Yowzah Oneshot Collection (1)

31(G)

(when time from time shall set us free)

The climb up is more arduous than expected.

Gravity is something that is taken for granted, assumed to always be there. But ships aren’t meant to be climbed up sideways, and they most definitely are not designed for it. Amy is above River, and River is ahead of him – a precaution River suggests when Amy refuses to believe, refuses to trust either of them and just open her eyes.

“If she’s first I can guide her. And if anything happens it’s better if we’re both below her.” To catch her if she falls goes unspoken, and he watches River as she speaks, the slight crinkle of concern between her brows and how tightly she grips Amy’s hand. He wonders just how long River has known Amy. How long does he keep Amy Pond with him? How many times will River skip in and out of his life while Amy's there to observe and tease him about Mrs. Doctor from the future.

He brushes Amy’s questions and assumptions aside because they echo the questions that circle his own head about River far too closely. “You’re right. But Amy, you have to listen to River very carefully. Should I go second actually?” He presents the question and River shakes her head, the tiniest little negative nod.

“Better that you’re the last resort.” He looks at her sharply and again a million things pass unsaid between them.  By the time he needs to catch her, she would be falling faster, and of the two of them, he is stronger. She’s right – irritatingly so – and he sighs and nods, wondering why he even bothers to argue in the first place. “Plus she’s in a skirt.” River points out with a scoffing laugh, and Amy blushes under her curtain of red hair, squeezing River’s hand sharply.

“River!” She hisses, and River just laughs, the sound warm and genuinely amused and he envies her that ability. She laughs, and the sound reminds him of her. It crawls under his skin and into his mind, and echoes there, an unwanted constant. It isn’t unwelcome though, and it makes his chest feel warmer for just a moment.

“Up you go, Amy.” River helps Amy stand on the back of the console they’d clung to not moments ago, and begins carefully describing the approximate distance and reach of what they’ll need to grip in order to crawl out of this ship.

It’s slow going. Amy slips and misses, and misjudges distance – clearly she is not all that spatially inclined, but then, who would be in circumstances such as these? The higher they climb, the further they have to fall, and Amy’s breathing is shallow and erratic, and he would comfort her if he could, but he is too far beneath her, and currently preoccupied with his own predicament.

Cleric uniforms weren’t the most flattering of clothing, but he is just below River and honestly, a man would have to be blind not to notice the view above him. Perhaps even a woman, he muses, because she does have a rather spectacular bum. He’s desperately grateful that she cannot see him, because he blushed so much in the first three minutes of the climb, chastising himself for his own thoughts the whole time.

Forty minutes into it however, he’s decided that he can hardly be blamed for enjoying the view, and turns his mind to studying the wriggle of her bum as she crawls, the shape of her hips and thighs and the delightful curve of her bottom. How does she manage to look so good in what should be a completely unflattering outfit? He has a strong suspicion she’d look good in a paper sack. They’ve only climbed through four rooms in that amount of time. According to River’s schematics, which she checks while they rest in each new room - standing on walls at right angles while Amy catches her breath and bemoans her bruises – they still have roughly seven rooms to go.

While they rest, River’s communicator beeps irritatingly, and she answers it quickly. “Dr. Song.” She pauses, with a frown. “No, only three survivors. The others – didn’t make it.” She trips over those words and listens to the other end of the conversation. “It wasn’t a single Angel, Bishop – it was an entire army. We barely survived.” He can read the irritation in her voice clearly, before she sighs and snaps, interrupting the soft crackle of a response. “Can you teleport us?” She listens, and nods curtly, before lowering the communicator and turning to him. “They can lock on to the communicator’s signal, but it’s a narrow teleportation field – it’d be too risky to try to get all three of us out. I think it should be Amy.”