Yowzah Oneshot Collection (1)

42(G)

It ain't no life to live like you're on the run

“I bloody hate Christmas,” he grumbles as he looks around at ruins of the robot before him. At first it’s the loss of Clara – he’d been avoiding the hell out of the holiday before his wife crashed his pity party and dragged his arse halfway across the galaxy, giant robot in tow.

“Well now I know you can’t possibly be him,” she huffs from beside him, blowing an errant curl out of her face as she rolls her eyes.

It’s that. River Song’s bloody refusal to listen to reason. Sure, at first he’d been amused by the idea of her not knowing him. She’s older – a professor – and the idea of knowing more than she did had tickled him, he’ll admit. When he’d grown tired of that, he’d thought perhaps this was it – a chance to finally meet her without the weight of their combined history, hanging like an albatross around their necks. A challenge then – to get that look back in her eyes when she gazed at him. Flirting – and who knew this body could flirt? Though if anyone could bring it out in him, it would be her. His mad, impossible wife.

But she’d refused to participate. Oh sure, she’d flirted casually – like she did with everyone. And she certainly had flirted with everyone. But any time he’d pushed a wee bit further, she’d dug her heels in – ignored him or pretended he wasn’t blatantly hitting on her. Honestly, he’d begun to think she was bit daft until he’d finally gotten frustrated enough that he’d blurted out who he was. And then?

His bloody half-Scottish (Amelia was laughing at him from some other plane of existence he was sure) had refused to believe him. Honestly. I know all of his faces and you aren’t one – you can’t con a con. Stop it. And on and on and on until he was fairly certain he could cheerfully wring her bloody neck and be done with it – a widower twice over in the same marriage. Why not?

“I’m losing my patience with you, dear.”

“He’s also never patient. Honestly didn’t you do your research? You’re an awful con artist – have you ever done this before?” She furrows her brow as she looks at him, turning away from the pile of bolts she’d just help create, one hand on her hip as she scoffs at him. Scoffs.

“Have you?”

“Course I have. I’m a fantastic liar,” she pauses and smiles at him brightly. “Among other things. So’s the Doctor. Which you’d know if you did any sort of research at all.”

“What research? The man bloody erased himself from history!” He shouts finally, glaring at her before he shakes his head. “Me, I mean me. I erased myself from history – you said I’d got too big, remember?” He takes a moment of pleasure in her reaction, the slightest flicker of her eyes before she disregards what he’d just said with a shake of her head. “You’re worse than your bloody mother. Stubborn as a mule.”

“I am not stubborn,” she protests loudly, ignoring all the others as she jabs at his chest with her trowel. “If you were him you could prove it, but you’re not so stop it.” Her voice lowers to a hiss, tension bubbling beneath the surface and for one moment he can see the cracks in her armour. The pain flashing in her eyes as she stares at him, scathingly. “He’s dead. Let me mourn.”

“Oh, River. River, River, River – I didn’t die. And I can prove it. Watch me,” he grins for a moment, reaching for her wrist where her vortex manipulator lies, hidden under the sleeve of her leather jacket. It’s simple enough to key in the coordinates before she can even pull back or protest – and with a push of a button they feel the crackle of the time stream – white hot all around them as they land, still smoking slightly. “Sorry, I know what that does to your hair, dear.” He steps back as she focusses on him, glaring as she pokes him in the chest again.