Yowzah Oneshot Collection (3)

48(G)

                     River's Closet

                     Irony_Rocks

River’s wardrobe was just as maddening as the woman, full of spoilers and mysterious items that only begged questions, curiosities, raised eyebrows and a bit of a perverse mixture of fascination and alarm. The first time he stumbled upon it, actually, he wasn’t even aware of what it was. He’d just regenerated into his eleventh face, and the TARDIS was in brand new form, clean and new and shiny and a wondrous mixture of new surprises everyday. He’d gotten Amy settled into a room down the hall from his, just off to the side from the library that was no longer in the pool. The majority of the day had been spent tangled up in wires and circuits at the base of the console, the glass floor above his head and the hum of the TARDIS surrounding him. He’d spent hours and hours there, much to Amy’s boredom. He’d finally relented with a promise of an alien planet.

He’d meant to find a washroom to clean up. Instead, he stumbled upon what was a second, cavernous wardrobe. The TARDIS had always equipped him with anything and everything he could possibly need, and more than enough of things he didn’t – but this was different. This wardrobe was as large as any room he could imagine, rows and rows and endless rows – and all of it was women’s clothing. He’d poked his head in, stumbling in on gangly legs that he still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of (he never would), and frowned.

The first dozen rows were filled with nothing but shoes. High heels, the majority of them. Red, blue, black, strappy things and boots and all one size. He quickly dropped the search in boredom. He figured it was a room for one of his companions - future, past or present. He wondered what Amy’s shoe size was.

“Doctor!” Amy called, “You promised me an alien planet!”

Yes, it was probably Amy’s.

(In retrospect, he should have known better. This was, after all, the very same day that River reappeared, flinging herself through time and space and into his open arms.)

Months later, it was 1969.

He had a beard, and River had a drenched dress. Outside the TARDIS it was a bright and clear day in Houston, and everybody was gearing up for the next stage in preparation. He’d finally figured out a game plan against the Silence, a way to defeat them – and he always liked the poetry of turning an enemy’s defenses against themselves. Feeling exceptionally pleased with himself, he’d allotted a few minutes to fix a large plate of fish fingers and custard as reward.

He wandered out of the kitchen just in time to spy River disappearing into the adjoining corridor. With a narrow of his eyes, he noticed she navigated these twisting hallways with the same ease and familiarity that she’d flown the TARDIS, and without even meaning to, he ended up following her – stalking her, some might even say, though he wasn’t inclined to because this was his TARDIS and she was a guest and you can’t stalk your own guests, can you? You probably could, but the Doctor didn’t think this qualified. He kept his distance, just in case a freaky sixth sense was part of River’s arsenal of maddening and increasingly lengthy lists of skills. She turned the next left, and entered that same cavernous wardrobe that he’d discovered some time ago.

A lightbulb went off, the same one that kept going off again and again whenever River demonstrated in yet another offhand way that she had a place in his life, in his future, a stake on his TARDIS that he couldn’t define or acknowledge – because if he did, that way led madness. He remembered, only with half-clarity, the length and numbers of rows upon rows of clothing and accessories in that room. Such a wardrobe denoted that River shared more than just the occasional adventure with him. (He knew that already, or had hazarded a guess, but the added weight just tipped the scales a bit more lopsidedly.)