So after an almost month-long hiatus, I come back and write something sad. Terribly sorry, but I hope it's a good(?) sad. Does such a thing exist? Ah well, here it is. Enjoy!
Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock
Regression
She is the child of the TARDIS, she understands their timelines. Maybe even more than he does, for it has been this way all her life, from the very first days she can't even remember. That doesn't mean she has to like it.
And it hurts, watching him slowly forget and not being able to do a single thing about it. Not one line, not one day.
OoO
He says he's not a romantic, that such an idea would be ridiculous to a Time Lord, and one so scientifically, practically-yet-madly-minded as he.
But, with his dying breath in Berlin, he's the one to say it first, and from then on she's caught. If only she knew then that catching him would be such an uphill battle, she might not have let it happen so easily.
His disgruntled protest is validated somewhat by their wedding, so barebones it's almost laughable. But the mere fact that it's the Doctor and he's marrying her, he's actually doing this, leaves her trembling and nearly in tears. He knows he doesn't have to, say he doesn't want to, yet still makes the choice.
And he's right, he's not romantic, not by nature, not without trying—but he's loving, and that she would much rather have. There is a sweetness to his every gesture as he stumbles through the steps again, and a well-worn charm too, as she is keenly aware this is not his first dance.
He is open to her, candid in a way that he cannot be with her parents or others, because they can understand each other so well, made as she is for him and adjusted as he has become for her. He tells her that she will grow to know him better than anyone, better than he himself at times. That she is smart and brave and capable, and that even so trapped as she is she has command over her own life.
And River—newly imprisoned and just overawed that he comes and zips her away from her cell each night, taking her into his arms—struggles to believe and strives to make it so. She realizes only afterward that he's preparing her, setting her up to shoulder the burdens of their relationship in the future, for which she needs to know him and be smart and brave and capable and in command.
OoO
It's the little things he stops doing first, so small and previously taken for granted that she doesn't quite notice at first. It is as they build up that an uneasiness begins to settle in the pit of her stomach.
A hand at the small of her back as they step through a doorway together; a stray curl that he reaches out to touch and tuck behind her ear; a kiss dropped lightly to her cheek; things a husband does for his wife simply because he can.
Anyone else might say the honeymoon is over, but it is as if he doesn't feel he can anymore or not yet.
OoO
"Now then, Dr. Song, when are we for you?" He still takes her hand as he guides her from her cell, and she hangs onto it tight as she dares, wanting to reassure him that this is normal yet wary of frightening him with intensity.
"I just did Stevie Wonder and the Frost Fair yesterday," she tells him as a smile pulls at her lips unconsciously at the memory, and he looks interested if bemused. This is not the Doctor who got Stevie Wonder to sing for her under a bridge on the Thames, then. "Best birthday yet."
"Was it your birthday?" He's smiling now but she is not, and the air feels too heavy in her lungs. "And let's see, the date…ah, got it!" There's a pleased light to his eyes at his own cleverness, for working it out by himself. He knows her birthday, just as he always has, but he didn't a second ago.
She nods, all the praise she can muster for a task she never thought she'd have to watch him complete.
"But you know, the best thing about birthdays, River," he continues unperturbed, and taps her on the nose like some kind of consolation prize for this shock. "Is you can have as many parties as you like."
River lets the Doctor whisk her away for another birthday, another party, and returns to Stormcage still feeling in her hearts that the last one is still the best.
OoO
"Why don't you make us a spot of tea and meet me in the library?" She suggests as they drag themselves into the TARDIS, too tired to get up to anything fun.
That was ten minutes ago. Five minutes later, he stands in front of the kitchen counter with one mug fully prepared and another filled with steaming water as he surveys the wide selection of flavors, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. Yes, she's been watching from the archway as another five minutes go by and he doesn't move.
She turns to slip away back down the corridor, having had enough of torturing herself, when he speaks. "I know which one, don't I?" His back is to her and yet she knows his eyes are closed in defeat.
"I should've offered to make it—" She starts to excuse.
"Tell me which one, River."
She has to take a deep breath first. "Earl Grey. Dash of cream." The little drops of cream spilled on the counter only give her advance warning that his hands are shaking, and he doesn't meet her eyes when he passes her the mug. "Thank you, Doctor."
She always waits for his cheery, "I'll put on the kettle then, shall I?" after that, and refuses to be disappointed when he doesn't say it.
OoO
She never knows, from one meeting to the next, how much he's going to remember.
OoO
In the dark under shared blankets his posture is that of a marble statue as he lays prone on his back and on the far side from her. It is only after two in the morning that his breathing evens out and he rolls into her curves and warmth, and River tricks herself into believing it is his unconscious mind recalling how much he needs to hold her at night.
She has the TARDIS make her a room, just in case, for times when she is staying with a him who won't share his bed, and feels it is the best solution until she finds her Doctor curled in a ball on the floor just inside.
"You don't need this," he pleads with tears in his eyes. "We don't need this."
"Yes, we do," she answers him sadly, and yet still does as she's told and deletes the room.
Instead her new fix-it is to stop staying over when he doesn't ask, and sometimes even when he does. She can tell when he means it.
OoO
"Am I forgetting something?"
"Shut up."
Kissing him doesn't help him remember any.
OoO
The first time he kisses her after 1969, she slaps him. Hard. Before he can start any indignant, reasonable protest, she is kissing his reddened cheek and anywhere on his face she can reach as she laughs and cries.
When she's calmed enough to tell him when they are for her, he looks more pained than after the slap, and he folds her into his arms for a long moment. "I'm sorry," is all he can give, because he remembers now, too late, just what damage he's done.
So River never lets him see the damage again.
OoO
They work so efficiently together as they wire him into the Pandorica that she is unable to stop herself from cupping his cheek as she locks eyes with his weary gaze. "Doctor, please, is there anything you need before you do this? Let me help you."
But he is tense beneath her touch and leaning back. "Amy," he blurts, shutting his eyes and turning his head slightly away. "Need to- speak to Amy. Please."
Her smile is strained, and not comforting like she means it to be. "Of course." She doesn't cry in front of any of them, because it's not his fault he doesn't know her yet.
Still she remembers once upon a time that hasn't happened when he asked to speak not to her mother, but to her.
OoO
"Should I ask about this?" He stumbles out of the bedroom of her flat, apparently getting lost on his way back from bandaging a scrape in the bathroom. In his hands is a collared shirt, rumpled and missing half the buttons from a hasty removal. It was and is his, he's wearing it right now, pressed and practically free of wrinkles, all the buttons safely attached.
"Do you really have to ask?" She shoots back with a carefully arched eyebrow, only letting the slightest insecurity enter her tone. When he blushes but stands his ground, she lets her expression shift to a smirk.
River moves forward at a prowl, edging him back in the direction from where he's come. "Two of the same shirt at different points in its time stream, that's got to be a dangerous paradox. We can't have that."
The Doctor swallows and drops the first shirt. "Really? Erm, what would you suggest?"
She gives an affected shrug and takes another step. "Remove the variables."
"Ah, well, River, you know this one has to stay like it is so that- that later it can- I mean you're probably going to- well you already have—" She halts her progress at his stammering, resigned these days to lost causes. He drops his gaze to the floor for a minute, scratches his cheek, nods to himself, and meets her eyes again.
"Look, if we're really careful—mmph!"
OoO
He calls her Dr. Song and seems less happy about her pardon than she'd like. But then her parents are gone and she remembers grimaces from times when she's asked about them and a weight to his gaze.
She can excuse his lapses of memory if he can forgive hers.
OoO
He's not really forgetting; he is experiencing and learning, and these are normally such good words and positive associations. But River Song does not want to be his professor, teaching him how to love her.
OoO
Her happiness is unrestrainable, and it frightens her. But how can she help herself when they've gone through over half of their diaries and found a match for each event?
"That's good," he decides, carefully closing the worn blue cover of his journal, his voice quiet and yet unmistakable amidst the singing of the Towers. "I think it's safe to say we've done practically everything. Enough about the past, eh? What about now?"
She's more than happy to oblige him, letting herself be tucked into his arms and pulling him down for a languid kiss, one that tastes and feels of comfort and familiarity. River pulls back and then turns around in his embrace, leaning back against him as she studies the Singing Towers of Darillium. Such beauty to go with such a beautiful night! "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For bringing me here. For you bringing me here." She tilts her head back briefly just to catch his eye as she states plainly, "I want you to know: I love you."
"Well, I'd been living under that impression for quite a while, so that's good," he remarks, not seeming to understand her meaning. She rolls her eyes, but it doesn't diminish her mood one bit as she's forced to explain.
"Yes, but I mean this you. My Doctor. The one who knows everything about me. You remember everything, my love, and I don't have to worry."
The first tear splashes against her bare shoulder. She faces him again in surprise. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just- remembering," he tells her with a smile as he cries. His kisses and everything about him thereafter are fervent and concentrated, as though he is taking those words to hearts. He knows her so well and uses it and it's a night neither are likely to forget.
OoO
River never forgets what's waiting for her at the end of it all. But she doesn't remember until it happens that it won't be the Doctor who's waiting for her. Not her Doctor.
It eases the pain not to have to watch him forget that he's met her; yet it aches to know her love is not yet and now someone that here only she remembers.
But the next time he sees her, she's forgotten it.
Present-tense just felt right for this one, although I did play a little bit with time phrases and such. Yeah, I don't know why I plunged into the sad with this one. I guess usually I focus on the relationship more from the Doctor's POV and I wanted to do something from River's perspective. I referenced pretty much every episode she's in, so if you recognize words or settings or anything, they're not mine. I'd love to know what you think, so thanks for reading and please review!