Yowzah Oneshot Collection (3)

172(G)

        This Body is Yours and Mine

                   HellNHighHeels

He's seen her eyes swell in surprise and glisten with sadness. He's seen how they fret when she's anxious and burn when she's angry. But he's never, quite literally, seen things from her point of view before. Now that he has, it's changed everything. Looking at things through River's eyes has allowed him to see the world around him in a whole new light. It's completely altered his perspective. It's like there's been a shift in the universe's axis and now everything's been skewed at a funny angle, not quite right. Shapes are the same, yet different, and even the colors he sees are just a little bit off. But most importantly, he sees what everyone's always talking about.

Blimey, his chin really is huge.

He knows because he's currently watching himself, well, watching River at any rate, fiddle with the console. She's trying to configure the psychic interface to a frequency that will put them back in their proper bodies. He tried to tell her it's impossible, that the TARDIS' matrix doesn't work like that. But if anyone could achieve the unachievable, it's River. The Old Girl is always making exceptions for her.

He, on the other hand, has been demoted to the jumpseat and instructed not to touch anything. Especially her hair. Under threat of death, he was ordered not to touch, brush, or shampoo her hair. Who knew hair came with so many instructions? Don't brush it. Try not to get it wet. Don't feed it after midnight.

With a deliberate huff, he blows a strand of said unruly hair out of his eyes, observing the way River uses his fingers to type furiously into the keyboard. His bow tie is far from straight, hanging limp and uncharacteristically loosened around his throat. His brow is furrowed, his face wearing that hard and determined expression River always employs when she's concentrating. He sees it almost every time he visits her at university, finding her busy thumbing through text books and lecture notes, or when he joins her on archaeological digs, her focused mind oblivious to the baking sun as she scrutinizes ancient scrolls and dusts off old, boring things she's plucked from the earth.

It's odd to see the expression etched onto his own face, even odder to watch his own limbs fumble about with the controls. His arms are too long for her, his fingers bulkier than she's used to. And when she knocks over the zig zag plotter for the umpteenth time, she looks over at him and scowls.

"I hate you," River mutters, but it comes out in his gruff voice.

"No you don't," he responds accordingly, but instead of his usual cheek, it sounds more like a purr and he has to clear River's throat, correcting himself.

It's hard to drive River's body. Everything seems preset to distract. Words automatically falling off her tongue in a caress and every curve determined to seduce. Honestly, he's not sure how she copes.

"Yes. I actually, properly do," she declares in a huff, folding his arms over his chest.

Inwardly the Doctor cringes. Is that what he looks like when he does that? Blimey, he really does look like a twelve year old.

"This isn't my fault," he states stubbornly, and this body must look as petulant as it sounds because River levels him with a glare through his own eyes.

"It absolutely is."

The Doctor lets out a relenting sigh, River's curly hair jostling around his cheeks. How was he supposed to know the Permutonian idea of couples therapy was a body swap? A whole new meaning to walking a mile in someone's shoes. Of course, he didn't make it five feet in River's shoes. High heels, honestly. How did she walk in those, much less run?