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The Doctor doesn’t want to open his eyes.
He should be dead, he thinks. Why isn’t he dead? Perhaps if he just keeps his eyes closed, he will be.
“Sweetie,” says a soft voice, somewhere close to his ear. A hand runs through his hair. Short hair, he thinks, frowning. That’s not right.
The voice chuckles. “Come on, sweetie. I know you’re awake.”
He gives in and opens his eyes then, because why is she calling him sweetie?
He’s lying on ... nothing, it would appear. Everything is a white haze except for the woman kneeling over him. She smiles, dark hair falling forward over her dark eyes.
The Doctor squints, then sits and surveys his surroundings and himself. This is not the body he had when he — but no, he can’t think about that.
“Am I dead?” he queries, just in case.
She laughs then. “No, you’re not dead. Far from it.” She produces a mirror out of nowhere and holds it in front of him. “You’re a whole new you.”
She’s right, he sees. His hair is shorter even than he thought. Blue eyes are staring back at him from a visage clearly dominated by his sizeable nose, with equally sizeable ears on either side. He makes a face, poking at them, and the woman laughs again.
“Alright,” he says agitatedly. He pushes the mirror away and looks at the woman more closely. “Who are you, anyway?”
She sits back, gazing at him fondly. “Well, Doctor,” she says. “I’m River.”
He is made to eat and drink and bathe before she tells him anything else. He is not hungry or thirsty and the bathing especially seems superfluous. He gets the feeling that River just likes watching him, though he can’t fathom why.
“Right,” he declares, sitting down in his fluffy dressing gown on the porch which has magically appeared, on the edge of a beach by an empty grey sea. “I’m clean and fed. I’d like to know where I am.”
River is gazing out at the ocean. “You’re in a computer data core,” she says. “In a virtual reality, so to speak. The TARDIS is badly damaged – she sent you here while she fixes herself up. Once she’s healed, she’ll whisk you away again.” There is regret in her voice as she utters that last sentence. He might have wondered about that if there weren’t more pressing issues.
“How do you know about the TARDIS?” he demands.
River smiles. “I just do,” she says. “You’ll find that I just know a lot of things, Doctor. Best not to question it.”
“And why not?”
She stands, raising a finger to bop him on the nose. “Because it’ll drive you absolutely mad when I don’t answer.” Without further comment, she steps off the porch and walks down to the sea, letting her dress fall onto the sand as she goes. Naked, she runs into the water and begins to swim.
The Doctor shrugs out of his dressing gown and follows.
A few strong strokes of his arms and he has caught up with her. She makes no comment except to splash him playfully; he retaliates and they take a few minutes to thoroughly soak each other before drifting into a companionable silence, swimming side-by-side away from the shore.
“You said we were in a computer,” the Doctor muses after a while, looking up at the white sky.
“Mm-hmm.”
“So none of this is real.”
“That would really depend on how you define ‘real’, Doctor.”
“Don’t get clever.”
She rolls her eyes. “Everything is simulated, yes. Nothing here exists physically.”
“Even you?”
Aha. That seems to have caught her off-guard.
River pauses, treading water. “I used to,” she says eventually.
“What happened?”
“I died.” She sets off again, faster than before.
“But you told me that I wasn’t dead.”
“You’re not. All your physical data is stored in a buffer. The TARDIS will put you all back together, right as rain.”
“And what about your physical data?” he probes.
“Gone,” she says shortly. “All I have are my memories of my physical form. Not that I necessarily have to take that form, of course.”
“So you didn’t really look like this?” He is almost disappointed, but intrigued at the same time. Because this means she could be anything. Anyone.
“Now, that would be another of those questions that I can’t answer,” she replies.
“You do realise,” he says, “that the more you say that, the more questions I’m going to ask.”
River grins. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
They swim until they reach another beach; a more stereotypical one, this, all fine sand and palm trees and a little wooden cabin under a clear blue sky. River finds a coconut and throws it at him; then she finds a machete and throws it at the coconut.
“Watch it!” the Doctor admonishes, even as he stares in amazement at the skewered coconut in his hands. “You could’ve killed me.”
“You can’t die here,” she says. “Trust me.” I’ve tried, he infers.
Interesting.
River has produced a cup out of nowhere – he really needs to find out how she does that – and is holding it under the dripping coconut. “Here,” she says, handing him the full cup and taking the coconut from him, expertly working the machete to split it in two. “Something for your virtual tastebuds.”
“Why do you keep feeding me if my physical body is in some buffer somewhere?” the Doctor queries. He drinks the coconut milk anyway – it tastes of bananas, and he frowns.
River laughs. “That’s why.” She settles down with a coconut half, using the machete to cut chunks of the flesh out. “Mmm,” she says, popping a piece into her mouth. “Tastes like chocolate.”
“Are you trying to impress me, Mary Poppins?” he demands.
“Why, Doctor? Do you need a nanny?”
“That’s the last thing I need.”
“Then no.” She eats more coconut, contemplating him in silence.
He contemplates her in turn. Like him, she is still naked, though seemingly unconcerned by that fact. But then, why would she be, if she can look like whatever she wants? And why, exactly, is she choosing to be naked?
He’s not complaining, mind. It’s a nice distraction from the horrors trying to escape inside his head. The Doctor pushes them under again, grabbing the other coconut half and tearing at its flesh with his fingers. It’s not nearly as efficient as River’s neat little cuts, but it does the job.
He is almost disappointed when his coconut just tastes of coconut.
River pushes her own coconut aside when it’s only half eaten. He supposes even chocolate loses its charm when you can have whatever food you want at a moment’s notice.
“So,” she says brightly. “What shall we do next?”
The Doctor really doesn’t want to do anything. Sleep, perhaps, but he’s not tired and maybe it’s not even possible in here; besides, he might dream. “I’m okay, thanks,” he says. “I’ll just wait for my ship to be ready.”
“That could take weeks,” River says. She gets to her feet and reaches for his hand to haul him upright too. “Come on. Let’s save the world or something.”
He didn’t expect her to mean literally.
Well, not literally literally; this is still a virtual reality after all. But they are actually fighting forces of evil with the fate of a world in their hands, even if that world is imaginary.
“What was that spell again?” he yells at River, who is fighting a magical duel against a madwoman with dark hair.
“Expelliarmus!” she cries, a spell the other witch deftly blocks with magic of her own. “Honestly, sweetie, it’s not that hard!”
“I’ve never fought with a magic wand before!” he yells, ducking as a troll takes a swing at his head with its club.
“Pretend it’s a sonic screwdriver!”
The Doctor looks up. “How do you know about my screwdriver?”
River just winks, continuing her fight against the witch, and this time the Doctor doesn’t notice the troll in time to avoid the blow to his head. He stumbles, cursing – colourfully, but not magically – and barely avoids falling down the stone staircase beside him. His wand is not so lucky; it bounces down the steps and out of sight.
“That’s just great,” he mumbles, looking up at the troll and backing away. “I could really use some help right now!” he calls to River.
“Bit busy, sweetie!” she calls from somewhere out of sight. “What do you need?”
“A big club of my own would be nice!”
“Picture it in your head!” she commands.
“I am!”
“Then grab it!”
“Do what?”
“Grab it!” says her voice, suddenly right by his ear, and her hand appears in front of his face to pull a club right out of the air. “Like that.”
He turns to see her throw the club over her shoulder, where it disappears again before it can even hit the floor. “Okay?” she says, chasing after a werewolf now.
The Doctor makes a face, concentrating.
Right. A club. A big, heavy club – well, not too heavy, he amends. He’s got to be able to swing it properly. Some kind of wood would be good, he thinks... yes. He can see it in his head now. Frowning, he reaches out his hand, and it closes around...
Wood. Yes. Yes! He has a club!
The Doctor lets out a cry of triumph, wielding the club against the troll, who is a lot less menacing now and collapses with the first blow. Cheering, the Doctor shakes his club over his head.
Unfortunately it is no match for the curse the madwoman sends flying his way, and this time he does fly down the stairs – or above the stairs, at least until he hits the wall a floor below and lands in a heap. At least he’s still got his club, which is handy because there’s a big snake slithering towards him now.
He whacks it over the head, expecting to hear the crunch of a crushed skull; but the snake’s reaction is decidedly unimpressive. It shakes its head as if to fight off a mild dizzy spell, and then he could swear it is narrowing its eyes at him.
The snake lunges, but River is hurtling down towards him on a broomstick now and sweeps him up behind her before the reptile can make a meal of him.
“You can’t kill that with a club, sweetie,” she calls above the noise of the battle raging in the castle around them. “You need something stronger!”
“Such as? It worked fine on the troll!”
“Magic, Doctor,” River says, grinning, and they smash through a window and zip around the castle, down and down until she veers away from the wall and then, gathering speed, flies them straight at another window.
The Doctor ducks his head and holds on tight as they burst through the glass and into a bathroom. Still hovering on the broomstick, River pulls a blaster gun out of nowhere and shoots a hole in the floor.
“That can’t have been in the book,” he remarks.
“Nope.” She guides the broomstick through the hole and into the passageway that’s been uncovered beneath. “That was just for show.”
He doesn’t know why, but he kind of likes that.
They fly through a series of maze-like corridors, with River using the blaster judiciously to clear their path of inconvenient obstacles like walls and doors. The Doctor is just able to make out that the last of these is engraved with an image of something serpentine before it is blown to smithereens, and River brings them to a stop in the chamber beyond.
“Somebody really likes snakes,” he says as he disembarks, looking around.
River laughs. “I can’t believe you haven’t read Harry Potter.”
“They’re on my list!” he protests. “Along with a few million other things, but who’s counting?”
“You always count.”
The Doctor shrugs. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I never said there was.” River throws her blaster up in the air, where it disappears. “I do it too.” She sighs, walking over to what appears to be the skeleton of an enormous snake. “One hundred and seventeen years since I died. Two hundred and forty thousand, three hundred and eighty-two books that I’ve read, some more than once. Forty-seven thousand and three simulations I’ve taken part in. This is my twenty-seventh time doing Harry Potter — well.” She pauses, and when she looks over her shoulder the smile is back on her face. “Not doing Harry Potter. That was only once.”
The Doctor frowns as he approaches, because all of a sudden his hearts are aching for her and he’s not even sure why; her fate doesn’t seem too bad, on the surface.
Until you remember that she can never die, he supposes.
But he can’t dig deeper now, not when she’s so clearly trying to lighten the mood; so he follows her lead and asks, “Been involved with a lot of fictional characters, have you?”
“You could say that.” She’s crouching down by the skeleton’s head now, and pulls a tooth from its giant maw. “Of course it’s glorified masturbation, really. Can’t compare to the real thing.” She yanks the next tooth out a bit more violently than necessary.
“... Right.”
River chuckles then, pressing the snake teeth into his hands. “Here you go. These should sort out your snake problem.”
“Thanks.”
She winks at him, climbing back onto the broomstick, and they fly back the way they came, through the underground passageways, up into the ruined bathroom and through its shattered window. River steers them towards the roof, where the battle is still raging; he can see the snake slithering between the fighters, sneaking up on unsuspecting victims and devouring them whole.
They land in the midst of the chaos and River immediately comes up fighting, plucking a wand out of the air and blasting someone trying to attack him from behind. She slaps the Doctor on the shoulder then and is off, dancing gracefully through the fight like she’s been made for this very purpose.
He wonders for the first time just who she was when she was alive.
The snake’s tail sneaks past him then, and he ducks and dodges between witches and wizards to make his way to its head. It seems to recognise him, pausing smugly for a moment before it opens its maw and launches itself at him.
At the last moment, the Doctor raises his hands, a giant pointy tooth in each, and grins when the flesh of the snake’s open mouth is pierced by both, causing the animal to hiss and thrash violently. The Doctor is knocked off his feet and trapped under one of its coils, but the gradual slowing of its movements tells him that he’s succeeded in his mission.
He is working his way out from underneath the dead reptile when there is a soul-shaking scream and a wizard falls down dead right in front of his face.
The Doctor blinks, trying to brush off the shock the boy’s death causes, but when he gets away from him and onto his feet it somehow just makes it worse.
There’s death and destruction all around him; people crying and screaming and dying; and the sky is the colour of fire and it’s all so horribly, horribly familiar.
He doesn’t even see the Death Curse coming.
The Doctor blinks, trying to adjust to his new surroundings. He can’t... see, exactly, or hear or use any of his usual senses. But somehow he can feel... numbers, digits, huge swaths of code.
He really is inside a computer.
You’ve died, he hears or feels or is told. Please wait to be rebooted.
The Doctor waits, looking at the code while he does so. His own code is being restored from a saved copy, he sees. Well, that’s—
“You died,” says River’s voice.
They’re back in the white place, and both dressed in white, now; the two of them the only presences in the nothingness.
“... Yeah,” he says. “I gathered.”
“Do you want to go back?” she asks. “You were just getting the hang of it.”
“... Nah,” he says after a moment, forcing himself to sound light-hearted. “Seems a bit like cheating.” He makes a face to go with the excuse.
She laughs then. “Sweetie, everything in this place is cheating. We can do nothing but.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He shrugs, trying to hide the fact that even the thought of returning to the simulation is enough to set off thoughts of returning to the other place, the other battle, and those are thoughts he really doesn’t want. Not now. Not ever.
Clearly his efforts are unsuccessful, because River is looking at him with concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” he says quickly. Then, because the look on her face is too much to bear, “Maybe we could go somewhere else?”
River smiles softly and spreads her arms. “Anywhere.”
The Doctor isn’t sure how long he’s been here, now. A good while, he thinks; River has taken him by the hand and pulled him through adventure after adventure ... it would be almost like his old life if the TARDIS were here.
He never thought he would have that kind of life again. And he doesn’t, of course, but all this is making him think that perhaps, one day, he could. It will mean leaving River behind, though, and he’s not sure he’s going to like that. He’s grown rather attached to her; intrigued by her, even. Her love of adventure, of history, of the wonders of the universe; that sadness that lurks just behind her eyes ... He wants to unwrap her layer by layer until he’s unlocked all her secrets and healed all her hurt.
Then she steps on his foot.
“Ow!” he complains. “What was that for?”
“You’re not paying attention,” she reprimands him. “We almost ploughed right into Mr Darcy, and I can assure you he would not be pleased.”
“What are we doing here, anyway?” he asks. “I don’t remember any monsters in Austen.”
“Then you clearly haven’t read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies,” she retorts. “I’ll have to show you that sometime, it’s great fun. But we’re here to dance, Mr Two-Left-Feet.”
“I can dance!” he protests.
“Prove it,” she demands.
So he does.
He remembers the steps if he concentrates, he finds, recalling a long-ago dance with a certain Miss Austen herself; he mentions this fact to River, who smiles indulgently before declaring smugly that she managed to get a part in a television adaptation of this very book.
His surprise must show on his face, because River laughs. “You’re not the only person ever to travel in time, Doctor,” she tells him.
“What do you know about time travel?” he demands.
“Far more than I ever wanted to,” she replies with a sigh. “And I wanted to know a lot.”
The Doctor is about to interrogate her further when the guests are called to dinner. He makes to follow, but River pulls him in the other direction. “They won’t miss us,” she says. “They’ll be too busy hanging on Mrs Bennet’s every inappropriate word.”
He’s sure she’s right, so he follows her out onto a terrace, where she leans against the parapet with a sigh and looks up at the stars.
“How many have you been to, Doctor?” she asks when he joins her, shuffling closer to him. Her breath puffs out like mist in the cool evening air.
“All of them,” he says. Not quite true, but it makes her smile.
“Me too,” she says wistfully.
“They’re all in the database?” he probes.
“Most of them. But I had a life once, too.”
“Tell me about it.”
River laughs. “Oh, where to start? I was an archaeologist. I went ... everywhere. I never wanted it to end.” She smiles sadly. “But everything does.”
“Yeah.” The Doctor swallows. “I know.”
River covers his hand with hers, squeezing gently, and she turns to look up at him. “You have a future, you know,” she tells him, reaching up to rest her other hand on his shoulder.
He finds that his hands automatically reach out to encircle her waist, and she folds into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Really?” he says into her hair, hugging her close.
She nods into his chest. “Trust me,” she says; but the certainty in her voice is belied by the way her hearts beat faster against his ribs, and —
“Hearts,” he says out loud, stepping away from her.
River raises her eyebrows and says nothing.
“You’ve got two hearts,” he says.
“I have,” she affirms calmly. “Or did have.”
“That’s impossible,” the Doctor says shortly, shaking his head. “The Time Lords are all dead.”
“So am I,” she points out.
“But ...” He is shaking his head more violently now, because he needs it to be true but it just can’t be. “But ...” he tries again, and she grabs his wrists and he stills, looking at her suddenly in a new light. “... Really? I mean, did you really have two hearts when you were alive? Or is it just another part of the simulation?”
“That, Doctor,” she says, pressing a finger to his lips, “is another of those questions that I’m not going to answer.”
He stops short then, because she was right when she said she would drive him mad with that response. “I hate you,” he says finally.
He is not entirely joking, so it takes him by surprise when River bursts out laughing and gives him a hug.
“No you don’t,” she tells him smugly, tugging him back towards the doors.
So they go back inside and dance some more.
River is beaming at him the whole time, not sparing a glance for the legendary Mr Darcy. They dance for what seems like an eternity before the ball is over – and he wonders if the timing was set or in her hands all along – and she takes him by the hand and leads him down an elaborate staircase and along a corridor to a less elaborate one, through a narrow passageway and into a vegetable garden... where it appears to be mid-morning, in contrast to the late evening it was upstairs.
She helps herself to a handful of strawberries growing near the gate and tosses one to him as they step out onto the grounds. Vast expanses of green grass lie in front of them, glowing in the sunlight and dotted with patches of flowers and tidy little hedges. River sets off in the direction of a little wooded area, finishing her strawberries before hitching up her skirts and breaking into a run.
The Doctor follows.
He chases her across the wide open lawns, bounding over hedges and little streams, and the sound of her giggling in front of him makes him laugh too. For a moment he could almost call himself happy.
They’re running down an incline covered in grass still wet with dew when she slips – possibly intentionally – causing him to trip over her when that same morning dew means he can’t slow down in time. They roll to the bottom in a mess of uncoordinated limbs, laughing so hard they are gasping for virtual breath.
River disentangles their legs once they’ve come to a stop, but makes no move to stand. She is smiling, looking up into the branches of a tree far overhead, and the Doctor follows her gaze to see a red squirrel scampering up it, half upside-down.
“It’s all so real,” he comments.
“It is,” River agrees. “I haven’t really appreciated it in a long time.” She turns to look at him. “It’s different when there’s someone to share it with.”
“Is there nobody else here?”
River frowns. “There are others, but...”
“But ...?” he prompts, curious now.
“They remind me of what I’ve lost,” she replies. “It doesn’t help.”
“And what exactly is it that you lost?”
“Not what.” She sighs, smiling a sad smile. “Who.”
“Okay then, who?”
River turns to face him fully and bops him on the nose with the tip of her finger. “Oh, that would be telling.”
Then she kisses him – just a quick peck on the lips, but it’s enough to send a thousand new thoughts racing through his mind.
The Doctor blinks.
And suddenly she’s on a horse, riding off into the distance, and he has to scramble to make his own animal and follow her into their next adventure.
Caprica is fun until the bombing starts.
“Get down,” River tells him, grabbing his hand even at he stares at the mushroom cloud blossoming over their heads.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
She doesn’t answer right away because the shockwave hits them then, blowing out the windows in the building next to them and raining debris on their heads.
River stands and dusts herself off as soon as it’s settled. “Cylon attack,” she says shortly, pulling him along as she races down the street, her heels magically transforming into running shoes as she goes. “End of the world.” They swing around a corner. “Beginning of the story, of course.”
“Whose story?”
“Anybody who doesn’t die,” she replies. “And that should include us, so hurry up.”
They hurtle through the damaged city, pushing past dazed and screaming citizens and running for shelter every time a new bomb hits. The adrenaline kicks in and they find themselves grinning at each other as they jump across the cracks opening up in the road, following it up and onto a railway bridge. Miraculously, there is a train approaching from the city centre.
River looks at him, a glint in her eyes. “Shall we?” she says.
“Do you need to ask?”
They clamber up onto the side of the bridge, steadying themselves against each other. “Three,” says River, glancing behind them.
“Two,” he replies, gazing ahead at where the engine will appear.
“One,” says River, and their eyes lock.
The train rumbles into view underneath them and they jump.
The landing is just a bit softer than he is expecting, and he wonders briefly if River had anything to do with that. She is clambering towards a small window in the roof of the car they have landed on, so he holds on as tightly as he can to the seams and rivets which offer the only support and follows.
River smashes the window with her much-too-heavy handbag and does her best to clear the broken glass around the edges. “Come on, sweetie,” she says before she leaps down into the car. The Doctor reaches the window frame and takes hold of it as firmly as he dares with the little bits of glass still poking out. He works his feet towards the side of the opening and then, for the second time in as many minutes, jumps.
Inside the train it is chaos.
People screaming, people crying, people curled in the foetal position on the floor. A crowd is gathered by the windows, and when another mushroom cloud blooms overhead there is a shared gasp, followed by more screams and sobs when the train shakes violently.
A boy is pointing at something in the sky, though. “Look! It’s a Raptor! I bet they can help us,” he says confidently.
“Fat lot of use they’ll be if this train doesn’t stop soon,” an older woman mutters.
“This is a driver-less train,” River says to the Doctor in a low voice. “And it hasn’t stopped since the bombing started. People are starting to worry that it’ll hit the end of the line and try to keep on going.”
“Where is the end of the line?”
“A little suburb almost outside the city, about ten minutes away.”
“Ten minutes?” The Doctor grins. “In ten minutes, we could save this train twice.”
“Only twice?” River says, falling into step effortlessly as he begins the short walk to the front of the train.
“At a conservative guess. Could easily be more if we’re as brilliant as I think we are.”
“Oh, we definitely are.” Her eyes are practically sparkling.
They push through the next carriage, and then the Doctor pulls a crowbar out of the air – it’s simple, now – and breaks into the driver’s compartment. Despite the automation there are still manual overrides in place in case of emergency; and this is definitely an emergency, though he’s not sure about the long-term health of these passengers even if they do get off the train alive. Their planet is being bombed, after all.
“Emergency stop,” he spots immediately – it’s not difficult; it’s a lever labelled with a big red sticker saying Emergency Stop.
“Doctor, you’re such a genius,” River purrs teasingly.
“Stop that. Not my fault genius wasn’t necessary.”
“No, of course not. Besides which, the real test will be working out the optimum moment to initiate that emergency stop.”
“As far away from the city as possible, but still far enough away from the end of the line to avoid a crash.”
“Precisely.”
“Well.” The Doctor crosses his arms, leaning casually against the wall next to the big red lever. “Three minutes ago we had ten minutes left, giving us seven minutes now. Judging by the speed at which the trees are going past the window, that means we’ll need to brake in about —”
His sentence is interrupted by the train being blown off the tracks by the shockwave from another bomb.
He and River are thrown together against the wall, clutching at each other instinctively as the train rolls, flipping onto its side and teetering on one edge for a moment before crashing down to complete a hundred-and-eighty degree turn. The two of them crash down with it, landing in a heap of bruised and bloodied limbs on the ceiling as the upside-down train slides to a halt.
They lie motionless for a moment, catching their breath, just in case it isn’t over.
“...We’ve stopped,” River says eventually.
“...Yeah.” The Doctor pulls his arm out from underneath her and begins the painful process of disentangling his body from hers. “Not quite according to plan.”
“That’s the trouble with plans.” River shifts her legs, wincing. “They tend to go awry.”
“Even here?”
That makes her grin. “Well, it wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.”
“And the pain?” he asks, pushing himself to his feet and examining a long, shallow gash across his chest.
“I need it,” she says shortly, and he pretends not to notice the look on her face. “Come on. We’d better inspect the damage.”
The damage, it turns out, is extensive.
If he thought the screaming and panic and chaos was bad before, it was only because he didn’t have this to compare it to. Dead bodies are everywhere, but they are perhaps the lucky ones; the dying are far more numerous, and in the middle of an apocalypse it’s not likely any of them will get the help they need. They lie or sit in and around the wreckage, some noisy, some still; some surrounded by others trying to care for them, others abandoned.
It’s horrifying.
“The Raptor landed somewhere over there,” River is saying when he next pays attention, reminding himself repeatedly that it’s just a simulation. “Some of the able-bodied passengers are heading that way. We should follow.”
She takes his hand, her decision clearly already made, and he finds himself being tugged along wordlessly. He looks back at the train wreck as she increases their pace. It’s not real, he tells himself, trying to ignore the smoking city behind him and the twisting feeling in his gut.
The Raptor is just over the next rise; when the people catch sight of it they break into a run, blending into a larger crowd of refugees who have somehow managed to flee the city.
“There’s no way that tiny ship can help this many people,” the Doctor remarks, with a nasty sense of foreboding.
“Not a chance in hell,” River replies.
A little way in front of them the first people have reached the ship. There is a commotion, then a weapon is discharged; by the time the Doctor and River push their way to the front of the crowd, the two-man crew are calling for children to come forward.
The Doctor turns, witnessing a gut-wrenching goodbye between a father and son, and wonders abruptly why he is doing this.
Why does he enjoy being thrown into these situations? How can he? He might have had an excuse before, he thinks; before everything. But certainly not now. Why does running for his life put a grin on his face? How can the sound of an explosion be music to his ears?
How dare he find enjoyment in this kind of misery? He, who has caused so much of it himself...
River is pressing a scrap of paper into his hand, he realises abruptly.
“Lottery,” she explains in a low voice, nodding at the pilot holding the flight manual. “First three numbers she reads out get to go with them. You want on the ship or off?” she asks.
“What?”
The first number is read out. “Six!”
River flicks a finger against her scrap of paper, and the number changes to a six. “Well?” she demands.
“What? No!”
“You do remember that none of this is real, right? Nobody’s really going to die. And the fun will probably be in space rather than down here.”
“Fun?” he asks. “You call this fun? All this death and destruction, just for fun?”
“It’s not real,” she says again.
“It could be.” His hearts are beating harder in his chest now, so fast it’s almost painful.
“Doctor,” River says, and she looks concerned now but he’s just angry, at her or himself or the universe or at that Gaius frakking Baltar who’s walking up to the Raptor now, he’s not sure.
A scrap of conversation drifts over: “...tell me this isn’t the end of everything,” someone is saying.
For the Doctor, the end of everything has already happened. And there was nobody there to tell him different. It’s just a cold, hard fact, and there will never be any escape from it.
He turns suddenly, and he runs.
Away from the ship, away from the doomed not-real people, away from River, just away. He runs across the grass, over the fields, into the smoke-filled woods and out again, towards the city and the explosions and the death.
Something is warped, his speed or his time perception or both, because it seems to take no time at all before he’s standing at the edge of a huge, glowing crater, staring into the blistering heat and contemplating how if this were real he would be dead by now.
He should be dead, he thinks bitterly. That was the plan, after all. He never meant to survive the war. But the TARDIS, his wonderful, stupid ship... somehow she found a way to save him. And right now he hates her for it, because the war is going to follow him everywhere he goes. Images like that don’t leave your mind once they’ve been seared across it like his have. And it’s going to drive him insane, and what kind of life is that?
Another bomb hits the ground close by and the shockwave sends him flying into the crater.
You’ve died. Please wait to be rebooted.
… Damn.
He wants to throw something, or collapse in a fit of tears, or at least tap his foot while he waits, but none of those things are possible in this odd lower layer of programming. He just ... exists.
Abruptly, he wonders how many times River has been down here. Just how many times did she try to kill herself until she realised it was impossible?
… And how many times when she already knew?
River. He sifts through the code while he waits, looking for her file, wondering just what information he could find here that she hasn’t revealed to him. There is so much that she isn’t telling him, he knows – but when he finds her data he is disappointed.
She’s been here for a hundred and seventeen years. That was the truth, then.
She’s looked the way she does since a few seconds before his own file was created. What she looked like before, he can’t tell, but it doesn’t appear to have been a major change.
And she’s died eight thousand and forty-two times.
… Oh.
There’s a feeling like being lifted rapidly out of a deep, deep hole, and he is back in the white place.
River is waiting, sitting cross-legged in a flowing white dress and watching him. “How are you feeling?” she asks.
He stands, watching her as well for a moment. “Did you do that on purpose?” he demands. “Take me to a place like that?” His hearts are beating too fast again, now that he has them back.
“You need to talk about it.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Doctor ...”
She gets to her feet, and he backs away. “Look, it’s gone, it’s finished, forgotten by everyone but me. There’s nothing to talk about!”
River closes her eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. “Nothing is ever forgotten,” she says at last when she opens them again. “Not completely.”
“River, I know you’re trying to help, but —”
“Let me show you something,” she cuts him off, and takes his hand.
It’s Gallifrey.
It’s not ... not really Gallifrey, of course. But it’s the closest thing to it ever likely to exist again.
“How?” he asks, and he’s really not sure if he wants to laugh or rage or cry.
“It’s from an amalgamation of sources,” River tells him, wandering away a few steps over the red grass. “Paintings and songs and fairy tales. You can’t erase something completely, Doctor. It’s just not possible.” She holds up a hand and a flutterwing lands on her fingers, making her smile. “It wasn’t always this detailed. I asked the TARDIS for more images when she sent you.”
The Doctor stares. “Who are you, River? How — how can you do these things?”
River raises her hand and the flutterwing flies away. “Magic,” she says, snapping her fingers, and suddenly they are sitting on a picnic blanket by a brown lake under an orange sky, the scents on the warm breeze almost matching the ones in his dusty old memories.
“There’s no such thing as magic,” the Doctor says weakly, though right now he’s not quite so sure.
She smirks. “That would really depend on how you define ‘magic’, Doctor.”
“Don’t get clever,” he replies.
“Oh, but I am,” she says smugly, lying back on the blanket and stretching her arms above her head.
The Doctor joins her, looking up at a sky whose very image he thought he would never see again. “Maybe.”
River laughs then, a deep, delighted sound that makes him shiver despite himself. “Watch out with those compliments, Doctor. A girl could get all kinds of ideas.”
He frowns, propping himself up on an elbow. “Ideas about what?”
“Hmm.” She cocks an eyebrow, looking down the length of her body and curling her bare toes. “About possible uses for this blanket.”
“... Oh.” The Doctor swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Is this really a good time for that, d’you think?” He is still full of pent-up anger and hurt and disbelief, and he’s not sure that he can muster loving or gentle right now – or that he even wants to.
“You laugh or you cry, Doctor,” River says, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I think we’ve both done enough crying.”
“I don’t think I can manage laughter right now,” he tells her, covering her hand with his; to hold it there or to push it away, he can’t decide.
“Can I tell you a secret?” River whispers.
Intrigued, he nods.
She entwines her fingers with his and guides him closer, bringing his ear to her lips. “Neither can I.”
He pulls back just enough to see that there are tears in her eyes, but then she closes them and presses her lips against his, and it suddenly dawns on him that maybe this is more about her than him.
Maybe she needs this.
And maybe he should stop thinking about it so much and just let it happen, because it might just be the only thing that can dampen the horror dancing in his mind.
He lets go of her hand and it wanders up to settle on the back of his neck; he reaches down, touching her cheek, gliding across her impossibly perfect skin; his thumb runs lightly over her jaw and he traces her eyebrow with his fingertip. River sighs, shifting beneath him and bringing her other hand up to stroke his back.
Her lips are soft against his, her kisses slow and gentle, and he wonders why exactly she is doing this. Is it just that he’s a real live person like she hasn’t met in so long? That’s ... unlikely, he thinks, given the inexplicable affection she has shown for him since the moment he arrived. He can feel her hearts beating rapidly under his and wonders if it’s the fact that he’s a Time Lord.
Last of the Time Lords.
River’s tongue is running across his bottom lip now, and he is grateful for the distraction because he doesn’t like that thought. It might be the most dreadful title he’s ever had. So he leans further into the kiss, his own tongue probing at her willing mouth, and lets the way she moans underneath him chase away his darkening thoughts. He hasn’t done this in a long time; never in this body and never inside a computer, but everything inside him is awakening as if it was only waiting for this moment, and when River’s hand crawls underneath the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, it’s like she’s set him alight.
The Doctor groans, grinding against her, and he feels her smile against his lips even as her fingers clutch tightly at the flesh above his shoulder blades and she lifts herself to meet him. He kisses her more urgently, tugging at her lips with his teeth, and she moans more loudly, a muffled Doctor spoken into his skin when he releases her. She plants kisses across his face almost reverently, over his jaw and down his neck, and she bites down eagerly on the muscle stretching up from his shoulder. He returns the favour, pressing his teeth into her jaw, her neck, across the swell of her breasts, and when he presses his ear against her chest he hears her hearts beating faster still as she arches into him, pulling at the neckline of her dress to give him better access. The red marks blossoming over her pale skin make him feel really, solidly alive for the first time since he arrived in this strange, unreal place, and he wonders if River feels the same.
Oh, he hopes she does.
His progress is impeded by the fabric of her dress now, so he sits back and grasps a handful in either hand, ripping it apart. He shouldn’t be surprised that she’s wearing nothing underneath, he thinks, but the view he is afforded is breathtaking anyway.
River smiles up at him, and there is more in that smile than just lust, he is sure. Something about it is a little bit heartbreaking, and he leans forward again, working his way down the rest of her body more gently, more mindfully than before. Whatever she needs out of this, he wants her to get it.
He presses careful kisses between her breasts, down over each rib and across her stomach, nipping lightly at her hipbone and smiling when it makes her giggle. He kisses down her leg, grinning into her skin, and finishes by taking her foot in his hand and pressing his lips into the soft spot above her ankle. River hooks both feet under his arms to guide him back up, but he stops half way to trail his fingernails up the insides of her thighs and brush lightly against the damp curls between them.
This is a good simulation, he thinks. Good programming. Very, very good, as the increasing tightness of his trousers attests.
He presses his fingers more firmly against her, pushing one inside of her for just a moment and applying pressure to her clit with his thumb. River’s hips buck and she gasps, reaching out to clutch at the fabric of his shirtsleeves. “Yes,” she hisses, and he adds a second finger, moving them within her with slow, steady strokes as she whimpers, digging her fingernails into his arms. His thumb circles around her clit, gently at first and then harder and faster, his fingers inside her mimicking the increase in pace until River is crying out loudly, her breath coming in short gasps; and then her hands are pulling at his waistband and she’s saying, “Stop, wait, wait ...”
The Doctor does as he is told, and she shudders when he pulls his hand away. “Need you inside me,” she whispers, still tugging ineffectually at his trousers; then, “Oh, sod it.”
She snaps her fingers and his clothes disappear.
He looks down at himself, surprised; but River is giggling now and it’s infectious, and soon it’s all he can do not to collapse with laughter right on top of her.
She raises a hand to his face, looking at him with such affection that he can’t help but grin back at her. “Sorry, sweetie, that was a ridiculous thing to do,” she says, chuckling.
“I like ridiculous!” he protests, still grinning. “Love ridiculous, me.”
“Oh, Doctor, I know,” she says with a smile, and pulls him down for a kiss. When they break apart they have both sobered just a little, and her hand snakes down between them to grasp his hard length. “Now,” she says breathlessly, “Where were we?”
“I think I remember,” he replies, closing his eyes against the sensation of the grip she has on him.
“Do you remember what to do next?” she teases.
“Oi,” he complains. Then, smugly, “Yes, I do, as it happens.”
He kisses her again as she guides him between her legs, and he bites playfully at her lip when she sighs. A low moan escapes her when he begins to move, reverberating through his own body until he echoes it, pushing deeper and making her cry out louder. The momentum she built up earlier is quickly regained and he can feel her getting closer with every thrust; so he slows, just to prolong the pleasure he’s getting out of watching her underneath him, because pleasure is something far too foreign to him at the moment.
“Doctor,” she complains, writhing beneath him.
“Yes?”
He bends to kiss her neck and she runs her fingernails across his back, and the tracks they leave feel like nothing he’s ever felt before, like ice and fire shooting across his skin in a barrage of thunderbolts. The sensation makes him move faster again instinctively, and River is grinning even as she comes undone, throwing her hands down above her head as she trembles and gasps and her fingertips twitch.
The electricity dancing in the Doctor’s skin hasn’t let up; if anything it’s spreading, over his back into his shoulders and buttocks and down his legs and arms until his whole body is awash with sensation and it’s all he can do to just keep moving until his orgasm jolts through him, like ice-cold water through his burning body, and he collapses on top of River, shattered and consumed by it all, and really doesn’t know if he can ever get up again.
She is smiling, he realises eventually, once his heart rate has returned to something closer to normal. He is lying on her chest and can hear her hearts as well, beating in counterpoint to his. Her hand is in his hair, her fingers tracing patterns across his scalp, and she is humming contentedly.
“... What was that?” the Doctor manages.
River chuckles, a sound made more lovely by the position of his ear on her skin. “One of the perks of having virtual nerve endings, my love. You can do all kinds of things.”
“And you’ve done all of them, I’ll bet.”
“Oh, many, many times.” She sighs. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”
The Doctor hesitates. “Is it that bad, being stuck here?” he ventures.
“Oh, sweetie.” She shakes her head, looking up at the sky. “It’s the nicest prison I’ve ever been in. There are endless possibilities for entertainment ... but entertainment just isn’t what makes living worthwhile. I can’t achieve anything here. I can’t help anyone.” She swallows, bringing her hand down to stroke his cheek. “Except perhaps you.”
“You have,” he assures her, and she smiles at him.
“Then maybe that’s more important than anything else.”
“I’m not important,” he says before he can stop himself. “I’m nobody. I’m just a relic, now; I shouldn’t even exist.”
River laughs then. “Doctor, Doctor. Never tell an archaeologist that something is just a relic. Relics are priceless, and that includes you. I’d wager you’ll save the universe a few more times yet. One day you’ll even enjoy it again.”
“I shouldn’t. How can I enjoy disaster?”
“Because it makes you seek it out and set things to rights. And that makes you more important than anybody who hates it and looks away. What use are they, compared to someone like you?”
The Doctor looks up at her. “How do you know me so well? Have we met before?”
“You know what I’m going to say to that, sweetie.”
“Will I ever know?”
“One day,” she promises. “One day you’ll know more than I ever have.” She looks up then, and the Doctor follows her gaze.
Something is floating down from the sky. A leaf – no, too angular. A piece of paper, he thinks, squinting. Then, as it flutters closer and River reaches out and grabs it, he realises.
An envelope.
There’s no name on it, but River pushes herself into a sitting position and tears it open without hesitation. The message written on the single sheet of paper wipes the smile off her face in an instant.
“It’s time for you to go,” she says, expressionless. She stands, not looking at him, and suddenly they are clothed again and the landscape around them fades to white.
“The TARDIS?” he says, getting to his feet, torn between excitement and regret.
River forces a smile. “Good as new.”
“... Okay.” He nods, not quite sure how to respond, and clears his throat. “I’ll miss you,” he tells her.
“Oh, sweetie.” River smiles, but she looks on the verge of tears. “You won’t. It’ll all be like a dream; you’re not going to remember me.” She raises a hand to his face and kisses him softly. “Off you go, now.”
She’s been telling him what to do the whole time he’s been here, he realises. That was fine when it was what he wanted to do anyway, but this ... this is not.
“No,” he says.
She blinks. “I’m sorry?”
The Doctor steps back, reaching into his head for the image that he needs. He turns to see rails forming behind him; hears the screech of a steam engine approaching.
“So am I,” he says, and jumps in front of the train.
You’ve died. Please wait to be rebooted.
He doesn’t wait, though.
The Doctor dives right into the code, finding River, finding his own physical data, replicating it and twisting it but it’s not enough, it doesn’t fit—
But there’s a communications line open straight to the TARDIS. Perhaps if he can find enough recordings of Time Lord DNA... because River must be a Time Lord, there’s no other explanation, he thinks. The Master is in the TARDIS’ database, Romana, Susan ... Susan ...
No. Can’t think about Susan right now. And she would want to help, he knows, so he rips apart the TARDIS’ data on her physical form and tries to merge it with River’s programme, but it still doesn’t fit, it’s too Time Lord, how can it be too Time Lord? Maybe it’s the timelock, maybe it’s affecting the very ability of Time Lords to exist in the universe at all—but he can’t leave her, not when she so clearly doesn’t want to be here—
A message from the TARDIS. Not words, never words, but a stream of data, vast amounts of information on ... Oh.
Oh, oh, oh.
A body. Not Time Lord.
Time Lord plus human.
Thank you, he thinks, filing the implications away to muse over later because he has to work quickly now; the reboot must be almost complete.
He weaves the data together like a tapestry, and it fits, it fits perfectly, almost as if it belongs together—it must, it must, this must be River’s real, actual body! How the TARDIS has access to it is a question he’ll have to ask later, but he’s almost done now, it’s almost ready, this should work, he thinks happily, but there’s that sensation now of the reboot beginning, he needs to finish, he hopes it’s enough, he —
— is only in the white place for an instant before he —
— is in the TARDIS, a new console room, falling, and there’s a railing rushing up to meet him and —
Ow. His head.
* * *
River materialises in the control room just in time to see the Doctor appear in mid-air and fall head-first into the railing. He crumples to the floor, unconscious, and she winces in sympathy.
Then the full magnitude of the situation hits her.
She’s here with him.
She’s real again.
She’s alive.
Looking down, she sees that she’s in the Doctor’s favourite dress; the green one she wore to Darillium that he had cried all over. She knows why he did that now, of course. She’s wearing the matching shoes as well, and almost twists her ankle when she stumbles to the scanner.
“Me,” she says, running her fingertips over the unfamiliar console. “Show me me.”
Obligingly, the image resolves into a perfect reflection of her face. River gasps, poking and prodding at her features just as the Doctor did when he first arrived in the Library’s data core. It’s her, she’s her, she’s real. She looks just like herself again.
… Which could be a problem, if the Doctor wakes up.
She put so much effort into disguising herself to preserve their timeline, even purposely corrupting his memory files in case her altered voice and appearance weren’t enough – the only other thing she could have done would have been to use a different name, but she couldn’t bring herself to; not with him. She can’t let all that work go to waste, though – she needs to get out of here.
“Thank you,” she says to the TARDIS, and reaches for the controls. Tears sting her eyes as she feels the familiar rush of energy which means the TARDIS is flying through the vortex ... Oh, she’s missed this. She leaves her destination up to the ship, confident that she’ll take River where she needs to go. She always does.
The Doctor is still in a heap on the floor, wearing clothes which must have belonged to his previous incarnation because they don’t fit him at all. River pulls him into a more comfortable position, laying him flat, and presses a kiss to his lips as the TARDIS lands.
“Find someone to take care of him, won’t you?” River says. He needs it so badly – she never understood quite how much until now.
The Doctor groans, starting to stir. River presses a hand to his cheek, running her thumb over his cheekbone. She presses her forehead against his for a moment; just long enough to pour some warmth into his hearts, to plant a promise not to give up, and then she stands.
“Goodbye, sweetie,” she says, and she trails a caress across the console as well before she squares her shoulders and pulls open the doors, ready to face whatever lies beyond.
When River steps out of the TARDIS she is back on Darillium. It’s millennia later than the first time, though, and the Towers are in ruin, abandoned; crumbling edifices in a wasteland with no living soul to be seen for miles around.
No one except one man and his box.
River’s breath catches in her throat, and she barely registers her own version of the TARDIS disappearing again. She steps forward, making her way slowly up the steep incline in front of her and cursing the outfit she is wearing – though the TARDIS could not have dressed her in anything more appropriate than this, she muses. Because the Doctor is up there in his top hat and tails, looking rather the worse for wear as he leans against the blue box and gazes out at the barren landscape. He doesn’t seem to have noticed her.
He must have just sent her off to her death, the poor man.
Finally she is standing almost close enough to touch him, but he doesn’t look around until River clears her throat pointedly. Then he looks so surprised she worries for a moment that he might topple right over the precipice they’re standing on.
He regains his balance, staring, and River grins.
“Hello sweetie,” she says. “You’ll never guess where I’ve been.”