A/N: Xposted at AO3. Feedback always welcomed and appreciated

"What happened to your hair?"

"I straightened it."

He starts circling her as she steps onto the platform, his eyes raking over her. Her hair falls long and loose below her shoulders, not a corkscrew in sight. (The jeans and tank top don't seem to faze him.)

"I don't like it."

"You don't get a vote."

"But where…" he steps into her personal space, his hands wildly lost in the empty air her curls usually occupy. "…do my hands go?"

She arches an eyebrow, her face a mask of innocence. "Where do your hands go when?"

"When we're… you know."

"I'm sure I don't." (She does. She wants him to say it.)

"When we're kiss…" the 'ing' leaves his mouth and enters hers as she closes the distance between them. (His hands find purchase, fingers grasping lightly and sliding down instead of tangling in. Strokes instead of spirals.)

She grins into his mouth as she pushes closer, a hand grasping a brace, the other tapping out coordinates on the keyboard. (Her tongue provides a convenient distraction.)

The landing is noisier than planned, the brakes out of reach.

He pulls away in confusion. "Oh, we've landed."

"Yes, dear, I have a date." She smoothes her hair down and straightens her top.

"Excellent! Love dates. Which one did you pick – where are we going? Wait, where are you going?!," he calls towards her back as she heads to the door.

"I told you. I have a date. I didn't say with you, sweetie." (Purposely. She likes this part, when he's bewildered and affronted and the tips of his ears turn red.)

"What?! River! We're married, you can't be dating other people. There are rules!"

"I said I have a date, you daft old man, I didn't say I was dating."

The knock from the other side of the door cuts off his retort.

She opens it enough to greet the person on the other side. "Hello," she beams.

"Hi. Hair's different. I like it."

"It's terrible!"

She turns back to the source of the insult, standing aside enough so that he can see who's at the door. (She sees the facts of the situation catch up to his mouth much too late. He half hides behind the console.)

"Don't talk to my daughter like that, Doctor." Rory's tone is not one of amusement.

He continues to retreat behind the console until only an arm flailing uselessly at dials and switches is visible. "Sorry, yes of course not. Never talking to her like that again." (Not when her father the Roman is in earshot.) "Oh, but its Rory, your date is with Rory. That's ok!" He springs out of his hiding place, rushing toward her, a windmill of limbs.

"I wasn't asking for permission." Her stare is sharp but not enough to cut, just enough to slow his approach.

"Sorry. Lots of sorrys today." He kisses her softly.

"No. No. Father here. Not in front of me."

"She'll be with you in a minute then," as he closes the door in Rory's face.

"Brave. Or stupid. He still has the sword you know."

Her back hits the door. (His mouth closes over hers. He has figured out where his hands should go, if not her hair.)

"This is worse! I know what you're doing in there." Rory's voice is muffled through the wood.

She unties his bowtie, pulling the cloth out of the collar.

He stops kissing her (barely). "That's mine."

She ignores him as she loops it through the left strap of her tank top, retying it. She pushes until they're both away from the door, slipping past him to step outside.

"So you'll know it's me," is all she throws over her shoulder to him. She squeezes Rory's arm as she passes him towards the car.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I'll know it's you. I don't mistake random strangers for my wife." But the way he trails after her to smooth his fingers over the newly-tied bow tells her that he likes this.

"She means this her," her father sounds mildly exasperated as he redirects his attention.

"You were here yesterday, took off with your mother for a glass of wine."

"Have we come home yet?" (Of course they have, she remembers... vaguely. She was younger. And it may have been more than a glass.)

"Yeah. You went back..." Rory always falters here. He rarely says prison, not since he's known who she is. Just back. (She loves her father.)

She pushes the Doctor away gently. "Well if I show up again, don't leave with the wrong me." (She tosses him a look that says even if I'm persuasive. He blushes.)

She runs a hand along the car and thinks of all the vehicles she has helped herself to over her years and faces, regretting none of it. (They all went fast and far and through and away, and running with four wheels is as much fun as two legs.)

She lets herself in the driver's side while the Doctor and Rory make odd and awkward conversation. It is always odd and awkward when they mention prison. (She knows without doubt that Rory loves the Doctor, but daughter and prison and because of you can make for an erratic mix of emotions.)

She saves them both. The car roars to life.

"Dad, let's go!" She laughs as Rory checks his pockets, finding the keys where he expects them.

"I would have given you the keys, River."

"Where's the fun in that?"

She revs the engine and turns the radio on, dialling through the stations until something loud and bassy grabs her attention; she grins and dances in her seat. The passenger door closes as she takes note of her company.

"Sweetie," she catches his eye in the rear-view mirror. "Get out of the car."

"You won't even know I'm here!" The Doctor makes no move to vacate.

"And where is Rory supposed to sit?" Why he gave Rory a two-seater car when there are four of them...

"Out." Rory opens the car door, brokering no further argument. Her father pats the Doctor consolingly on the shoulder.

The Doctor clambers out all huffs and puffs and this is unfair, a forlorn look on his face as he stands alone on the sidewalk and Rory takes his place in the car. "So I'll just... wait here then."

Rory rolls his eyes. "Amy's inside." The Doctor's face brightens.

She blows him a kiss. (He catches it like a child. The look he gives her back is decidedly not childish.)

"Stay out of trouble!" (She doesn't know which of the three of them shouts it first. She floors it.)