The Adventures of River Song (Vol. 1)

Stormcage Containment Facility

Tritanium walls; square and cold with glistening chrome paint, reached high into the pitch black ceiling. The faint blue glow, a flickering light on the verge of being extinguished, was the only sign of light in the otherwise gloomy, dark hall. In the distance, the soft whirring of technology — hundreds of the Galaxy's highest quality security cameras — lay unmoving on the walls, eyes staring accusingly throughout the halls. A black telephone hung on the wall, a mystery as to why it had been installed in such a dreary corridor. Opposite the metal wall, powerful and opposing; soldierlike and thin, the wispy light glowed bright enough to make out silver bars of solid duralinium — foolproof and sturdy. The material could last for centuries and was the only choice for a place as dangerous as this one — a place like Stormcage.

"Vworp vwor" Out of nowhere, or perhaps everywhere, came the rhythmic whooshing of the infamous TARDIS. Wheezing, it materialised in front of the black telephone (hoping to hide the uglier version of itself), the TARDIS blue police box struck a comfortably bright contrast to its dingy surroundings. Gradually the wheezing came to a halt — as did the flashing light on the box's top. Tall and grand, it stood like an excessively blue coloured lighthouse; a beacon of hope in the dreary wasteland of the Stormcage Containment Facility — better known as prison. In a loud, creaky fashion, the TARDIS door swung open and out stepped a man unlike any other.

Chocolate coloured hair, effortlessly swept to the right of his face; green coloured eyes, old and weary with centuries of adventure; an abnormally large chin; limbs of a clueless, baby giraffe; the face of a twelve-year-old, boyish and full of glee. His clothes: a crimson bow tie, because bow ties were cool; matching crimson suspenders; cream chequered button-up shirt; coppery-brown tweed jacket; mahogany coloured pants; faded, jet-black boots, worn and weathered. The man, dressed in his strange attire, leaned casually on the TARDIS's side, legs crossed and arms at his sides. His face was bright and handsome in its own wonderful way. As he slouched there, time passed silently, ticking away in thoughtful contemplation. Time, however, meant nothing to this man, for he was no ordinary human — he was a Time Lord. His name was the Doctor — and for him, time was only just the beginning.

As if awoken from a trance, the Doctor stood up properly. Slowly and with purpose, he ambled leisurely down the hall; walking through light and shadow, it would seem that he had not a care in the world. He waved joyously at the cameras on the walls, knowing that the men on the other side would be none the wiser.

Officers watched through the cameras, their eyes glazed with the dustiness of a normal, everyday life: work and work and work and then maybe a snooze and a sip of confiscated wine taken from the inmates. The men sat stiffly in their seats, their legs getting cramped and their necks going sore from the angle at which they watched the little screens. Everything was quiet, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the blue statue in corridor A1; they suspected it to belong to the Governor; she enjoyed collecting weird pieces of art so they paid no attention to the sculpture. There was one thing however that was unnatural, one of the thousands of cameras had stopped displaying real time, instead the feed playing on the tiny screen was looping — the same five seconds playing over and over again — and none of the sleep-deprived men had noticed. The officers, coffees in their sleep-deprived hands, looked practically dead and hadn't noticed a thing, just as he had planned.

He stared at them cheerily, knowing that the officers on the other side could not see him and were probably too tired to have noticed him even if they had wanted to. Of course, he wouldn't have dared show up here without a disguise, not after, well, you'll find out soon enough; he hadn't wanted to wear some clumsy TARDIS made costume and so instead had opted to wear a perception filter, quick and easy (and visible to only one person in this whole sombre prison) and he'd even figured out how to extend the filter onto the TARDIS, leaving it looking like, well, anything; he didn't actually know what it looked like to others because he could only see the police box's normal form and so the way others could see the machine was left to his imagination.

"Z98... Z99... Z100..." Thought the Doctor, his arms moving in an awkward, sweeping motion as he bounded to the last cell in the Z wing.

'Z101.' the Doctor said, a grin plastering his goofy face in pure, untainted delight. From where he stood, his body draped in shadow — a cloak that could only protect him for so long — he stared at the cell's inmate. A shadow, not one made of physical darkness, but one made of raw emotion: misery and bliss, sorrow and euphoria, sadness and joy... hope and fear, adventure and solitude, love and loss. The obscurity passed through him like a wildfire; fast and painful. His shoulders trembled ever so slightly as he forced himself to step out of the murk, 'Hi honey, I'm home.'

The person behind bars, the woman in the cell: her name was River Song and she was the Doctor's wife.

Spinning around, her body rigid with shock, River found herself staring face to face with her husband. The silver bars dividing her from the Doctor were the only things keeping her from slapping him so hard that even the TARDIS would be unable to locate his body. 'You are such an IDIOT! What are you doing here?!' River exploded, shocked at her outburst she closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to calm herself, opening them again, she walked the length of her cell, coming face to face with the Doctor.

Biting her lip, her eyes filled to the brim with so much — too much — emotion, she spoke, 'Doctor, I, um, hi. Sorry about that, thought you were, er, someone else.' River bit harder on her lip, her nails digging into her skin as she squeezed her hands into fists. Her vision blurred and her heart raced but she pushed the thoughts away, blinking them out of sight; red imprints appeared on her palms as she opened her hands, she stared at them, not wanting to meet the Doctor's eyes. Building up within her was a decade of suffering.

The Doctor stood there, his eyes wide. This was the first time he had seen this River — his Rivers past: Stormcage River — since their trip to Calderon Beta; she looked tired, scared and alone, not the vibrant woman she had been when he had last visited her; her eyes were a shade darker, her smile was nonexistent, their were bags under her eyes and the air around her... she just, she just felt different. It seemed like only yesterday that he had seen her and well, it was for him, not actually yesterday of course, not for this River at least, but for her future, well they had had dinner a couple of days ago. For this younger River, her journey with him was only just beginning, in fact, he was absolutely sure that this was only the second time he had come to visit her during her confinement; she was still so new, still so conflicted, still so pained. So much had already happened between the two of them — for him and her future self at least — for this River, everything was waiting for her: all the good times and all the bad too, it was just around the corner for her; she didn't know it yet, but her life was about to get a hell of a lot crazier.

Weeping, tears streamed down Rivers' face, her sobs reverberating throughout the cell. The Doctor was a mosaic of colour through her tear-stained gaze, his features undistinguishable.

'River? Are—are you okay? I—I'm sorry...' the Doctor asked mournfully, rubbing the back of his neck in apparent distress while his eyes flitted cautiously over his wife.

River sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand, 'Yeah, sorry, I'm fine, it's uh, it's been a tough day and um—'

'Don't lie to me River, just don't,' the Doctor interjected, his face a mixture of worry and fear — worry for his wife and fear for what was to come.