Yowzah Oneshot Collection (1)

53(G)

tutor me how not to flinch when I throw my heart in your face

It takes her a long time, after the Library, to feel like a whole person. Some days she’s convinced only a fraction of herself came out of there, somehow the shadows consumed the rest. It takes her ages, or it feels about that long, but she refuses to feel guilty about it, because it took him so long to come around that she’s pretty sure she’s still waiting now.

She meets him by accident really, and it startles her so badly to see the dull blue paint in the corner of her eye. It shocks her into stopping, turning, looking at the TARDIS with elation and dread and they are so tangled up, she can’t tell the difference anymore.

Maybe they’re the same.

She hears the hum in her mind, a stroke, a warm welcome, a sympathetic nudge – it feels like understanding and she smiles, because she knows that his ship knows. She understands the hesitation and River sighs softly, because running before this hadn’t felt like running at all. It had been recovery – dying takes some time to get over.

But turning away now, without looking for him, without seeking him out to say ‘hello, sweetie’ and ‘I’m not dead’ and leaving the rest up to him – that would feel like running. And though she hates them a bit, his rules always ring through her head endlessly on loop, never run when you’re afraid. She thinks it’s a bit funny that the only rule of his he’s ever followed is the first one. The Doctor is practically a poster boy for ‘Do as I say, not as I do’.

And she is scared, because she’d been in there a long time. The Library. Long enough that she combed through her life countless times, mining more and more self-doubt with each pass.  Knowing she died – quite literally – the day he met her paints his every action, word, and movement in a totally different light. So she is scared, because she’s not quite sure what will happen next. What he will say. How she will keep all that damage in – and if she even wants to anymore. He doesn’t like it – but then, it’s not like she loves it herself, so why should she spare him?

She has grown remarkably selfish in her old age, she thinks, ignoring the voice that says it was never something she had to grow into at all.  She blinks in surprise, because she is standing by the doors now, palms pressed against them – should she knock? Does she need to? The TARDIS is a negative noise in her head – so she listens and simply pulls the door open and walks inside.

It’s a disco.

It’s her first thought as she watches the metal rings turn and the lights swirl. It is cold and austere and possibly the best representation of him she has ever seen. The console she was familiar with had been bright and whimsical, garish and distracting – fanciful. It had been the veneer he slapped onto himself to survive. She is more than familiar with the technique – because hadn’t she done the same thing every time she met him?

The room is empty, but something tells her it would feel this way even if he were in it, and the frightened feeling returns – she’s not sure she’s ready for this, but the universe apparently has other ideas. So she sits, and doesn’t seek him out. She’s not even actually sure if he’s on board, or if he will come strolling through the doors after her.

She waits, and she hates it. She’s never been good at the waiting – not for him, not for her parents, not for anything or anyone.  But that fear keeps her in the chair, looking around, a bit overwhelmed with the urge to just fly away – whether he was on board or not.

She’s not sure how much time passes – her sense of it used to be so acute, but she thinks it’s one of the first things the shadows consumed, because being in the Library felt like forever. Thousands and thousands of years. After a long while, the door rattles with a key, and she suppresses a smug grin at that. He still uses a key like he can’t just walk in. It creaks open and he strides into the room, long legs eating up the space, and still her Doctor’s face – which she appreciates.