Yowzah Oneshot Collection (3)

122(M)

                 All He Could Give

                       keenquing

The trial is just a formality, because River doesn't even bother to claim innocence. There's no point, really. She's doing all this to convince the Silence that he's dead, to protect him. And she's not scared of prison. Maybe a little sad at the idea of the sacrifices she's making and what people believe about her now—that she killed the only man she's ever loved—but it's worth it in the end because he's alive.

Anyway, it's barely a week before it's decided that she's to spend the rest of her days in the Stormcage. She's only been locked in her cell an hour when writing comes across the little bit of psychic paper she wedged in the space between her desk and the wall to keep handy. She's flipping through her diary, so she notices it quickly and switfly and carefully pulls it out, heart already hammering before she's even read a word and picking up speed when she actually sees the message.

20:00. Wear your best. -The Doctor.

Carefully placing the paper back between the wall and desk, River looks at her watch. 18:30. Damn that man, she has just barely enough time to get herself made up and knock out the guards.

Of course this one time he's early. She's still taking care of removing the hallucinogenic lipstick and putting on new stuff, as well as doing her hair, when she hears the TARDIS' engines. River bites off a swear, finishes tying her hair back, presses her lips together to get the colour even, and turns around to find the TARDIS parked just inches away from one of the hallucinating guards. She wants to be mad at him for rushing her like this, and she is ready to lash out at him, but then the door opens and he walks out wearing his tux of all things, complete with scarf and that ridiculous hat and it throws her so completely that all she can do is gasp and try to keep her eyes from overflowing.

He twirls 'round on his heel and smiles at her, a real smile, not the uneasy ones he'd worn the last few times they'd met. “Hello, River.”

“I—ah, door's already unlocked, I just have to—um,” oh, damn this man, throwing her all out of sorts like this. “Oh, blast it,” she throws down the bag she'd been rummaging through and turns, throwing the door aside and putting on her sweetest smile. “Hello, sweetie.”

“I'd ask how prison's been treating you, but,” the Doctor glances around his feet at the hallucinating and unconcious guards. “I think a better question is how you're treating prison. Was all this really necessary?”
“On such short notice, I believe it was. Now, what are you doing here dressed up like that?”

“Wh-oh, this?” the Doctor looks at himself, feigning surprise. At least River hopes he's feigning it and it really wasn't the first thing he grabbed from the wardrobe. “We—l-ll, I just thought that if I was coming to get you for our—ahhhh—, I just figured I should—”

“Our what?” River asks, leaning against the wall, eyebrow raised and one arm folded under her breasts. “Don't tell me a cat's got your tongue, sweetie. Only one doing that should be me.”

If possible, the Doctor looks even more flustered at that. He scratches the side of his nose furiously for a few moments and coughs. “Well, it's just that, well we did get married after all, and while there were extenuating circumstances—circumstances that were all your fault, you know—”

“Not going to deny it, sweetie, and never have.”

"—right. Well, even then, there are, certain, ah, traditions and rites that go along with these things. Like dancing! I'm rather sorry we missed out on the dancing. And food, lots of food, sorry about that too. And....” he stops, hand working nervously at this collar.