I hunt for you with bloodied feet: part IV

Now there's no holding back, I'm here to attack
My blood is singing with your voice.

River is bold, brash, but there are nights when she curls into herself, shies away from his touch.

He never pushes her to tell him what is wrong, knows it would be a futile effort, but bile rises in his throat as he watches River, his River, looking so weak.

Then she rolls onto her side and fixes him with cold, green eyes and he wonders if it is his imagination.

(His imagination is an unfortunate reality.)

-o-

She is quiet, disturbingly so, and a feeling of trepidation runs through his veins as she bids him a soft 'excuse me' and hurries away. He follows – the tardis giving him silent directions – and finds her in the library, sitting in an armchair. She is in one of those moods, he realises with a sinking feeling in his chest. They'd become infrequent - indeed he had hoped they had ceased altogether.

"She's worried," River states plainly, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"So am I," the doctor says, crossing the room and crouching down before her, hands on her knees.

"You really killed them?" she asks.

By 'them' she means the Leviathans, and the doctor nods.

"I cursed the planet and killed their queen. They can no longer reproduce..."

River reaches out, clasps his hands.

(He has rarely been happier when she never visits the library again.)

-o-

She is an enigma, wrapped in a paradox, combined with a contradiction. The doctor watches as she weaves her way through the room, almost spinning on her toes, one hand reaching for the security swipe the host has in his trouser pocket. A second later she flashes him a broad grin and works her way back, raising herself onto her toes to whisper into his ear.

"I've got it."

('Gotcha' would be just as appropriate, he realises. She has ensnared him in her web and he wonders if he'll ever break free.)

She tugs at his sleeve and pulls him toward the hall. Heels click against the polished ground, the sound deafening to his ears, but no one seems to notice and they wander through the ship undetected. A whir of his sonic screwdriver and a swipe of the card later they step into the vault and River's eyes widen and her lips curve into a smile.

"Is that-?" she begins.

"It's a 'quintessence," he confirms, suddenly afraid of the power she will – quite literally - hold in her hands.

(She doesn't know that he keeps some things from her – those he views as 'extremely dangerous.' The quintessence, the beginning of immortality, is one such object.)

"Oh," she breathes, stepping forward and holding the woven beads in her hands. "Oh."

He watches as she places the quintessence in her bag and straightens her shoulders.

"Let's go."

He can hear clattering footsteps, those of heavy boots, and grabs her hand.

You and me; time and space. You watch us run.

-o-

The quintessence flows through River's fingers, the delicate threads shining bright.

"What does this do?" she asks, holding it upward, light glinting in every direction.

"I don't-"

"Please don't lie to me, doctor," she interrupts. "It doesn't suit you."

That smile, those eyes, and he barely notices the secrets of the universe spilling from his lips.

–

She wears only a bath robe as he stands behind her, letting her hair slide through his fingers. He reaches for the 'quintessence' and breathes deeply. Slowly, he threads the golden strings through River's hair, twisting and weaving it so it flowed through her hair, hidden from casual sight. As he works, the red spheres glow scarlet and a shiver run down River's spine.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, pressing his lips to her temple.

She says nothing as she turns her head, admiring his handiwork from different angles.

"On the contrary."

I lied, I'm always lying.

-o-

She lies face-down on her (their) bed, a white sheet draped across her body though her back remains exposed, and he trails his fingers across her skin, resting between her shoulder blades.

"What is so fascinating?" she says, shifting to rest on her forearms.

The doctor shrugs as he lies his hand flat against alabaster skin, caught in the moment, in her, that he barely hears her next words.

"Were there any before me?"

He freezes.

"There's been no one quite like you, River," he answers after what seems like millennia.

"That's a 'yes', then?"

He pushes aside her hair, careful of the quintessence, and presses his lips to her neck.

"But no one like you."

She rolls suddenly and he looks down at her exposed body, the priori diamond glinting in the light.

"Good," she whispers, pulling him down.

He says nothing, choosing instead to rest his hand at her waist.

The 'quintessence' burns.

notes: the 'quintessence' was an idea I came up a while ago for my Harry Potter fiction. I've modified it somewhat and the basic gist is that it absorbs the life-force of the person who wears it, enough so that given time they achieve immortality. And yes, this is officially AU.