It gave a whole new meaning to timey-wimey. Yet as the strolled through the vendors at one of the largest wine festivals in the universe, he couldn't bring himself to care.
He wasn't a wine drinker, although he did enjoy the cheeses. River took great joy in sampling each wine, and she was fairly accomplished at the little routine. She swirled, she sniffed, and she sipped. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the flavor. She sipped the wine as she did most things, with her entire being. He might not like the wine, but he found that he loved watching her.
“Oh, you were absolutely right,” she told him as they wandered the Central Palmoran Festival of 2852. “This was exactly what I needed to relax. I haven't been to one of these in ages.”
He grinned. She didn't seem all that out of practice. Popping another piece of cheese in his mouth, he told her, “Still tastes like rotten fruit.”
“Well, if you want to be technical,” she admitted. “But there's so much more. There is the bouquet, and the texture, the sweetness and the subtle tang. Flavor after flavor adding upon one another until they create an entirely new whole.”
Her face was lit up with the explanation, as though she were lecturing at University on her favorite subject. He simply could not bring himself to mind. Looking at the expression on her face, the peace and contentment which replaced the anguished tears she had begun her night with, he had to be grateful. All this over a kiss, he mused. No, it hadn't been over a kiss at all. It had been about an ending that she was not ready for.
As they walked past a few trees that were placed between the vendors, where few people were congregated, he tugged with the hand she had held on and off all evening. She turned to him and followed him between the trees, and it took him little persuasion to back her up against one of them. For a moment, he just looked at her, and then he lowered his lips.
She certainly tasted like the wine, he decided. But it was a long way from rotten fruit. Her own subtle flavor overwhelmed the wine, giving him a brief flash of perfection. For the first time, he stopped thinking about what he was doing and who he was doing it with – what the implications might be and whether or not he was interfering with his own time line – and he just enjoyed the sensations of his mouth on hers.
Her lips were firm, her mouth gentle and so very familiar. Whatever the reason, kissing River Song was exactly right for him. And he had to admit to himself that if he knew beyond a doubt that this was the last time he would have this pleasure, he would be fairly depressed himself. He didn't know what their future held – not exactly – but he had to hope that there would be much more of this in it. He didn't like endings, and he most certainly didn't want this to end. He wanted it to go on forever.
Unfortunately, River had to breathe at some point. After a long time – he had no clue how long, and that was saying something for a man with perfect temporal awareness – she eased her lips from his and settled them against his throat. Her breathing was a little hard, and her hands were clutched on his jacket. His own hands had settled at her waist and pulled her to him, although he didn't remember doing it.
“That was...” he began, but he had no idea how to finish.
“Yes, it was,” she agreed, and he could feel the smile against his neck. “And as much as I might like it to be more, I know you're just not there yet.”
He gave a gentle laugh. “It wouldn't take much,” he muttered.
“No,” she told him. “But if you wouldn't mind... just one thing.”
He looked down at her, into deadly serious eyes. “What thing?” he asked.
She looked at him a moment more, then released his lapels. Her arms slid around him, grasping tightly, and pulling him to her. Her head nestled perfectly into the curve between his neck and shoulder. “Just for a moment,” she said softly. “Just a moment.”
For a few seconds, his hands stayed gently on her waist. Then, slowly, although very naturally, they moved around her body and he held her. The released sigh she gave told him that he had done exactly the right thing. So they stood there, beneath the trees, amidst a festival, on a planet far in the future, for a very long time.