Yowzah Oneshot Collection (3)

155(G)

People Come and Go So Quickly Here

                         turtlebook

"Well, hello there, Professor Song," he greets expansively, leaning propped against the console, as she lets herself in and closes the door behind her.

He can tell it's Professor because of the hair. And also because he'd parked himself on a hill overlooking a certain 52nd century dig site of a 34th century battlefield, presided over, according to reports published in the following decades, by one particularly well-regarded academic, Professor River Song.

He's not at all interested in excavating the battlefield, of course; he was there the first time. When it was fresh. No, just looking for somewhere to park the TARDIS and wait for someone to look up and notice - or, well, one particular someone to notice. And here she is.

He pushes off and dances forward to give her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"Hello, sweetie," she says, and wraps her arms around him once he's close enough.

She doesn't move, then. Not even to pull back to plant a proper one on him, which he was expecting because, come on, peck on the cheek, what that's it?

But she just stands there, just holding him, clinging to him, really, her face against his shoulder.

Clingy River, not that he minds, is somewhat of a rarity.

"Are you all right?" he asks hesitantly. Hesitant, because he's a coward and he knows the entire list of things that might upset River enough to cause clinging. It's quite a short list, actually, but every item on it is a doozy.

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine. Just haven't seen you in a while." Her arms tighten momentarily, practically squeezing the breath out of him, and then she releases him and steps back. She smiles and straightens his bowtie for him, fingers lingering fondly. "Well, I've seen you, but not this you. That other fella, with the hair."

"Oh." So this is not just Professor Song, but Professor Song far enough along in her timeline to be running around with his earlier regeneration. He tries not to let his face fall, but she's not looking at him directly, anyway, still focused on his tie. Well. Avoidance all round, it is, then.

He waves a hand. "Oh, him. How do you like him? As if I need to ask. You acted like you wanted to slap me half the time, but I could tell it was all for show."

She responds to the goading as he knew she would. "Oh, please, sweetie. As if I would ever slap that pretty face. It would be like poking holes in a Monet. Practically a crime against prettiness."

He folds his arms over his chest. "You can't make me jealous of myself, River, it was me. It doesn't work like that."

"It does a bit, though, doesn't it? I mean, a girl could get lost in those eyes, oh, and I just love the suit - fits so well."

"No."

"It was your suit, don't you remember? It's certainly vivid in my mind."

"It's not working."

She smiles, kisses his cheek, and saunters past him over to the console.

"It isn't! River, he never -" held you, kissed you, died and lived again by your hand and then took that hand and bound it to his on top of a pyramid at the centre of a collapsing universe and - "married you."

"Spoilers!" she gasps, making him roll his eyes.

"You already know that! I'm just saying," he follows as she rounds the console, shaking a finger at her, "go ahead, go and run around with the other face, the pretty one, go - go have your picnics and your bone meadows, but at the end of the day you'll be stuck with this old mug, with the boring eyes and the - what, excuse me, my clothes fit perfectly well, thank you very much. But what do I know? I'm only your husband."

He sits down, firmly, in the seat over on the far side, away from her, and watches her pilot his ship. Usually he enjoys that, but he's cross now and his hearts hurt as he looks at the top of her head bent over the controls, curls a few shades darker than he likes.

She finishes setting coordinates - he doesn't notice the destination - and as the TARDIS re-materialises somewhere new, she leaves the controls and comes round and seats herself on his lap, arms draped around his neck. She kisses his cheek again, softly this time, and follows it with another, pressing a slow line of tender kisses over to his ear.

If she's trying to make him feel better - well, all right, it helps.

"I am a little bit fond of this old mug, too," she murmurs.

At some point his arms have come up around her, and he holds her close to his chest, one hand about her waist, the other curved under her thigh.

"And what about my hair?" he prompts. "It's better, isn't it?"

He sees her suppressing amusement at this, but he chooses to ignore it.

"Oh, loads," she says, adopting a very sincere expression he chooses to find validating. "So much better."

"Knew it." He sighs and allows himself a smile. She leans her temple against his and her fingers trace around his collar and tease the ends of his hair. "I was a bit of a handful, back then, wasn't I?"

She smirks. "You're always a handful, sweetie."

"Not always in a good way, though."

"Yes, always." She draws back then to take his face in her hands and press a fast, fierce kiss to his mouth. "Always. He's you."

"So why did you throw yourself at me just now like I'd rescued you from the arms of doom?"

She blinks and is avoiding his gaze again. "I just thought... seeing you like that..."

"What? That you wouldn't see me anymore?"

She lets out a soft sigh. Shrugs. "It's been a while."

"Well, I'm not about to let him have all the fun. Thinks he can just run around with a man's wife. Got a nerve on him."

At his words he feels her relax further into him, as if, even reclining in his arms, she'd been holding tense all this while.

"But you're not jealous," she drawls, her nose brushing his cheek.

He turns his face to hers. "I told you, it doesn't work like that."

"Could have fooled me."

"Oh, shut up," he says, moving in and kissing her to make it so.

And of course he is jealous of his former self. So very jealous. But not in the way she thinks.

He simply doesn't deserve them, that other Doctor. Not those days. And the Doctor he is now wants to go back and live them over, the adventures, the chance meetings, the flirting and arguing and thrilling moments, madcap sprinting with her hand in his - he wants to do it all over again now that he knows what every second spent with her means. She hasn't many days left, and fewer of those to spend with him.

They feel wasted, those precious days, going to a man too stupid and scared to properly appreciate them. They should be cherished. Honoured. Loved.

He pulls his lips from the heady warmth of hers, dropping his head and pressing his face into the curve of her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin and hair as he hugs her tightly. "Sweetheart," he says, feeling her breath catch a tiny bit at the endearment, "I'll always find you. You'll see me again."

He lifts his head as she nods, eyes wide and serious as she accepts his words, though she can't know how true they are; that it's as much a promise for her as himself.

She'll see him again. At least one more time.

"Now," he sits straight up, almost upsetting her off his lap, "where have you whisked me off to, hm? What have you got waiting for me outside those doors? Is it something fun? Or dangerous? Well, it's you, so probably a bit of both."

She stands and takes his hand, pulls him up after her. "Shall I surprise you?"

He nods eagerly and follows her to the door. Another adventure with River - he'll love every second. He owes it to himself to make sure of it.