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She stays with the Doctor as long as her sanity will allow, making sure that he’ll be alright and that he eats and goes out on adventures and lives. Whenever she feels the need to force him to sleep or tinker with the TARDIS – either because it would be good for him and his mental health or her own– she spends her spare time writing the book that will keep their timelines in tact. When she’s sure that he’ll be okay without her, she packs her things and makes him drop her off at her home, despite his pleading and petulant protests to get her to stay.
If she remains on the TARDIS with him for another day, she thinks she might just break. And he can’t see that. Not ever. So she shoulders her bag, gives him her best smile and straightens his bowtie, swaying toward him as his hands settle on her hips. “I’ve got to get back to my students before I forget what I’m even supposed to be teaching them.”
He grumbles, face in her hair. “Probably something boring and wrong.”
River sighs patiently. “I’m going to ignore that and pretend that instead of being a child about this, you kissed me goodbye and made sure I left missing you already.” She turns from him and he squeaks as she makes it to the door.
“Pretend?” He says, indignant. “River Song you get back here and say goodbye properly.”
She turns her head, blinking innocently at him. “Am I forgetting something?”
With a playful growl, he strides toward her and River tenses until he reaches her, gathering her into his arms. “Wife, shut up.” He bends his head, kissing her with so much fervor that she clings to him, some small part of her wishing she could stay just a bit longer.
A little breathless when he pulls away, River reaches up and wipes away the lipstick at the corner of his mouth as he looks down at her smugly. “Goodbye properly, then.”
He taps her nose and she knows that he’s going to be just fine.
Watching from her front porch as the TARDIS fades out of sight, she isn’t so sure she can say that about herself. It’s been weeks since she lost her parents. Weeks of looking after the Doctor, weeks of holding in her own heartbreak so that she could help him carry his. She’s been hiding her own grief for so long that she doesn’t know if it’ll ever find its way out again.
She doesn’t even bother stepping into the house, knowing it’ll be too small, too full of photographs she can’t face just yet and memories of when Amy and Rory had helped her move in. Amy had helped her hang up pictures and find the right drapes, and Rory had built her bookshelves and read manuals on 51st century heating just to fix hers for her. River feels a tingling in her nose and the backs of her eyes but the tears do not come. Overwhelmed, she flips open her vortex manipulator and types in the first thing that comes to mind – she just wants to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
When she materializes on the rooftop of Heron Tower in London, she breathes a thankful sigh of relief. There is nothing here that will be too painful to look upon. Overhead, the sky is gray and downcast, which she finds soothingly appropriate. She stands for a long moment, looking out over the city and breathing in the scent of rain in the air, letting the wind ruffle her clothes.
It’s only when her shoulder begins to ache that she realizes she’s still carrying her bag and she drops it to her feet with a sigh, dropping down with it and settling on the edge of the building. She lets her legs dangle over the side and rests a hand on the bag nestled against her, not daring to open it and look at the contents inside. She’d sneaked into Amy and Rory’s bedroom just to nick a few pictures, mementos to tuck into her diary and display around her home. But Amy’s favorite pair of high heels had been lying on the bed and Rory’s old pocket watch was lying on the nightstand.
She couldn’t leave them to gather dust.
One day, when the pain isn’t quite so much to bear, she might wear those shoes with her favorite dress and go dancing with the Doctor. She might get her father’s watch fixed and tuck it into her pocket to remind her that she always has less time than she thinks she does. But right now, she keeps them safely hidden inside her bag and takes comfort in the knowledge that reminders of her parents are within reach.
Gazing out over the London cityscape, River wraps her arms around herself and bites her trembling lip. She had always known she would outlive her parents, that there would come a time when visiting them would no longer be an option. But she had thought she had more time. They were still so young and full of life. And they were still out there, somewhere in time, together. That’s what matters and she knows that. But it’s hard to remember when all she can think of is her bedroom in the house the Doctor had given them – nights when she stayed over and Amy would climb in beside her and just hold her hand, mornings when she would help Rory with breakfast and beg him to let her drive his car, just around the block and please daddy I promise I won’t get into a street race with a cabbie again.
But no more.
Amy’s laughter, Rory’s quiet understanding.
It’s all gone now and she hadn’t been ready.
River chokes back a sob, a hand over her mouth and overhead, the skies open. Rain begins to come down in sheets but she welcomes it, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. As water pours over her, soaking her hair and her dress, chilling her skin and giving her goosebumps, she finally feels a lump form in her throat and the tears come. Here, on this rooftop, away from everyone and everything that she needs to be strong for, River Song is free.
So she cries. She cries for Rory and Amy, she cries for the Doctor, but mostly, she cries for herself. Because she needs to. Because she never really had her parents and she never really got to say goodbye and sometimes life is so unnecessarily cruel.
She doesn’t know how long she sits there, legs dangling over the side of the side of the Heron Tower as she sobs in the rain, but caught up in her grief, she almost doesn’t hear the sound of the TARDIS materializing behind her. For a moment, she allows herself to believe that it’s just her imagination but then something heavy and warm falls around her shoulders and she looks down.
A velvet overcoat.
Relief floods through her because this is not the Doctor who had just left her on her front porch. This Doctor is older, more distanced from what happened to his Ponds. River tugs the coat tighter around her shoulders and tries to stop crying.
He settles on the ledge next to her and catches her wrist when she tries to hurriedly wipe at her eyes. Curling his hand around hers, he rests them both in his lap and uses his other hand to tenderly wipe away wetness from her face. She just hopes he can’t tell the difference between tears and raindrops.
“Hello sweetie.”
He kisses her nose, brushes a damp curl from her forehead. “Hi, honey.”
Sniffing and trying not to feel resentful that she hadn’t had as much time to herself as she’d hoped, River squares her shoulders and tries to mentally prepare herself for another adventure with her husband. “Where are we?”
“Clara’s in New New New York with you, having a spa day.”
“Ah.” She nods. “Not as relaxing as we’d hoped.”
He smirks. “Your fault, I’m sure.”
“Of course.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve just -”
“I know where you are, River.”
Around them, the rainfall begins to slow to a light drizzle and she gives him a questioning look, watching him push wet hair from his eyes.
He shrugs. “You look very Professorish.”
River rolls her eyes. “I’ll never understand you.”
“And I’ll never understand why you feel the need to be so brave all the time.”
Because it’s been her destiny and her curse since the day she was ripped from her mother’s arms.
What you are going to be, Melody, is very, very brave.
“One of us has to be,” she answers instead.
The Doctor looks indignant and it reminds her of the expression on his face such a short time ago for her but so long ago for him when she nearly left without their goodbye kiss. “Excuse me, I am plenty brave, River Song. I have conquered whole planets and faced the stuff of nightmares!”
“I see.” She purses her lips. “And who kills all the spiders in the bathroom?”
He makes a frustrated noise. “There shouldn’t be spiders in deep space, River! It’s unnatural!”
“You’re unnatural,” she shoots back, shooting him a loving look to soften the words.
He shakes a finger at her like a disapproving grandfather but all too soon, he’s looking at her with the same shining love and concern that used to scare the hell out of her younger self. Now, it just makes her feel safe. “You didn’t have to hide from me, you know.”
River looks away, avoiding his eyes. “I had to take care of you.”
“We could have taken care of each other.” He sighs. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide from me, River. Not ever. And do you know what’s really eating at me? You’re a professor, River. A professor. And we’re just now having this conversation.” He sets his jaw and she can almost hear his teeth grinding together. “How often did you hide the damage from me before this?”
The scorn in his voice is obvious and River feels white-hot anger bubble under her skin. “Oh and what about you? You think I don’t see you hiding behind the persona of a child when you don’t want to face the things you’ve done? The things you’ve seen? When you don’t want me to know what you’re thinking?” She huffs. “Sometimes, when you think I’m not paying attention, you look at me like you’ve already lost me. Do you want to tell me why?”
He flinches like she’d slapped him, eyes devastated.
River glances away from him, chest aching. “We all have our reasons for hiding, Doctor,” she whispers. “So don’t deny me mine.”
For several long moments, he doesn’t speak and River doesn’t look at him. Water blurs her vision as she stares into the street below but she tells herself it’s only rainwater and scrubs furiously at her eyes.
Finally, the Doctor sighs, the sound heavy-hearted and bone-weary. “Quite a pair we make.”
She smiles weakly at her knees.
Fumbling between them, he finds her hand again, wrapping his long fingers around the same wrist he’d healed weeks ago and brushing his thumb gently over her double pulse there. “Promise me something.”
Her answer is the same, no matter her age or his timeline.
“Anything.”
“Promise me that on occasion, we’ll both come out of hiding and be honest.”
“And break Rule One?”
“River.”
She doesn’t answer.
His grip on her wrist tightens. “I don’t always need you to make everything better. Sometimes, River, I just need you.”
All right, so maybe it isn’t rainwater in her eyes.
Blinking rapidly, she turns to look at the Doctor and finds him watching her with those large, wet puppy eyes. “Okay,” she sniffles. “I promise.”
At her acquiescence, the Doctor lets go of her hand and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him. River tugs his coat tightly around her and presses her face into the warm skin of his neck, breathing in time and chocolate, the vortex and home.
His lips brush her temple. “Come with me.”
She starts to shake her head, to say no just like she always does because there isn’t a TARDIS big enough to contain them both. They’ll drive each other mad. He’ll hate her archaeology books lying about everywhere and he’ll stumble over her high heels getting out of bed in the morning and he’ll never let her drive without grumbling and maybe one day she’ll finally slap him one too many times – well deserved or not – and he’ll toss her out on her doorstep with a goodbye kiss and a back soon, honey.
She’d rather always be moving than to outstay her welcome.
“Not forever,” he amends, sounding resigned. “Just for now.”
Still, she hesitates. “My classes, Doctor -”
“Please, River? I want to make you tea and read to you and force you to take daily naps.” She giggles and he inches a gentle hand into her hair. “You didn’t get the chance to grieve.” She hears him swallow, sees his throat flex and feels the guilt radiating off him in waves. “Let me take care of you.”
Yes.
She wants his awful cups of tea with too much sugar, she wants that quiet, rumbling voice murmuring stories into her ear, wants those long, gangly arms wrapped around her in the middle of the night, holding her together when she wants to fall apart. But could he do that? Could he really reign in all that manic energy and be the nurturer for once?
She bites her lip and asks with hope in her heart, “Isn’t that awfully domestic for you?”
He smiles into her hair, eyes distant. “It’s called marriage, honey.”