Chapter Text
The gold shell of the bullet glints in the florescent lights of the ships corridor, cutting through the air as it rotates counter clockwise. Like a homicidal wasp being sucked up backwards through the tube of vacuum cleaner. It hums, then abruptly changes direction. It glances off the head of a Sontaran and continues towards the jagged metal fragments that were formally the vessels hull. River braces herself against the door and wedges her left heel into the intercostal space between the ships floorboards. Pivoting she fires a spray of meson burst into the void and curses under her breath as a return volley forces her to retreat.
"Probability of non-survival 89.2%. Navigation systems, offline. Propulsion systems, offline. Life support systems, failing. Recommend, immediate evacuation," the automatic avoidance announcement system states for the fourth time in as many minutes.
"Yes, yes! Must you always be so negative?" River mutters kicking the body of second Lft. Grover out of the way and tapping irritably at the control panel.
Sabotaging the ship had been simple. One schematic of the ships air-handling units; one carefully placed canister, one perfectly executed controlled explosion.
Simple, had it not been for the Sontaren scavenging fleet boarding at the precise moment the shields went down. And what for? There was nothing the potato-headed thugs would find valuable on this ship. It didn't provide a strategic advantage, wasn't weaponised. The only thing they could possibly be looking for, was her.
Retrospectively, challenging the Sontaren commander to a shooting match had been a mistake. It was hardly her fault that the squat metal clad vegetable had taken her superior skill as an act of war against the empire. It may have been her fault when she instructed him, in elaborate and colourful detail, how he could be baked; topped with tuna and would be delicious with a small twist of lemon. But honestly, how was a girl supposed to resist such an easy target? She hadn't even needed to waste ammunition. After that it had become a matter of principle, they principally wanted her existence to cease, she principally disagreed. It was all a little tedious really.
Rivers hand reflectively tenses on her blaster. Aiming at the door controls she fires a single shot into the mechanism forcing the emergency override system to seal the room. At least that bought her a little time. Searching the fallen body at her feet she plucks a keycard from his top left pocket and flips it over. Intricate swirls and slots are carved into the metal identifying it as a command key. She pockets it; he wouldn't need it anytime soon.
"Open this door in the name of the Sontaran empire," a low voice rumbles from the other side of the metal hatch. Did they really think that was going to work?
"Well, since you seem to have misplaced your manners I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline," she sasses back” better luck next time."
Beneath the belly of the ship, something moved. The sound reverberated through the tunnels; a low, deep, scratching, like a fridge being pulled across a chalk board. If she didn't speed up this entire exercise was going to be futile and both her and the Pakhar trapped in the cargo bay were going to die. Die spectacularly of course but she would much rather avoid that.
As far as jobs went this hardly the strangest, but the Pakhar's had been rather persuasive and she was in desperate need of some new shoes. Stormcage was damp, rubber perished and running in heels wasn’t particularly good for even wearing of the sole. Yes, she could have popped back a few centuries, deposited a few credits in a high-interest account on Atraxis and lived off the interest but where was the fun in that. The fact that the Pakhar were a race of hamster people probably had something to do with it as well. Amy had a hamster when they were growing up. A light brown Russian Dwarf with a mullet that Rory had threatened to replicate, probably due the amount of attention "The Doctor" received from the both of them.
Poor Rory.
During the Pond family vacation she had looked after him, made sure he had water, fed him some sunflower seeds.
Then she lost four days.
The hamster died.
Amy had cried herself to sleep, so had she, but not for the loss of the hamster.
There were other reasons she took the job too, not that she would admit them to anyone, certainly not herself.
It took her a few seconds to notice the change in the room. The air became denser, as if a hundred thousand electrons had decided to phase into this version of reality, it tingled across her skin and held a faint metallic taste. Small wispy pattern of silver and gold swirled in the air as the TARDIS phased into reality on the other side of the room. She glances towards it, sighs, and continues searching the command room. Perhaps if she ignores him he will go away.
His lanky frame ejects itself from the door as if assisted by an invisible springboard that only responds to his biological material, a flash of red and a mountain of tweed. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Environmental checks, why was he so opposed to performing environmental checks? Two minutes earlier and his head would have been in the direct path of a...
"River? What are you doing here?" Oh great, so much for the futile hope of momentary invisibility. She doesn’t look at him.
“Little busy right now for twenty questions sweetie,” Sparks of blaster fire splinter like Roman candles from beneath the door. That gets his attention.
He hoists himself up from the floor, hair falling across his eyes, sonic already in his left hand. He glances over his shoulder as she studiously punches codes into the waste disposal override system.
"But people are shooting at you!" he waves his sonic around the hatch, she has no idea why. It's already as secure as it's going to get, she supposed he's trying to useful. Circumstances being what they are.
"I'd hardly call them people." More like munchkins with an attitude problem. "But yes, very astute of you dear. Good to know your eyesight’s not failing. Now, if you doing mind I'm kind of busy." It's typical of him to turn up really; spaceships falling out the sky have always attracted his attention, moths, flames, and all that nonsense.
"Busy?" He's approaching mild panic now, she can tell by the wild-eyed furtive looks he's throwing over his shoulder. She sighs and shakes her head in his general direction, he has the TARDIS she has her vortex manipulator they're hardly in danger at all. He has that kicked puppy look, the look that accuses her of getting into trouble without his consent. It's tiresome.
"Yeeesss, b-u-s-y," she drawls, hoping that slowing down her normal cadence may somehow produce enough resonance to penetrate his thick skull.
"With things that don't concern you. So why don't you go enjoy some crocheting lessons or find your own spaceship to crash." She pulls at a bunch of wires under the console and a satisfactory shower of sparks arch across the unit. The hatch on the opposite side of the room slides open and she marches towards it.
The Doctor spins around almost tripping over his feet in the process, slack-jawed and confused. He canters after her like a newly born gazelle.
“River?” She rolls her eyes.
“Either shut up and make yourself useful or disappear, your choice.“ she snaps, attempting to launch fireballs through her eyes, or disable him through some sort of residual latent psychic connection.
"But..."
No such luck then. She really is out of practice.
"Shush." She places a manicured nail to his lips momentarily rendering him mute. At least he still responded well to blatantly obvious gestures. She makes a mental note.
Tiny fragments of metal fall from the sealed door, it seemed like the Sontaran was finally using his head for something useful. His eyes drift towards the sound and she takes the opportunity to study his features without being subjected to the same scrutiny. The lines under his eyes are deeper than the last time she saw him. Faint whispers of grey are evident around his temples, even though he still looks like a twelve-year-old. She wonders how long it has been for him; a few days, weeks, a month maybe. Certainly not three years.
She should slap him.
Right in his panicked face, but what would be the point? It wouldn't make him understand, he never would.
She wonders if he knows that she never got used to the sound of thunder, or that sometimes she still feels like she's being watched or that when she was ten her imaginary friend told her to kill people. But no, of course he doesn't. They never talked about things like that.
She knows the shape of their story. The hero isn't the one who gets their hearts desire. It's the one who makes the sacrifice. She just didn't anticipate the sacrifice to be forgotten so easily. Still, taking her hand away she can't help but brush it against his bottom lip before tucking it back inside her fist.
“Massive, gigantic heat signals coming from below deck, far too large to be Sontaren or human,” he whispers conspiratorially, flicking the settings on his sonic over. He places a hand on her shoulder; she shrugs and twists dislodging it. There’s work to be done and a hamster creature to save and, as the incessant and thoroughly annoying warning system keeps reminding her, about fifteen minutes left until the ship is compacted against Kylos 3 and resembles the outcome of fight between an articulated lorry and frying pan .
“I’m more than capable of conducting my own research, it’s a Pakhar, it’s trapped, and I’m going to rescue it.” She plants herself in front of him; head on, trying to get his attention. No such luck.
“Hamster people! I love the hamster people, rather large, but cute. Cute in a fearsome, large tooth, hairy way. Slight overbite, did I tell you about the time I almost married one? Henrietta, or at least I think it was almost, was a little distracted at the time. Henrietta the hamster girl, how cool is that?”
So he’s in over excitable teenager mode, lovely. Nothing for it but to carry on as normal and hope he doesn’t get himself killed then.
Walking towards the hatch she actually hears him spin around on the spot wondering where she’s got to. Checking the power settings on her blaster and grabbing the top of the waste disposal hatch she launches herself down the shoot. He’ll follow; there isn’t a chance in hell that he won’t.
The sound of his “Geronimo” preceded him and he arrives at her feet looking like his hair has been attacked by a small errant tornado. River shakes her head.
"Impossible idiot," but a smile reaches her eyes as she takes his had and drag him to his feet.
"So, giant hamster below, attacking Sontarens above, assuming you have a plan. Or a thing. Or a thing that could turn into a plan. Or a..." He's too busy talking and staring at his shoe-laces to notice the approaching sound of metal clad footsteps. Plucking his sonic from his wildly gesturing hands she unlocks the nearest service hatch and in one swift motion, fingers curled around his bow tie, drags him neck first after her.
"River!" His arms flail dramatically, eyes darting from her chest to the grate.
Clueless, absolutely clueless and a liability to boot. She hadn't spent all this time pretending she had killed him for him to end up dead anyway. The universe has it in for her. It's the only plausible explanation. To hell with possible paradoxes, she may just have to take a quick trip and tell herself not to bother. This job is turning out to be more hassle than it's worth.
He stops fidgeting and looks poignantly at his shirt sleeve, as if he's surprised that it's still in contact with his skin. His eyes raise to find her ignoring him, navigating a three-dimensional hologram of the ship that casts a blue glow along the corridor. She's thin, thinner than he has ever seen her, all sharp angles, and light bounces off her collarbones in unfamiliar patterns. She looks tired, she looks like she's been running. He doesn't mention it.
The footsteps fade away into the distance.
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"Wood? Who builds a wooden door on a spaceship?" His hands brace against the grain and his eyes slide shut as if he can somehow forge a telepathic link and change the molecular structure of the damn thing.
"How many times?" River rolls her eyes, grabs him by the lapels and deposits his protesting form against the corridor wall.
"Oi! I'm getting round to it. Wood's complicated. You can't just program the sonic for wood," He starts listing the complexities of Yew and Oak, Pine and Premerainian flat root.
"I've never found it hard to get wood to comply," she says, gently extracting her earring and straightening the curve into a long thin point.
"Generally-" she bends down and assesses the lock.
"I find that with careful manipulation-" she feeds the makeshift pick into the lock and places her ear against the mechanism.
"And a little bit of talent," she glanced up at him and he stops talking.
"And a little pressure in just the right place -" she captures her bottom lip between her teeth. He pulls his bow tie away from his collar.
"You can normally-" closing her eyes she feels the final pin click into place and twists the pick.
"Achieve the desired result." raising an eyebrow she stands and presses her back to the door, swings it open, and steps inside. The tips of his ears have turned a delightful shade of pink. At least he's now providing a useful purpose.
It's an immutable fact that when faced with a decision that requires immediate action, and little thought as to the consequences of said action, the Doctor is an idiot. He doesn't hesitate, feet moving seemingly without interference from any higher functioning synaptic impulses. His vision narrows to a glint of polished grey metal, River, and the barrel of a Sontaren blaster pointed at her chest. He raises his sonic in the air, fingers moving deftly to alter its setting and launches himself towards her.
Brandishing her blaster River took aim fixing her eyes on the target she inhaled adding pressure to the grip sensitive trigger point. The blaster clicked; charge building as subatomic particles split and reconstituted cracking steadily. She exhaled, shifting her weight onto her front leg for leverage in anticipation of Newton's third law and pressed the trigger.
The pulse erupted from the blaster illuminating the darkened cargo bay with sparkles of green energy. The Sontaten’s eyes went wide, pupils contracting momentarily before the blast hit.
River rocked backwards, meeting an object of considerable alternative force as the Doctor’s torso careered into her back and hands circled her waist.
The Sontaren dropped, helmet splintering as it collided with the floor, the same floor River found herself on a second later, the doctor’s chin nestled in her hair. The room silent, save a slow rhythmic background squeak.
“Are you insane? What am I saying, of course you insane! " She says, rolling on her side to dislodge him and getting to her feet.
He lifts a finger in protest “I prefer differently wired.”
"What did you think you were going to do? Sonic it to death?"
"I was going for disarmament actually," he huffs scratching the back of his head and looking up at her.
He's trying to be gallant, trying to do what he always does, save people. She's acutely aware of that, not that it helps. It’s an obligation, some cosmic debt he feels like he owes the universe, owes her, but it's not what she wants. She doesn't need a knight in tweed brandishing a sonic sword, she just needs him. But it's something he's never been able to give, never will be able to give. She leaves him lying there and heads towards the noise that continues its constant squeaking rhythm in the darkened room.
The structure takes up the full back wall. Metal bars fixed through the hull of the ship. It stood as tall as a three-story building, a Ferris wheel welded together with the capsules removed. Power cables stretch along its central pivot point running to consoles that monitored output, voltage, and amplitude. Harnessed to the machine was the Pakhar. Hands moving from bar to bar, face fixed in concentration as it ran and yet never moved. The wheel turned, joints straining under the torque.
She feels him come and stand behind her. Anger radiating from his skin like a star in supernova. He places a palm on the small of her back. River closes her eyes, feels it sear her skin.
"He's in a cage and doesn't deserve to be," she says softly "There was no real decision to make." She answers a question he doesn't ask, stepping forward and inserting the pilfered master key into the mechanism. The machine falters as the restraints holding the Pakhar in place fall away. Metal grinds on metal as the forward momentum ceases, the lights dip, warning alerts litter the control panel as a backup generator kicks in and the cage door clicks open.
River watches as the shoulders of the creature drop, chest heaving as he staggers like a child suddenly brought to an abrupt halt on a merry-go-round. Unable to keep balance he staggers and collapses against the bars. River reaches out a hand placing it on the bars, it’s obvious he’s in no condition to move. The original plan had been to escape by shuttle but that’s no longer an option. She juggles figures in her head, calculating force, mass, leverage and the angular momentum that would be required to move him before reconsidering her options. She almost forgets that the Doctor is there.
“River, you’re hurt,” he says and she jumps at the contact as he reaches for her. His eyes snag on the needle like shard of metal protruding from just beneath her left rib, a fragment of the Sontaren helmet embedded in her skin.
She looks down and plucks it out with the degree of contempt a three-year-old reserves for Brussel sprouts and discards it on the floor. She hadn’t even noticed it was there.
“Stating the obvious aren’t we?” Her eyes touch his momentarily.
“I need to borrow the TARDIS,” she says. It’s not a question, she’s already typing spatial co-ordinates into the vortex manipulator.
A moment later he’s standing alone in a cargo bay with only a giant hamster and his thoughts for company.