Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The TARDIS was grieving.

The ship’s familiar hum — usually bright and musical — had dulled into a low, aching throb, as if the ancient engines themselves mourned. The golden lights overhead flickered sporadically, shadows pooling in the cracks of the sprawling console room.

The Doctor sat hunched in the captain’s chair, his figure folded inward, hands tangled in his unruly hair. His bow tie hung loose around his neck. He hadn’t bothered to retie it since...

Since New York.

Since the rooftop.

Since he lost them.

River stood across the room, arms folded tightly across her chest, watching him. She had been there for hours, quietly orbiting him, unsure whether to pull him closer or give him space.

My love, she thought achingly. You brilliant, stubborn fool.

She cleared her throat softly. "You should rest," she offered, her voice low but steady. "Or at least pretend you're capable of it."

No answer.

The Doctor’s fingers tightened against his forehead. His body was so still he seemed almost a part of the ship itself — just another broken, beautiful relic.

River crossed to the console, moving carefully, the soft thud of her boots swallowed by the ship’s sorrow. She perched on the edge, close enough to touch him but holding back, letting him have the choice.

The TARDIS lights dimmed around them, as if giving them privacy.

"You’re going to make yourself ill," she said, quieter now. "And you’re no good to me like that, sweetie."

The Doctor gave a soft, broken laugh — the sound of glass cracking under pressure — but didn’t lift his head.

"I don't know how to stop," he said. His voice was barely audible.

River felt a hollow ache swell in her chest.
Without thinking, she reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, gentle, reverent.

"You grieve," she whispered. "And then... somehow, you keep going."

The Doctor looked up at last. His eyes were red-rimmed, glittering with unshed tears.
He looked impossibly young.
And impossibly old.

"I miss them," he said, voice splintering like dry wood. "I miss them so much I can’t breathe."

River’s breath hitched.
She pressed her forehead lightly against his, grounding him — grounding herself.

"I know," she whispered.

Later, she managed to coax him into moving.
The kitchen seemed safer. Smaller. Less haunted.

River pretended not to notice how his steps dragged, how his hand trembled slightly when she laced her fingers through his.
She also pretended not to notice the sharp wave of nausea that rolled through her own stomach.

She caught herself against the wall for a heartbeat, blinking hard.
Grief, she told herself sternly.

In the TARDIS kitchen — all warm wood, mismatched teacups, and the perpetual smell of burnt toast — River busied herself making tea.
The kettle whistled mournfully. The Doctor slumped into one of the kitchen chairs like a puppet with its strings cut.

River glanced at him, her heart twisting.
He was watching her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the universe.

"Do you want honey in your tea?" she asked lightly, forcing a smile. "Or something stronger?"

"Jammy dodger," the Doctor mumbled, almost reflexively.

River laughed, a soft, broken sound that made her chest ache.

"I'll see what I can do," she said.

She found a tin of biscuits tucked behind a jar of pickled gherkins and plunked it down between them.
The Doctor made no move to open it.

River sat across from him, wrapping her hands around a steaming mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
A wave of dizziness crested over her again — sharp and unexpected — and she set the mug down quickly, willing herself not to sway.

The Doctor didn’t notice.

He was staring at the tabletop like it might hold the secrets to the universe.

After a long, silent stretch, River broke it:
"Would you like to go to their room?" she asked quietly. "We could... sit there for a while."

The Doctor flinched, just slightly. His hands twitched.

River immediately regretted asking — but then he nodded.

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "I think... I need to."

Amy and Rory’s room was preserved, untouched by time.

The TARDIS had closed it off instinctively, protecting it like a wounded limb.

Inside, it smelled of lavender and old paper and something warm River couldn't name.
Amy’s red leather jacket was slung over a chair, a novel with a cracked spine open and face-down on the nightstand. Rory’s reading glasses perched atop a battered copy of The History of the Crusades.

A half-packed suitcase sat abandoned by the bed, a scarf draped over its side.

Photos lined the walls — little snapshots of impossible places: Amy riding a dinosaur, Rory solemnly holding a fish that seemed to be floating midair, the two of them laughing on a pink sand beach.

River’s breath caught painfully.
Her parents. Frozen in sunlight, forever out of reach.

The Doctor moved slowly, touching each object with a reverence usually reserved for sacred things.
He lifted Amy’s jacket and buried his face in the leather for a moment, breathing her in. His shoulders shook.

River turned away, giving him the dignity of privacy.

She wandered to the nightstand and picked up the book. A Tale of Two Cities.
Of course Amy would be reading about impossible loves and bittersweet endings.

River closed the book gently and set it back down.

"They were happy," she said aloud, her voice trembling. "We gave them a good life."

The Doctor turned to her, tears streaking his face openly now. He didn't bother to hide them.

"I wasn't ready," he said. "I wasn’t ready to let them go."

"Neither was I," River said, her voice breaking.

They met in the middle of the room, colliding into an embrace that was less about comfort and more about survival.
They clung to each other like they were the only real things left in the universe.

Time passed — slow and syrupy.

Eventually, they wandered back to the console room, weighed down by memory.

River tucked herself against the railing, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Her skin was pale, clammy. A low throb pulsed behind her eyes.

The Doctor collapsed into the pilot’s chair again, staring blankly at the TARDIS monitor.

The ship beeped softly.

A message.
Incoming.

The Doctor didn’t move to read it.

River sighed and leaned over the console, scanning the flickering words.

        "Disappearances in London. People taken. Help."

Coordinates blinked and glitched on the screen, struggling to stabilize.

River rested her hand on the Doctor’s shoulder.
"Ignore it," she said gently.

The Doctor let out a shuddering breath. His hands tightened into fists.

"I don't want to move," he admitted. "I don't want to... be the Doctor right now."

River knelt beside him, resting her forehead against his knee.

"I know," she whispered. 

The Doctor looked at her — really looked.

Saw the dark circles under her eyes, the way she was subtly favoring her side like something hurt.

She was hurting too.

And if he stayed here, drowning in grief, he would drag her under with him.

He stood up sharply.

"No," he said, voice stronger. "We need a distraction."

He threw the lever down with a resounding clunk.

The TARDIS lurched into motion, the engines roaring to life like an old warhorse answering the call to battle.

River braced herself against the console, smiling despite herself.

"Geronimo," she whispered.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS shuddered violently as it materialized, protesting the rough entry. She wheezed, coughed, and finally settled into an uneasy stillness.

The Doctor adjusted his bow tie absently — the movement more muscle memory than vanity — and offered River a hand.

“Come on, Professor Song,” he said, forcing a smile. “Let’s go poke the universe with a stick.”

River laughed softly and accepted his hand, her fingers cold against his.

The doors creaked open to a gray, sodden London Street. Fog clung low to the ground like a living thing, tendrils curling around lamp posts and garbage bins. The buildings loomed above them, Victorian and weary, windows boarded or cracked. Somewhere distant, a clock tower tolled a low, mournful note.

The Doctor tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, scanning the horizon.

“This isn’t the London we know,” he murmured. “Something’s wrong.”

River stepped to his side, wrapping her arms around herself against the damp chill. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through her gut, swift and brutal, and she stumbled slightly.

The Doctor caught her immediately.

“Steady, River,” he said, concern flaring in his voice.

River forced a smile, willing her stomach to behave, she hadn't been looking after herself. “Just slipped. These boots weren’t made for fog.”

The Doctor didn’t look convinced, but he let it go — for now.

They moved cautiously down the street. Shops were abandoned; their windows cracked like spiderwebs. Posters peeled from crumbling brick walls, fluttering in a breeze that felt colder than it should have been.

No people.

Not even the scratch of rats or the distant rumble of cars.

Just silence.

The Doctor scanned the area with his sonic screwdriver. The device whirred and flashed, emitting a sharp, discordant shriek.

“Temporal flux,” he muttered, frowning at the readout. “Massive instability.”

River leaned in to look — and immediately regretted it as another dizzy spell hit her square between the eyes.

She stumbled again, this time grabbing the Doctor’s sleeve for balance.

He turned sharply. “River.”

“I’m fine,” she said too quickly. “Temporal flux, you said?”

The Doctor studied her for a long beat before answering. His mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Temporal flux,” he repeated slowly. “Massive. And getting worse.”

He tucked the sonic away and looked around grimly. “The rift is leaking through. Time is bleeding. And whatever’s happening… it’s not contained to one building or street.”

River’s stomach churned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning this entire area could be compromised,” he said. “And if it spreads…”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t have to.

River pressed a hand flat against her abdomen, willing the roiling sickness to still.

Focus, she ordered herself. Stay sharp. He needs you.

They pressed on.

The first real clue appeared three streets over.

A café — or what remained of one. Tables and chairs were upended, coffee cups shattered on the pavement. The sign above the door — The Queen’s Cup — hung at a precarious angle, one hinge broken.

River stepped over the threshold carefully, the Doctor close behind her.

Inside, the air felt wrong — stretched too thin, humming with an almost imperceptible vibration.

River’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness.

People.

Or… what was left of them.

Scorch marks on the floor. Shadows burned into the walls — human-shaped outlines, frozen mid-movement.

River gagged involuntarily, clamping a hand over her mouth.

The Doctor swore under his breath and knelt to inspect one of the shadows, sonic scanner humming.

“No bodies,” he muttered. “No blood. Just… impressions. Like they were burned out of existence.”

River staggered back a step, breathing hard through her nose. Her vision swam at the edges, black spots gathering.

The Doctor looked up sharply.

“River —”

Too late.

She bent double and vomited onto the tile, hands braced on her knees, body wracked with convulsions.

The Doctor was at her side instantly, one hand on her back, the other cradling her head protectively.

“Hey, hey, easy. I’ve got you.”

River wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, mortified. “I’m sorry — I —”

“No apologies,” he said firmly. “You’re not well.”

River tried to straighten, the room tilting crazily around her.

“I’m fine,” she insisted hoarsely.

The Doctor didn’t look convinced.

He guided her to a nearby chair — miraculously still upright — and made her sit.

River leaned back, squeezing her eyes shut, willing the world to settle.

“You’re pale,” the Doctor said, crouching in front of her. His hand brushed against her forehead — gentle, clinical. Protective.

River cracked one eye open and managed a crooked smile. “Never been called that before.”

The Doctor didn’t smile back.

“I should take you back to the TARDIS,” he said. “Let the rift burn itself out.”

“No,” River said immediately. “We need to know how bad it is. If people are still alive — if we can help them — we have to.”

The Doctor hesitated, conflict warring across his face.

“You always were the stubborn one,” he said at last, voice thick with fondness and fear.

River squeezed his hand briefly, grounding him.

“We’ll be careful,” she promised.

He didn’t like it.

But he nodded.

They rose together, moving deeper into the ruined café.

More scorch marks. More missing people. Reality felt thin here — like they could fall through the cracks if they weren't careful.

The Doctor ran the sonic scanner again, frowning.

“Localized fluctuations,” he muttered. “The rift isn’t stable. It’s moving.”

River wiped a clammy hand on her trousers, trying to stay upright, trying not to show how badly she was shaking.

“What’s causing it?” she asked.

The Doctor shook his head. “Not what. When.”

River blinked at him.

The Doctor turned to her, eyes alight with a terrible, beautiful fear.

“Time’s bleeding, River. People aren’t being taken. They’re being displaced.”

River’s stomach turned cold.

“Displaced where?” she asked, dread curdling in her chest.

The Doctor didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

Outside, the fog thickened, swallowing the street.

The TARDIS loomed in the distance — their only safe haven.

River leaned heavily against the Doctor as they made their way back, each step harder than the last.

Behind them, in the café, one of the burned shadows twitched — a ripple of movement — before fading entirely from view.

The rift was growing hungrier.

And it had only just begun.

The TARDIS hummed low as they returned, its familiar pulse a brief comfort amid the mounting tension in the air.

The Doctor was frantic — pacing back and forth, scanning the monitor, his brow furrowed in that way River knew all too well. The kind of pacing that signalled a puzzle unsolved, a problem gnawing at him, too big and too messy to ignore.

River, however, barely had the energy to stand. She collapsed onto the nearest chair in the console room, her head spinning as the dizziness hit again, sharper than before. She couldn’t tell whether it was the rift warping her mind or the sickness creeping into her bones.

She let her head fall back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the room swayed.

The Doctor didn’t notice. Not at first.

“Not good,” he muttered to himself, tapping at the screen in frustration. “Not good at all.”

River bit her lip, forcing herself to sit up. “What’s not good?”

The Doctor stopped pacing and looked at her, a flash of worry crossing his face. He hadn’t noticed how pale she’d become. Or how she was gripping the arm of her chair like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.

“You should rest,” he said gently. His voice softened, and River hated how much it reminded her of the way he spoke to a child. “Please.”

“I’m fine,” River replied quickly, brushing off the concern. “We need to go back. There’s something more here.”

“River—”

“I’m fine,” she repeated firmly. “Just a bit of dizziness, that’s all.”

She tried to stand but had to catch herself against the console as the room tilted violently.

The Doctor was there in an instant, holding her steady. “No, you’re not,” he said, voice hard but laced with something else. Something closer to panic. “I’ll… I’ll set the TARDIS to auto-pilot. You need to sit this one out.”

River bristled at his words. Sit out? She’d never been one to sit out anything. Not when lives were at stake.

“We’re going back out there,” she insisted, pushing herself upright, though her legs wobbled under her weight. “We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

The Doctor watched her, his face unreadable. “I don’t like this. You’re not just tired, River. You’re ill. We’re dealing with something bigger than—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, cutting him off, though her voice wavered. “We’re both grieving. I’m processing. It’s the rift, it’s messing with both of us, but we can’t stop. Not now.”

The Doctor’s mouth pressed into a tight line, but after a long pause, he sighed.

“You always were a stubborn one.”

River’s lips curved into a tired smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You love me for it.”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he turned and pulled a lever, guiding the TARDIS back toward London’s chaos.

They arrived at another anomaly less than a mile from their previous location. The area was quieter now, the fog a thick blanket smothering the streets, making the world feel smaller and more suffocating.

The Doctor stepped out first, scanning the surroundings. River followed, though slower than she’d like, her body protesting every step. Her dizziness had subsided somewhat, but the nausea still clung to her insides, relentless and raw.

The street ahead was lined with boarded-up shops, but a faint light flickered from an alley on the far side. As they moved closer, the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver hummed in a low, urgent tone.

“There,” he murmured, pointing to a faded storefront — Vanishing Point Antiquities. “Looks like it’s coming from there.”

As they stepped into the darkened shop, the light inside revealed a peculiar sight.

The floor was scattered with old books and trinkets, piled high in chaotic stacks, their edges glowing faintly. But what caught River’s attention was the center of the room, where a shimmering rift hovered in the air. It pulsed in time with her own heartbeat, a thin seam in the fabric of time itself.

She felt a strange pull toward it, an invisible tug in her chest.

“Don’t,” the Doctor warned, his voice low and serious as he stepped forward, blocking her path. “It’s dangerous. We don’t know how deep this rift goes.”

But River was already stepping closer, her mind muddled with a dizzying mix of curiosity and discomfort. The rift flickered again, and she swayed.

Suddenly, the world tilted. River’s knees buckled beneath her.

She didn’t even have time to call out before the ground rushed up to meet her, and everything went black.

The Doctor was beside her immediately, cradling her head in his lap, his fingers shaking as he checked her pulse. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, and his eyes — wide and panicked — reflected a fear River hadn’t seen in years.

“River,” he breathed, his voice trembling. “River, come on, stay with me.”

River’s eyelids fluttered open, the world around her a blur of light and shadow. The pain in her head was unbearable, like her skull was splitting in two.

“Doctor?” she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible.

“Right here,” he replied, his hand brushing the hair from her face, his expression taut with worry. “What happened?”

River swallowed hard, still dazed. “Rift… it’s worse than we thought.”

She tried to sit up, but her body refused to cooperate. The Doctor’s hands gently kept her from moving too much.

“Easy,” he said softly. “We’ll figure this out. You’re going to be alright.”

But River could see the truth in his eyes — the truth she didn’t want to face. He didn’t believe it.

“I’m… I’m fine,” she said again, though the words tasted hollow. “I just need a minute.”

The Doctor didn’t look convinced, but he helped her to her feet.

“You can barely stand,” he muttered under his breath. “Don’t lie to me, River.”

But she had no answer. No excuse. She just couldn’t fight it anymore. She felt like she was slipping away, piece by piece, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

With a heavy sigh, the Doctor wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her.

“We need to get back to the TARDIS,” he said firmly, his voice laced with something close to desperation. “You’re not going to push yourself any further. I won’t let you.”

The journey back to the TARDIS was slow and tense. River’s vision blurred more with every step, the disorientation threatening to drag her under.

The Doctor kept his arm around her, guiding her through the fog as if she were made of glass. He didn’t say a word — the silence between them heavy with unsaid things.

When they finally reached the TARDIS, River stumbled inside, collapsing into the console room’s chair once again. The Doctor stepped back, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn.

“I need to figure this out,” he said, more to himself than to her.

River’s voice was barely a whisper. “I know you do. But you’re not alone, sweetie. You never have been.”

For a long time, the Doctor didn’t answer. But River could feel him there, standing beside her, even when the world seemed to be collapsing.

Chapter Text

When River woke, the TARDIS felt different.

The sorrow was still there, humming low in the walls like an old wound, but something had shifted. A cautious kind of hope, thin and fragile as glass.

She stretched slowly, feeling the stiffness in her muscles, the throb behind her eyes dulled to a manageable ache. The nausea hadn’t vanished — it curled low in her belly, mean and persistent — but she was used to hiding pain. Had spent a lifetime hiding far worse.

The Doctor sat slumped in the chair across from her, his long limbs tangled awkwardly, a half-eaten jammy dodger clutched in one hand. He’d clearly tried to stay awake, watching over her, but exhaustion had finally won.

River’s heart squeezed painfully at the sight.

Carefully, she pushed herself upright, waiting for the room to settle around her. She forced her breathing steady, tucking the worst of her discomfort away where he wouldn’t see it.

She needed to be strong. For him. For both of them.

Silently, she moved to the console, tapping a few buttons, checking the TARDIS's readings. The rift’s signature was still there — wild, unstable — but less immediate. Like it was waiting.

River frowned.

The Doctor stirred, blinking blearily at her.

“Hey, easy,” he said thickly, scrambling to his feet. “You shouldn’t—"

River cut him off with a soft smile. “I’m fine.”

He hovered, skeptical, scanning her face for cracks she wasn’t willing to show.

“I slept,” she added gently. “I feel better.”

She didn’t — not really — but it was close enough to the truth to pass. And right now, they needed to move forward. Sitting still would only invite more darkness.

The Doctor studied her for a long moment, his gaze heavy and searching. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Alright. But if you so much as wobble, you're back in bed.”

“Understood, Commander,” River teased, flashing him a mock salute.

The Doctor gave a ghost of a smile — small, but real.

River tucked the ache in her stomach away like a hidden weapon and focused on the task at hand.

The TARDIS landed them near what used to be an old underground station, abandoned sometime in the 1940s. Now, it stood in ruins — a forgotten place, swallowed by the city’s endless hunger for space and silence.

Fog clung to the crumbling entrance, seeping down into the tunnels like smoke.

The Doctor scanned the air with his screwdriver. “There’s a stronger reading here,” he said, frowning. “Something under the surface. The rift's bleeding through.”

River shifted her weight carefully, ignoring the slow churn of her stomach. “Well then, sweetie,” she said lightly, “let’s go have a look.”

The station was eerily silent.

They moved through the tunnels cautiously, the only sound their own footsteps echoing against the tiled walls. River’s torch beam flickered across faded posters — wartime slogans peeling from the damp surfaces.

As they reached the old platform, the rift signature spiked sharply.

The Doctor froze, staring at something near the edge of the tracks.

River followed his gaze — and felt her breath catch.

A shoe.

Just a single shoe, abandoned and scuffed, lying near the platform’s lip. But it shimmered strangely under the light, as if it didn’t quite belong.

The Doctor knelt beside it, frowning deeply.

River crouched too, slower, careful not to let the movement tip her over.

“Look,” the Doctor murmured, pointing.

A faint scorch mark circled the shoe — a perfect ring burned into the concrete. And inside the ring, tiny particles floated, barely visible — like dust motes suspended in frozen time.

River extended her scanner, trying to capture the anomaly, but the readings were erratic — like the particles were phasing in and out of existence.

“This isn’t just a rift opening,” River said slowly. “It’s pulling things. People. Right out of reality.”

The Doctor’s face darkened. “And leaving almost nothing behind.”

He stood abruptly, pacing.

“If the rift’s destabilizing this badly, it’s not random. It’s hunting something. Someone.”

River’s stomach twisted — and this time it wasn’t just nausea.

She thought of Amy and Rory again. Lost to time because of the cruelty of chance. Torn away.

It felt the same here — but colder. Harsher.

“This feels like them,” River said softly. “Like when we lost them.”

The Doctor’s expression crumpled, and for a moment, River hated herself for saying it aloud.

But she pressed on.

“There’s a pattern, Doctor. There has to be.”

She straightened, ignoring the slight tremble in her legs, and scanned the area more broadly. The scanner beeped softly — a trace signal, weak but clear, leading away from the station, threading underground like a buried wire.

“Here,” she said, waving him over. “It’s pulling toward something.”

The Doctor hurried to her side, frowning at the readout.

“Another focal point,” he said, his voice sharpening. “Maybe a crack in the rift. Maybe worse.”

River swallowed down another wave of nausea.

“Well then, let's follow it,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.

The Doctor hesitated.

“River—”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

For a long moment, they stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills.

Finally, the Doctor nodded.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “But stay close. Please.”

River smiled, reaching for his hand. Their fingers laced together — two battered souls clinging to each other against the dark.

And together, they stepped deeper into the underground, chasing the echo of something lost.

Something waiting.

The tunnels grew narrower the farther they went, old maintenance corridors snaking into the deep belly of the city.

The air thickened — heavy with the metallic tang of something burning. Somewhere far off, water dripped in a slow, irregular rhythm, like a heartbeat gone wrong.

River kept her steps steady, her torch held high. Every few minutes, her vision tilted ever so slightly — the world tilting on an invisible axis — but she bit the inside of her cheek and pressed on.

You’re fine, she told herself sternly. You’re stronger than this.

The Doctor kept glancing back at her, concern flickering over his features like a warning light.

River smiled every time, small and bright and practiced.

Don’t you dare fall apart now, she thought fiercely. He needs you whole.

They followed the scanner’s faint signal, twisting through the underground labyrinth.

Eventually, the tunnel opened into a larger maintenance chamber — abandoned, dust-coated, a relic from another era.

The rift signature pulsed here, stronger than ever.

River stumbled slightly as they crossed the threshold — the air seemed thicker inside, as if time itself had congealed.

The Doctor steadied her automatically, his hand warm and steady at her elbow.

“Just a bit of a wobble,” River said lightly, flashing a grin. “It’s nothing.”

The Doctor didn’t look convinced, but he let her go.

River turned slowly in place, sweeping her light across the room.

Something glinted in the far corner.

The Doctor was there in two strides, crouching low.

River joined him, heart hammering uncomfortably against her ribs.

Half-buried in the dust and rubble was a device — or what remained of one.

It looked almost like a wristwatch, but impossibly advanced — jagged wires spilling from its cracked face, its surface scorched and flickering with dying energy.

Around it, the floor was warped — melted and reformed into strange, twisting patterns, as if reality itself had been tugged and torn.

The Doctor didn’t touch it. He scanned it carefully, his frown deepening.

River leaned closer, squinting.

There — just visible in the broken glass — a faint imprint. Like the echo of a hand that had once worn it, trapped in the device’s final collapse.

She shivered.

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

The Doctor’s mouth was a grim line.

“Temporal stabilizer,” he said. “Old tech. Very old. Designed to let someone survive near a rift without being pulled apart.”

He straightened slowly, his face shadowed and grim.

“This one failed.”

River felt a chill crawl up her spine.

“Failed badly, by the looks of it,” she said.

The Doctor nodded.

“Someone tried to fight the pull,” he said, voice low. “And lost.”

River knelt beside the ruined device, scanning the warped floor.

The readings made her stomach twist — not just temporal radiation, but something worse. A dissonance in the timeline, a fracture echoing outward in invisible ripples.

“They're not just being pulled,” River said slowly. “They're being scattered.”

The Doctor knelt beside her, studying the floor.

“It’s getting stronger,” he murmured. “The rift’s widening.”

River pressed a hand to the ground instinctively — and recoiled with a gasp.

For a split second, she felt it.

Not just the cold of the stone — but a pull, a deep, sickening tug deep inside her, like invisible hands clawing at her very molecules.

She staggered back, clutching her middle, her vision blurring.

The Doctor was instantly at her side, steadying her.

“River!” he said sharply. “What happened?”

River squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dizziness away.

“Just... feedback,” she lied, panting slightly. “It’s stronger here than I expected.”

The Doctor studied her, frowning deeply.

But before he could press, a low rumble vibrated through the chamber — a deep, resonant thrum that seemed to come from the walls themselves.

Both of them turned sharply.

A new reading flickered across the scanner — faint but distinct.

Another rift tear.

Nearby.

Fresh.

The Doctor’s face hardened with determination.

“This isn’t finished,” he said grimly.

River tucked her scanner away and drew her blaster instead, the movement automatic.

“Lead the way, sweetie,” she said, forcing a smile.

But deep inside, a cold knot was forming.

Something was wrong.

Not just with the rift.

With her.

Chapter Text

The rift pulse grew stronger with every step.

The Doctor led the way, sonic screwdriver raised, its green light slicing through the thick gloom. River followed close behind, one hand clutching her blaster, the other clenched into a tight, white-knuckled fist against her side.

Each breath scraped her throat raw.

Each step sent a jolt of nausea rolling through her gut.

But she forced herself onward.

There wasn’t time — there was never time — for weakness.

The tunnel walls narrowed again, pressing close like a throat about to swallow them. Concrete gave way to rougher stone, the signs of human engineering fading into something older, deeper.

The ground itself seemed wrong here — the geometry subtly off, angles bending in ways the eye couldn’t fully process.

River blinked hard, willing her balance to hold.

Focus, she told herself. Just a little further.

The Doctor stopped suddenly.

River nearly crashed into him, catching herself at the last second.

He held up a hand for silence, head cocked slightly.

River strained her ears.

There — a faint sound.

Not the dripping water.

Not the hum of unstable time energy.

Something else.

A voice.

A child’s voice, echoing thin and broken through the tunnels.

“Mummy…?”

The word seemed to stretch and tear on the air, as if being dragged through a million fractured seconds.

River’s blood ran cold.

The Doctor’s jaw tightened.

Without a word, they pressed on, following the echo.

It led them into a cavernous space — wider than anything they had seen so far — a place carved out long ago and abandoned to rot.

Broken scaffolding lined the walls, and tangled cables snaked across the ground like veins.

And scattered through the gloom —

Shadows.

Figures.

People.

Flickering in and out of existence like dying candle flames.

River’s breath caught.

They were translucent, their bodies shimmering with static — ghostly outlines caught mid-motion.

A man in a tweed coat reaching desperately for something unseen.

A woman cradling an invisible bundle against her chest.

A child — the same child who had cried out — staring blindly into the darkness, tiny hands outstretched.

They moved in loops, their motions jerky and broken, like marionettes with tangled strings.

Trapped.

Lost.

River staggered back a step before she could stop herself.

The Doctor caught her arm, steadying her.

His face was stricken.

“They’re not dead,” he said hoarsely. “They’re… displaced. Echoes. Caught between moments.”

River swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat.

“How do we fix it?” she asked.

The Doctor’s hand tightened on the sonic.

“I don’t know if we can.”

As if in response, the rift pulse surged.

The figures flickered violently — their outlines tearing apart and snapping back together like film run through a broken projector.

One of them — the child — turned toward them suddenly.

For a heartbeat, his eyes locked with River’s.

Not empty. Not blind.

Pleading.

“Mummy,” he whispered again.

River dropped her blaster.

It clattered loudly to the floor, the sound jarring in the heavy silence.

The Doctor moved toward the boy instinctively, but River grabbed his sleeve, holding him back.

“You can’t,” she said urgently. “You’ll get pulled in.”

The Doctor hesitated, agony flickering across his features.

River bent, retrieving her weapon with trembling fingers.

Behind them, the air shimmered — the rift pulse stuttering like a dying heartbeat.

The echoes writhed.

River felt the pull again, deep inside her.

Like something was reaching through her skin, trying to tear her free from reality.

She gritted her teeth, staggering a few steps to the side.

The Doctor caught her again, his hands firm and gentle at once.

“River,” he said sharply. “You’re not fine.”

River opened her mouth to argue — to lie again — but the words wouldn’t come.

Not with the way the walls were tilting.

Not with the way her body felt like it was unraveling at the seams.

Instead, she sagged against him, her forehead pressing to his shoulder.

The Doctor’s arms came up around her instinctively, shielding her from the invisible currents tearing through the room.

“We have to get out of here,” he said fiercely. “Now.”

River nodded weakly, her vision swimming.

He pulled her back toward the tunnel, shielding her with his body, moving fast but careful.

Behind them, the echoes shrieked — a sound like broken glass and static and lost time — and River squeezed her eyes shut against it.

They didn’t look back.

They stumbled into a side corridor — narrower, quieter — and the pull lessened slightly.

River slumped against the wall, gasping for breath.

The Doctor hovered over her, his hands fluttering uselessly at her sides, desperate to help and not knowing how.

“What’s happening to you?” he whispered.

River shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she rasped.

The Doctor’s face was stark with worry.

“Is it something you touched?” he demanded. “Something from the rift?”

“I don’t know,” River said. “I felt it before. Before we even got here.”

The Doctor froze.

His eyes searched hers — desperate, terrified.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

River hesitated.

“A while,” she admitted. “Since New York.”

Since them.

Since Amy and Rory were torn from them.

The Doctor sat back on his heels, looking shattered.

“This is my fault,” he said hoarsely. “I should have seen—”

“No,” River interrupted fiercely. She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “No. You are grieving. We both are.”

The Doctor’s hands were trembling.

River’s heart ached at the sight.

Her brave, brilliant idiot.

Always blaming himself.

Always carrying the universe on his narrow shoulders.

She pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes.

“We’re going to fix this,” she said, willing him to believe it. “We always fix things.”

The Doctor let out a shaky breath.

He nodded.

“Right,” he said. “Fixing things. Priority one.”

He straightened up, visibly forcing himself back into motion.

River pushed off the wall with a groan, ignoring the way the world tilted dangerously.

One foot in front of the other, she told herself.

They moved deeper into the tunnels again, following the faint, ragged traces of the rift energy.

But the atmosphere had changed.

The walls felt closer now.

The air heavier.

The Doctor kept stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

River caught him once — and winked, forcing a smirk onto her lips.

He didn’t smile back.

He was too afraid.

They found the next clue almost by accident.

A broken hatch in the floor — half-buried under debris — pulsed faintly with unstable energy.

The Doctor crouched, scanning it.

“Temporal containment field,” he muttered. “Badly damaged.”

River leaned over his shoulder, studying it.

There — tangled in the wreckage — was a piece of fabric.

She tugged it free carefully.

A scarf.

Blue and white stripes, faded and scorched.

River frowned.

“Someone went through here,” she said.

The Doctor’s mouth tightened.

“Someone who didn’t make it.”

River turned the scarf over in her hands.

For just a second, she saw it — the owner.

A woman — dark hair, fierce eyes — reaching desperately through the hatch, shouting something they couldn’t hear.

Then gone.

An afterimage.

A ghost.

River shivered violently.

The Doctor steadied her again without a word.

“This is connected,” he said, low and certain. “The echoes. The rift. All of it.”

River nodded.

Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs.

She took a deep breath in.

The Doctor noticed immediately.

“What is it?” he asked sharply.

River forced a smile.

“Nothing,” she lied.

The Doctor didn’t look convinced.

But he let it go — for now.

They were too close to the edge.

Too close to losing everything again.

River tucked the scarf into her belt and followed him onward, deeper into the broken belly of the city.

Each step felt heavier.

Each breath harder.

But she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

Not yet.

Somewhere far behind them, the echoes stirred again.

Calling.

Reaching.

Waiting.

And the rift pulse grew stronger.

Hungrier.

The universe itself seemed to hold its breath.

Waiting for something to break.

Chapter Text

The tunnels seemed to breathe around them, the walls pulsing faintly with residual energy.

River leaned lightly against the Doctor’s shoulder, pretending it was casual — pretending she wasn’t grateful for the support.

The Doctor was scanning the broken hatch with his sonic screwdriver, frowning.

"This whole section’s unstable," he muttered. "Rift activity’s rising fast. If we stay much longer, we’ll get trapped just like them."

He gestured back toward the cavern, where the ghostly echoes had begun to flicker again in the distance, faint as dying stars.

River nodded, trying not to shudder.

"And this—" The Doctor held up the scarf River had found, "—needs proper analysis."

He hesitated, glancing sideways at her.

"And so do you."

River gave him a dazzling smile, too bright, too quick.

"I'm fine, sweetie. Let's just get back to the TARDIS."

The Doctor didn't argue.

That, more than anything, told her how worried he truly was.

The journey back through the tunnels was quicker — the paths they had carved out earlier still fresh in their minds.

The rift pulse receded with every step, like a terrible heartbeat fading into the distance.

By the time they reached the surface, the cold night air hit River like a slap.

She staggered slightly, blinking up at the fog-shrouded city skyline.

The Doctor hovered close, ready to catch her, but she waved him off.

"Just the change in pressure," she lied breezily. "I'm fine."

The Doctor's mouth compressed into a thin, unhappy line.

But he said nothing.

He simply turned and led the way back toward the TARDIS, the comforting shape of it materializing in the mist like a lighthouse.

Inside, the TARDIS felt alive — warm and golden, humming softly around them.

River sagged against the console for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of oil and ozone.

The Doctor was already bustling around, hooking the scarf and debris into a scanning array.

The central column pulsed with a low, rhythmic glow as the analysis began.

River watched him work — the quick, deft movements of his hands, the fierce concentration on his face.

God, she loved him.

Even when he was being an insufferable, overprotective idiot.

Especially then.

She pushed off the console and wandered around the room, pretending to study the monitors.

Pretending she wasn't swaying slightly with every step.

The TARDIS noticed.

The lights dimmed slightly, a low croon of concern echoing through the floor panels.

River patted a nearby strut reassuringly.

"I'm fine, old girl," she whispered.

The TARDIS wasn't fooled.

Neither, she suspected, was the Doctor.

But he was giving her space.

For now.

The scans finished with a cheerful ding.

The Doctor pounced on the readouts.

"Temporal signature," he said, tapping the screen. "Very specific. Not random rift leakage."

River moved to his side, studying the data.

There — a distinct pattern in the energy spikes.

A rhythm.

A pulse.

"Someone's controlling it," River said slowly.

The Doctor nodded grimly.

"Or trying to."

He flicked a few switches, the central screen whirling to life.

The map of the city shrank — the rift energy tracking backward through space and time like a rewinding film.

The Doctor followed the thread, his fingers dancing across the controls.

And then—

"There," he said sharply.

The map zoomed in on a small point — a cluster of buildings surrounded by green fields.

The date: 1994.

River raised an eyebrow.

"Charming," she said dryly. "Hope you packed your scrunchies and cassette tapes."

The Doctor grinned, his first real smile in hours.

"Come on, Professor. Let's go solve a mystery."

The TARDIS landed with its usual wheeze and groan, the doors creaking open onto a crisp autumn afternoon.

The village looked like something out of a postcard — stone cottages with ivy crawling up the walls, smoke curling from chimneys, a little green with a crooked sign advertising a harvest fair.

Children's laughter echoed faintly from somewhere distant.

It would have been idyllic.

If not for the silence underneath.

River felt it immediately.

A tension in the air.

A held breath.

The Doctor noticed too.

He glanced at her, his expression sharpening.

They moved cautiously down the lane, eyes scanning the windows and doors.

Most were shuttered tight.

A few faces peered out — quick, frightened glances that vanished as soon as they were noticed.

River's stomach twisted.

This village was afraid.

They rounded a corner and nearly ran into a man — late forties, balding, wearing a battered wool coat and carrying a basket of vegetables.

He jumped back, clutching the basket to his chest.

"Who are you?" he demanded, voice trembling.

The Doctor held up his psychic paper smoothly.

"Government inspectors," he said cheerfully. "Rift Control Division."

The man frowned at the paper, then nodded slowly.

"About time," he muttered. "It's been getting worse."

River stepped forward, her voice low and kind.

"Worse how?"

The man darted a glance over his shoulder, as if afraid someone might overhear.

"People," he whispered. "Going missing. First it was just the odd one — a traveller, a stranger. But now—"

He swallowed hard.

"Now it's us."

The Doctor's expression darkened.

"How many?"

The man shook his head helplessly.

"Six in the last week. Just... vanished. No trace. No sound. One minute they were here, and the next—"

He snapped his fingers.

Gone.

River felt a chill race down her spine.

"Anything unusual before it happens?" she asked. "Lights, sounds, smells?"

The man hesitated.

"Sometimes... a hum," he said finally. "Low and deep. Makes your teeth ache."

The Doctor and River exchanged a look.

Definitely rift activity.

The Doctor thanked the man and sent him on his way, promising to "handle it."

Once he was out of earshot, River turned to the Doctor.

"We're catching it happening in real time," she said grimly.

The Doctor nodded.

"And if we don't stop it soon, this whole village could be swallowed."

River took a deep breath, steadying herself.

The Doctor noticed — of course he noticed — but he said nothing.

Instead, he offered her his arm with a small, crooked smile.

"Come on, Professor."

River slipped her hand through his arm.

And together, they walked into the haunted village.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets.

The air grew colder, sharper.

From somewhere deep in the village, a low hum began to build — just at the edge of hearing.

The Doctor tensed.

River’s hand tightened on his arm.

They didn't speak.

They just ran toward the sound.

They reached the village green just as it happened.

A woman — young, red-haired, clutching a shopping bag — was hurrying across the green, her boots striking the cobbles sharply.

For a moment, everything seemed normal.

And then —

The air ahead of her shivered.

Like a stone dropped into a still pond, reality rippled.

The woman stumbled, frowning at the sudden vibration underfoot.

She turned — and River caught a glimpse of pure terror on her face.

Before either of them could react, the space around her ripped open.

A jagged, pulsing tear in the fabric of reality, raw and violent.

The woman gave a strangled scream — reaching out toward them — and then she was yanked off her feet, swallowed whole by the rift.

Gone.

Just like that.

The rift slammed shut behind her with a thunderous crack, leaving only silence — and a scattering of groceries across the cobbles.

River stood frozen, breath hitching painfully.

The Doctor was already scanning, his face grim and pale in the growing dark.

"No trace," he muttered. "No residuals. It's like she never existed."

River knelt down, picking up a battered orange — the last sign the woman had even been there.

Her fingers trembled.

"Doctor," she said quietly, "how fast can a rift normally open and close?"

The Doctor glanced up, sonic whining in his hand.

"Not that fast. Not naturally."

He turned the scanner toward the sky, tracking the energy trails.

His frown deepened.

"This isn’t a random leak," he said grimly. "Someone’s controlling the rift. Triggering it on purpose."

River rose slowly to her feet, the orange still clutched in her hand.

Her stomach twisted — and not from nausea this time.

"Why?" she whispered.

The Doctor looked out over the village, the shadows lengthening like claws.

"I don't know yet," he said.

"But we're going to find out."

The village bells tolled six o’clock.

The sky turned blood-red with sunset.

And somewhere deep beneath the village — unseen, untouched — the rift pulsed again.

Hungry.

Waiting.

Chapter Text

The village was drowning in a kind of creeping fear.

As River and the Doctor moved through the narrow lanes, they caught curtains twitching and heard doors quietly bolting. No one greeted them. No one stepped out to offer help.

It was as if the very air had thickened with silence.

River tucked her coat tighter around herself, shivering. Her stomach rolled unpleasantly again, but she bit down on the feeling, schooling her face into a mask of focus.

The Doctor hadn’t noticed — or if he had, he was pretending not to.

River wasn't sure if she was grateful or furious about that.

"Small villages," the Doctor muttered, fiddling with his sonic screwdriver as they walked. "Gossip travels faster than the speed of sound. If we’re lucky, someone knows something."

"If we’re lucky," River echoed, not sounding convinced.

They headed toward the pub — always the heart of a village — but before they reached it, a voice called out.

"‘Scuse me."

They turned.

A small girl stood by a crumbling stone wall, clutching a battered teddy bear.

She looked no older than eight — with tangled blonde hair, muddy boots, and eyes too wide for her young face.

River immediately crouched down, smiling gently.

"Hello, sweetie," she said, voice warm. "What’s your name?"

"Maisie," the girl whispered, shifting from foot to foot.

The Doctor knelt too, giving a little bow of his head.

"I’m the Doctor," he said kindly. "And this is River. We’re here to help."

Maisie bit her lip.

River noticed the girl’s fingernails — chewed to the quick. Fear lived in her tiny body, coiled tight.

"You shouldn’t be out," River said softly. "It’s not safe."

Maisie glanced around, then leaned in closer.

"I saw him," she breathed.

The Doctor and River exchanged a glance.

"Saw who, love?" River asked carefully.

Maisie’s hands twisted in the teddy bear’s fur.

"A man. A funny man. He walked down the street on Wednesday. Right before Mrs. Hollis went missing."

River’s stomach gave an unpleasant jolt.

Maisie’s voice dropped even lower.

"He had a black suit. Shiny shoes. A top hat like from the old films. And a walking stick. With a silver bird on it."

The Doctor’s brow furrowed.

"A silver bird?" he repeated.

Maisie nodded fiercely.

"He smiled at me," she said. "But it wasn’t a nice smile."

River felt her blood run cold.

"Did you tell your mum?" she asked.

Maisie nodded, eyes big.

"But she said I was imagining it. Said it was just a stranger passing through."

River touched her shoulder gently.

"You’re very brave to tell us," she said. "Thank you, Maisie."

The Doctor pulled a sweet from one of his pockets — a wrapped caramel — and placed it into Maisie's hand.

"Go straight home," he said. "Stay inside, yeah?"

Maisie nodded, clutching the sweet like a lifeline.

She darted away, vanishing into one of the narrow side streets.

River stood slowly, pressing a hand briefly to her forehead.

The nausea and dizziness were pulsing again — faint, but insistent.

"Top hat and cane," she said grimly. "Not exactly subtle."

"No," the Doctor agreed. He turned, scanning the village green with quick, restless movements. "But no one else mentioned him."

"Either they didn’t see," River said thoughtfully, "or they’re too scared to talk about it."

The Doctor pocketed his sonic with a frown.

"Let's find more clues," he said. "Before this village gets any quieter."

They spent the next two hours scouring the village.

Door after door.

Empty houses.

Bolt-locked cottages.

People who peered through cracks but refused to open up.

River’s steps slowed slightly as the evening wore on. Her head pounded behind her eyes, and she was starting to feel lightheaded.

The Doctor didn’t miss it.

Every few minutes, he glanced over at her, his mouth a thin line.

But River smiled tightly and kept moving.

"I'm fine," she said once, when he hovered.

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

Near the edge of the village, in an overgrown churchyard, they found it.

A scorch mark — faint, almost missed — burned into the frost-kissed grass.

River knelt down to examine it, her heart thudding unevenly.

It wasn’t from fire.

The grass was melted, warped strangely as if time itself had blistered the earth.

The Doctor crouched beside her, running the sonic over the mark.

"Localized temporal distortion," he muttered. "Residual readings consistent with a forced aperture."

River's skin prickled.

"The rift?"

The Doctor nodded grimly.

"And recently," he added. "Hours ago, not days."

He stood, turning slowly, scanning the surroundings.

The church’s broken windows loomed overhead, and the crooked gravestones cast long, finger-like shadows.

"Someone opened it," he said. "Deliberately. Right here."

River rose too fast — the world tilting for a terrifying second — but she caught herself against the trunk of a tree.

The Doctor caught the motion from the corner of his eye.

He crossed to her instantly.

"River—"

"I'm fine," she insisted.

She smiled up at him, brilliant and reckless, and he stared at her for a long moment before sighing heavily.

"Fine," he muttered. "But we’re going back to the TARDIS."

River didn’t argue.

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she could stay on her feet much longer.

The Doctor practically carried River inside.

The ship’s warm glow wrapped around them, and River sagged against the railing with a relieved sigh.

The Doctor set the TARDIS into lockdown — triple security shields — then turned his attention to the console.

River curled into the jump seat, knees tucked up against her chest.

Her hands trembled slightly, but she clasped them together tightly, willing herself to be strong.

The Doctor was already working furiously, pulling up holographic screens, fingers flying across controls.

One screen showed an overlay of Earth — hundreds of tiny red points blinking sporadically.

"Incidents," he said grimly. "Minor rift breaches over timer. Patterned strangely. Not random."

He zoomed in on one — a small town in Wales.

Another — a sleepy street in rural France.

Another — a crumbling seaside village in Scotland.

Each location had something else in common.

People missing.

And in the archived news articles, grainy photographs, and local reports...

The same figure.

Always on the edges.

A man in black.

A top hat gleaming in the light.

A silver-tipped cane.

River stared at the screen, her throat dry.

"He’s been watching," she whispered.

The Doctor nodded.

"Or directing."

He leaned heavily against the console, one hand dragging through his already wild hair.

"This isn’t random rift leakage," he said quietly. "It’s a harvesting ground."

River swallowed hard.

The nausea twisted again in her stomach — sharper this time.

But it wasn’t just sickness anymore.

It was dread.

Something huge was happening, stretching the very fabric of time and space to its breaking point.

And somehow — somehow — she knew she was tangled in it deeper than either of them yet understood.

The Doctor looked at her, worry creasing his brow.

"We’ll find him," he promised. "We’ll stop him."

River smiled thinly.

"Of course we will," she said.

She pressed her hand to her abdomen, as if trying to steady the churning inside.

We have to, she thought.

Because something more than her own life was at stake now — even if neither of them had realized it yet.

Far across the village, unseen through the mist, a tall figure in a black suit tapped his cane against the cobbles and smiled.

The silver bird gleamed wickedly atop the handle.

And the rift — quiet for now — stirred in its sleep.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS hummed anxiously under River’s hand, her coral-like walls vibrating with a warning rhythm.

“She’s worried,” River said softly, glancing up at the Doctor across the console.

“So am I,” the Doctor muttered, flipping a final switch.

The scanner beeped once and went dark.

They stood in silence, the weight of the recent events in the village pressing down on them.

“Alright,” the Doctor said finally, voice firm. “We stay. We monitor. We stop it before anyone else is lost.”

River smiled faintly, fighting the low churn in her stomach. “My hero.”

The Doctor gave her a sidelong look — somewhere between fondness and worry — but said nothing. He was trying not to hover. River could feel it, like gravity tugging at her.

She squared her shoulders and pushed away from the console.

"Come on, sweetie. Let's go save a village."

Outside, the air had a strange, heavy feel to it, like a thunderstorm about to break. The village — a quaint, postcard sort of place with stone cottages and ivy-draped walls — looked almost untouched. But the fear was palpable. Windows were shuttered. Doors locked.

The Doctor pointed the sonic screwdriver toward the village green, checking readings.

“Localized rift activity is fluctuating,” he muttered. “Not stable — unpredictable.”

“Lovely,” River said dryly.

They made their way toward the edge of the green, where the TARDIS had materialized. The Doctor was already pulling open a panel in the ship’s outer wall — a jury-rigged system he'd patched in to stabilize the immediate rift area.

“If I can just pulse a low-level temporal harmonizer...” he muttered, half to himself.

River leaned against the TARDIS, pretending not to notice how the edges of the world blurred for a second — just a flicker, like a heartbeat out of place.

She straightened, pressing a hand to her stomach unconsciously.

Steady, Melody. Steady.

The Doctor activated the pulse.

For a breath, everything held.

Then—

The ground shuddered.

A high, keening wail split the air — not sound exactly, but something deeper, a resonance that rattled teeth and bones.

The rift punched outward, and from its bleeding edges, something clawed through.

River spun just in time to see it — a shadow-thing, stretched thin and wrong, like a person made of cracked mirror pieces.

It lunged.

“River, down!” the Doctor shouted, grabbing her wrist and pulling her out of the way.

The creature’s distorted hand swiped past where River had stood, leaving a bitter, metallic sting in the air.

The Doctor brandished the sonic, modulating its frequency. The creature shrieked and folded in on itself, flickering out of existence.

For a moment, everything was still again.

River panted, heart hammering.

The Doctor was already scanning the rift’s scar with frantic intensity, glancing back at her.

“That wasn’t just a random echo,” he said grimly. “That was a rift bleed. A tear.”

River pushed herself upright. "And it’s only getting worse."

The Doctor looked at her sharply, as if realizing — again — how pale she looked, how much she was hiding.

But she straightened her shoulders, tilting her chin.

“We're not done yet," she said. "Come on."

They returned to the village proper, weaving through the narrow cobbled streets.

The Doctor’s scans led them to a small, ivy-covered house — one of the ones whose occupants had vanished.

Inside, it was cold and still. Dust hung in the air, and a half-eaten breakfast sat molding on the table.

River’s skin prickled.

She moved carefully, scanning the walls, the floors — anything that might tell them what happened.

It was in the sitting room that she found it.

A photograph.

Wedged into the corner of a cracked mirror, as if someone had hidden it in haste.

River pulled it free and stared.

The image was sepia-toned, faded with age. A group of about twenty people stood smiling stiffly at the camera — men, women, children.

And at the center of them all — tall, pale, smiling with a predator’s patience — was a man in a black suit and overcoat, a top hat perched jauntily on his head.
A silver-headed cane gleamed at his side.

River’s stomach turned — not from nausea this time, but from cold dread.

"Doctor," she said, voice tight.

He crossed to her instantly.

When he saw the photo, his face darkened.

“1892,” River said, pointing to the date scrawled on the back. "And the man the little girl saw yesterday."

The Doctor studied the photograph intensely. "Different groups. Different eras. Same man."

He glanced at River, his mind racing.

"He's been involved in disappearances for centuries. Wherever the rift shows activity — he’s there."

River tapped the photo thoughtfully. “The question is: is he causing it? Or is he… harvesting it?”

The Doctor didn’t answer.

The silence between them was heavy.

River tucked the photo into her coat. She didn’t miss the way the Doctor’s hand hovered near her back as they moved.

Not touching.
Just... ready.

They found shelter in another abandoned cottage — a cramped, musty place with a sagging roof and peeling floral wallpaper.

River flopped down into a threadbare armchair, her head pounding.

The Doctor paced the tiny sitting room like a caged thing, muttering under his breath.

"Harvesting, influencing, manipulating," he mused. "But why? And how?"

River closed her eyes for a second.

And the world lurched.

For one terrible heartbeat, she wasn’t in the musty sitting room anymore.
She was standing in the ruins of the village — blackened walls, empty streets.
Ash in the air.

Then—

She blinked — and it was gone.

Back to normal.
Almost.

River swayed.

The Doctor’s voice snapped into focus.

“River?” He was kneeling in front of her instantly, scanning her with the sonic. “What happened?”

River forced a smile. "Just... tired, sweetie. That's all."

The Doctor frowned, clearly not buying it, but he let it go.

For now.

River pressed her hands against the arms of the chair, grounding herself.

Time was getting... slippery.

They were about to leave when they heard it — shouting outside.

The Doctor tensed.

River rose, slower, every muscle aching.

They slipped out into the street.

At first, she thought it was another rift breach.

But no.

It was the villagers themselves.

A crowd had gathered, faces twisted in fear and suspicion. Torches — actual, honest-to-goodness torches — flickered in shaking hands.

"There they are!" someone shouted.
"The strangers! It's them!"

River and the Doctor exchanged a look.

"This is new," River muttered.

The Doctor raised his hands, palms out, trying to reason. "Listen! We’re here to help—"

“They brought the disappearances with them!” another voice shouted.

The rift’s influence was thick in the air, twisting fear into rage.

River felt the crowd’s emotions like a wave.

They were afraid — and the rift was feeding on it.

A stone clattered near their feet.

The Doctor edged closer to River protectively.

"We need to go," he said under his breath.

"No argument here," River said, pulling her blaster free discreetly.

They backed toward the TARDIS.

The villagers surged forward.

A second stone hit the Doctor’s arm.

River spun, firing a warning shot into the air. The crowd stumbled back, startled but not fully deterred.

The Doctor jammed the key into the TARDIS door and flung it open.

River shoved him inside first — not trusting the crowd — and then ducked in after.

The TARDIS slammed shut behind them.

The ship sealed with a metallic clang, locking the world out.

Inside, the Doctor leaned against the door, breathing hard.

River dropped into the jumpseat, head spinning.

"Well," she said, forcing a shaky grin. "That could’ve gone worse."

The Doctor laughed — a raw, breathless sound.

He crossed to her in two strides, cupping her face in his hands.

“Are you alright?” he demanded.

River blinked up at him, warmth sparking low in her chest.

"I'm fine," she whispered, leaning into his touch for a moment.

She wasn't.

But she would be.

She had to be.

For him.

Later, they pulled up the TARDIS’s archival systems again, combing through news records from the other locations where rift activity had flared.

River leaned heavily against the console, pretending her vision wasn’t swimming slightly.

The Doctor stood over her shoulder, tense.

There.

A newspaper clipping.

1892 — London: Disappearances in Whitechapel. A man in a black coat and top hat seen near the scene.

1937 — New York: A rash of sudden vanishings. Witnesses described "a tall gentleman with a cane."

1965 — Paris: Entire families gone overnight. A strange, well-dressed man reported nearby.

Again. And again. And again.

Same description.

Same face.

River sat back slowly.

“This man — whoever he is — he’s following the rift. Or causing it. Or...something worse.”

The Doctor nodded grimly.

“And he’s getting bolder.”

The TARDIS lights dimmed overhead, casting long shadows.

River felt a shiver creep up her spine.

For the first time, truly, she wondered if they were already too late.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS materialized once more, this time in the quiet, secluded backstreets of Paris. The early evening sky painted everything in dusky shades of gold and blue, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. The air had a fresh crispness to it, reminiscent of spring in full bloom.

The Doctor was already bouncing on his heels as he adjusted the settings on his wrist-mounted scanner, a piece of machinery he’d cobbled together from whatever he could find on the TARDIS. His face was alight with that familiar gleam of curiosity, the kind that River had come to know so well over their time together.

“April 17th, 1937,” he muttered to himself, barely glancing at River. “Right before the first reports of the disappearances began. This should be the sweet spot.”

River followed him out of the TARDIS, inhaling deeply as she took in the atmosphere around them. Paris, even in this secluded corner, had an air of romance to it. The distant sound of accordion music drifted through the streets, children’s laughter echoed in the square, and everything seemed so... normal.

But that normality was only a veneer. There was something darker lurking beneath the surface.

River tightened her scarf around her neck as they walked together. “How much time do we have, sweetie?”

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he was completely absorbed in his device, flicking switches and adjusting dials. “According to the historical reports, we should be in the clear for now. The rift’s energy readings haven’t spiked yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”

“Famous last words,” River murmured, half-joking, half-worried.

She glanced around them, the feeling of unease still simmering beneath her calm exterior. The TARDIS’s stabilizing hum was comforting, but the events of the previous days still lingered in her mind, even though she didn’t voice it. The pain, the nausea, the strange sense that she wasn’t entirely herself. Something was wrong, but she refused to admit it.

The Doctor’s device buzzed faintly in his hand. He looked at it briefly before frowning.

“Still nothing,” he said, holding it up for River to see. “The rift’s energy is minimal. This should be an uneventful visit.”

River smiled. “I think I’ll take the uneventful part. Let’s enjoy it while we can.”

They wandered deeper into the city, passing vibrant market stalls bursting with fresh fruits, cheeses, and baked goods. The vendors called out to passersby in a melodic stream of French. Everything felt so alive. The bright colours, the smell of fresh bread in the air, the hum of Parisian life.

River’s stomach rumbled faintly, and before she could stop him, the Doctor was pulling her towards one of the stalls.

"Don’t even think about it," she teased, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “What are you planning this time?”

“Oh, nothing,” the Doctor said with exaggerated innocence, haggling with the vendor in rapid French. “I just thought you might like some strawberries.”

Before she could respond, he returned triumphantly, a small basket of bright red fruit in his hands. River laughed, a soft, warm sound that filled the air around them.

“Bribery will get you everywhere, sweetie,” she said, accepting the fruit.

They sat together on the edge of a stone fountain, the weight of their adventures momentarily forgotten as they ate and talked. River watched the Doctor with a quiet fondness, noticing how he tried (and failed) to eat the strawberries with as much grace as he could muster, his usual fidgety energy in full force.

It was easy to forget, just for a moment, the tension that still lingered beneath their conversation. Easy to pretend that nothing was wrong.

But then the device in the Doctor’s hand flared suddenly — a sharp, insistent buzz that made him nearly drop his basket of fruit.

“Here we go,” the Doctor muttered, flipping it over to check the readings. “That’s rift activity.”

The Doctor and River moved swiftly, but casually, blending into the crowd as they followed the new signal. The Doctor’s hand never left the device, which continued to pulse with increasing urgency. The low whirr of the TARDIS faded into the background as they walked further down the narrow streets. The noise of the market, with its lively chatter and clinking of coins, was a comforting reminder of the ordinary — and the dangerous thing they were hunting.

Paris was full of distractions, but they focused only on their mission.

“This way,” the Doctor said, his voice low but sharp. “The signal’s coming from a side street.”

River nodded, already in step with him. They kept moving, not looking at one another — just focused on the path ahead. Their goal wasn’t to intervene yet. It was to observe, to gather as much information as they could about the mysterious figure that the Doctor had been tracking for days now.

The streets grew quieter, more secluded as they ventured away from the central square. The closer they got to their destination, the more the air seemed to hum with tension. It was a subtle shift — a barely perceptible pull, like gravity itself had changed. River’s senses were on high alert, but she wasn’t entirely sure why. They had come across strange energy readings before, but this... this felt different.

A brief glance at the Doctor told her that he felt it too. His brow was furrowed, and his pace had quickened.

Finally, they arrived at their destination: a narrow, quiet street tucked between rows of tall buildings, the cobblestones slick with the remnants of an earlier rain. Here, the noise of the city had disappeared, replaced by the soft sound of distant footsteps.

“Do we know what we’re looking for exactly?” River asked, her voice a little tighter than usual.

“Not yet,” the Doctor replied, eyes scanning the area around them. “But if the rift activity is as strong as I think it is, we’ll find him soon enough.”

They walked on, eyes constantly shifting. The scanner in the Doctor’s hand was still glowing faintly, leading them deeper into the shadowed alleys. River, ever watchful, scanned the space around them.

And then, there he was.

The figure stood at the far end of the street, his back to them, his tall frame perfectly still. He was dressed immaculately in a dark suit and overcoat, his black top hat perched perfectly on his head. In his right hand, he held a slender cane, its silver head gleaming faintly in the muted light. His other hand clutched something — a small device, rectangular in shape, which seemed to hum faintly with an energy all its own.

The man was an anomaly, even more than usual. There was an unsettling quality to him. He moved with a peculiar grace, gliding through the street as though he didn’t quite belong. And yet, in a way, he was part of the landscape — as if his presence had been inserted into the flow of time and space without notice.

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve never seen someone like him before,” River whispered, almost to herself. “Not here. Not now.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” the Doctor muttered. He glanced at River. “He’s scanning the rift — just like us.”

The Doctor’s hand tightened around the scanner, the device pulsing in rhythm with his growing sense of unease.

“Let’s follow him,” the Doctor said. “Keep back, stay in the shadows. We don’t want to spook him.”

They fell into step behind him, maintaining a careful distance. The figure moved without looking back, oblivious to their presence, gliding through the alleys with the same eerie calm. His every motion was deliberate, precise — as if the world around him was nothing but an extension of his own private space.

They kept moving through the winding streets, the faint hum of the rift detector growing louder. River’s heart was pounding. Something about this man felt off. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that they were being watched — but she had no idea by whom.

The Doctor’s device beeped urgently, its signals now more pronounced. He adjusted the dials, trying to get a clearer reading.

Finally, the man turned down another alley, a narrow and dimly lit passageway lined with tall buildings that seemed to lean in toward each other. The walls were cracked, their surfaces smudged with age, laundry lines strung overhead like forgotten ghosts.

The Doctor and River approached the alley cautiously. They peeked around the corner.

The man stood in the center of the alley, his back to them, tapping something into his device with quick, efficient movements. River strained to see what he was doing.

“He’s not controlling the rift,” the Doctor murmured. “Not yet. It’s just... just data.”

He was studying the device intently. River felt an odd sense of deja vu, as though she’d seen this moment play out before, in some other timeline.

The Doctor’s voice broke through the silence. “He’s not causing the rift. He’s tracking it.”

A quick movement.

The man slipped his hand beneath his coat, pressing something against his wrist. River tensed. She saw the shimmer of golden-blue light ripple across the alley — a familiar flicker in the air.

And then, without warning, the man was gone.

Gone as quickly as he had appeared.

River stepped forward, but the Doctor stopped her with a hand on her arm. He was staring at the empty space where the man had stood.

“Vortex manipulator,” the Doctor said softly. “He’s a time traveller.”

River blinked, her heart racing. A vortex manipulator. Of course. It made sense now.

“But what’s he doing?” River whispered, more to herself than the Doctor.

“I don’t know yet,” the Doctor muttered, his voice low. “But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

They stood in the alley for a moment longer, absorbing the strange energy lingering in the air — the remnants of the vortex manipulator’s travel. The time traveller was a mystery, but they had learned something important: he wasn’t part of the rift. Not directly.

River’s mind raced as the pieces began to shift in her thoughts. She turned to the Doctor. “Let’s check the rift activity elsewhere. There has to be more to him than this.”

The Doctor nodded, his eyes hardening with determination.

The man was connected to the rift. He wasn’t just observing; he was gathering something. But what? And for whom?

Chapter Text

The TARDIS hummed quietly as it settled into its new location, and River couldn't help but feel the same uneasy tension in the air. The Doctor’s voice, as usual, was the first to break the silence.

“Where to now?” he asked, his fingers dancing across the console. His eyes were narrowed, lost in thought. He hadn't spoken since they left the alley, too focused on the vortex manipulator and its implications.

River leaned against the railing, her arms crossed. She studied him carefully, watching his brow furrow as he continued to fiddle with the controls. The Doctor had become increasingly absorbed in this mystery, his usual exuberance replaced with an intensity she hadn’t seen in a while. She was used to this side of him, but there was something... different about it this time.

“He’s connected to the rift,” the Doctor muttered as he flipped switches and tapped buttons on the console. “But not in the way we thought. He's not the cause. No, no, he’s here to collect. Data, mostly. Information. He's cataloguing the rift’s activity.”

River tilted her head. “But for what purpose?”

“Exactly. That’s what I can’t figure out. The way he was scanning — not controlling, just observing... almost like he was mapping out the rift’s fluctuations across time.” He turned to her with a glance, his eyes shining with an almost childlike excitement. “Could be that he’s studying the rift’s unstable nature. Looking for patterns. For something.”

“And what if he’s tracking people? People like the ones who have gone missing,” River suggested, her voice steady. “Like he’s looking for a specific group, or even one person.”

The Doctor was quiet for a moment, his fingers pausing over the console. “That would make sense. If he’s tracking anomalies in time, there could be a connection to the disappearances. And that man... he’s been here before.”

River raised an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“Look at the way he moves through time. Not randomly, not chaotically. He knows what he's doing. And he’s always been there when things go wrong. The disappearances started at least once before, in 1892. He could have been there. He could have been tracking something specific in the past, and now he’s doing it again.”

River felt her pulse quicken. The pieces were falling into place — but there were so many more to uncover.

“Where do we go next?” she asked, leaning forward, eager for answers.

The Doctor paused, scanning the TARDIS’ readouts. “There’s a site. One of the earliest rift tears — 1892, France. It’s where he was last seen before all the disappearances began.”

River nodded. “Let’s go.”

The TARDIS thrummed to life again, its engines shifting in a low, comforting hum. The lights blinked as they began to travel, and River felt a strange sense of anticipation coil inside her. The more she thought about the man, the more unsettling it became. He wasn’t like anything they had encountered before. And the rift itself... it was growing stronger. It was reaching out in ways they didn’t fully understand yet.

They landed with a soft thud, and the door swung open to reveal a narrow street bathed in golden light from the setting sun. The year was 1892, and the air smelled of dust and fresh bread, mingling with the faint scent of smoke from nearby chimneys. The streets were quiet, the occasional rattle of a cart or a woman hurrying along with a basket in hand being the only sound.

“The rift is close,” the Doctor muttered, already scanning the area with his new device. The hum of it was almost imperceptible, but River could feel it in her bones — the rift was near, lurking just beyond the edge of perception.

“Let’s keep our eyes peeled,” River said, her voice calm but with a sharp edge to it. She glanced around, taking in the surroundings. It was an old street, lined with stone buildings and a few scattered shops. People walked past, wrapped in shawls or long coats, looking like any other Parisian street.

But River knew better. There was something off about this place. The tension in the air was palpable. She wasn’t sure if it was the rift or something else — but it was there, heavy and waiting.

The Doctor adjusted the device on his wrist, the scanner flickering faintly with each step he took. He didn’t need to look at it to know what was coming. He could feel it too — the echo of something ancient, the pulse of time straining against its boundaries.

“So, what exactly are we looking for?” River asked, her voice low as she stepped in step with him.

“We're looking for clues, River,” the Doctor replied. “Clues about him. About what he’s doing. And why he’s been following the rift for so long.”

They made their way down the street, eyes darting from one corner to another. The Doctor seemed lost in thought, muttering to himself. River kept a careful watch on the people around them, but no one seemed to notice them.

They passed a row of shops and stopped in front of a small, unassuming building. There was a flicker of movement behind the window — a shadow, barely noticeable. The Doctor turned, nodding toward the door.

“We need to check inside,” he said.

River hesitated for only a moment before following him through the door. The bell above the entrance jingled, and the smell of old books and incense filled the air. The small shop was cluttered with all manner of oddities — knick-knacks, dusty books, and strange trinkets lined the shelves. It was a place that felt suspended in time, almost as if it had been untouched for decades.

“Doctor,” River said, pulling a book from the shelf. It was thick, leather-bound, and older than anything she’d seen. “You might want to look at this.”

He joined her quickly, his fingers brushing the cover before flipping it open. His eyes scanned the pages rapidly, his brow furrowing as he read.

“This is a collection of reports about disappearances,” he muttered. “But it’s from the 19th century... How did I miss this?”

River flipped through the book, scanning the text. Most of it was in French, but it seemed to be a record of unexplained disappearances dating back over several years. The names and dates were scattered across the pages, almost like a trail left by the man. One of the names caught her eye: Antoine Lemoine, 1892.

She looked at the Doctor. “This could be the start of it. He’s been here before.”

The Doctor nodded, his eyes hardening. “And he’s been tracking people for centuries. We’re just seeing the first ripples of it now.”

River’s hand tightened around the book. “We need to find him.”

They left the shop, and the Doctor’s scanner flickered again. The signal was stronger now, but it wasn’t clear where it was coming from. He turned back to River.

“I have a theory,” he said. “He’s not just tracking the rift. He’s searching for something specific. Something or someone in the rift.”

The air around them seemed to thrum with the rift’s power as they moved down the street, their footsteps quickening. The further they went, the closer the rift seemed to be, pulling them toward its heart.

Suddenly, the Doctor stopped.

“I think I’ve found it,” he said, his voice sharp. “This is it.”

River stepped up beside him, scanning the area. The street was quiet, the people going about their daily routines without a care in the world. But the tension was there. Something was about to happen.

The Doctor turned, his eyes scanning the area. He could feel it. The pulse of the rift was growing stronger. They were on the brink of something big. The man was close.

“We need to find him before it’s too late,” River said, her voice steady but urgent.

They hurried down the street, each step bringing them closer to the unknown — and closer to the man who had been controlling the rift’s twists and turns for centuries.

The streets of Paris seemed to grow quieter the further they ventured. The cobblestones, once bustling with life, now felt like they were whispering beneath the Doctor and River’s feet. The air had taken on an eerie stillness, as though the city itself was holding its breath. Even the faintest sounds — a distant cart wheel rolling, a street vendor calling out — seemed muffled, like the world around them had shifted ever so slightly out of sync.

The Doctor's scanner beeped steadily in his hand. The signal was coming from ahead, but still, they saw nothing. No sign of the man in the dark suit, no strange ripple in the air. Just the quiet pulse of the rift, and the mounting unease that accompanied it.

The Doctor’s brow furrowed as he studied the readings. “It’s close,” he muttered, eyes flicking over the surroundings. His fingers traced the air, following the pulse of the rift. “But something’s not right.”

River looked around, instinctively feeling the weight of the rift’s presence. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not behaving as I expected,” the Doctor said, stepping forward, pulling River with him. “There’s something more at play here. I think the rift... it’s warping the space around it. It’s like it’s becoming a beacon, drawing more attention.”

The silence grew thicker, and River felt a slight discomfort tug at her chest. She could almost feel the rift’s energy thrumming beneath her skin, vibrating in the air like the hum of an impending storm.

They passed another narrow alley, and for a split second, River thought she saw a shadow flicker at the end. It was gone before she could make sense of it. Her eyes darted to the Doctor, who had already noticed it too.

“Did you see that?” River asked, her voice low but intense.

The Doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Someone’s here.”

They moved toward the alleyway cautiously, their steps measured but quick. They kept their movements precise, blending into the shadows as they approached the end of the passage.

River’s eyes scanned the alley, every muscle in her body tensed. But there was no one visible.

The Doctor’s fingers hovered over his scanner, which was vibrating slightly now, its signal going haywire. His face tightened in concentration.

“Where is he?” River asked. The tension was thick enough to cut through.

The Doctor shook his head. “I’m not sure... But I feel like he’s close. I can feel the rift pulling us in.”

The alley was narrow, the buildings on either side looming overhead like silent sentinels. They moved further in, until the alley opened up slightly, revealing a small courtyard. It was empty. Quiet.

Then the Doctor’s hand shot out, gripping River’s arm.

“Look,” he whispered urgently.

Across the courtyard, at the far end near an old, crumbling archway, stood a figure. Tall, with an elegant posture, wearing the same dark suit and top hat. He was standing still, facing toward them but not acknowledging their presence. His hands were clasped together, holding some device — an odd, rectangular object that hummed softly, emitting a faint blue light. It looked similar to the one they had seen earlier, in the alley back in Paris.

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. He stepped back slightly, pulling River into the shadows with him.

“He’s scanning again,” the Doctor murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But this time... it’s different.”

River nodded, her breath shallow. “What’s he doing?”

The Doctor’s eyes were fixed on the figure. “He’s looking for something. Or someone. This device... it’s far more advanced than anything I’ve seen. It’s not just mapping the rift — it’s probing it. Pulling data from multiple timelines.”

The figure remained still, but the air around him seemed to shimmer. It was as if the space itself warped slightly, bending under the weight of his presence.

“We need to follow him,” River said, voice firm, ready for action.

The Doctor didn’t argue. “We keep our distance. We can’t let him know we’re here. Not yet.”

They began to move again, careful and deliberate. The man’s attention was focused on the device in his hand, his eyes never scanning the surroundings. He moved like a predator, confident and poised. Despite the stillness of his stance, there was an unmistakable sense of control about him.

The man turned slowly, walking toward the archway, still oblivious to their presence. The Doctor and River stayed well behind, blending into the shadows, following his every movement.

They reached the archway, and the man stopped, pausing to study the surroundings. He raised his hand to his mouth and tapped something on the device — a sharp, flickering light pulsed from the screen.

“Something’s happening,” River whispered, her voice tight.

The man stepped back into the courtyard, glancing quickly behind him as if expecting someone. River’s heart raced. It was as though he knew he wasn’t alone. But he didn’t react further.

Then, with a slight rustling of his coat, the man disappeared into the shadows, his form vanishing almost as though he was swallowed by the very air around him.

The Doctor and River exchanged a look, both of them processing what had just happened. The sound of the vortex manipulator’s whirr lingered in the air.

“He’s using a vortex manipulator,” River said quietly. “But not in the way we’ve seen before. He’s not leaving, he’s...” She trailed off, uncertain.

The Doctor’s eyes were alight with understanding. “He’s moving through time, but he’s not jumping randomly. No. He’s syncing with the rift. And that’s dangerous.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s using the manipulator to stabilise his movements within the rift’s fluctuations. That’s how he’s staying ahead of us — staying one step ahead of time.”

River’s thoughts raced. “So the rift... it’s like a road map for him. He’s walking through time, picking places to ‘sync’ with, aligning with events before they happen. He’s not manipulating time, not yet. But... it’s like he’s preparing for something.”

The Doctor nodded slowly. “Exactly. He’s positioning himself. Collecting data. Finding a way to control the rift.”

River’s gaze remained on the spot where the man had vanished. She felt an unsettling pull in the air, like the very fabric of time had been stretched too thin.

“I think we’re running out of time,” River said. “We need to stop him.”

The Doctor exhaled sharply. “We need to find out what he’s after — and why he’s been doing this for so long.”

They turned to leave, their footsteps silent on the cobblestones. The world around them seemed to shift, as if aware of the impending change. The rift’s presence was heavier now, more palpable. It was as though the entire city was caught in the grip of something far older and far more dangerous than they had ever imagined.

As they made their way back to the TARDIS, the Doctor’s mind raced. River could feel his thoughts working, turning the pieces of the puzzle over and over, trying to make sense of it.

“I need to track his next move,” the Doctor said, pulling out his scanner once more. “We need to be ready.”

River followed him into the TARDIS, her gaze lingering on the distant horizon through the doors. The streets of Paris were fading now, but they were about to find out what the man was after.

They were about to uncover the secrets of the rift — and what it might mean for them

Chapter Text

The TARDIS hummed gently as the Doctor stood at the console, his fingers flying across the controls. River leaned against the edge of the console, watching him, arms crossed, as he muttered to himself.

“Right... right,” he said, almost as if convincing himself. “I’ve got the coordinates. Now all we need to do is track him to his next stop. Shouldn’t be too hard. Just follow the rift signature, and he’ll come to us.”

River raised an eyebrow. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The Doctor glanced up, flashing a grin. “You should always believe me. I’m brilliant.”

“Which is exactly why I’m still here,” River said, her voice dry, but with a hint of affection.

The Doctor paused for a moment, his smile fading. His eyes narrowed slightly as he concentrated on the scanner. “If we’re going to catch him, we’ll need to get ahead of him. If he’s moving through time, it’s like trying to track a shadow. He’s not just slipping between places — he’s... manipulating the rift itself. And every time he does, the fabric of time becomes more fragile.”

River straightened. She could hear the weight in his voice. It wasn’t just about catching this man anymore. The stakes were rising, and the rift was becoming a threat to far more than just this timeline. She could feel it too — a rising sense of urgency. The Doctor may not show it, but she knew when his mind was truly racing. He wasn’t just concerned with solving a mystery now; he was worried about the very foundation of time itself breaking apart.

“You think he’s going to make his move soon?” River asked.

The Doctor didn’t answer right away. He flipped a few more switches, sending a flurry of data across the screen. His brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that we’re going to find him before he can even get started.”

With a swift motion, the Doctor grabbed the lever and yanked it downward, the familiar groan of the TARDIS engines reverberating through the control room. The time rotor spun into action, lights flashing across the console, and River felt that familiar sense of weightlessness take hold of her as the TARDIS shifted in time and space.

When the TARDIS materialized, the air outside was heavy and thick with an unusual stillness. The streets were quiet — too quiet for the vibrant city the Doctor had intended to visit. They had arrived somewhere in the middle of a bustling cityscape, but it felt deserted. The buildings around them were tall and old, their facades decorated with signs of wear, the windows darkened. The TARDIS hummed in its stationary position, hidden in the shadows of a narrow alley.

The Doctor didn’t waste a moment. He was already scanning the surroundings, his eyes darting between the devices on the console and the small handheld scanner in his hand. River stepped out first, the soft click of her boots against the pavement a stark contrast to the stillness of the air.

“This is it,” the Doctor said, looking over his shoulder with a determined expression. “The rift’s signature is stronger here. Whatever he’s doing, it’s about to happen.”

River nodded, tucking her gun into the side of her jacket. “Where to?”

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a few steps forward, scanning the area with his device. “The readings are stronger around here,” he muttered, trailing his fingers through the air as though trying to trace the invisible lines of the rift’s energy. “But... strange. I can’t see anything obvious. No ripples. No tears.”

River looked up at the surrounding buildings. There was something off about this place. The air felt stagnant, almost as if time had slowed down around them.

“What’s wrong?” River asked, her eyes scanning the environment.

The Doctor turned, his brow furrowing deeper. “There’s something about this place that doesn’t feel right. This is a focal point. I think he’s waiting for something.”

They walked through the streets in silence for a while, River's hand occasionally brushing against the Doctor’s as they made their way through a labyrinth of alleys. The air around them seemed to grow heavier, but the time traveller was as focused as ever.

“It’s like a waiting room,” River said quietly, as if sensing the same unease. “The rift is here... but it’s not opening. Not yet.”

The Doctor nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yes. It’s a perfect location for him to observe — everything he needs is aligned. But why is he waiting? Why hasn’t he activated the rift yet?”

River opened her mouth to respond, but something caught her attention — a figure, standing still at the far end of the street. Tall, dark-suited, top-hatted. The unmistakable presence of the man they had been tracking.

“That’s him,” River said, voice tight with recognition. “What’s he doing?”

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed as he spotted the man, who appeared to be waiting near the entrance to an old, decrepit building. He wasn’t doing anything overt, but the stillness about him was unsettling. He stood perfectly still, as if he were watching something — or someone — in the distance.

“He’s not scanning anything,” the Doctor muttered, “but he’s observing. Waiting for the rift to do something.”

They crept closer, staying in the shadows, their eyes fixed on the man. The Doctor held his breath as he watched the figure’s every move, every gesture. He could feel the rift’s energy stirring, but it was still dormant, like a sleeping giant. The man’s device remained tucked away under his coat, unused.

“He’s waiting for something to happen,” River whispered. “Maybe the rift to open again. Or maybe... it’s something more. Something specific.”

The man didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge their presence, as if he were unaware they were so close. His gaze seemed fixed on the building before him, but his mind was elsewhere. The Doctor could sense it. This wasn’t random. The man wasn’t just wandering from place to place.

He was calculating.

The Doctor turned to River, eyes alight with sudden understanding. “I know what he’s doing. He’s not just tracking the rift. He’s using it. He’s waiting for it to open and close at specific points in time. And when it does...”

River finished for him, her voice low. “He’s going to pull something through. Something from another time.”

The Doctor took a step closer, his mind racing. The man seemed unaware of their presence, still standing there, frozen in time, like a watcher awaiting his moment.

“What’s he after?” River murmured.

Before the Doctor could respond, the man moved. He turned slightly, his head swivelling toward the corner of the street. Something flickered in his expression — the barest hint of awareness.

The Doctor froze, feeling a chill creep down his spine.

“We need to move,” River said urgently. “He knows we’re here.”

The Doctor didn’t argue. They both turned on their heels and retreated back into the alleyway, slipping deeper into the shadows. They could still feel the man’s gaze upon them, even though they couldn’t see him. The rift was alive now, pulsing with energy — and whatever the man had planned was coming soon.

In the darkness, River felt the weight of it all. She didn’t know what the man was after — but she knew one thing for certain: they were running out of time.

The alleyway was narrow, the shadows long and oppressive. River’s heart raced as they ducked behind a tall stack of crates, pressing their backs to the cold stone walls. The Doctor’s breath was steady, but his eyes flickered with a deep, calculating intensity that was hard to miss. His hand was still gripping his scanner, fingers twitching over the buttons in rapid, anxious patterns.

“He’s onto us,” River said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But... why wait? Why not act?”

The Doctor didn’t reply immediately, his gaze darting toward the street, assessing the situation. Then, without a word, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small device, a barely visible wire trailing from it. It glowed faintly blue.

“He's trying to open the rift, isn’t he?” River asked, her voice threading through the tension of the moment.

The Doctor nodded, his lips thin with frustration. “He’s been cataloguing its fluctuations, waiting for a specific trigger. Now he’s here, in the right place at the right time. But something’s holding him back.” He held up the device, his eyes scanning the readings. “It’s like he’s expecting... something.”

A tense silence hung between them. River was about to speak again when the sound of footsteps approached. She tensed, instinctively reaching for the gun hidden under her jacket, but the Doctor motioned for her to stay still. The footsteps grew louder, echoing off the stone walls of the alley. They pressed back further into the shadows, barely breathing, barely moving.

The man in the dark suit passed them, oblivious to their presence. He was walking at a slow, purposeful pace, eyes scanning the street ahead. The top hat perched neatly on his head, the silver-headed cane tapping rhythmically on the cobblestones as he moved.

But there was something different about him now. His movements were deliberate, every step measured. He wasn’t just an observer anymore. The Doctor’s scanner flickered again, and he cursed under his breath.

“Too late,” he muttered. “He’s activating the rift.”

The Doctor moved quickly, grabbing River’s arm and pulling her toward the far end of the alley. They didn’t have much time. River didn’t question his actions, trusting his instincts as always. They darted across the street, staying low, moving quickly.

Behind them, the sound of a soft, familiar whirr began to fill the air.

“The vortex manipulator,” River said quietly.

The Doctor nodded grimly. “He’s not just studying the rift. He’s controlling it. And now... now he’s opening it.”

River’s mind raced. If the rift was being opened — no, controlled — it wasn’t just some simple tear in the fabric of time. Whatever this man was planning, it had far-reaching consequences. They needed to stop him before it spiralled out of control.

“Where is he?” River hissed, looking around frantically.

The Doctor glanced up. The man was gone. Completely vanished.

“Gone.” The Doctor’s voice was tight with frustration. “And we’re too late.”

River’s gut twisted with the sensation of something being very, very wrong. “Where does the rift lead?”

The Doctor hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “We’re going to find out.”

They moved quickly back to the TARDIS, their steps echoing loudly in the empty streets. The Doctor had already opened the door before River could even ask. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension, the hum of the engines more erratic than usual. The Doctor was at the console in an instant, already pulling up the readings from his scanner, his eyes flicking from one screen to the other.

“What now?” River asked.

The Doctor didn’t answer at first. His hands moved over the controls, and the TARDIS hummed louder, a deep, pulsing sound. He was so focused on the console that he didn’t even look at her as he spoke.

“We’re going to follow him. Wherever he went.”

River nodded, glancing at the readings herself. “If he’s opening the rift somewhere else...”

The Doctor looked up sharply, his face pale. “He might have pulled something through.”

“Something from where?” River asked, her voice thick with the weight of the question.

The Doctor glanced at her, his jaw clenched. “Somewhere much, much worse.”

With a flick of his wrist, the Doctor activated the TARDIS controls. They were off again, flying through the vortex, following the rift’s trail across time. The TARDIS groaned, the lights flashing with a rhythmic intensity as it guided them toward the unknown.

The next location they arrived at was... different. The landscape outside was desolate. There were no signs of life, no buildings or people, just barren, cracked earth stretching as far as the eye could see. The air was thick with a low hum, like the ground itself was vibrating with energy.

The Doctor stepped out first, scanning the environment with his device. “This doesn’t look like any place I’ve been before.” He paused. “At least, not recently.”

River stepped out after him, looking around with a sense of unease. “Where are we?”

The Doctor turned, his face serious. “Somewhere... wrong. Whatever he’s pulling from the rift, this is where it’s going.”

They both scanned the horizon, the empty expanse of the barren wasteland stretching before them. There was nothing here, no signs of life. It was as though the rift had opened in a place completely untouched by time — or perhaps it was a place where time itself had unraveled.

River glanced at the Doctor. “We need to find out what he’s after, and stop him.”

The Doctor nodded, his fingers already twitching at the controls, working out the next steps in his mind. “First things first, let’s figure out where he’s been. This rift isn’t just a tear — it’s a doorway. And whatever’s on the other side, it’s not good.”

The Doctor’s mind was racing as he pushed forward, scanning for signs of the man or any rift-related disturbances. The wind howled around them as they trekked through the wasteland, every step crunching on the dry earth beneath their feet. River walked beside him, her eyes darting over the desolate landscape, searching for any clue.

“Do you think he’s creating a new rift? Or just... manipulating the old one?” River asked, her voice tense.

“I don’t know,” the Doctor replied, his face grim. “But if he’s controlling it, then he’s doing it for a reason. Whatever he’s after, it’s big. We need to stop him before he opens this doorway wide enough to let something through.”

As they walked, the Doctor kept his eyes on the horizon, scanning for any signs of movement. Time seemed to stretch and bend around them, and every so often, River would catch a flicker of motion in the distance — like a shadow crossing the landscape.

“There,” River said, pointing toward a distant formation on the horizon. “What’s that?”

The Doctor squinted, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know. But we’re about to find out.”

With renewed urgency, they pushed forward toward the strange formation, their footsteps quickening. Whatever the man had planned, it was happening now. And the Doctor wasn’t about to let it unravel time itself.

Chapter Text

They moved across the cracked ground at a brisk pace, the broken landscape swallowing the sound of their footsteps. The air tasted metallic on River’s tongue, dry and wrong, like the world itself had been scorched hollow.

The closer they got to the strange formation, the worse River began to feel.

At first, it was small — a slight wave of dizziness that she attributed to the dry air. But then came the familiar, unsettling lurch: the sensation of being out of step with herself, like her body was a fraction of a second too slow for her mind.

She stumbled slightly, catching herself against the Doctor’s arm.

Immediately, he turned, steadying her, his eyes sharp with concern.
“River?” he said, voice low and urgent. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Bit dizzy.”

The Doctor didn’t look convinced. His hand hovered near her elbow even after she straightened up again, as if ready to catch her if she faltered. His expression — soft, worried — sent a pang through her chest.

He was always protective of her, of course. But today there was something different about it — more instinctive, more urgent.

River exhaled carefully and pressed forward. She couldn't afford to be a liability now.

Ahead, the formation resolved itself into something recognisable: the crumbling remnants of a stone structure, like the broken ribcage of a cathedral long dead. Time seemed thinner here, more fragile. River felt it in her bones — a taut, humming vibration just beneath the surface of everything.

The Doctor pulled out his scanner again, frowning as he read the results.

“The rift is active here,” he murmured. “Faint, but present.”

River followed his gaze. The ruins seemed to pulse at the edges of her vision, shimmering slightly, as if they were caught between two realities. A wrongness thrummed beneath her feet.

Suddenly, the Doctor stiffened.

"Movement," he hissed.

They ducked into the shadows of a collapsed wall, peering out cautiously.

The man was there.

He stood at the very centre of the ruins, just as composed and detached as he had been in Paris. The device in his hands emitted a soft, rhythmic hum. He was scanning again — no sense of urgency, no signs of interference.

But now, River saw something else.

Beyond the man, at the heart of the ruins, was a shimmer — a tear in the fabric of reality, small but growing. It pulsed gently, like a living thing, casting long rippling shadows across the broken stones.

The man finished whatever calibration he was doing and stepped back, observing the rift with detached fascination.

The Doctor tensed beside her.
“He’s not trying to close it,” he said, voice grim. “He’s waiting for it to open.”

River narrowed her eyes.
“But for what?”

The Doctor didn’t answer. His face was carved with deep lines of thought.

River’s stomach twisted again, a nauseous, vertiginous sensation flooding her senses. She leaned against the stone wall for support, wincing as another sharp pulse of 'temporal vertigo' rolled over her.

This one was worse than before.

For a brief, horrifying second, the world seemed to double: the ruins around her overlaid with a vision of something else — towering structures, gleaming and alien, stretching into a skyless void. And in the centre of it all, something vast and terrible stirring in the shadows beyond the rift.

River squeezed her eyes shut, willing the vision away.

When she opened them again, the ruins were still there. The Doctor hadn’t noticed her lapse — or if he had, he was pretending not to, giving her the dignity of hiding her weakness.

But the protective hand he laid briefly on her back said otherwise.

“We’re getting you out of here soon,” he murmured, more to himself than her.
“There’s something wrong with this place.”

River nodded, swallowing thickly, heart pounding harder than she liked.

She had to stay focused. They had to understand what the man was doing — before it was too late.

The man moved again, stepping toward the rift. His hand hovered over the scanner, adjusting something. The rift flickered, and for a moment River thought she saw figures moving within it — dark silhouettes, shifting and writhing like smoke.

The Doctor inhaled sharply.
“He’s stabilising it. Making it bigger.”

“Why?” River whispered. “If he just wanted to study it, why open it further?”

The Doctor’s hands clenched into fists.

“He’s preparing it for something. Or someone.”

River’s pulse quickened. She exchanged a tense glance with him, seeing the fear mirrored in his eyes.

They were missing something. A piece of the puzzle they couldn’t see yet.

Suddenly, the man straightened, as if alerted by something unseen. He pressed a command into his device — and the scanner let out a sharp beep.

The rift pulsed once — a low, sonorous sound, almost like a heartbeat — and then began to collapse inward, the light draining rapidly away.

The man moved swiftly, tapping his wrist.

The familiar shimmer of a vortex manipulator enveloped him — and he vanished.

Gone, like smoke on the wind.

The rift sealed itself moments later, leaving only the faintest scar in the fabric of the air.

Silence fell, broken only by the distant moan of the wind across the wasteland.

The Doctor let out a slow breath, his face tight with frustration.

“He’s ahead of us,” he said. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. And we’re still three steps behind.”

River touched his arm gently.
“Then we catch up.”

The Doctor looked at her, a faint smile ghosting his lips.
“Wouldn’t dream of doing it without you, Professor Song.”

River smiled back, forcing the nausea and vertigo to the back of her mind.

Whatever was coming next — whatever the man was planning — they would face it together.

The Doctor turned back toward the TARDIS, his coat billowing behind him, River falling into step beside him.

Neither of them spoke as they walked back across the cracked ground.

The sun — if it was even a sun — hung low in the bruised sky, casting long, warped shadows across the ruins.

The air felt heavy with the weight of things yet to come.

And far behind them, unseen by either of them, a faint ripple shimmered across the landscape — as if something vast and patient was watching... and waiting.

The TARDIS door swung closed behind them with a gentle clunk, sealing out the alien wasteland and its disquieting stillness. Inside, the ship hummed around them, the old girl as restless and uneasy as they were.

The Doctor stormed toward the console, his coat shedding dust as he moved, hands flying over the controls with mechanical precision.
River followed slower, one hand lightly pressed to her middle, steadying herself against the strange, queasy thrum that hadn’t quite faded.

“Okay,” the Doctor said, mostly to himself. “One rift encounter. Confirmed vortex manipulator use. A rogue time traveller cataloguing events, not causing them directly— but definitely shaping them.”

He hit a lever with more force than necessary, making the TARDIS shudder in protest.

River leaned against the railing, studying him with a fond but exhausted smile.

“You’re angry because you’re used to being the cleverest person in the room,” she teased lightly. “And now there’s someone else playing a longer game.”

He didn’t deny it. He just shot her a fierce grin and pointed a finger at her like a loaded weapon.
“Oi. I am the cleverest person in the room.”

River chuckled — but the laugh quickly caught in her throat as another wave of dizziness swelled, worse than before. She gripped the railing tighter, willing the spinning world to steady itself.

The Doctor was at her side in an instant.

“River?” His voice dropped to a low, urgent register. He scanned her face, reading the faint sheen of sweat at her temples, the way she pressed a hand instinctively to her abdomen.
“You’re not fine. You’re not fine.”

“I’m fine,” River said, but her voice lacked conviction.

The Doctor’s brows knitted tightly.
“Sit down,” he said firmly. “Now. Please.”

She allowed herself to be guided to one of the old leather seats tucked near the console. The Doctor crouched in front of her, scanning her with his sonic screwdriver, frowning deeper at the results.

“You’re showing minor temporal displacement symptoms,” he muttered. “Elevated artron levels. Interference patterns in your biodata — like you’re out of sync.”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated.
“This place — that rift — it’s affected you more than it should have.”

River’s heart panged painfully at the guilt and worry etched into his face.

It wasn’t just the rift.

She was scared.

Especially when he was already looking at her like she might shatter under his hands.

She forced a smile, reaching out to brush her fingers through his wild hair.
“Sweetie. You’re fussing.”

The Doctor huffed, pretending to be affronted, but his hand lingered over hers, squeezing gently.

He didn’t argue the point.
He just stood and turned back to the console, recalibrating their destination with more care now, more thoughtfulness.

Wherever they were going next, it had to be somewhere safer.

Or at least... not worse.

The TARDIS lurched violently as it shifted through the Vortex, her engines growling low like a warning.

The Doctor caught River instinctively, steadying her again. His arm stayed around her shoulders even after the turbulence faded, an anchor against the growing storm neither of them could yet name.

Finally, the TARDIS landed with a soft thud.

The scanner beeped once — sharp, high-pitched — and then fell silent.

“Low-level rift activity nearby,” the Doctor said, scanning the readouts. “Weak, but present. And traces of our friend’s artron signature.”

River rose slowly from her seat, breathing carefully through the lingering dizziness.

“Where are we?” she asked.

The Doctor glanced at the monitor and smiled tightly.

“New York City,” he said. “Late summer. 1952.”

River arched an eyebrow.
“Bit of a change from post-apocalyptic wastelands.”

The Doctor’s smile warmed — but only slightly.
“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

He offered her his arm, almost shyly, and River took it with a grateful squeeze.

Together, they stepped out of the TARDIS and into the humid, bustling world of mid-century Manhattan.

They emerged into a narrow alley off a wide avenue, neon signs flickering overhead, the buzz of conversation and car horns thick in the air. The city was alive and loud — a stark contrast to the dead silence of the wasteland they’d just left.

River inhaled deeply, letting the smells and sounds of life anchor her.

The Doctor checked his wrist scanner, frowning.

“He was seen here. Two days ago.”

River’s eyes scanned the crowds. People in sharp suits and summer dresses hurried past, clutching newspapers and ice cream cones. A jazz melody floated from a nearby bar.

No obvious signs of rift instability.

No elegant man in a top hat.

No shadowy tears in the fabric of reality.

Yet.

“Where do we start?” River asked.

The Doctor tilted his head thoughtfully.

“If he’s cataloguing rift events, he’ll go where the rift’s thinnest. Somewhere no one would notice... at first.”

He pointed down the street.
“Central Park’s not far. Natural focal point for ley lines. Good place for weak rift tears.”

River nodded, adjusting the strap of her bag.

Together, they slipped into the flow of the city.

As they walked, River couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Not by the crowds — they barely noticed them.

It was something deeper. A prickling at the back of her mind, a tension coiled too tightly beneath her skin.

Beside her, the Doctor kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

She loved him for it.

And it terrified her too.

Because whatever this was — whatever was reaching through the rift — it wasn’t just after random victims.

Somehow, deep down, River knew it had seen her.

Had recognised her.

Or rather...

And whatever it was, it was calling through the thin places in the world — and something was answering.

They reached the edge of the park just as the sun dipped low, bathing the trees in amber light.

The Doctor paused, checking the scanner again.

River swayed slightly on her feet, catching herself with a sharp inhale. Another ripple of disorientation washed through her — stronger than before.

The Doctor noticed this time. He stepped in front of her, blocking out the low sun with his body, his hands resting gently but insistently on her arms.

“That’s it,” he said. “We’re finding somewhere safe for you to sit. You’re not pushing yourself any further until we understand what’s happening.”

River opened her mouth to protest — but the fierce, raw worry in his eyes stopped her.

She nodded instead.

“Just... don’t leave me behind,” she said softly.

The Doctor smiled, a soft, aching thing.
“Never.”

They found a secluded bench under a spreading oak, half-hidden from the path.

River sat with a sigh of relief, the spinning in her head slowly abating.

The Doctor paced in front of her, scanning the air again.

The scanner beeped once.

Twice.

A slow, warning rhythm.

And then he saw it.

Near the lake, half-shrouded in mist, a shimmer in the air — the faint outline of another rift forming.

And standing near it — casual, composed — was the man.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

The Doctor froze.

River sat up straighter, following his gaze.

And this time, she didn’t just feel the rift.

She felt something else.

Something pulling at her, deep inside, like a thread being tugged.

Something not meant for this world — or any world — reaching through the cracks.

And she realised, with a shiver of terror, that whatever was behind that rift...

…it wasn’t looking for the man.

It was looking for her.

Chapter Text

The Doctor snapped the scanner shut, his whole body tense.

He turned to River, trying for a lightness he didn’t feel.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’m going to take a closer look.”

River’s mouth twisted into a familiar stubborn line.
“Not a chance, sweetie. I’m not some damsel to be left on a bench.”

Before he could argue, she pushed herself upright, steeling herself against the soft pull of vertigo that brushed the edges of her vision.

The Doctor hesitated.

For one heartbeat — two — he looked as if he might insist. Might order her to stay.

But he saw the glint in her eye — the fierce, unyielding fire — and knew he would lose.

He offered his hand instead, rough and steady.

She took it without hesitation.

Together, they moved toward the lake.

The rift shimmered brighter now — a thin wound in the fabric of the evening, almost invisible if you weren’t looking for it.

And standing by it, still as a shadow, was the man in the top hat.

He wasn’t scanning this time.

He was waiting.

The Doctor and River kept their distance, melting into the cover of the trees.

“What’s he doing?” River murmured.

The Doctor shook his head slowly, frowning deeper.

“He’s not opening it. He’s not closing it.”

He swallowed.
“He’s... holding it.”

River frowned.
“Is that possible?”

“With the right tech?” the Doctor said grimly. “Yes. You could stabilise a rift for a short time. Hold it open like... like a mouth waiting to swallow.”

He shivered.

River tightened her grip on his hand.

The man by the rift tilted his head suddenly, as if hearing something distant.
And — impossibly — the rift responded.

A pulse rippled through the air, faint but distinct — a vibration that River felt not in her ears but in her bones.

She staggered slightly.

The Doctor caught her instantly, pulling her into him.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he whispered urgently.

River clutched at his coat, breathing hard.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice shaking. “It’s like... it’s like it sees me.”

The Doctor’s arms tightened protectively around her, his hearts hammering against hers.

He looked toward the rift with new horror dawning in his eyes.

And for the first time, he understood.

This wasn’t random.

This wasn’t chaos.

The rift was reaching for River.

Not for the city. Not for the crowds.

For her.

The man by the rift moved suddenly, a flick of his wrist adjusting a device half-hidden under his coat.

The rift flared — bright, hot, alive — and River cried out softly, sinking to her knees.

The Doctor dropped with her, shielding her with his body.

He felt it too now — the pull, the desperate gravitational drag focused not on the world around them, but specifically on the woman trembling in his arms.

He wrapped himself around her, snarling low under his breath.

Over my dead body.

Above them, the man by the rift turned.

For a heartbeat, their eyes met across the grass.

And the Doctor saw it.

Recognition.

Satisfaction.

A predator finally sighting its prey.

The man tipped his hat slightly, a grotesque little nod — and then, with a flick of his wrist, he was gone.

The vortex manipulator flared — and he vanished into nothing.

The rift, no longer stabilised, howled briefly and began to collapse in on itself.

The Doctor scooped River into his arms without thinking, sprinting back toward the cover of the trees as the collapsing rift sent shockwaves through the air.

They stumbled into the alley where the TARDIS waited, the old police box thrumming with anxious energy, sensing their distress.

The Doctor threw the door open with a kick and carried River inside.

The TARDIS sealed the doors behind them with a heavy, decisive clunk.

Safe.

For now.

He laid River carefully down on the medical bay cot, brushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead.

River blinked up at him, pale but fierce.

“I’m fine,” she croaked.

The Doctor gave a sharp, broken laugh.
“No, you’re not.”

He ran the sonic over her again, studying the readings.

Everything was spiking — artron energy, biodata flux, even her temporal signature was fraying at the edges like an overused tapestry.

Something had reached through that rift.

And it had marked her.

He sank down beside her, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

River turned her head toward him, her hand seeking his.

He took it at once, their fingers locking together tightly.

“Sweetie,” she whispered, “they’re not after the rift. They’re after me.”

The Doctor lifted his head, his eyes fierce with helpless rage.

“I know.”

And he didn’t know how to fight something he couldn’t see — something that could slip through cracks in time, something that could call to River across dimensions.

But he would find a way.

He had to.

Because losing her — even the thought of it — was more than he could bear.

The TARDIS lights dimmed around them, humming softly, almost soothingly.

River closed her eyes, exhaustion dragging at her.

The Doctor stayed awake, sitting vigil by her side.

Outside the TARDIS — somewhere, somewhen — the rift shifted again, searching, reaching.

The Doctor didn’t see it.

But River, drifting on the edge of sleep, felt it.

A whisper through the dark.

A call she didn’t yet understand.

And something deep within her stirred in answer.

The next ‘incident’ happened barely a few hours later.

The TARDIS jolted violently mid-flight, alarms screaming across the console.

The Doctor slammed the handbrake and gripped the rail as River was nearly thrown off her feet.

“What is it now?” she shouted over the din.

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately — his eyes were locked on the central screen, face pale and grim.

Another rift.

Opening on its own.

No stabiliser, no manipulation.

It was happening naturally now.

Or worse — reactively.

Something was stirring them up.

Something that was hunting.

They landed with a rough thud in the middle of what looked like an abandoned railway yard.

Rusting tracks twisted into the distance, forgotten by time.

The air smelled of iron and ozone.

The Doctor pulled his coat tighter around himself, glancing uneasily at the thick mist rolling along the ground.

The scanner on his wrist was already beeping — sharp, frantic little chirps that spoke of dangerous instability.

“Stay close,” he told River firmly.

River arched an eyebrow, but said nothing — only adjusted the strap of her blaster and moved to his side.

The Doctor felt the prickle of fear crawl up his spine again.

Not for himself.

For her.

They picked their way through the debris.

The rift was close — the scanner was practically vibrating.

And so was something else.

River slowed suddenly, one hand at her side, steadying herself against a broken post.

The Doctor noticed instantly, doubling back.

“What is it?” he asked sharply.

River opened her mouth to answer — and staggered as a wave of nausea crashed through her.

The world tipped sideways.

She blinked rapidly, struggling to focus.

For a terrible, vertiginous moment, she wasn’t there — not really. She was somewhere else.

The same railway yard — but abandoned, destroyed — rusted skeletal remains of trains clawing at a blackened sky.

The rift was open wide in that vision, a screaming wound pouring chaos into the world.

River gasped, clutching her head.

The vision flickered away, leaving her kneeling in the mud, shaking.

The Doctor was already beside her, one hand firm on her back, the other scanning frantically.

"You're burning up," he muttered. "Your biodata's oscillating — you're phasing across potential timelines—"

River shook her head, panting.

“I'm fine,” she rasped. “Just... just a wobble.”

The Doctor gave her a look that said he didn't believe that for a second.

But he didn't argue.

He simply offered his arm, helping her upright, anchoring her solidly to him.

If River noticed how tightly he held her, she didn’t say a word.

The rift was opening ahead of them now, thin and stuttering.

They approached slowly.

Through the haze, the Doctor spotted him.

The man in the top hat.

No longer scanning.

Now, he stood before the thin rift tear, arms raised slightly — almost welcoming it.

As if expecting something to come through.

The Doctor pulled River back into the shadows instinctively.

They watched.

The rift juddered.

A shape moved inside it — indistinct, flickering, like a figure caught behind frosted glass.

It pushed at the boundary.

The man in the top hat smiled — a thin, knowing smile.

The Doctor’s hearts hammered in his chest.

“Something’s coming through,” he whispered.

River leaned heavily against him, struggling to keep her balance.

It wasn’t just physical now.

She could feel the pull again — stronger, more urgent, like invisible fingers trying to draw her forward.

Her whole body ached toward it.

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, anchoring herself.

The Doctor’s arm tightened around her protectively.

He could feel it too now.

The rift didn’t just want something.
It wanted River.

Specifically.

Personally.

The shape inside the rift twisted — a burst of golden-white light flashing — and then it collapsed in on itself with a thunderous crack.

The man flinched back, shielding his eyes.

When the light faded, the rift was gone.

And so was the figure.

The top-hatted man cursed under his breath — a sound too sharp, too cold to belong to this world.

He pulled out his vortex manipulator, tapping in furious commands.

And then he was gone too — swallowed by time.

The Doctor and River remained frozen for a long moment in the silence.

The Doctor's mind raced.

He was trying to piece it together — the scanning, the timing, the way the rift focused on River like a lodestar.

They weren’t random incidents.

They were searches.

The rift was being used.

But for what?

And why River?

They stumbled back to the TARDIS under the first heavy drops of rain.

Inside, the Doctor paced, restless and grim.

River sat quietly by the console, face pale and strained.

Every few minutes, she closed her eyes briefly, fighting off another wave of vertigo, of shifting vision.

The Doctor noticed — of course he noticed — and every time, his worry deepened.

He stopped suddenly, slamming his hands on the console.

“No more chasing,” he said. “No more waiting for them to come to us.”

River raised an eyebrow wearily.
“Oh? You’ve got a plan, sweetie?”

The Doctor grinned, wild and dangerous.

“Of course I do. I'm going to trap them."

River blinked.

"Trap... them?"

"The rift. The man. Whatever he’s trying to use. All of it.”

He darted around the console, flicking switches, spinning dials.

“We let them think they've won," he said. "We set the bait.”

River stared at him, a terrible understanding dawning.

“And I’m the bait.” she said quietly.

The Doctor froze.

Slowly, he turned to her.

“No. I’m the bait, if It wants you it has to go through me first.”

His face was bleak and fierce and unbearably tender.

“No, Doctor. I can do this. It’s me it wants.”

He stared at her. Thinking. Debating.

He sighed. Almost in defeat.

He held her face in his hands.

“I’ll never let them take you," he said simply.

River looked at him, at the endless universe of him, and smiled sadly.

"I know."

In the shadows of the deep-time corridors, beyond the reach of the TARDIS’ shielding,
the rift twitched again.

Hunting.

Waiting.

Hungering.

The trap was set.

But neither River nor the Doctor yet knew what was truly at stake.
Not yet.

Soon.

Very soon.

Chapter Text

The Doctor worked feverishly at the TARDIS console, his hands a blur.

Around him, the old girl hummed with barely-contained energy — sensing the urgency, the danger.

River watched from the jumpseat, arms wrapped around herself, trying to keep the shivers at bay.

It wasn’t cold.

Not really.

It was something deeper — something in her very bones.

Every so often, she felt herself slip — just for a fraction of a second — into other versions of the room: the console charred and broken, or missing entirely, or the TARDIS frozen in a bubble of still time.

Visions.

Flickers of what could be.

And every time, the pull toward the rift grew stronger.

She said nothing.

She just watched him.

The Doctor. Her impossible man.

Setting a trap for a predator that he didn’t even fully understand yet.

For her.

Because of her.

River pressed a hand to her abdomen, as if trying to anchor herself to this reality.

Steady.

Hold steady.

The plan was, in theory, simple.

The TARDIS would emit a stabilised false rift signature — a bait-signal, carefully tuned to the same frequency the top-hatted man had been tracking.

It would look, to any scanners, like a small, newly-formed rift event.

Just unstable enough to lure in anyone — or anything — hunting through the fractures of time.

The Doctor would then use the TARDIS’ own shields to isolate the intruder, trapping them inside a controlled field.

Simple.

Elegant.

And terrifyingly dangerous.

Because River would need to be there.

Close enough for the bait to look real.

Close enough to tempt whatever was stalking her.

“Where?” River asked, voice steady despite the pounding in her skull.

The Doctor adjusted a few more controls, bringing up a shimmering 3D map.

“Here," he said, tapping a point.

River leaned in.

It was an abandoned observatory, perched on the edge of a craggy cliffside.

Mid-twentieth century. France again.

Long since deserted — but structurally sound.

Remote. Perfect for containment.

The TARDIS could mask itself nearby, hidden in the crevices of time.

River nodded.

Perfect.

She rose — a little too quickly — and swayed.

The Doctor was beside her instantly, steadying her, a frown creasing his brow.

"You need to rest," he said quietly.

River smiled, exhausted.

"No time."

The Doctor hesitated — wanting to argue, desperately — but he could see the truth in her eyes.

They had to move.

Now.

Before the rift found them first.

The observatory loomed like a broken crown against a bruised sky.

The wind howled around it, tugging at River’s coat, lashing cold against her skin.

The Doctor planted the portable rift beacon at the heart of the main dome — a shimmering pillar of light that crackled and flickered artificially.

River stood a few paces away, arms crossed against herself, trying to look casual.

Trying not to tremble.

Her vision blurred again — just for a heartbeat — and for a terrible second she wasn’t in the observatory anymore but in a burned-out ruin of it, ash falling like snow.

River blinked hard, fighting it off.

The Doctor finished adjusting the beacon and crossed to her, concern etched deep in his face.

“Remember,” he said, low and urgent. “If anything goes wrong — anything at all — you get back to the TARDIS. No heroics.”

River gave him a look.

“You’re the one who wrote the book on heroics, sweetie.”

“And I’m serious," he said, voice rough. "I don’t care what happens. I don’t care if the whole place comes down. You run."

River smiled, touching his face lightly.

“I’ll be fine.”

He caught her hand, holding it for a moment longer than necessary.

As if memorising the feel of her.

As if anchoring himself.

They didn’t have to wait long.

The rift beacon flared once — a warning pulse.

And then the air split open.

Not naturally.

Not a wild tear.

A precise, surgically opened rift, carved into the fabric of reality like a door.

The Doctor tensed, sonic screwdriver in hand.

River stepped slightly behind him, heart hammering.

From the swirling chaos of the rift, a figure emerged.

Not the man in the top hat this time.

Someone else.

Armoured.

Masked.

Silent.

Their very presence felt wrong — like a note played backwards, scraping against the inside of the skull.

The figure scanned the room with a strange device.

Then their gaze — hidden behind mirrored lenses — locked onto River.

They moved with purpose.

Straight toward her.

The Doctor stepped between them immediately, sonic raised.

"Stay where you are!" he barked.

The figure paused — almost puzzled — then raised their own device.

A beam shot out — not a weapon, but a scanner — directed straight at River.

She staggered back instinctively.

Pain flared behind her eyes — a flash of something pushing against her senses, trying to tear something loose.

The Doctor lunged forward, slamming the sonic into a feedback pulse.

The scanner shorted with a high-pitched whine.

The figure recoiled — and in that split-second, the Doctor activated the containment field.

A shimmering cage of energy snapped into place, locking the intruder inside.

The figure pounded against it, furious — but trapped.

For now.

Back in the TARDIS, River slumped into the jumpseat, shaking.

The Doctor fussed around her, scanning her repeatedly, muttering under his breath.

“You’re getting worse," he said finally, voice low and hoarse.

River smiled weakly.

“Flatterer.”

He dropped to his knees before her, taking her hands.

"No jokes. Not this time."

Their foreheads pressed together, sharing breath.

"I don't know what they're after," he whispered. "But it's not just the rift. It's you. Somehow, it's you."

River closed her eyes.

“It’s all about you.”

The pull she had felt at the railway yard, at the observatory, even now — it was still there.

Quieter, but constant.

Calling.

Wanting.

In the containment cell, the figure sat motionless.

Waiting.

Planning.

Their master would come for them.

The hunt was not over.

The prize was still out there.

Hidden.

Protected.

But not for long.

Chapter Text

The Doctor stood just outside the TARDIS' makeshift containment chamber, arms folded tightly across his chest.

Through the translucent energy field, he studied the captured figure.

The masked intruder remained still, almost eerily so — hands resting calmly on their knees, helmeted head tilted slightly as if listening to something only they could hear.

River leaned against the interior railing a few feet behind him, watching silently.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, restless. She felt wired and exhausted all at once, every nerve ending raw. The visions hadn't stopped — if anything, they were growing more frequent — flashes of not-quite-real futures bleeding into the edges of her vision.

At times, the Doctor himself seemed to blur — flickering between the man she knew and some future shadow, lined and hollow-eyed with grief.

She forced the images down.

Focus.

The Doctor tapped the panel lightly, lowering the shield's communication setting.

The figure stirred at last.

Their voice crackled through the interface — distorted, mechanical.

"You are interfering."

The Doctor tilted his head, cool and sharp.

"And you are trespassing. Interesting dilemma."

Silence.

The Doctor stepped closer to the field, his face a study in controlled fury.

"Who are you working for? What's your interest in the rift?"

The figure said nothing.

River crossed her arms, studying the intruder intently.

Something about their posture... not desperate. Not afraid. Patient.

Waiting.

The Doctor changed tactics.

"You weren't trying to control the rift. Not this time," he said. "You were scanning. Analysing. Following something."

A beat.

"Following someone."

The helmet turned slightly — a fractional shift — toward River.

The Doctor’s entire body tensed.

He stepped in front of her automatically, blocking the figure's line of sight.

Protective. Instinctive.

River’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

The figure finally spoke again, their voice slower, almost contemplative.

"There is a... resonance," they said. "A frequency. New. Unstable. It must be retrieved."

"Retrieved," the Doctor echoed darkly. "Not harmed?"

No answer.

The Doctor leaned closer to the shield, voice dangerously soft.

"And if it can’t be retrieved?"

Another long pause.

Then:

"Then it must be destroyed."

Later, River found herself alone in the TARDIS library, curled into one of the deep leather chairs.

She stared blankly at a book open on her lap — something about quantum flux fields and temporal stabilisers — but she wasn’t really reading.

Her hands trembled slightly.

The Doctor hadn't said it out loud.

Not yet.

But she could feel it in him. In the way he hovered near her now, never straying far. The way he watched her when he thought she wasn't looking.

The way the TARDIS herself seemed to draw her deeper into her heart — shielding her.

They thought the rift was after her.

And maybe it was.

River closed her eyes.

Deep inside, something twisted — a sharp pang low in her belly, not quite pain but not far from it either.

She pressed a hand there again, frowning.

Another wave of nausea coiled in her gut, sharper this time.

She closed the book and pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, willing the dizziness to pass.

The TARDIS lights dimmed around her, soothing.

Protecting.

She whispered a soft thank you to the old girl.

And somewhere deep within the humming walls, the TARDIS answered — a low, mournful note vibrating through the ship's bones.

A warning.

And a promise.

In the console room, the Doctor paced.

The readings from the intruder's equipment were sprawled out across multiple panels.

He had dismantled the captured scanner device carefully — reverse-engineering it to understand its purpose.

It was frighteningly sophisticated.

Not just a passive monitor, but a hunter's tool — designed to lock onto very specific signatures of artron energy woven with biological data.

Time energy.

Life energy.

The Doctor’s fists clenched against the edge of the console.

Not just any life.

A singular event.

A singular anomaly.

River.

Something about her now was different.

Not just the usual tangle of her timeline — this was something new, something delicate and chaotic and potent enough to send ripples through the vortex itself.

And the rift — the fractures — they were being drawn to it.

Or through it.

He pressed his forehead against the console, breathing shallowly.

This was his fault.

Of course it was.

He had brought her here. Kept her close.

And now something was hunting her across time itself.

The Doctor opened his eyes.

No more running.

No more hiding.

He would burn the very stars before he let them take her.

River was trying to reach the medbay when the next wave hit.

It came out of nowhere — a sharp spike of vertigo that sent her stumbling into the wall.

Her vision blacked out for a second, stars dancing at the edges.

A hand was on her elbow immediately, steadying her.

The Doctor.

Of course.

His face was drawn tight with worry as he guided her down the corridor.

"No arguments," he said softly. "Medbay. Now."

River wanted to protest — to joke, to make light — but the words tangled uselessly in her mouth.

She let him lead her.

Let herself be held up for once.

The TARDIS whispered around them — corridors adjusting, lights softening — shepherding them towards safety.

In the medbay, the Doctor fussed with instruments and scanners, the familiar motions soothing both of them.

River lay back on the cushioned table, her breathing shallow.

The Doctor ran the sonic carefully over her, frowning deeper with every pass.

Unstable temporal signatures. Elevated artron saturation. Fluxation in her biodata locks.

And something else.

Something small and hidden and fiercely protected by her own biology.

The sonic buzzed once, softly.

The Doctor stared at it.

A strange, wild hope flickered across his features — and then he crushed it ruthlessly.

Not yet.

Not until he was sure.

He tucked the sonic away and sat on the edge of the table, brushing a curl from River’s forehead.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said, voice firm.

River smiled faintly, eyes fluttering half-shut.

“Liar," she murmured.

The Doctor smiled too, sad and fond.

“Always.”

Deep in the containment chamber, the captured intruder waited.

Listened.

Time itself trembled at the edges of the TARDIS — thin, worn, fraying.

Their master would come.

The prize would be found.

The future would bleed.

And River Song would not be able to hide forever.

The containment chamber pulsed with a low, steady hum — the energy field stabilising the temporal pressure bleeding off the captured figure.

The Doctor stood just beyond the threshold, arms folded, his face shadowed by the dimmed TARDIS lights.

River sat nearby, wrapped in a soft blanket, a mug of tea cradled loosely in her hands. Her colour had improved slightly, but she was still too pale for the Doctor’s liking. He watched her from the corner of his eye, every protective instinct screaming beneath his skin.

The intruder had said nothing else.

But they were waiting.

Waiting for something — or someone.

The Doctor stepped forward, crossing the threshold into interrogation range.

He spoke low and level, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet.

"The man in Paris," he said. "The one with the top hat and the scanner. Who was he?"

The figure remained still.

The Doctor's hand twitched slightly at his side — resisting the urge to pace.

"You were following the same trail, weren't you?" he pressed. "Both of you. But you're not allies. Otherwise you wouldn't have tried to breach the TARDIS shields."

Still silence.

River lifted her head, studying the figure with hooded eyes.

"Maybe they’re working against each other," she said slowly. "Competing."

The Doctor’s gaze sharpened.

"Two hunters," he murmured. "Same prey."

He stepped closer to the shield, voice colder now.

"But why you? Why here, why now?"

Still the figure said nothing — but their fingers twitched once, a subtle, involuntary reaction.

The Doctor noticed.

Pounced.

"You didn't expect to find it yet, did you?" he said. "Whatever you're tracking. You thought it would be dormant longer."

A long, tense silence.

Then — barely audible — the figure spoke again, voice rough and mechanical:

"The anomaly... accelerated."

The Doctor's stomach dropped.

River frowned, straightening slightly.

"Accelerated how?" she asked.

The figure’s head tilted fractionally toward her again — the Doctor moved between them without thinking, shielding her.

"Unknown variables," the figure rasped. "Instability increased."

The Doctor’s mind raced, pulling threads together at blistering speed.

The rift had been behaving differently ever since River started experiencing symptoms. Not just cracks in time — fissures, violent and hungry, almost sentient in their seeking.

He clenched his jaw.

River’s timeline was always tangled — fixed points, broken points, paradoxes knotted together like barbed wire. But this... this was something deeper. Primal.

He turned back to the figure.

"Who sent you?" he demanded.

The figure shifted minutely.

"Our master seeks... equilibrium," it said.

"Equilibrium," the Doctor echoed with quiet fury. "By tearing holes in the universe?"

The figure did not answer.

The Doctor stepped back, breathing hard.

This was bigger than he had feared.

Not just scavengers or time pirates — this was orchestrated. A deliberate hunt across timelines. A cleansing, perhaps. Or a reclamation.

And River — River was caught at the very centre of it.

He turned toward her, and his anger faltered for a moment.

She was watching him, her expression calm and knowing — but he saw the fear underneath.

Not for herself.

For him.

For whatever this was going to cost.

The Doctor crossed to her in two strides, sinking down to her level.

"You don't have to do this," he said fiercely. "You don't have to be in the middle of it."

River smiled — small and sad and terribly brave.

"Sweetie," she murmured, reaching up to cup his face. "I am the middle of it."

Hours later, they gathered in the console room again, the captured figure still contained securely in the lower levels.

The Doctor had reconstructed a partial data sequence from the intruder’s scanner device — a map of rift events spanning centuries, criss-crossing planets and timelines like scars.

But the pattern wasn’t random.

It spiralled inward.

Toward them.

River leaned heavily against the console, her face shadowed.

She pointed to a highlighted point in the map — a convergence less than twenty-four hours into their relative future.

"There," she said. "That’s the next tear."

The Doctor frowned.

"Location?"

River tapped the screen.

A ruined temple, long abandoned, clinging to the edge of a broken world.

He set his jaw.

Trap or not, they had no choice.

They needed answers.

The TARDIS hummed in agreement — a low, wary sound.

River straightened slowly, steadying herself against the railing.

The Doctor watched her narrowly.

"You need to rest," he said.

"I'll rest when the universe stops trying to eat me alive," she said dryly, though her voice shook a little.

The Doctor hesitated — then reached out, taking her hand.

"Stay close to me," he said quietly.

River squeezed his fingers once, fierce and warm.

"Always."

The TARDIS materialised with a lurch on the fractured surface of a dead planet.

The sky was a sickly purple, torn by lightning.

The temple ruins loomed ahead — black against the dying horizon, crumbling towers reaching like broken fingers toward the stars.

The Doctor and River stepped out carefully, the air sharp with the metallic tang of imminent storm.

River shivered.

Not from the cold.

The rift energy here was palpable — thick and clinging, like walking through smoke.

The Doctor checked the scanner strapped to his wrist.

Spike after spike of instability.

But no sign yet of the man in the top hat.

No sign yet of whatever — or whoever — had sent the figure after them.

River stumbled suddenly, one hand flying to her temple.

The Doctor caught her immediately, steadying her.

"River—?"

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright.

"I'm fine. Just... noise. Like echoes."

He helped her breathe through it, grounding her.

The temple entrance yawned before them — a dark mouth in the stone.

The Doctor scanned the threshold.

Heavy residual artron energy.

Something had come through here.

Recently.

Maybe even the man in the top hat himself.

Or something worse.

River drew her weapon, checking the charge.

The Doctor adjusted his sonic and tried not to think about the way her hand trembled ever so slightly.

They entered the ruins together.

Deeper.

Darker.

The rift pulse was stronger here — a steady throb, alive in the walls.

The Doctor moved first, scanning, while River kept watch.

Suddenly, from the gloom ahead, a figure materialised.

Not the masked captor.

Not the top-hatted man either.

Something new.

Something wrong.

River raised her weapon instinctively.

The figure stepped into the weak light — tall, draped in tattered robes, face hidden in a featureless silver mask.

Their voice slithered across the stones.

"You have brought it closer," it said.

The Doctor shifted to place himself squarely between River and the newcomer.

"Closer to what?"

The figure tilted its head.

"To the singularity. To the vessel."

River's stomach twisted violently — a ripple of nausea and vertigo that nearly sent her crashing to her knees.

The Doctor caught her instantly, bracing her weight.

"River," he breathed, terrified.

The masked figure raised one hand — not in threat, but almost in reverence.

"It awakens," they whispered.

River's vision blurred — reality shattering at the edges.

And for just a heartbeat, she felt it — something stirring deep inside her timeline, something ancient and fragile and vast.

She gasped — and the storm outside screamed in answer, lightning raking the sky.

The Doctor gathered her close, shielding her with his body as the ground heaved beneath them.

The rift was opening.

And this time — it wasn’t reaching out to snatch random lives.

It was reaching for her.

Chapter Text

The ground split with a thunderous crack.

Stone shattered at the masked figure’s feet, sending a web of fractures racing through the ancient temple floor. From deep below, a sickly golden-blue light flared — the unmistakable energy of the rift, raw and untamed.

River clung to the Doctor, her body trembling violently.

It was inside her head — no, deeper — inside her bones. The rift's pull was no longer a distant hum but a living thing, reaching for her with greedy, invisible hands.

The Doctor gritted his teeth against the roar of the rising storm. He locked his arms tighter around River, anchoring her to him.

"Hold on," he shouted over the cacophony.

The masked figure didn't move. Didn't even flinch.

Instead, it watched — impassive, expectant.

The Doctor’s mind raced furiously.

This was deliberate.
This was a summoning.
And River — River was the catalyst.

The temple stones around them shimmered, fragments of reality peeling back like old wallpaper. Through the tears, distorted glimpses of other times bled through: ancient forests burning under alien suns; frozen cities collapsing under endless night; children laughing, distorted into something monstrous.

River whimpered softly against him — a raw, helpless sound he had never heard from her before.

The Doctor snarled under his breath and thrust the sonic screwdriver at the nearest rift fissure, forcing a burst of counter-frequency through the stone. The tear wavered, shrieked — then slammed shut with a deafening crack.

But it was only a temporary fix.

The rift wasn't just opening at random.

It was trying to pull her through.

The masked figure spoke again — almost gently, like a priest delivering final rites.

"It calls to its own."

The Doctor snapped his head up, fury blazing.

"She's not yours," he spat. "She's not anyone's."

He fired the sonic again, this time sweeping it in a wide arc, forcing a stabilisation wave through the room. The worst of the fissures snapped shut, the temple’s tremors easing — but River sagged heavily in his arms, semi-conscious.

The Doctor caught her fully, cradling her against his chest.

"You’re alright," he whispered fiercely into her hair. "I've got you. I've got you."

River stirred weakly, her hand fisting in the fabric of his coat.

"You always do," she murmured, barely audible.

The masked figure began to retreat, fading into the shadows beyond the ruined arches — not running, simply withdrawing, its purpose seemingly fulfilled.

The Doctor wanted to chase it.
Wanted to tear the answers from it.

But River came first.

Always.

He lifted her carefully into his arms and turned back toward the TARDIS, striding through the storm with grim determination.

Behind him, the ruined temple collapsed fully, swallowed by the angry light of the rift.

Inside the TARDIS, the doors slammed shut behind them with a thunderous finality.

The ship lurched violently as it tore free from the planet’s decaying gravity.

The Doctor barely made it to the med-bay, setting River down gently on the examination table.

The TARDIS dimmed her lights, humming low and worried.

River's eyes fluttered open, dazed.

The Doctor scanned her quickly — vitals erratic but stable. No temporal injuries. No cellular degradation. Just... overwhelming stress.

And something else.

The scanner readings wavered.

Fluxes he couldn't immediately explain — strange signatures tangled deep in her timeline, not dangerous, but... layered.

Complex.

Old and new at once.

The Doctor frowned, rerunning the scan manually.

River reached for his hand weakly, tugging him back down to her.

"I’m alright," she insisted, her voice rough.

"No, you're not," he said fiercely. "River, something’s wrong. You’re—"

He stopped himself just in time.

Because the words perched on the tip of his tongue weren’t ones he could say yet.

Not yet.

Instead, he squeezed her hand gently.

"We’re going to fix this," he said, softer now. "Whatever it is. I swear."

River gave him a weary smile.

"You’re adorable when you make impossible promises."

The Doctor pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Good thing I’m excellent at keeping them."

The TARDIS shuddered slightly — a signal.

Something was happening.

Something was moving through the vortex outside.

The Doctor’s head snapped up.

The captured figure below decks — the first intruder — had begun reacting too. Their containment chamber pulsed angrily, resonance building.

He needed answers.

Now.

He turned back to River.

"Rest," he said firmly. "Please."

She gave a mock-salute, too exhausted to argue.

The Doctor kissed her forehead again — lingering longer this time — then strode out.

He reached the lower deck in seconds, skidding to a halt before the containment field.

The masked figure had risen to their feet, pressed flat against the energy shield, their form shimmering faintly — as though a second, hidden figure shifted inside them.

"Speak," the Doctor ordered. "Tell me what’s happening."

The figure’s voice was strange now — almost two voices speaking as one.

"It comes," they said.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes.

"What does?"

The figure laughed — a hollow, broken sound.

"The rift is not a door. It is a womb."

The Doctor felt the blood drain from his face.

He opened his mouth — but no words came.

The figure pressed closer to the shield.

"And it is nearly time."

The containment field crackled violently — and with a final, shattering pulse, the figure vanished, dissolved into raw energy.

The Doctor stumbled back, shielding his eyes.

When he looked up — the chamber was empty.

Only the humming, broken echoes of their final words remained.

Later, standing alone in the TARDIS console room, the Doctor stared at the swirling vortex on the viewscreen.

The pieces clicked together in his mind — half-formed, monstrous.

Something was coming.

Something that was tied to the rift.

Tied to River.

But how?

And why?

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted.

Behind him, River appeared — leaning heavily against the doorway, her hair tangled, her skin still too pale.

"You should be resting," he said quietly, without turning.

River smiled faintly.

"You should be less stubborn," she countered, stepping shakily toward him.

The Doctor caught her again instinctively, wrapping his arms around her without thinking.

For a long moment, they just stood there.

The TARDIS circled endlessly through the stars around them, the ancient hum of her engines the only sound.

River tucked her head against his chest.

"I trust you," she whispered.

The Doctor closed his eyes.

"I’ll protect you," he whispered back.

No matter what it cost him.

No matter what was coming.

Even if he didn’t yet understand...

Even if some deep, ancient part of him was already beginning to suspect the terrible, beautiful truth just beyond the horizon.

The TARDIS drifted silently through the vortex.

The Doctor stood at the console, hands resting lightly on the controls, staring out into the endless swirl of golden storm beyond.

River had fallen asleep curled in one of the battered old armchairs, a blanket thrown haphazardly over her knees, the gentle rise and fall of her chest the only confirmation she was still tethered to him.

He couldn’t shake it.

The feeling.

The wrongness.

The rift hadn’t just reacted to her. It had wanted her.

Or worse — needed her.

The Doctor’s hand hovered over the scanner controls, hesitating.

He shouldn’t run another scan.

River would scold him for fussing. For poking and prodding when she was clearly exhausted.

But—

He adjusted the settings quietly, isolating the last readings from the temple.

There.
Buried deep in the data.

A pattern.

A faint signal threading through the background noise, fluctuating in tandem with River’s proximity to the rift events. It wasn’t harmful — at least, not yet — but it was there, woven into the very fabric of her biological and temporal makeup.

Almost like... a beacon.

The Doctor frowned, magnifying the signal.

No recognisable code. No signature he could trace.

But somehow it felt familiar — achingly, impossibly familiar — like the echo of a song he hadn’t yet heard.

He leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Too many questions.

Not enough answers.

And the masked figure — the man they’d tracked across Paris, the one who had scanned the rift and disappeared — where did he fit into this?

The Doctor’s jaw tightened.

He’d assumed the figure was simply studying the rift, observing. But now...

What if he was doing more?

What if he was mapping something?

Something that hadn't fully manifested yet?

Something — or someone — that hadn’t yet arrived?

He exhaled sharply.

Time was folding strangely around them. The TARDIS herself seemed jittery, uneasy — her usual smooth hum broken now and then by stuttering pulses.

River stirred slightly in her sleep, a soft sound escaping her lips.

The Doctor was at her side instantly.

He brushed a hand gently across her forehead, feeling the slight fever beneath her skin.

Symptoms.

Still mild.

But they were there: fatigue, dizziness, the occasional spike in temporal readings around her.

He blamed the rift.

Had to blame the rift.

Anything else...
Anything else was too impossible even for him.

River shifted again, murmuring something inaudible, and the Doctor soothed her back into stillness, guilt gnawing at his hearts.

He should have kept her away from this.

He should have shielded her better.

Instead, he had dragged her into the teeth of the storm.

When River finally woke, hours later, she found him exactly where she had left him — perched on the jump seat by the console, chin tucked against his chest, wide awake and brooding.

She stretched carefully, hiding a wince at the ache in her lower back.

"Good morning, Sweetie," she croaked, her voice rough with sleep.

The Doctor’s head snapped up, a boyish grin lighting his face.

"Afternoon, actually," he said. "You slept for quite a while."

She sat up slowly, the blanket falling away.

"Apparently being nearly sucked through a temporal fissure takes it out of you," she said dryly.

The Doctor was at her side immediately, offering a hand to steady her.

She waved him off — but not without a flash of affection.

"I’m fine, Doctor."

"You’re not fine," he said softly, almost sadly. "But you will be."

River smiled faintly and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"So," she said, trying to inject some brightness into the heavy atmosphere. "What’s the plan?"

The Doctor sobered.

"I've been thinking about our masked friend," he said. "About what he was doing."

River raised an eyebrow.

"And?"

"I don’t think he was just gathering random data. I think he was following a pattern."

River frowned thoughtfully.

"A pattern in the rift events?"

The Doctor hesitated.

"A pattern across them," he said. "Like he's plotting a course. Mapping something."

River’s eyes sharpened.

"A destination?"

"Maybe," the Doctor said. "Or a... convergence point."

He crossed back to the console, bringing up the rift energy maps again — dozens of jagged peaks and valleys flickering against a black background.

River joined him, studying the patterns.

At first it was chaos.

Unpredictable, violent.

But if you looked closer...

A subtle spiral.
A gathering momentum.
Like something enormous coiling in on itself.

River whistled low under her breath.

"That’s not random."

The Doctor nodded grimly.

"No. It’s deliberate."

River tapped the map thoughtfully.

"So... he’s waiting for something to emerge from the rift?"

The Doctor met her gaze.

"Or he's trying to find a way in."

They shared a long, heavy look.

Neither liked where that line of thinking led.

Later, after more calculations and another failed attempt at eating something resembling soup, the Doctor returned to the console and frowned at the latest scan.

A new energy signature had appeared.

Faint.

But distinct.

The same golden-blue frequency that had flooded the temple — but concentrated into a single, moving point.

He tracked it — triangulated the position.

It was moving through the vortex itself.

Hunting.

Searching.

And, alarmingly, it was matching speed and heading with the TARDIS.

The Doctor's blood ran cold.

He adjusted the shields instinctively, thickening the layers around them.

River appeared at his shoulder.

She saw the readings immediately.

"You think it’s the masked man?"

The Doctor shook his head slowly.

"No. Different resonance. Stronger."

He hesitated.

"Older."

River’s brows drew together.

"Older how?"

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he reached for the manual piloting lever, setting a new course.

"Time to stop running," he said grimly. "We find him — before he finds us."

River tilted her head, studying him.

"Afraid he’s coming for you, Sweetie?"

The Doctor's smile was thin and humourless.

"Afraid he’s coming for you," he said.

River blinked.

"But why me?"

The Doctor didn't have an answer.

Not yet.

He just gripped the controls tighter, the knuckles of his hand whitening.

Somewhere, deep inside the endless howl of the time vortex, something was closing in.

And the Doctor knew — with a certainty that chilled him — that whatever lay at the heart of the rift’s hunger, whatever the masked man and the vanished figure had been working toward…

It was all about River.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS shuddered as the Doctor twisted the controls sharply, forcing her out of the main flow of the vortex.

River clutched the edge of the console to steady herself, her hair whipping across her face.

"Bit of warning next time, love," she said, shooting him a crooked smile.

The Doctor flashed a brief, distracted grin — but his eyes were elsewhere, fixed grimly on the screen.

Ahead of them, through the shifting storm of time, loomed the ruins of a station.

It floated at the outer edge of a collapsed star system — the remnants of a dead sun still swirling in sullen, heavy rings around a broken gravitational core.

The station itself was shattered and skeletal, like the picked bones of some enormous beast. Jagged metal drifted slowly around the central structure, silent in the void.

River felt a shiver run down her spine.

It wasn't just dead.
It felt... forgotten.

"What is this place?" she asked quietly.

The Doctor’s hands hovered over the controls, reluctant to land.

"Outpost Beta-Seven," he said at last. "Built during the Second Expansion. It was a waystation — a relay point for deep-space travellers."

River scanned the drifting ruin thoughtfully.

"Doesn’t look like it’s seen much travel recently."

The Doctor’s mouth twisted.

"It was abandoned after the collapse. Nothing should be here."

He tapped a control, zooming the scanners in.

But something was here.

Faint traces of energy, threading through the wreckage — the same golden-blue signature that had been chasing them.

It had stopped moving.

Waiting.

River slung her holster belt over her hips and checked the charge on her blaster.

"Well," she said, flashing him a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes, "let’s not keep our mystery guest waiting."

The Doctor hesitated, his hand brushing lightly against hers.

"Stay close to me, River," he said, low and serious.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Sweetie, when have I ever done anything else?"

But her heart beat a little faster all the same.

The air inside the station was dry and brittle, tasting faintly of rust and old ozone.

Their footsteps echoed eerily through the hollow corridors, the walls cracked and peeling with age.

River kept her blaster loose in her hand, her senses sharp.

The Doctor’s scanner emitted a steady, quiet pulse — tracking the energy signature deeper into the station’s broken heart.

At one point, River staggered slightly, clutching at the wall.

The Doctor was at her side instantly.

"River?"

She waved him off with a breathless laugh.

"Just a dizzy spell. Old buildings make me giddy."

The Doctor didn’t laugh.

He studied her carefully, his face shuttered, before nodding and stepping back.

They pressed on.

The deeper they went, the stronger the strange wrongness became.

River felt it prickling against her skin — a low, thrumming unease she couldn’t quite shake.

Finally, they emerged into a wide, circular chamber — what must have once been the station’s central operations hub.

Now it was little more than a graveyard of shattered consoles and collapsed beams.

In the centre of the room stood a figure.

Not the masked man from Paris.

Someone else.

This figure was slumped against a support pillar, half-obscured by shadows.

The Doctor and River exchanged a glance.

Cautiously, they approached.

The closer they got, the clearer the picture became.

The figure was humanoid — male, by the looks of it — clad in a torn and scorched technician’s uniform. His skin was deathly pale, his lips tinged blue with the cold of space.

He was dead.

And clutched tightly in his lifeless hand was a device.

The Doctor knelt carefully, prising it free.

It was old tech — cobbled together from dozens of mismatched eras, bits of Gallifreyan interface grafted onto human-built processors, stitched through with alien filaments River didn’t recognise.

A crude scanner.

But not one designed for navigation.

It was for locating something.

Or someone.

The Doctor turned it over in his hands, frowning.

A faint, pulsing light blinked steadily on its screen.

River crouched beside him, studying the readings.

"They were looking for something," she murmured. "Something here."

The Doctor nodded grimly.

"But they didn’t find it."

He looked around at the desolation.

"Or whatever they were looking for found them first."

River shivered.

She hated stations like this.
Places where the dead lingered longer than they should.

The Doctor pocketed the device and rose to his feet, scanning the room one last time.

Something about the way the consoles were smashed, the way the walls bore deep gouges — it wasn’t just age or collapse.

It was violence.

Something had torn through this place like a storm.

And left only silence behind.

Back aboard the TARDIS, they reviewed the data.

River perched on the jump seat, sipping water and trying to shake off the lingering chill of the station.

The Doctor spread holographic projections across the console — maps, timelines, fragments of corrupted code.

The scanner the dead man had carried was old, damaged — but one thing was clear:

It had been tuned to the same rift energy that had targeted River.

Not random.

Not coincidence.

Targeted.

And worse — it was searching across multiple points in time, scanning for matching signatures.

River rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

"So they weren’t looking for the rift itself," she said slowly. "They were looking for... what? A by-product? A... a person?"

The Doctor met her gaze, his expression carefully blank.

"We don't know that yet," he said.

But River saw the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.

He knew.

Or he suspected.

He just wasn’t ready to say it aloud.

Not yet.

The TARDIS gave a low, worried groan beneath their feet.

River reached out instinctively, pressing her palm against the coral struts.

"I don’t like this," she said quietly.

The Doctor turned back to the console, shielding his emotions behind a flurry of movement.

"Neither do I," he said.

He keyed in new coordinates — setting course for the next closest rift event, trying to stay ahead of the growing storm.

River leaned back, watching him, her heart tight in her chest.

Something was coming for them.

Something old, and patient, and hungry.

And somehow, impossibly, it was tied to her.

But the why — and the what — remained maddeningly out of reach.

For now.

The TARDIS hummed steadily, and River allowed herself a brief moment of respite as they made their way through the time vortex.

The Doctor was lost in thought, his hands flicking across the console, setting their course for an ancient world. The library world — or rather, what was left of it — was a place he'd been to only once before, a long time ago. Its name had been lost to time, but its purpose remained clear: a repository of the universe's forgotten secrets.

The world had once been home to the greatest minds of countless species, scholars and philosophers who had catalogued the mysteries of the cosmos. The library was said to hold knowledge so vast that even Time itself had difficulty keeping track of it.

River studied the Doctor as he worked. He was on edge again, his movements sharp and distracted. There was something about this latest rift event that had gotten under his skin. But he wasn’t talking about it. Not yet.

“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, leaning over his shoulder, her voice light but searching.

The Doctor didn’t look up, his eyes scanning the screen in front of him. “The Library of Tylith. It’s an archive world. Most of it was destroyed in the Great Temporal Collapse, but the surviving fragments are said to contain records of events... lost to the universe. Including, I suspect, answers to our rift problem.”

River raised an eyebrow. "Lost events? How lost are we talking here?"

The Doctor’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, his expression unreadable. “Far too lost.”

A brief silence fell between them. River’s mind immediately went to the implications — was it something connected to the rift? Or was it more personal, more dangerous?

Before she could ask, the TARDIS gave a slight jolt, a sharp shift in its usually steady course.

The Doctor slammed a few switches and adjusted a dial. "Don't worry, love, we’ve arrived."

When the doors to the TARDIS opened, the world beyond them seemed untouched by time — pristine in its decay. The air felt dense with knowledge, ancient dust suspended in the atmosphere like forgotten whispers.

The library was massive. Gigantic stone pillars reached high into the sky, their surfaces worn smooth by millennia of exposure to the elements. Shattered sections of the structure littered the grounds, fragments of once-stunning arches and walls now scattered like forgotten pages torn from an ancient book.

“I’m guessing this place didn’t survive the collapse well,” River said as she stepped out, her boots crunching on the gravel beneath her feet.

The Doctor didn't answer right away. Instead, he began adjusting a small handheld device — an archaic-looking scanner, nearly as old as the library itself. He waved it in front of him, checking for residual energy, his brow furrowing.

"It’s still active," he muttered. "Just barely."

They walked deeper into the ruins, River trailing behind him, her fingers brushing against the cold stone, feeling the weight of history all around them. She caught sight of books, scattered and half-decayed, some untouched by the ravages of time, others crumbling to dust. This was more than a library. It was a tomb.

The Doctor moved quickly, his eyes scanning the surroundings as though trying to catch a glimpse of something specific.

“We’re looking for records,” he said, his voice sharp with purpose. “Something about the rift. Or, more importantly, something about the man we’re tracking.”

River’s curiosity piqued. “The top-hatted man?”

The Doctor’s face hardened. "Yes. He’s been appearing in records across timelines, subtly connected to the rift, always in the background of major temporal events. He’s not just a wanderer. He’s been studying something."

She narrowed her eyes. “Studying the rift?”

“Possibly,” the Doctor said, “but it’s something more than that. He’s... connected to its very nature. I think we need to dig deeper.”

They continued through the crumbling halls, the silence in the air feeling heavier with each step.

After an hour of searching, they found themselves in the remnants of what had once been a vast chamber. The walls were lined with broken shelves, the floor littered with fragments of shattered manuscripts. Amidst the ruin, however, stood a massive stone slab, partially buried under fallen debris, its surface carved with intricate, glowing symbols.

River approached cautiously, running her fingers over the markings.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice hushed in the presence of something so ancient.

The Doctor moved beside her, kneeling down to study the slab more closely. His scanner flared in his hands, confirming what they both already suspected.

“It’s a prophecy,” he said softly. “A warning. Of a child born to the rift.”

River blinked, a chill running down her spine. “A child? The rift has a child?”

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not literal, at least, I don’t think it is. But this child... It seems to be connected to the rift, to its very existence.”

The symbols on the slab pulsed faintly, glowing a dull golden-blue, the same hue they had seen in the rift energy. The Doctor muttered to himself as he traced the characters, his expression deepening with thought.

“This child will... bring balance, or destruction. It’s unclear. The rift will either stabilize or tear apart depending on this child’s path.”

River stared at the symbols, a heavy silence falling over them.

“So,” she said slowly, “the rift is... waiting for this child?”

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were still fixed on the symbols, the gears in his mind turning rapidly.

“Not waiting,” he said eventually, looking up at her. “More like... searching.”

River could feel the weight of his words. Searching. The rift was looking for something, or someone. But what did that mean for her?

“I don’t understand,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a tremor she hadn’t expected. “If it’s looking for a child, why would it be after me?”

The Doctor met her gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I have a horrible feeling that whatever’s happening, it has to do with you. With us. With what we’re doing here.”

River stepped back, her heart racing in her chest.

She looked away, hiding the uncertainty in her eyes.

“I don’t like this,” she said. "Something feels off. We need to figure out where this man is going next."

The Doctor nodded. "You're right. Let's get to the coordinates for the next rift event. There's more to uncover."

Chapter Text

The TARDIS groaned and shuddered as it locked into the next set of coordinates. The Doctor was already moving, his fingers flying over the console with practiced ease, setting their course with a focus that told River he was more determined than ever.

“Where are we headed this time?” she asked, stepping up beside him, still trying to shake the lingering tension from their last encounter in the library. There was something eerie about that place — something that had felt almost alive in a way she couldn’t quite explain. The more she thought about it, the more unsettled she became.

“The year’s 1836,” the Doctor answered without looking up, his attention fixed on the controls. “It’s an important moment — just before a rift event in London. Another one of those disappearances that we’ve been tracking.”

River’s breath caught in her chest. Another rift. Another piece of the puzzle. They were getting closer.

“London?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “What’s the connection?”

He glanced at her, a glint of something unspoken in his eyes. “It’s not the rift that concerns me, not anymore. It's him.”

River frowned. “You think the man’s behind this, too?”

The Doctor nodded grimly, his expression darkening. “I do. The pattern’s too consistent. Every rift event, he’s there — always observing, cataloguing. It’s like he’s trying to understand the rift’s power. But why? And what exactly is he hoping to achieve?”

The TARDIS shook again, pulling River from her thoughts. She had learned over the years that there was little use in questioning the Doctor’s instincts when it came to matters of time, especially when his mind was this focused. She simply trusted that wherever they were going, it was the next step in their search for answers.

The sound of the TARDIS doors opening was muffled by the bustling noise of the London streets outside. As they stepped out, the cold night air hit River’s face, and she shivered involuntarily. The streets were alive with movement — horse-drawn carriages clattered over cobblestones, the voices of street vendors calling out in the fog, and the occasional dim light of a lamp flickering in the distance.

“It’s an unusual time for a rift event,” the Doctor murmured as he scanned the surroundings with his device. His brow furrowed as the scanner beeped faintly, indicating traces of temporal instability.

River turned to him, noting his growing intensity. “Where are we headed?”

The Doctor didn’t answer at first. Instead, he pulled out the same small device from the library — the one he had used to trace the top-hatted man earlier. “We’re close,” he muttered, his voice a little strained.

They turned into an alleyway, the darkness thick around them, and River followed the Doctor, feeling the weight of his urgency. She could sense something was off. The man, this stranger who had been haunting their every move, was closer than ever.

“I can feel it,” the Doctor whispered as they walked deeper into the narrow passageway. “He’s been here. Recently.”

River stepped closer to him, her hand brushing his arm instinctively. She was more than aware of how intense the situation had become, of how their search was bringing them deeper into something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

Suddenly, the Doctor stopped dead in his tracks.

River looked up sharply. “What is it?”

He was staring at a small, crumpled piece of paper on the ground. Without a word, he bent down and picked it up. His face tightened as he unfolded the paper, revealing an inked diagram — a complex series of swirling symbols, the same symbols they had seen in the library, but this time scrawled hastily on the page.

“This is...,” River began, but the Doctor was already muttering to himself.

“This is from the same source,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “It’s him. He’s marking the rift events on a map.”

He held up the paper to the dim light, squinting at it. “This is the first time he’s left something behind. A breadcrumb.”

River’s stomach twisted. “Do you think he knows we’re following him?”

The Doctor didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flicking over the diagram. “It doesn’t matter. He’s made a mistake.”

They were quiet for a moment, both of them absorbing the weight of the discovery. This wasn’t just some casual observer. The man was controlling the rift’s activities. He was tracking them, manipulating them, and they were getting closer to understanding why.

They moved through the streets of London, following the map and the trail left behind by the stranger. The Doctor’s mind was spinning, turning over possibilities, connections, and dangers that River couldn’t fully follow. She had long since learned to let him lead — to trust that wherever they were going, they would get the answers they needed.

Finally, they came to a large building at the edge of the city, its imposing structure looming in the fog. The Doctor approached it cautiously, peering at the map again. “This is it,” he said. “The coordinates match.”

River followed him to the side of the building, where a small entrance led to a forgotten courtyard. She could feel the energy of the rift growing stronger as they moved closer, a subtle hum that vibrated beneath her skin. It was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

“This is where he’s been,” the Doctor said. “He’s using this location to track the rift, to observe the fluctuations.”

“But why here?” River asked, confused. “Why London?”

The Doctor paused, eyes narrowing as he inspected the courtyard more closely. “Because there’s something unique about this location. Something ancient... connected to the timeline of the rift.”

River’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? What’s here?”

The Doctor didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on a faded mural on the wall of the courtyard. A series of symbols, almost identical to those they had seen before, were etched into the stone.

The Doctor’s fingers traced the symbols, his lips moving silently as if reading the language. His eyes widened as he turned back to River.

“Of course,” he muttered. “This isn’t just a coincidence. This is where it all started.”

River’s mind raced as the Doctor spoke. Where had it all started? What had this man been doing, and why was the rift so connected to him?

Before she could voice her next question, the Doctor’s scanner flared wildly in his hand. A bright pulse of light shot from it, illuminating the courtyard.

“We’ve been spotted,” he said grimly.

And before River could react, a figure stepped out of the shadows.

The top-hatted man.

The courtyard was shrouded in fog, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. River could feel the weight of the moment settling over her, the electric charge in the air as the Doctor’s scanner beeped erratically. A sharp, almost metallic hum buzzed through the space, making her skin prickle.

She barely had time to react before the figure stepped forward, the familiar shape of the top-hatted man emerging from the shadows.

He was just as River remembered: tall, poised, with a precision to his every movement that seemed unnatural, almost mechanical. His dark suit and overcoat clung to his tall frame like he was born in them, and the gleaming silver head of his cane caught the dim light in the courtyard. His eyes, cold and calculating, met hers, and for the briefest moment, River felt the ground beneath her shift.

He wasn’t just another stranger in time.

This man had a purpose.

“Professor Song,” he said, his voice smooth, as if every word had been measured in advance. There was an almost mocking cadence to his tone. “I’ve been expecting you.”

River stiffened, her hand instinctively reaching for her gun — but she stopped herself just in time. No point in drawing unnecessary attention to the situation. She could feel the Doctor’s presence beside her, his body language tense, ready to spring into action if needed.

“Expecting us?” The Doctor’s voice rang out, sharp and filled with the kind of disbelief that only he could manage. “You’ve been following us, haven’t you?”

The man tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “I wouldn’t say ‘following’,” he said, his lips curling into a thin smile. “More like... observing. Tracking. After all, it’s not every day you find such... intriguing anomalies in the fabric of time.”

The Doctor’s grip on his scanner tightened, and River could feel the unease radiating off him. There was something deeply wrong about this man — something about him was off, far beyond his strange appearance.

“What do you want with us?” River asked, stepping forward, her voice steady but her gaze never leaving the man’s face. Her instincts were on edge, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Something about him — it didn’t sit right.

The man raised an eyebrow, as though River’s question amused him. “What do I want with you, River Song? You’re a question I’ve been meaning to answer for some time now.” His eyes flicked over to the Doctor, and then back to her. “You’re more important than you realise.”

River glanced at the Doctor, but he didn’t seem to catch the deeper meaning behind the man’s words. His mind was working a million miles an hour, as it always did in these situations.

“Important? To you?” the Doctor shot back, his tone more defensive now. “I think you’ve got it all wrong. We’re here to find out what you’re doing with these rifts — why you’re tracking them.”

The man’s expression shifted, but only slightly — a subtle flicker in his eyes that said more than words ever could. He took a slow step forward, his gaze locking on the Doctor, and then to River.

“You don’t understand,” he said quietly, his voice now a low murmur, almost as if speaking to himself. “I’m not causing the rifts, you see. I’m simply... studying them. Understanding their flow through time. You might say... I’m trying to learn how to control them.”

River’s heart skipped a beat. “Control them? You’re insane. The rift isn’t something you can control. It’s a tear in time. It’s unstable. It’ll tear the universe apart.”

The man smirked, as though River’s warnings were nothing more than an inconvenience. “That’s where you’re wrong, River Song. It’s not about controlling the rift. It’s about understanding it, mastering it. Once you have that power...” He let the words trail off, the implication hanging heavy in the air. “Then you can do anything.”

The Doctor took a sharp step forward, raising a hand in warning. “You’re playing with forces you don’t understand. Forces that could unravel everything. Time itself.”

The man’s smile faltered for a split second — but it was enough. The briefest crack in his composed exterior.

“And you think you do?” he asked, his voice suddenly darker. “You who travel through time, meddling with it as if it’s some kind of playground? Who are you to lecture me?”

The Doctor didn’t flinch, his eyes blazing with determination. “I’m the one who has seen the consequences of your kind of meddling. And I’ll stop you before you can hurt anyone.”

The man let out a low chuckle, his hand moving to the cane at his side. He studied them both for a long moment, calculating, weighing his options. His eyes flickered to the Doctor’s scanner, the device still clutched tightly in his hand.

“Tell me, Doctor,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “What do you think is more dangerous? A rift that tears through the fabric of time, or the man who’s been tracking it, learning how to close it?”

River felt a chill creep up her spine at his words. He wasn’t just playing with time — he was trying to control it. He wasn’t a mere observer, as he had claimed. No, he had plans. He was aiming for something bigger. And that was dangerous.

A sudden shift in the air — a ripple, almost imperceptible — made River pause. She turned her head, instinctively pulling back from the man’s gaze.

Something was wrong. Something was about to happen.

“You can’t control time,” River said, her voice low and firm. “And you can’t control the rift. If you keep playing with it, you’ll only bring about your own destruction.”

The man’s face tightened, his posture suddenly more rigid. He didn’t answer right away, but River could sense that the tension in the courtyard had reached its breaking point. Whatever game he was playing, it was nearing its end.

He took a step back, his cane tapping the ground with a sharp, metallic click. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

The air around them grew still, and River’s stomach dropped. The Doctor’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the man, his mind clearly racing, but before they could make another move, the man turned on his heel and strode toward the edge of the courtyard.

“Don’t follow me,” he said without looking back. “Not yet, anyway. You’re not ready to see what comes next.”

With a final flick of his wrist, the familiar hum of the vortex manipulator echoed in the air, and the man disappeared into the folds of time.

River took a step forward, about to call after him, but the Doctor’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“No,” he said, his voice tight. “We’re not done with him. Not yet.”

River looked up at him, their eyes meeting in understanding. The chase was on. They couldn’t let this man slip away again.

But in the back of her mind, River couldn’t shake the feeling that the stakes had just been raised. They were on the edge of something far bigger than they had realised. Something that might just change everything.

They headed back to the warmth of their TARDIS.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS hummed softly as they sat in the dimly lit console room, the steady pulse of the ship’s engines the only sound in the otherwise heavy silence. The Doctor was lost in thought, his hands still gripping the controls as he absentmindedly adjusted dials and readouts. His brow was furrowed, his mind clearly racing through a thousand possible connections, none of them making any sense.

River stood a few steps away, her arms crossed as she watched him. She was trying to keep her thoughts in check, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that had settled in her stomach ever since the man had disappeared. She knew the Doctor well enough to sense when he was working himself up, thinking too hard about something — and she could tell, this time, it wasn’t just about the rift. He was trying to figure something out, something that had been bothering him ever since their encounter.

The Doctor finally spoke, his voice low, distant. “That man... he knew us, River. He knew you. He didn’t just know your name. It was something more. Like he’d been watching us for a long time.”

River’s heart skipped a beat. She knew where this was going, knew the path his mind was taking, and she didn’t want to go down it.

“Maybe he just knows a lot about time travellers,” she said quickly, trying to deflect. “There are plenty of people who’d know about us.”

The Doctor didn’t answer right away. He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. “He knew you, River. Knew you in a way that doesn’t make sense. It’s not just some random encounter. He knew about the things you’ve done — things we’ve both done.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating.

“He knew about your role in my death,” the Doctor said, his voice almost too quiet, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

River felt the floor beneath her shift. Her chest tightened, her breath catching in her throat. She took a step back, her arms tightening across her body like a shield. “Don’t,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said quickly, his voice softening. He took a step toward her, but River stepped away, shaking her head. “River, I’m not saying—”

“No, don’t,” she said again, her voice sharp now, cutting through the air between them. “Don’t you dare say it.”

The Doctor’s face crumpled, his regret instantaneous. He had opened the door to something he hadn’t meant to. His heart ached, and he could see the hurt flash in River’s eyes. He’d been too blunt. Too harsh.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered, reaching out toward her, but stopping himself before he could touch her. “I’m sorry. I just... I didn’t know what else to think.”

River’s jaw tightened as she swallowed hard. She could feel the heat of the words, the weight of the past crashing down on her again. That terrible, twisted part of her — the one that had killed him, the one she had tried so desperately to leave behind — was still a part of her, always lingering in the background.

“I’m not that person anymore, Doctor,” she said quietly, the words coming out thick with emotion. “I’m not the woman who shot you. I’m not... I’m not her anymore.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened, a sharp pang of guilt striking him. He stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I— I’m sorry. It’s just... sometimes, I forget how much you’ve changed. How much we both have.”

He was blaming himself now, his gaze flickering with that old, familiar regret, the one that always found its way to the surface when River was involved. It had been the same since the beginning — the weight of their shared history, the things they’d both done to each other, and the time they’d lost.

“I know you’re not her anymore,” the Doctor said, his voice softer now. “I know. But he... he seemed to know something. He seemed to know everything. And it scared me, River. It really did.”

River could hear the sincerity in his voice, and the raw vulnerability that lay beneath his words. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging as the tightness in her chest loosened, just slightly.

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

They stood there for a moment, the quiet stretching out between them. The Doctor glanced at the TARDIS console, his mind still racing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I... I just can’t help but think that whatever he’s doing, it’s got something to do with your past. With the Silence. With what they did to you.”

River shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Doctor. But whatever it is, it’s connected to the rift. I’m sure of it.”

He nodded, his gaze returning to her with a fire burning in his eyes. “We’re going to find out what he’s up to, River. Together. And this time... we’ll stop him. Whatever it takes.”

River’s breath caught in her throat, a strange sense of hope fluttering inside her. The Doctor had always been her rock — the one who had never given up on her, even when she didn’t deserve it. And in that moment, she realised that despite everything, they would never give up on each other.

She stepped forward, her hand brushing against his, and squeezed it gently. “Together,” she echoed, her voice steady. “But you have to stop doing this. You can’t keep blaming yourself for things that happened before. I won’t let you.”

The Doctor met her gaze, a faint but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll try, River. But no promises.”

She smirked, the flicker of her old, mischievous self returning. “You never do.”

The Doctor’s smile grew, but it didn’t reach his eyes entirely. There was too much at stake now, too much uncertainty. Still, he couldn’t help the glimmer of hope that shone through the cracks in his armour.

“So,” he said, turning back to the TARDIS console. “Where next?”

River glanced at the screen, her finger tracing the outline of a blinking light. “We track him down,” she said, her voice hardening with resolve. “Find out what he knows. What he’s planning.”

The Doctor nodded, already shifting the controls. “Right. Let’s go get him.”

And with that, they were off again. Racing through time and space, side by side, against an unseen enemy who held more secrets than they could imagine.

The TARDIS hummed steadily as it parked in the shadow of a large, crumbling building on the edge of a darkened street. The air was thick with a quiet that felt out of place — the kind of silence that made River uneasy.

“This place doesn’t feel right,” she muttered, glancing up at the looming structure.

The Doctor was already out the door, his mind working at full speed. “It’s where his trail led us,” he said, motioning for River to follow. “A hidden place, tucked away from the world’s eyes. Perfect for someone like him.”

They stepped into the building — an abandoned research facility of sorts. It was cold, eerily quiet, the walls lined with dust-covered shelves and old, rusted equipment. It smelled of neglect, but the space seemed alive with an odd energy that hummed just beneath the surface.

River glanced around, her eyes narrowing. "So this is where he’s been hiding. And studying."

The Doctor’s fingers were already skimming through the piles of discarded papers on a nearby desk. "His research... it's all about the rift." He paused as a certain document caught his eye. "And... there it is."

He thrust it into River’s hands — a series of diagrams, charts, and data reports, all seemingly pointing to the same conclusion. Rift fluctuations. Temporal anomalies. The threads of time that were twisting and breaking at various locations, all tied to specific events.

“What’s this?” River asked, scanning through the pages.

“It’s his analysis — a detailed log of rift events,” the Doctor explained, his eyes widening. “He’s been tracking them for years... And here.” He flipped through a few more pages. “Look at this. This... is his connection to the Silence.”

River’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the familiar symbols — the same eerie, spiraling marks that haunted their past. “The Silence?” she asked, her voice tight.

The Doctor’s expression darkened. “Yes. They’ve been using the rift, manipulating it. I thought... I thought they were gone, but this...” He waved his hand over the papers. “This is evidence they never stopped. They just found someone else to carry on their work.”

They stood there, silence pressing down on them. River shifted uneasily, her thoughts spinning. “But... why? Why would this man be involved with them?”

Before the Doctor could answer, there was a sudden sound behind them — the unmistakable creak of a floorboard underfoot. River’s eyes snapped to the doorway, her hand instinctively reaching for her gun.

The man.

He stood in the entrance, framed by the dim light from the corridor behind him. His face was pale, his eyes wide with shock. The top-hatted figure looked momentarily startled, as if he hadn’t expected to be discovered.

“What... what are you doing here?” His voice was cold, almost detached, but the tension in his posture betrayed the surprise.

“We could ask you the same thing,” River said, her tone sharper than usual. She stepped forward, ready for whatever this man had to throw at them.

He quickly recovered, stepping further into the room. “I should have known you’d follow the rift,” he muttered under his breath, as if speaking to himself. “I didn’t expect you to be this... persistent.”

The Doctor exchanged a glance with River. “You’ve been studying the rift. All this time. What’s your purpose? What’s your endgame?”

The man’s lips curled into something that might have been a smile — though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not ready to understand yet. But you will be, soon enough.”

River’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “What’s happening here? Why all the secrecy?”

The man glanced toward the TARDIS, his eyes narrowing. “The rift is more than you think. Much more. It’s not just about time. It’s about... who it touches.” He tilted his head, studying River in particular. “Someone like you... you’re more important than you realise.”

River felt a sudden chill run down her spine. Her breath hitched. “What do you mean?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze flicked back to her, and for the first time, there was something in his eyes that felt almost... knowing. “The one they’ve been looking for.” he said, his voice low but heavy with implication.

The room seemed to grow colder as those words hung in the air. River felt as though the ground beneath her had just cracked wide open. Her heart slammed against her chest, her mind racing, but the man wasn’t done.

For a moment, River’s world seemed to fall away. Her thoughts scattered, her chest tightening with panic.

But before she could react, the man stepped back, his hand flicking to his wrist.

The familiar whirr of the vortex manipulator filled the air.

“No,” River breathed, her voice almost a plea.

In an instant, the man was gone — swallowed by the vortex. The room felt emptier than it had a moment ago, the air thick with the echoes of his words.

River was frozen, the weight of the man’s statement heavy in her chest.

The Doctor’s voice broke through the silence. “River...”

She turned to him, her face pale. “Did he just...?”

The Doctor’s mind was already working overtime, his gaze darting to the papers scattered across the desk. He stepped forward, rifling through them with feverish determination. “The man we captured, he mentioned ‘the child.’ It has to be connected to whatever the Silence were doing. You were involved with them — Melody Pond. Your past, your future...” His voice trailed off as his fingers paused over another set of documents.

River’s heart pounded in her ears. She couldn’t stop the question from slipping out: “Do you think he meant... me?”

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned, looking at her with an intensity she had never seen before.

“River, I think...” he began, his voice low, “I think the ‘child’ he was referring to... is you.”

Her world spun, the room around her fading into a blur. The realization hit her like a cold, unforgiving wave. The Doctor’s words cut through her like a blade. The one they’d been searching for.

No.

This couldn’t be true. Not now. Not after everything they had been through. Not after everything they had lost.

But the terror in the Doctor’s eyes — the way he seemed to piece it all together — made it impossible for River to deny.

The Doctor took a step toward her, his eyes filled with regret and confusion. “River... you are Melody. The Silence, the rift... it’s all pointing back to you. And whatever this man is planning, it has everything to do with you.”

River staggered back, her breath quickening, as the room felt like it was closing in on her.

“No.” She shook her head, denying everything. “No. That can’t be... I’m not—”

But the Doctor, as always, was persistent. “River, listen to me—”

“No!” she shouted, her voice cracking with raw fear. “I’m not her anymore! I’m not that woman, Doctor! I’m not...”

She broke off, her hands shaking, her entire body trembling.

The Doctor fell silent, the weight of the truth crashing down on both of them. Neither of them knew how to take the next step, but the air between them was thick with the unspoken reality that the past — and its consequences — had never been truly left behind.

Chapter Text

River’s breath was still coming in sharp, uneven bursts as the Doctor moved across the room, his fingers restless as they sifted through the papers on the desk. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her thoughts swirling in chaotic, disjointed fragments. The Doctor’s words kept echoing in her mind: The child... It's you. She didn’t know what to make of it. It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t that person anymore. She had changed. She had to have changed.

But the truth of it still gnawed at her, buried somewhere deep in her chest.

The Doctor, however, had already moved on. His mind was always racing, always looking for the next clue, the next piece of the puzzle. He didn’t have the luxury of time to linger on emotions. Not now. Not with everything hanging in the balance.

“River, come over here,” he called, his voice sharp with urgency.

She forced herself to move, walking toward him, though the weight of everything pressing down on her made each step feel heavier.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to steady herself.

The Doctor was hunched over a stack of papers, his fingers tracing over a set of letters, printed out in an odd, sterile typeface. The pages were scattered, hastily folded, and covered with strange notations and symbols that River couldn’t immediately make sense of.

“Communications,” he said, barely glancing up at her. “It seems our friend here wasn’t just working on his own. He’s been in contact with someone.”

River stepped closer, trying to make sense of the mess on the desk. The Doctor’s sharp eyes were scanning the papers, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“He’s been sending reports,” the Doctor continued, his voice thick with disbelief. “Rift activity, anomalies... and there it is.” He pointed to a specific section, a set of dates and locations that made River’s stomach tighten.

She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing. “He’s been tracking the rift... but he’s also been tracking me.”

The Doctor nodded, his fingers brushing over the data again. “Not just you. Your locations. Your movements. He’s been sending it all to someone.”

River felt a chill settle over her, creeping up her spine like an unwelcome presence. She stepped back slightly, the sudden realization turning her stomach. “To who? Who’s he sending it to?”

The Doctor flipped through a few more pages, his eyes scanning the text quickly. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” he muttered. “There’s no clear recipient here. But look at this.”

He slid a piece of paper across the desk toward River. It was a set of encrypted coordinates, a series of numbers that seemed to repeat in an almost rhythmic pattern. The letters beside them were just as cryptic: ’Melody Pond - Target: Time Rift Analysis. Disposition: Necessary.’

River felt her throat tighten as she read the words. The familiar, haunting sound of her name — Melody Pond. The name that had been taken from her, twisted into something unrecognizable by forces beyond her control.

Her hand trembled as she placed the paper back on the desk. “So, he’s been sending reports on my locations. My movements.”

The Doctor gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes. But it’s more than just that. He’s been sharing information about the rift — about its patterns. The fluctuations in time, the instability. And...” He stopped, his eyes flicking up to meet hers.

The Doctor tapped a few more papers, each one revealing more coded communications, some with dates and locations, others simply marked with symbols River didn’t recognize. But one thing became abundantly clear: whoever he was working with, they knew far more about her than anyone should.

“Look,” the Doctor said, his voice tinged with frustration. “He’s been sending reports about you, about your past — about who you are. He’s aware of your connection to the Silence, River. He knows about Melody.”

River recoiled, her breath catching in her chest. “What does he want with me? What’s he planning?”

The Doctor, too, seemed troubled by the implications. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Whoever he’s sending these reports to... they’re waiting for something. And whatever it is, it’s tied to you.”

River’s mind raced, but her thoughts seemed tangled in a mess of unspoken fears and half-formed theories. “This man... he’s connected to the Silence, somehow. He’s been using them... and now he’s using me.”

The Doctor shook his head, his jaw tight. “No, it’s more than that. This man doesn’t just want you, River. He wants something from you... something that he’s been tracking through these rift events. He’s using you as a piece of the puzzle, and whatever it is, it’s bigger than both of us.”

River stepped back from the desk, her head spinning. “This is... this is too much. We need to stop him, Doctor. We need to find out what he’s doing before it’s too late.”

Just as she turned to move, the Doctor froze. His eyes flicked toward something on the far side of the room — a metallic object, partially hidden beneath a pile of clutter.

“Wait a minute,” he muttered, moving quickly toward it. “What’s this?”

River followed him, peering over his shoulder as he uncovered a sleek, cylindrical device, its surface gleaming under the low light. It wasn’t like anything she had seen before, but its design was unmistakably familiar — a vortex manipulator.

“He’s been using one of these,” the Doctor said, his voice low, as if processing the implications. “No wonder he’s been able to stay one step ahead. But this...” He squinted at the manipulator, his eyes narrowing. “This is more than just a tool. It’s a key to something else. A way to move between the rifts.”

River’s pulse quickened. “What is it? What does it do?”

Before the Doctor could respond, the door to the room slammed open, and the man stood there once again, his cold eyes fixed on them.

“How long were you planning to search through my things?” he asked, his voice smooth, but laced with venom.

The Doctor and River stood frozen, caught in the act, as the top-hatted man stepped into the room, his fingers curling into fists. There was no more hiding, no more dodging. The time had come.

The man’s eyes flicked to the vortex manipulator in the Doctor’s hand. “I see you’ve found the key,” he said. “But you’re too late.”

The Doctor took a step forward, the air crackling with tension. “What are you doing with the rift? Why are you manipulating it?”

The man gave a slow smile, the corners of his lips curling up like a predator savouring its prey. “I’m not manipulating it, Doctor. I’m... waiting for it. Just as you should be.”

His eyes shifted to River, his gaze darkening. “I know what you are, Melody Pond. I know what you’ve become. And now, I know why you’re here.”

River’s chest tightened. “You don’t know anything about me,” she spat.

“Oh, I know more than you realize,” he said, his voice carrying a chilling finality. “You’re the reason the rift is still open, why it continues to tear apart time. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way.”

And just like that, with a quick movement, the vortex manipulator flared once more. The man vanished into the air, leaving River and the Doctor standing in the silence that followed.

River didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

The Doctor, however, turned slowly toward the device on the desk. “The child,” he muttered again. “Melody Pond. It was never about the rift. It was always about you.”

River’s eyes flicked to the Doctor, her heart racing with a panic she couldn’t explain.

“Doctor...” Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to stand tall. “What’s happening?”

The Doctor took a deep breath, his gaze distant. “I think... I think we’re running out of time.”

Chapter Text

The TARDIS hummed gently in the background as the Doctor leaned over the console, fingers flying over the buttons. River watched him closely, her arms folded, an eyebrow arched in curiosity and impatience.

"You've been at this for hours," she said, her voice light, but with an edge of concern. "Are you sure you're not getting lost in the data again?"

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the readouts flashing in front of him. His brow furrowed with concentration, and then his face lit up with that familiar gleam of discovery.

“I’ve got him,” the Doctor said, a smile creeping up at the corners of his mouth. “I finally locked onto his vortex manipulator. He's been using it more than he realises. He's trying to cover his tracks, but you can't escape time once it’s been marked. I can track him now, and he won't be able to slip through my fingers again.”

River straightened, her gaze sharpening. She'd been growing increasingly anxious about the man and his connection to the rift, but hearing the Doctor's words made her feel a strange blend of relief and apprehension. “What now?”

“We follow him. We’re getting closer to understanding what he’s really up to. I know he’s involved with the rift’s disturbances, but now, I think he's trying to manipulate it even further, somehow. The question is: why?”

The Doctor set the coordinates on the TARDIS and pulled the lever. A low groan sounded as the familiar whirring filled the air, and the ship lurched slightly, pulling them through the vortex to the coordinates he'd locked onto.

The TARDIS hummed softly, the low sound reverberating through the stone walls of the alleyway as the Doctor quickly adjusted the coordinates. River stayed close, her eyes sharp as ever, but something in the air had shifted. It was as though they were closing in on something important, something that would finally piece together the puzzle that had been haunting them for weeks.

They stepped out into a darkened street, the chill of the evening air biting at their skin. The buildings towered around them, jagged silhouettes against the fading light, and the distant hum of machinery was audible even through the stone walls.

The Doctor was already on edge, his usual enthusiasm tempered by the sense that they were on the verge of something they couldn’t quite comprehend yet. The rift activity had intensified around them, and the man they had been chasing — the one with the top hat and the strange, unsettling presence — had been one step ahead every time. This time, the Doctor felt that they’d finally caught up.

“Come on,” the Doctor murmured, motioning for River to follow as he led her down a set of rusty steps and into an underground tunnel. The air grew damp as they ventured deeper into the building, the stone walls growing narrower and more claustrophobic. A strange, cold hum echoed from somewhere in the distance.

River glanced at him, her brow furrowed. “You’re getting quieter. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanned their surroundings, the sharp edges of his mind already working to make sense of what was to come. He turned toward her, giving her a half-hearted smile.

“I’m thinking about everything we’ve seen so far,” he said. “We’re getting closer. Too close, maybe. This man... and the rift — they’re tied together. But why does he seem so intent on manipulating it? What’s he preparing for?”

River narrowed her eyes, but her expression softened, knowing the Doctor’s mind could spiral into a thousand directions. “Let’s find him, and maybe then we’ll have some answers.”

They reached a thick metal door at the end of the corridor. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and got to work, swiftly unlocking the door with a faint click. The door creaked open, revealing an eerie, dimly lit room. Rows of computer monitors blinked with strange data, long cables snaked across the floor, and in the center of the room, a large machine hummed with power, its purpose unclear.

As they stepped further in, the Doctor’s eyes darted from screen to screen, his sonic screwdriver scanning for anomalies. He didn’t say anything at first, the gravity of the moment weighing on him. The room was charged with the kind of energy that felt like it belonged outside of time — wrong in some inexplicable way. He could sense the rift here, its presence lingering like a heavy shadow.

“He's been manipulating the rift from here,” the Doctor muttered, brushing his fingers over one of the monitors. “And what’s this?” His voice was suddenly sharper. “This data — it’s all related to the rift fluctuations. And...” He paused, scanning the data with renewed interest. “And it’s been centered on River.”

River felt a strange chill run down her spine, though she couldn’t explain why. She stepped forward, her eyes flicking over the machines, trying to make sense of it all. But before she could speak, there was a sharp sound — a footstep. A shadow fell across the entrance, and the man in the dark suit and top hat emerged from the shadows, calm but clearly not surprised to see them.

The Doctor tensed, his body language shifting into alert mode. “You again. We keep bumping into each other. But this time, it’s not so easy to slip away, is it?”

The man’s lips curled into a smile. “I expected you would catch up eventually. After all, you are the Doctor, aren’t you?” His voice was low, almost conversational, but there was an edge to it that spoke volumes. “It’s only a matter of time before you start connecting the dots. But... you’ve made it further than I thought.”

River stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. “We know you're involved with the rift. We know you’ve been tracking its fluctuations. But what are you really after? And why River?”

The man’s eyes flickered toward her, just for a moment, before he regained his composure. His smile didn’t falter. “I’m not after her, not in the way you think.” He took a slow step forward, his gaze sliding toward the Doctor. “But you’ll find out soon enough. Time has a way of making things clear. For all of us.”

The Doctor’s frown deepened. “You’re manipulating the rift. You’re controlling its flow, feeding it — but why? What’s your endgame?”

The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question with false curiosity. “You think you’ve figured it out, Doctor. But you’ve only scratched the surface.” His tone was mocking now, a hint of cruelty in his voice. “Do you know what it is to manipulate time itself? To... guide its flow? Some things must be prepared carefully. You can’t rush it. I’m simply making sure everything falls into place.”

The Doctor’s frustration began to grow. “What are you preparing? What are you waiting for? Who are you really working for?”

The man’s expression hardened, though it was still laced with amusement. “I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They’ve been watching for a long time.” His smile twisted, as if relishing in the unspoken words. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? You’ve been a nuisance, Doctor. But you’re only one piece in a much larger game. It’s not your time yet.”

River’s chest tightened. There was something in his words that didn’t sit right. “It’s not my time yet?” she echoed, her voice rising. “What does that mean? What are you talking about?”

The man’s smile widened, but there was something darker behind it now, something that hinted at truths left unsaid. “You’ll understand soon enough. Time will take care of things. You don’t need to worry about it.” He turned, beginning to walk toward the far side of the room.

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”

The man pressed something on his wrist, and before either of them could react, the familiar whirr of a vortex manipulator filled the air. With a sharp crackle of energy, he vanished, leaving nothing but the faintest echo in the air.

River stood frozen for a moment, her mind racing. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a sudden, sharp nausea hit her. She gasped, clutching her stomach. Her face paled.

“River?” The Doctor’s voice dropped, thick with concern. He turned toward her, his hands instinctively reaching out as she staggered slightly.

“Doctor...” she murmured, but the words were lost as the nausea intensified, her body convulsing as she bent forward, retching.

The Doctor’s eyes widened in alarm. “River, sit down. You need to rest.”

She shook her head, trying to steady herself. “No, we can’t go back yet. We need to stay. We need to keep looking. There’s something here, something we missed.”

The Doctor's gaze softened, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable. “River... you’re unwell. We need to get you back to the TARDIS. Now.”

River, however, was insistent. “I’m fine, Doctor. Just... just a bit of a... reaction. But we need to stay. We need to find out who’s behind all this. Why they’ve been tracking me. I have to know.”

The Doctor hesitated, clearly torn between his overwhelming need to protect her and the unrelenting drive to uncover the truth. The look in River’s eyes — that same determined fire he knew too well — was enough to push him to the edge.

With a resigned sigh, he gave in. “Alright. But if you need to stop, you stop. Understood?”

She nodded firmly, and though he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in cotton wool, he knew that her resolve was as unshakable as his own.

“Let’s keep looking,” he said, turning away from her for a moment, but still glancing back as he picked through the documents scattered on the far side of the room. His mind raced, but it was clear — they were getting closer to the truth.

River stood behind him, trying to steady herself, though every part of her still felt shaken by the conversation with the man. Whatever game was being played, it wasn’t over yet. And she was ready to play her part.

Chapter Text

The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of machines and the rustle of papers as the Doctor continued to search through the cluttered desks. River stood not far behind him, still shaken but unwilling to step away. Her hands shook slightly, but her resolve remained firm, though there was something in the air — a sense of danger that neither of them could quite place.

Suddenly, the low whine of a vortex manipulator broke the stillness, its high-pitched whirr ringing in the Doctor’s ears. Before he could react, a dark shape appeared in the middle of the room, the familiar distortion of time bending reality around him. The figure was hooded, a dark cloak billowing around him as he moved with purpose. The Doctor’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Who—?” the Doctor began, but the man was already moving, darting across the room towards River.

“No!” The Doctor shouted, his voice sharp and filled with panic.

The man lunged at River, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her into his arms, his grip firm but not unkind. River froze, her heart racing, her breath catching in her throat. She opened her mouth to protest, but the man’s voice was low, urgent, and chilling.

“It’s your fault,” he whispered harshly, his tone laced with cruelty. “If you hadn’t interfered, they would have left her alone for now. But now... now it’s too late.”

The Doctor’s heart hammered in his chest as he sprinted towards them, his legs moving faster than he thought possible. “No!” he shouted again, but the figure was already raising his wrist, activating his vortex manipulator.

“River! No!” The Doctor cried, reaching out just as the man and River disappeared, the soft crackling noise of the vortex manipulator echoing in the silence.

In the next instant, they were gone. The Doctor staggered to a halt, his hands outstretched, reaching for a place that no longer held the woman he loved.

“River!” the Doctor screamed, his voice raw with panic, but only the empty, cold room answered back.

He stood there, panting, unable to comprehend what had just happened. His eyes darted to the spot where they had disappeared, still unwilling to believe it. “No, no, no...” The Doctor muttered to himself, his heart sinking with the weight of helplessness.

He quickly pulled out his sonic screwdriver, scanning the area frantically, but it was too late. The vortex manipulator’s signature had already faded from the room, leaving no trace behind.

His fingers tightened around the device, frustration and fear flooding his veins. The air felt thick, stifling, and the Doctor’s mind raced. He tried to steady his breathing, but the panic was all-encompassing. What just happened? Where did they take her?

For a brief moment, he sank to his knees in defeat, the weight of failure pressing down on him. River... she was gone. And it was his fault. He had let his guard down, thinking they had more time. The danger had been closer than he ever realised, and now, it was already too late.

But as his fingers gripped the floor, a spark of determination flared deep inside him. The Doctor was never one to give up. He couldn’t afford to.

His eyes snapped open, wild with determination. “No!” he growled under his breath, leaping to his feet. “I’m not losing her again.”

He scanned the room once more with his sonic screwdriver, the hum of the device filling the air as it flicked from one setting to the next. He was looking for anything — anything that could give him a clue about where River had been taken.

He moved quickly, searching through the scattered papers on the desk, his mind piecing together the details faster than he could register them. His eyes landed on a series of documents that caught his attention — papers that seemed like mundane research at first, but when he glanced closer, the truth hit him like a freight train.

There were reports on the rift, certainly. But there was something else buried within the data. He flicked through the pages, and his eyes widened in horror as he read the name that made his heart drop: The Silence.

The Doctor’s breath caught in his throat. They were involved. The Silence had been manipulating the rift, but now it was clear — they were targeting River once again. They never stopped. He could see the traces, the subtle manipulations in the timeline, and he feared they were preparing to do it all over again.

The Doctor’s hands trembled slightly as he dug through the papers, his mind reeling. There were notes on River — on her past manipulations, on how they had shaped her memories, erased her history, rewritten her very essence. The texts were filled with cryptic references to “the vessel” and “preparing the child,” but it wasn’t clear what that meant yet.

His fingers skimmed the final page, and a sickening realization twisted his stomach. They had been planning this all along. The Silence had orchestrated everything: the manipulation of River’s timeline, her death, her resurrection... and now, they were coming for her again.

“No...” The Doctor whispered, his voice barely audible, the weight of the revelation crashing down on him. They were going to do it again. They were going to take River’s memories, rewrite her life, and make her forget who she was once more.

He bolted upright, his eyes frantic. “I need to find her,” he muttered, his voice shaking with urgency. “I need to get to the TARDIS.”

His hands moved quickly, packing the data into his coat and scanning the room for any more clues. But his thoughts were already on the next step, already on the path that would lead him back to her.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he turned and ran out of the room, heading for the TARDIS. His mind was a blur of calculations, trying to piece together the puzzle before it was too late. But all he could think of was River — the one person he couldn’t afford to lose again.

She was out there, somewhere. And he would find her.

Chapter Text

After rushing out of the underground lab, the Doctor returns to the TARDIS, his mind in turmoil. The familiar sound of the TARDIS engines is strangely comforting, but it does little to calm his nerves. The Doctor rushes to the console, hands flying over the controls, but the panic is evident in every movement. He's used to being in control, but right now, he's anything but.

As the TARDIS hums around him, he’s alone for the first time in a long while, and it's crushing. He can feel the weight of the silence in the air — River isn’t there to balance him, to make him laugh, to keep him sane. He’s surrounded by the endless, echoing vastness of time and space, but it feels colder than it ever has before.

With newfound resolve, the Doctor turns back to the console, determined to figure out where the Silence have taken River. His eyes narrow as he examines the data again. There are still traces of the rift’s activity, though faint, and his mind begins to work, piece by piece, as he forms a plan.

“Alright, let’s see. I know their patterns. The Silence… they can’t be everywhere at once. They’re always working through the shadows. They’re clever, but not clever enough,” he says, pacing again as the plan begins to take shape. “There’s always a pattern. Always a crack in the wall.”

He pulls up a map of the timeline, superimposing the rift activity over various locations in space and time. “You can hide a lot of things, but not forever,” he says, his fingers dancing across the screen. “The rift is unstable, and that’s the key. We’ll follow the anomalies. They’ll lead me to her.”

But just as he’s about to execute the first set of coordinates, he hesitates. His eyes flick to the TARDIS door, and for a split second, he imagines River there, standing with him, offering a kind word. The thought hits him like a physical blow, and he closes his eyes, shaking it off.

He pulls himself together. He can’t afford to lose her again.

The TARDIS hums with a familiar, comforting sound, but the Doctor can feel it in his bones — something isn’t right. The readings on the console flicker erratically, the numbers jumping in strange, unexpected patterns. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening, but he knows one thing: the top-hatted man is behind this. The rift is becoming unstable again, and that can only mean one thing — the man is manipulating it. The Doctor tightens his grip on the TARDIS controls, staring at the console with a deepening sense of urgency.

"The man... he’s messing with time again," the Doctor mutters, his eyes flicking over the strange data on the screen. "He’s trying to trap me."

He runs his fingers over the console, knowing that if he doesn’t act quickly, he’ll lose River again — but there’s something unsettling about the air around him. Time itself feels... wrong. The subtle hum of the TARDIS seems to lose its rhythm, replaced by a dissonance in the air, like a faint, distant buzzing in the back of his mind.

"He’s not just controlling the rift," the Doctor continues, his brow furrowing. "He’s trying to keep me here, keep me from reaching her. It’s not just the rift anymore. It’s him. He’s controlling the very fabric of time."

The Doctor’s fingers fly over the TARDIS console as he adjusts the coordinates, attempting to force the TARDIS to materialise in a location that might lead him closer to the top-hatted man. But just as he presses the final button, the TARDIS lurches.

The lights flicker, and the air around the Doctor thickens. He freezes, realising something is terribly wrong. A cold, creeping sensation crawls up his spine. The rift’s energies seem to twist around him, pulling at the very threads of reality. It’s as though the TARDIS itself is resisting his every move, as if it’s not in control anymore. No, this isn’t the TARDIS acting of its own accord. It’s the man. He’s doing this — trapping the Doctor in his own time distortion.

"No, no, no," the Doctor mutters under his breath, scanning the console. "He’s... he’s pushing me further away. I’m walking right into his trap."

The TARDIS lurches again, violently this time, and the Doctor stumbles to the side, barely managing to steady himself. The hum of the ship’s engine dies, and the familiar sounds of the TARDIS are replaced by an unsettling silence. The lights flicker, then go dark entirely, leaving only the faintest glimmer of the console’s emergency glow.

Before he can react, everything shifts around him. A brilliant flash of light erupts from nowhere, blinding the Doctor as the space in front of him distorts in impossible ways. He stumbles backward, grasping at the console, trying to steady himself as the floor beneath him buckles and folds like a piece of paper.

And then — a sharp, jarring snap.

The Doctor crashes to the floor, his head slamming against the cold, metallic surface of the TARDIS console. He winces but forces himself to stand, vision spinning. When he looks around, everything is wrong. The TARDIS walls ripple as if they’re made of liquid, shifting and twisting. The familiar curves of the console room become warped and fractured, like the pieces of a shattered mirror.

"No..." The Doctor’s voice is tight with panic as he looks around. "This isn’t possible. It’s like he’s..."

Before he can finish the thought, the air around him seems to tighten. The temperature drops, and a sharp, acrid smell fills the room. The rift. It’s expanding again, its chaotic energy threading through the very bones of the TARDIS. Time itself feels like it’s warping, stretching, and pulling at him in ways he can’t comprehend. The Doctor stumbles again, his hands flying to the console as he tries to make sense of what’s happening.

"He’s using the rift to manipulate time itself," the Doctor gasps. "He’s bending everything to his will. I need to get out of here... I need to find River."

But before he can make another move, the console flickers to life once more, sending out a burst of static. The Doctor turns sharply, his heart pounding. He’s no longer alone.

A figure steps out of the distorted air in front of him, tall and imposing, wearing a familiar top hat. It’s the man — the same man who’s been manipulating the rift all this time.

"I knew you’d come," the man says with a cruel smile, his voice smooth and controlled. "I knew you'd try to follow me. But you're too late, Doctor. I’ve already made my move."

The Doctor’s eyes narrow. "You’ve been messing with time again, haven’t you? You think you can control the rift. But you're just a man — no different from all the others who’ve tried to harness it. You don’t understand what you’re playing with."

The man’s smile widens, though it’s not one of amusement. "Time is a thing of balance, Doctor. And balance must be restored. You're the one who doesn’t understand. You’ve interfered with forces far beyond your comprehension. But don’t worry. You’ll understand soon enough."

The Doctor clenches his fists, fury rising in his chest. "I’ve been trying to stop you, but you're too clever, aren’t you? You’re using the rift to manipulate everything — to trap me, to keep me from River. Why? What are you planning? What do you want with her?"

The man tilts his head slightly, then raises a hand as if to placate the Doctor. "I think you're mistaken, Doctor. What I want doesn’t concern you. But your involvement, your persistence… well, that’s become a bit of a complication, hasn’t it?"

Before the Doctor can respond, the man gestures sharply, and another blinding flash of light fills the room. The Doctor stumbles backward, his vision going black for a brief moment as the space around him distorts further. The TARDIS walls stretch and warp again, and the rift's energy surges, bending the very laws of time.

"No!" the Doctor screams, trying to fight against the pull of the rift. "You can’t do this! You don’t know what you’re messing with!"

But his voice is swallowed by the chaos. The man’s figure flickers as though he’s fading into the distortion itself. The last thing the Doctor sees before everything snaps into nothingness is the man’s mocking smile.

Then, silence.

The Doctor crashes to the floor, disoriented and bruised. His body aches, his mind is spinning, and everything is… wrong. He struggles to stand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. It feels as though he’s moving through water, each step taking longer than it should, each motion slow and cumbersome.

"I’m so close…" the Doctor mutters, but his voice seems far away, even to himself. "I have to find her. I have to stop him."

He glances around. The TARDIS is barely recognizable. It’s almost as though reality itself is bending, stretching, and warping at the seams. The distorted air hums with power — the rift is still in play, and the Doctor knows he has no time to waste. He stumbles back to the console, barely able to focus on the readings. They’re erratic, impossible to read — but there’s one thing that stands out.

"River..." he whispers, gripping the console tighter, his voice breaking. "I have to get to her. I have to get you back."

The TARDIS begins to shake again, violently this time. Time fractures once more. The Doctor is thrown to the floor once again, the world tilting and spiraling in on itself.

"No..."

And then, just like that, everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

The walls are cold, smooth, and unforgiving — a perfect, transparent barrier trapping her inside. River Song stands in the centre of a glass cell, her hands pressed against the cool surface, desperately trying to steady her breath. The glass is thin, but it feels thick with the weight of her isolation. She can see everything outside, but it’s as though she’s in a world apart, a world where she doesn’t belong. The cell is stark and clinical, the lights overhead harsh, too bright, and the air, heavy, as if it’s been squeezed from her lungs.

Outside the cell, she can see the man — the one in the top hat, pacing back and forth. His shadowed figure moves with deliberate steps, the faint hum of his voice reaching her ears as he talks, though she can’t make out the words yet. There’s a quiet unease settling in her chest, her instincts screaming that something is wrong, that this isn’t just a random capture.

But it’s the other figures that truly draw her focus. Three Silence creatures stand nearby, their faceless visages unblinking, their tall, imposing bodies looming over her like silent sentinels. They don’t move, just stand there, watching, their presence a terrifying weight in the air. In the corner of the room, another figure — a man, the one who had taken her earlier — stands with his arms crossed, guarding her cell. He’s as still as a statue, but the tension in his posture speaks volumes. He’s waiting, as if expecting something.

River’s heart races, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. She’s trapped. The last time she’d been in a place like this, it had been with the Silence, with their relentless tampering of her mind, rewriting her past. She doesn’t want to think about it, but the fear lingers. The hunger they had for her memories — to erase them, rewrite them, control them. The thought of it makes her stomach churn.

Her head starts to spin. She leans against the glass wall, pressing her palm to it, trying to calm herself. She’s been through worse, right? She’s survived the Doctor’s death, the mysteries of the Universe, the twists and turns of time. But this — this feels different. The air tastes wrong, heavy with some kind of tension she can’t quite place. Her body feels weak. Her vision blurs for a moment, and she stumbles, her knees nearly giving out beneath her. She pushes herself upright again, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

She looks up again, and the top-hatted man is speaking into a communication device, his tone low, but tinged with frustration. He must not know she can hear him, but his voice still cuts through the sterile silence like a blade.

“No, no... I’m not losing her again. She’s too valuable now. You don’t understand, do you? The Doctor was getting too close. If we hadn’t acted now, he would’ve figured it all out. I couldn’t risk it.”

River’s breath catches in her throat. The Doctor. It’s all because of him. The man knows the Doctor is looking for her. Is that why they’ve taken her? But what does he mean by “valuable”? What do they want with her?

The man’s voice continues, his tone justifying his actions to whoever’s on the other end of the call.

“I know, I know, it was a bit early. But the Doctor was getting too close. If he had found us, everything would’ve been compromised. It’s better this way. Let him think we’re after her... He’ll never suspect it’s about the rift, or whatever’s really at the heart of all this.”

A crackling noise comes through the device, followed by a sharp voice, louder now, and laced with authority.

“You don’t understand, he is more dangerous than you realize,” the voice warns, the edge of panic unmistakable. “The Doctor is not like the others. He has ways of seeing beyond what we want him to see. You underestimate him, and that will be your undoing.”

The top-hatted man’s expression shifts, his brows furrowing. He doesn’t seem to take the threat seriously, though, if anything, he becomes more resolute in his words.

“I know what I’m doing. He can’t see what’s really going on. I’m keeping her alive. I’m keeping her safe for now. This is the only way. If the Doctor keeps poking around in places he shouldn’t, we’ll all be in danger. I can’t risk that. It’s safer for all of us if he doesn’t know about... the child.”

River freezes, her heart skipping a beat at the mention of the word. The child? Her mind races. What could he possibly mean by that? Is he talking about... her? What does the man know? What are they planning to do to her?

Her hands press tighter against the glass. She feels lightheaded, dizzy. The room starts to spin again, her body betraying her once more. The mention of a child, of something that’s somehow hers, rattles her deeply, more than she can even process right now. She feels sick, too scared to even try to figure it out.

And then, the voice on the other end of the line snaps again, sharper this time. “You don’t know the Doctor. If you’re not careful, if you continue to make mistakes like this, he will find you. And if he does... you’ll lose everything. Do you understand?”

The top-hatted man doesn’t respond immediately. His face is unreadable, but River can see the frustration building in his expression. He’s trying to stay in control, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes — something that feels... human, something that feels like fear.

Then, he snaps the device shut, ending the call with a sharp, final movement. He looks over at River, his eyes narrowing.

“We’ll see how long you last, River Song. You think you can outsmart me? You’re wrong. We all have our parts to play in this game.”

He turns his back to her, dismissing her once again, and River’s stomach churns as she leans against the glass. She doesn’t know how much longer she can stand. She doesn’t know what they’re planning, but one thing is certain: the stakes are higher than she ever imagined.

As the seconds tick by, the Silence continue to watch her, their gaze unwavering. The man from before — the one who had captured her — stands still, silent, his eyes never leaving her.

River's mind is racing, trying to make sense of everything she’s heard. The child? What could they mean by that? Is she part of some twisted plan they’ve concocted? She has no idea. All she knows is that she needs to get out, needs to warn the Doctor. But her body feels weak. Her vision blurs again, and she collapses, holding herself up against the glass.

And all the while, the man’s words echo in her head.

“If he hadn’t interfered, they would have left her alone for now...”

Chapter Text

The moment the temporal trap snaps around him, the Doctor’s head spins with vertigo, but years of experience tell him not to panic. His mind is sharp, quick, and he immediately starts working through the problem, adjusting the settings on his sonic screwdriver as the ripples of time contort around him. It’s as if the entire room is twisting and folding in on itself, a cacophony of distorted moments pressing in on him.

“This is rubbish,” the Doctor mutters to himself, frowning as he recalibrates the device. “Bloody rubbish. You can’t keep me here.”

He slams the sonic against the surface of the trap, not gently, but with the determined frustration of someone who refuses to let a puzzle beat him. The air crackles, and the time distortion begins to weaken, like a rubber band stretched too tight.

A sudden jolt snaps through him, his body jerking in every direction. His mind flickers, bits of memory overlapping, thoughts crashing into one another. But then, a final flicker of light bursts from the sonic, and everything stops. The trap shatters, and the Doctor stumbles forward, breathless, the floor beneath him solid again.

“There we go,” he says with a wide grin, brushing himself off. “One escape, courtesy of me.” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself as the adrenaline begins to wear off.

He turns quickly, heading straight for the TARDIS. The time machine is his constant companion, and he knows it can get him out of any mess — no matter how big, no matter how complicated. He needs it now more than ever.

The TARDIS hums to life as he steps inside, the familiar whirr of the time rotor a comfort amidst the chaos swirling in his mind. He flips several switches, and the console flickers, momentarily unsure, but it responds to his touch. The Doctor pulls up various screens, a plan beginning to form as he looks at the information he’s managed to extract from the previous encounter. They’ve taken River. He knows it. The timeline’s been disrupted again. But why?

“Right. What’s next, then?” he says aloud, his mind working through the next steps. He taps a few keys on the console, accessing various databases. The TARDIS whines slightly in protest, but the Doctor ignores it. He’s been in worse situations. He can handle a bit of noise.

A new screen appears before him, one he hasn’t expected. There’s data on the rift. A series of encrypted files flicker to life, revealing images and figures, plans. But it’s the text that grabs his attention — The Child. He pauses, his hand hovering over the screen. The text is disturbingly clear:

“The child will be raised. It will be forged into the ultimate weapon to open the rift. The rift will become permanent, a direct conduit for the Silence’s will. The child will be key to the chaos of time itself. The child will unlock the doorway.”

The Doctor’s heart skips a beat. A weapon? Raised for that purpose? He stares at the words, the meaning still just out of reach. What child? His mind races to River. But no, surely this can’t be about River, can it? She’s not a weapon.

He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought. But then, another series of images appear. More data. More coordinates.

The Doctor leans forward, eyes widening. He zooms in on the last part of the file: coordinates. His fingers hover over the console again, tracing the map. The location appears on the screen.

“Outside of time...,” the Doctor mutters, frowning deeply. “A place outside of time itself.”

The implications of that hit him hard. “That’s where they’re holding her.”

His pulse quickens. She’s there. Right now. The Silence and their plans — whatever they’re doing, it’s all connected to the rift and to her.

He stares at the TARDIS console, the gears in his mind turning rapidly. The location is there, clearly on the screen. But how will he get there? The TARDIS can travel to places beyond the usual reach of time and space, but this... this is something different. This is beyond anything the Doctor has faced before. A place outside of time? It doesn’t seem possible.

But then, that’s when it hits him. He doesn’t need to travel into the known flow of time. He can cloak the TARDIS — use it as a shadow in time, undetected, slipping past the rift’s barriers.

He starts typing furiously, adjusting the controls to put the TARDIS into cloaking mode, but he hesitates as his fingers hover over the keys. He mutters aloud, more to himself than anything else.

“I’ll need River’s help to calibrate the scanner for this kind of location. But... no time for that now. She’s not here.”

His eyes narrow. “But I will make it work.”

With a deep breath, he sets the coordinates, punches in the final adjustments, and engages the cloaking mechanism. The TARDIS hums softly in response, slipping seamlessly into a state of invisibility, its outline dissolving from the world around it.

As the TARDIS starts its journey, the Doctor glances at the scanner, his eyes scanning the images appearing on the screen. He enters the coordinates carefully, making sure everything is in place. He knows this is dangerous, but there’s no time to waste. River is out there, and he has to find her.

The TARDIS glides through the void, bypassing the normal flow of time. As it arrives at its destination, the Doctor quickly works at getting the scanner working.

The screen flickers to life. The image appears, first grainy, then clearing into focus.

And there, in the centre of the room, is River Song.

Her face is pale, her eyes wide with fear. She’s trapped in a glass cell, a containment unit designed to hold her. The Doctor’s heart races. No... no, no, no.

He sees her through the glass, trying to make sense of her surroundings. River is alone, but not truly. He can see the man in the top hat standing across the room, watching her with a cold, calculating gaze. And flanking him, the three Silence creatures stand motionless, towering over her. Another figure, the one who had taken River, stands guard just outside her cell, a silent sentry.

The Doctor’s breath catches in his throat. He watches her, helpless, as the man speaks to her. River is visibly weak, her body hunched against the glass, as if the sheer weight of the situation is wearing her down.

“No!” The Doctor mutters, slamming his fist against the console in frustration. He’s so close. So close to reaching her.

But there’s no way in.

The Doctor stands before the console, watching the image of River in her glass cell, his face a mask of concentrated worry. The image flickers and shifts slightly, but he keeps his eyes fixed on her. The entire room, filled with the Silence and the top-hatted man, seems to breathe in a rhythm of its own. The Doctor knows this is the moment. He cannot rush in blindly, but the pressure inside him is growing. His heart aches for River, but his mind is still focused on what he needs to do.

His fingers tap against the TARDIS console in thought, the rhythmic sound filling the silence of the ship. Each beat is a second slipping away. River’s in there, trapped, and he has to get her out, but he can’t just act out of anger. He has to be smart. If he rushes in now, they’ll be ready for him. He needs to destabilise them, create confusion. Then he can strike.

Slowly, he turns from the console, his eyes narrowing with a quiet, simmering fury.

“The thing about time,” he mutters under his breath, “is that it’s mine to manipulate, not theirs.”

The Doctor glances once more at the scanner, making a final calculation. He nods to himself, almost resigned, as if the next step is inevitable.

"Right. Let's do this."

He steps up to the TARDIS controls and activates a hidden function deep within the machine’s core. A signal pulses out from the TARDIS, one designed to emit a wave that disrupts the temporal stability of the area. The rift's energy has made this place unstable, and the Doctor uses that to his advantage.

The signal erupts from the TARDIS like an invisible shockwave, cascading outwards, reverberating through the space-time around them. The Silence creatures and the man in the top hat pause, their attention distracted, their bodies stiffening as they feel the powerful jolt. The atmosphere thickens, as if the very air itself has become heavy with the Doctor's intervention.

The creatures collapse first, their bodies falling limp like marionettes with their strings cut. Then, the top-hatted man, looking startled and confused, drops to his knees, eyes wide in disbelief. The last thing he sees before he succumbs is the Doctor, his face resolute, standing at the edge of the TARDIS doorway.

All around River, the tension breaks, and the figures in the room fall unconscious, leaving her alone. The Doctor doesn't wait. He dashes out of the TARDIS, his boots clicking against the floor as he runs toward the cell.

He reaches River’s glass cell in a heartbeat, eyes scanning the situation. River is slumped against the cold surface, her face pale, her body drained. The Doctor doesn’t waste a second. He grabs the nearest control panel, his fingers working faster than the eye can follow, overriding the system with a few deft commands. A sharp hiss fills the air as the containment unit begins to retract, the glass panels sliding open to release her.

River's eyes flutter open as she stirs, but she’s too weak to fight back. She looks up at the Doctor, barely able to comprehend what’s happening before she succumbs to unconsciousness again. The Doctor catches her before she hits the floor, his arms strong but gentle as he lifts her up.

“Got you, River,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with relief. “I’ve got you.”

He carries her swiftly out of the containment room, his face set in determination. He moves with purpose, making his way back to the TARDIS.

The Doctor bursts into the TARDIS, carrying River’s unconscious form in his arms. He lays her down gently on the floor near the console, quickly checking her vital signs. Her breathing is steady, but she’s been through so much. The Doctor hovers over her, his fingers brushing her forehead, but he can’t linger. There’s no time. The danger is still here.

He stands up abruptly, looking at the controls of the TARDIS. His mind races, and a sense of urgency seizes him.

“Right. We’re not out of this yet.”

He turns to leave, but before he does, he casts one last glance at River, his eyes lingering on her fragile form. She’s safe for now, but that won’t last long. He knows they’re going to come after her — after both of them.

His mind sharpens. There’s something he missed. The clues are all here. He rushes back to the door of the TARDIS, his fingers flying over the controls as he begins scanning the room, looking for the data that could give him the upper hand.

The TARDIS console lights up with information, a virtual flood of encrypted files and images flashing across the screen. He isolates the data from the Silence's base and starts downloading everything that could help. There are images of River from before, of the manipulation, the tampering with her timeline. There are mentions of the plan to use her for something darker — something tied to the rift. There are coordinates, files about the child they’ve been searching for.

The Doctor closes the data streams, taking one last look at the controls before he heads back toward River. She’s still unconscious, but at least she’s alive.

He kneels beside her, placing a hand on her arm. His mind is already working through the next steps, planning how to keep her safe. His pulse quickens as the weight of the situation hits him — the Silence, the rift, everything that’s at stake.

But there’s no time to waste. The Doctor stands up, quickly making his way to the TARDIS controls. He sets the coordinates for safety, choosing a location far away from the chaos. The engines hum to life, the time rotor turning, and the TARDIS begins to move, slipping away from the danger and into the safety of time itself.

As the TARDIS shakes with the familiar motion of flight, the Doctor takes a deep breath, his fingers hovering over the console.

“We’re not out of this yet, River,” he mutters, his voice soft but full of determination. “But I’ll get you through this. I promise.”

With River still unconscious on the floor of the TARDIS, the Doctor pulls the lever, sending them hurtling into the unknown, but away from the immediate danger.

And as the TARDIS travels through the vastness of time and space, the Doctor allows himself a moment of calm — knowing that, for now, River is safe. But he’ll never stop fighting. Never stop searching. Not until he’s rid the universe of those who would manipulate time for their own dark purposes.

And then, once they’re safe... he’ll figure out the rest.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS hums softly as it settles in a quiet pocket of time and space, far away from the danger they’d just narrowly escaped. Inside, the Doctor moves quickly but carefully, carrying River in his arms as he heads toward the medbay. His face is tense with worry, but his movements are steady, the practiced hands of a man who’s been through countless dangerous situations.

He lays her gently on the medbay bed, pulling a nearby blanket over her. He hovers over her for a moment, his eyes scanning her face, searching for any sign of distress. The rhythmic sound of her breathing is a relief — she’s still alive, still with him. And that’s all that matters, for now.

The Doctor stands still for a few seconds, his fingers lingering near her hand. But then, he exhales deeply, almost as if the weight of the world has temporarily lifted off his shoulders. He pulls a chair over and sits down beside the bed, just watching her. His fingers drum idly on the side of the bed, his gaze never leaving her face.

He doesn’t care about the data right now. He doesn’t care about the plan the Silence has or how close they came to losing her. For now, all that matters is that she’s safe. He doesn’t want to leave her side.

Hours pass in this quiet, unspoken vigil. The Doctor eventually slumps in the chair, his back against it, his body tense but slowly giving in to exhaustion. His eyes flutter closed, his thoughts heavy with the events that have unfolded, but he stays there — with River. His breathing slows as sleep overtakes him, his face softening in the stillness of the room. He doesn't dare leave her side, not when he’s finally found a sliver of peace.

The soft beeping of the medbay monitors becomes the first thing River hears as she slowly comes to. Her head is fuzzy, her body aching, and the strange, cold sensation in her chest makes her instinctively tense. But there’s something comforting about the sound. It’s the rhythmic pulse of life, of safety.

Her eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim lighting in the room. At first, all she can see is the ceiling, and then she turns her head slightly. Her breath catches when she spots the Doctor, sitting in the chair beside her, asleep with his head tilted back, his arms crossed over his chest. His body is slouched in a way that speaks of exhaustion, but there’s something about him that’s reassuring.

River blinks a few times, as if checking to make sure she isn’t dreaming. She lifts a hand, brushing her hair away from her face, and then winces slightly as her body protests the movement. But it’s nothing compared to what she’s been through.

The Doctor stirs at the soft sound, his eyes flicking open. He doesn’t immediately speak, but the moment he sees River awake, a wave of relief floods over him. He sits up straighter, rubbing his eyes with one hand, and then smiles at her — a smile that’s both tender and tired.

“River,” he says softly, as though just saying her name brings him comfort. “You’re awake. Good, good.”

River smiles back at him, though there’s a hint of exhaustion in her own eyes. She’s relieved to see him — to know they made it out, that she made it out.

“What... what happened?” she asks, her voice hoarse but steady. She lifts a hand slightly, touching her forehead as she tries to piece together the scattered fragments of memory. "The last thing I remember... was being trapped... in that place."

The Doctor’s face darkens for a moment, but then he leans forward, his gaze softening. “You were... taken,” he begins carefully. “But I got you out. I’m sorry it took so long.”

River tries to sit up, but the Doctor gently places a hand on her shoulder, guiding her back down. “You need to rest,” he insists, though his voice is gentle, not forceful. “We’ll talk in a bit. You’ve been through enough.”

River raises an eyebrow at him, her lips quirking into a small, determined smile. “You’ve got that right. You didn’t exactly go easy on them, did you?” she teases, though it’s clear from her tone that she’s just trying to lighten the mood.

The Doctor gives her a weary smile in return. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he says, shaking his head. “But you’d be surprised how quickly things can escalate when the Doctor’s involved.”

They share a quiet moment of mutual understanding, the weight of the situation hanging in the air between them. Neither of them can forget what just happened. River’s eyes flicker with concern, but she doesn’t press him further. Instead, she looks around the room, as if noticing something for the first time.

“What now?” she asks, her voice steady but with an edge of curiosity. “You didn’t bring me here just to... sit, did you?”

The Doctor chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, not just to sit. I... I got the data we needed. But it’ll have to wait,” he says, sounding almost distracted as he glances at the TARDIS controls. “We can worry about it later. Right now, you need to rest. And so do I.”

River raises an eyebrow, her lips still curled into that same brave smile. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, Doctor.”

The Doctor lets out a short laugh. “Maybe a little bit. But you’re more important right now.”

River’s expression softens as she watches him for a moment, her own smile fading. She can see it in his eyes — the concern, the exhaustion, the weight of the things they’ve both been through. “Thank you, Doctor,” she says quietly, the words holding a depth of meaning that she doesn’t always express. "For saving me."

The Doctor nods, his eyes focused on her with an intensity that’s more about relief than anything else. "It's what I do," he says simply. "I couldn’t... couldn’t lose you, River. Not now, not ever."

There’s a brief pause, and River reaches out, her hand brushing against his. It's a simple touch, but it's enough — enough for both of them to know that, for the moment, they’re safe.

For a while, they sit in silence, neither one speaking, but the bond between them as strong as ever. River rests, and the Doctor remains by her side, his hand gently holding hers. There’s no rush, no urgency to check the data. For now, they can be still. The universe can wait.

Eventually, the Doctor stands up, stretching his legs. “You stay here,” he says, though it’s clear he doesn’t need to say it. River knows the Doctor well enough to know that when he’s ready, he’ll be off again. But for now, he’ll let her rest.

He gives her a quick, lingering smile before heading toward the TARDIS console. He glances back at her, making sure she’s comfortable. “We’ll take a look at all the data soon. We need to figure out what they’re planning, River. But for now... I’m just glad you're here.”

River watches him, her smile turning into something more sincere. “Me too, Doctor.”

And with that, they let the silence envelop them, two unlikely companions who’ve been through it all, but who still have the strength to fight on.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS is still, save for the soft hum of its engines, almost like the heartbeat of a living thing. The Doctor stands in front of the console, lost in his thoughts. River’s unconscious form is still in the medbay, resting after everything they’ve been through. He can’t help but keep looking toward the door, wondering if she’s okay, if she’s safe. But the urgency of the moment pulls at him, relentless. He can’t put it off any longer.

He needs to know. He needs to understand exactly what they were after, what they did to her. It’s not just about the man with the top hat and the Silence anymore. It’s about River — the woman he loves, and the terrifying truth of what they might be planning.

The Doctor stands motionless, staring at the console. His fingers hover over the controls, trembling just slightly as his mind races. River’s already been through so much. The thought of her being caught in something like this — something he might not even fully understand — fills him with dread. But there’s no avoiding it now. He has to know what they were after, what they want from her. He has to make sure they haven’t done something… unspeakable to her.

With a heavy sigh, he presses the keys, and the TARDIS whirs to life, obedient to his commands. The screen flickers, presenting the data he downloaded earlier, a cryptic array of files, encrypted documents, and scans. The Doctor’s eyes narrow, focusing intently on the screen as he navigates through the chaos of fragmented text and jumbled images.

At first, it seems like a jumble of meaningless code. Vague references to “the child,” diagrams with lines of text he can barely make sense of, plans for some distant, incomprehensible future. But then he begins to see patterns. The same phrases repeating. “The child.” “Weapon.” “Control.”

His heart sinks. The unease he’s been carrying in his gut solidifies into something darker. He scrolls faster, but the sense of growing dread keeps intensifying. These people, whoever they were, were planning something with the child. But it’s not clear what. They were manipulating the rift, playing with the very fabric of time itself, and at the centre of it all — the child.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Not River. It can’t be River. She’s far too powerful for that. But his instincts, his gut, are telling him that it’s her. Or at least something related to her. The child. But why? Why would they call her “the child”? Why this cryptic language? It doesn’t make sense.

His mind spins, but then something catches his eye — a set of medical scans, buried deep among the chaos. No. Not this. He freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He knows he should look away. He knows that this is her privacy, that whatever these scans are, they were never meant for his eyes. But something compels him to open them. He feels as though his very soul is being torn in two.

He needs to know they did not harm her. He needs to know they did not touch her.

He hesitates, hovering over the controls, fingers trembling. There’s a part of him that wants to believe it’s all just a misunderstanding. That the scans are just part of some larger rift manipulation — that this is all part of some horrible mistake.

But as the images flicker across the screen, he sees them. It’s River. Her body, like he’s seen before, but this time there’s something new. Something… unexplainable. His heart skips a beat. He’s seeing a second life — a tiny, delicate flicker of life inside her. A child.

His stomach churns violently. The world tilts beneath him, his mind reeling as the realization hits him like a thunderclap.

She’s pregnant.

It feels like the ground beneath him has vanished. The Doctor’s vision swims as his mind processes the implications. His eyes blur with disbelief as he stares at the scans. His pulse races, his hands are shaking so badly he can barely hold onto the console. But the evidence is undeniable. It’s not a mistake. Not a fluke in the data. The scans show a child inside of her, growing, developing — a second heartbeat.

A shudder runs through the Doctor’s body as he sinks back into his chair. He’s shaking now, unable to breathe. River, the woman he’s loved, the woman who has been through so much, is carrying their child.

His child.

The realization slams into him with the force of a freight train. It’s my child.

The room seems to collapse in on him, the walls closing in, the weight of what this means threatening to crush him. He’s tried so hard not to think of this, not to confront it, but here it is, staring at him from the screen — undeniable, irrefutable.

His mind flits back to their brief moment on the planet where they could see glimpses of the future — when they saw a child. Their child. And he had told himself it was just a dream, a glimpse of some distant timeline. But it wasn’t a dream, was it? It was real. And it’s happening now.

And they’ve been after it all along.

The baby. The child. A Time Lord child. The rift. The key. The weapon.

Everything they’ve done, everything that’s been happening, is leading to this moment — and the Doctor’s mind races, trying to piece it together. They’ve been after River’s child. They’re using her, using him. And the rift… it’s all about control.

His hands tremble as he moves through the data, each file more damning than the last. He can feel the weight of the guilt, the fear, and the responsibility pressing down on him. This is all his fault. He should have seen it sooner. He should have known. If he had only paid more attention, if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own confusion, his own problems, then maybe none of this would have happened.

He stops, rubbing his face in his hands. He doesn’t even want to see the scans anymore. But his eyes keep flicking back to them, back to the tiny form growing inside River. His child.

The guilt gnaws at him. He promised he would protect her, that he would always be there. But here they are, caught up in something far beyond their control, far beyond his understanding. How could he have let it go this far?

The Doctor lets out a shaky breath, his eyes watering as the realization sinks in even deeper. His heart aches for River, for the child she carries, for everything they’ve both been through. But he knows, deep down, that this is far from over. They’ve only just begun to understand the depth of the danger they’re in.

And he’ll do anything — anything — to keep them both safe.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS hums softly, a comforting sound, but the Doctor can’t hear it over the storm roaring in his chest. He sits frozen in front of the screen, the stark blue glow painting deep shadows under his eyes. River’s scan is still displayed. There’s no denying it.

A second heartbeat.

He stares at the line tracing the pulse—small, steady, alive.

The Doctor swallows hard, his hands clenched into fists on either side of the console. “No,” he breathes, but it’s not disbelief anymore. It’s fear. Utter, bone-deep fear.

Not River. Not now.

A child.

Their child.

He pushes back from the screen as if the distance could put the truth further away. He paces the room, wild-eyed, his coat flaring with every turn. The Doctor, master of time, now suddenly unsure of it. Of what comes next. Of what’s already begun.

“I didn’t see it. I didn’t even…” His voice falters.

Memories flicker in his mind—River’s nausea, her dizzy spells, the protective instincts he chalked up to affection, not biology. The way the rift seemed to react to her. Her exhaustion, the way she pressed on anyway, fierce as ever.

He should have known.

The child—his child—was already calling out through time. The Silence weren’t after River. Not entirely. They were after the baby.

My baby, he thinks, and something fragile shatters inside him.

He slumps into the seat before the screen again, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve done this to her,” he whispers. “I’ve dragged her across galaxies, into danger, into war zones and traps and…” He stops himself, the guilt pressing in on all sides.

The Doctor has lived for centuries, seen the rise and fall of empires, held the weight of worlds in his hands. But nothing—nothing—feels as terrifying as this.

Not because of the responsibility. Not even because of the Silence’s plan.

But because for once, something is truly out of his control.

He doesn’t know how to protect them. Not just River now—but the child too. A child that shouldn’t exist. A child born of impossible timelines and tangled DNA. A child born of love, and war, and stolen days.

A child they’ll stop at nothing to get.

He leans forward, staring at the data again, searching for meaning in the mess of graphs and scans. The Silence knew. That’s why they came early. That’s why they’ve been tracking River, not just through space, but through biology. They wanted a Time Lord baby.

Of course they did. The perfect weapon. A being born from a human mother with Time Lord consciousness embedded into their cells. A child not bound by linear time. A child they could shape.

The Doctor feels sick.

And River—she doesn’t know. She’s sleeping in the medbay, exhausted, fragile in a way she’s never let herself be before.

He clenches his jaw. He can’t tell her. Not yet. Not like this.

She deserves more than this room and a terrified whisper. She deserves safety. Reassurance. A future.

He stands up slowly, the weight of knowledge making every movement heavy. He can’t stay here. Not staring at blueprints of manipulation and genetic scans. Not with her heartbeat echoing alongside a second, smaller one in his ears.

The Doctor stands quietly in the doorway, watching her.

River is still asleep on the medbay bed, curled slightly to one side, her hair a golden halo tangled across the pillow. She looks peaceful for once. Unburdened. The blue monitor by her head pulses in time with her heartbeat — slow and steady. Her chest rises and falls like a tide he’s afraid to disturb.

He steps in, silently, cup of tea in one hand. He doesn’t drink it. Just holds it.

He sets it down beside her bed and lowers himself into the chair. For a long while, he just sits. Listening.

Watching.

Breathing.

“Still here,” he whispers to her. “You’re still here.”

His hands twitch in his lap. Not the usual tapping or gesturing or fiddling. Just clenched. Still. Heavy.

The truth weighs on him like a star collapsing. He looks down at her, the woman who’s died for him, lied for him, lived for him — and now carries a part of him she doesn’t even know exists.

He doesn’t know how to say it. Or when. Or if.

What kind of future could they give a child born from this chaos? Born from two people torn through time and stitched back together with stubbornness and love?

And the danger…

He glances back at the data pad he brought with him. Still locked. Still unread since he left the console room.

He’s been running so long that sitting still with this truth feels unbearable.

River stirs.

The Doctor freezes.

Her eyes flutter open slowly, still heavy with sleep, but they find him.

“Hey,” she rasps, voice dry. “You look terrible.”

The Doctor gives a half-smile. “Flattery will get you more tea. Maybe even toast.”

She reaches out weakly, fingers brushing his coat sleeve. “You’re hovering,” she says softly.

“I hover,” he replies.

“You’re worried.”

He falters. “You’ve had… a hell of a few days.”

River blinks at the ceiling, then glances around the room like she’s reorienting herself. “The Silence. The glass cell…”

The Doctor nods slowly. “They didn’t hurt you. Not… physically.”

She closes her eyes, sighs. “I remember. Voices. Talking about you. About something they wanted.” A beat. “You look like you know more than you’re telling me.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

River opens her eyes again, studying him. “Doctor?”

“I’ll explain,” he says, gently brushing a stray hair from her forehead. “I promise. Just… not yet.”

River narrows her eyes at him. “You never say that unless the truth is something you don’t want me to handle.”

He tries to smile, but it comes out twisted. “Or something I don’t want to handle.”

River holds his gaze. She could push — and they both know it. But something in his eyes makes her stop.

Instead, she shifts slightly, wincing, and he moves quickly to help her adjust the blankets.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, but she doesn’t stop him.

He sits again beside her, that old Time Lord stubbornness steeling behind his exhaustion.

“We’re safe now,” he says. “For the moment.”

She gives him a look. “Since when has that ever meant anything with us?”

The Doctor actually laughs — quiet and tired. “Fair point.”

River reaches for his hand under the blanket. He doesn’t hesitate. He laces their fingers together and lets himself hold on.

She squeezes. “Whatever it is… we’ll face it together.”

The Doctor’s smile fades, but he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we will.”

But in his hearts, he isn’t sure.

Because there’s a future approaching faster than he can run, and for once, the Doctor isn’t afraid of losing himself — he’s afraid of losing them.

Chapter Text

The Doctor stands at the console, flicking switches with increasing urgency. The TARDIS hums beneath his hands, alert, uneasy. Something is wrong — but it’s not screaming yet. Not like before.

He checks the scanner again.

Nothing.

No rift activity. No gravitational flux. No cloaked ships. No Silence signatures.

But there’s something. A flicker. A twitch in the time stream that shouldn’t be there. Like someone just rewrote a paragraph in a novel that hasn’t been published yet.

The Doctor mutters under his breath. “No. No, no, no — too soon.”

He adjusts the dimensional stabilisers, narrows the field of detection, and isolates a single thread — a low-level signal bouncing between coordinates outside of time. Not a location. A pocket. A hidden fold in spacetime.

“Someone’s watching us,” he says aloud. “Not just watching. Waiting.”

River is sitting up now, reading something on a data slate. Her color has returned, though she still looks pale around the eyes. Tired. Hollowed out in the way only trauma can cause.

She glances up as the Doctor walks in, trying and failing to mask the tension in his jaw.

“You’re twitchier than usual,” she says. “What is it?”

He hesitates. A beat too long.

“Just… residual trace readings. Probably nothing.”

“Right,” she says flatly. “And you always panic about nothing.”

The Doctor’s eyes flick to the side — avoiding. “How are you feeling?”

River raises an eyebrow. “Avoiding the question with a question. Very textbook of you.”

He walks over, taking the slate from her lap. “Rest. Please. Let me worry for both of us.”

River watches him. Her voice softens. “Doctor… I know you’re protecting me. But that won’t last forever. You’ll break yourself trying.”

He offers her a tired smile. “Maybe. But not today.”

The Doctor is alone again, working in near-darkness. The TARDIS lighting is low — responsive to his mood. The readings have grown clearer. Whatever was watching them is moving now. Circling. Like sharks.

The Doctor runs diagnostics. Again and again. His fingers fly across the controls.

And then — a sharp ping. A new blip appears on the scanner.

Incoming signal.

Encrypted.

He isolates it, filters the frequency.

It’s not a message — it’s a pulse. Something being transmitted across the rift like sonar. Not meant to say anything, but to find something.

Or someone.

His breath catches in his throat.

He hears it before he sees it.

The TARDIS groans. Not the usual hum. A deeper vibration. The way it sounds when it’s trying to warn him. When it’s scared.

The Doctor spins to the monitor.

Anomaly Detected – Temporal Breach Detected – Incoming Presence

The screen flickers. For a split second, a shape appears — hooded, impossible to focus on. Like a smudge across time. Then it vanishes.

He slams a switch to erect shields — temporal and spatial — then rushes to the medbay.

River is asleep again, one arm flung across her stomach, brow furrowed in restless dreams.

The Doctor stands over her, breathing hard.

“You’re not taking her,” he whispers to no one.

He backs out of the room and races to the console.

He activates an emergency cloaking protocol — full temporal masking. The TARDIS becomes invisible to anything inside or outside time.

Then he engages a counter-ping — a false trail.

“Come on,” he mutters. “Chase the wrong scent, just this once…”

The scanner blinks. The pulse shifts. Follows the bait.

The Doctor slumps forward over the console, head in his hands.

He’s buying time. That’s all he can do.

But he knows now — they’re not done.

Whoever’s out there still wants the child.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS is still. No alarms. No flickering scanners. Just the soft hum of safety.

River lies on the medbay bed, now sitting upright. There’s more color in her face, but her eyes are sharp. Too sharp. She’s watching the Doctor as he fusses — bringing her water, adjusting the lighting, scanning her again with a hand-held device.

“Doctor,” she says lightly. “That’s the fifth scan.”

He doesn’t look at her. “Fourth. And I’m being thorough.”

She tilts her head. “You’re hovering.”

“I’m caring,” he shoots back. A beat. “I nearly lost you.”

“You’ve nearly lost me plenty of times.”

“This was different.” He doesn’t elaborate. Just tightens his jaw and adjusts a dial that didn’t need adjusting.

River watches him carefully. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The... ‘I’m totally fine, let’s just pretend I haven’t been pacing outside the room for the last six hours’ thing.”

The Doctor finally looks at her. Eyes too wide. Smile too forced. “You’ve been through a trauma. I’m simply—”

“Making tea, rewiring the medbay, upgrading the bioscanners, and glaring at the TARDIS walls like they personally offended you?” she says sweetly. “Yes. Very normal.”

He opens his mouth to retort — and stops. His shoulders fall, the fight leaking out of him.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he says quietly.

River’s expression softens. “I know.”

But she doesn’t say I’m fine. Because she isn’t sure that’s true. Her head still aches in strange waves. Her stomach turns at odd times. And something… something about that glass cell still lingers, clinging to the edges of her mind like fog. Something she’s not quite remembering.

The Doctor flips through screens, readings, timelines. River has followed him out, wrapped in a soft blue cloak. She’s moving slowly, but determined.

“You should be resting,” he says, not looking up.

River leans on the railing, watching him. “You’re hiding something.”

The Doctor stiffens.

She steps closer. “Not the obvious kind. Not like when you stole the Crown Jewels or rewired the Vatican. This is a quiet kind of hiding. Like… you’re afraid of what I’ll find out.”

“I’m not hiding anything from you,” he says. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Which usually means you’re hiding something.”

He finally meets her eyes. And for a moment, there’s no Time Lord behind them. Just a man with a universe on his shoulders.

“Please,” he says, gently. “Just… let me hold this one, for now.”

River nods — just slightly. Not agreeing, but understanding.

There’s a long pause. Then the Doctor sighs and gestures to the screen.

“I’ve been looking through the data I pulled from their systems. Most of it’s fragmented. Redacted. Some of it’s… old. Really old. But something stood out.”

He pulls up an image — a schematic. Familiar and chilling.

River steps closer. Her breath catches.

“Demons Run.”

The name hangs in the air like a ghost.

The Doctor nods. “They used tech there — experimental Time Lord modifications, mixed with Silence programming. I think… I think they plan to use the same framework. For whatever they want to do with the rift. With—”

He stops himself. Just in time.

“With whoever they’re targeting,” he says instead.

River’s gaze lingers on the screen. “You think there’s something still there.”

“I think there might be something we missed. Or they left behind. I think Demons Run wasn’t just a facility. It was a prototype.”

She looks at him. “So we go back.”

The Doctor hesitates.

River lifts a brow. “Unless, of course, you were planning to sneak off without me.”

His silence answers for him.

“I’m not sitting on the sidelines, Doctor,” she says firmly. “Whatever they’re planning — I’m part of this, whether you tell me everything or not.”

The Doctor’s throat works. He doesn’t argue.

Instead, he throws the final lever.

The time rotor begins to rise and fall. 

Heading back to the place they both swore they’d never return.

The engines of the TARDIS hum low and steady. The usual chaos of flight is absent — no bumping, no spinning. It's as if the old girl understands the gravity of where they’re going.

The Doctor stands at the console, hands on the controls, eyes fixed on the time-space tracker. But he’s not really reading the screen. His thoughts are elsewhere — looping, spiraling.

River watches from the jump seat, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. She’s been quiet since he pulled the lever. But now, as the engines slow — the temporal coordinates locking in — she speaks.

"Are you afraid of what we’ll find there?" she asks softly.

The Doctor doesn’t answer at first. His jaw tightens.

“I’m always afraid when we go back to places like that,” he says finally. “But it’s not about me.”

River tilts her head. "You're being careful with your words. Which means there's something you're not saying."

He turns to her. The edges of his expression soften. “River—”

“I’m not asking for all of it,” she says. “Not yet. But you’re dancing around something, and if it’s about me, I have a right to know.”

The Doctor takes a slow breath, eyes dropping to the floor.

"You were in their hands again. That alone terrifies me." He crosses to her slowly, kneeling beside her. "I just need to be sure. That you’re whole. That they didn’t take something, or—"

River studies him closely. Then, very gently, she touches his face.

"I’m right here,” she says. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

But the Doctor flinches at that. Not outwardly — just a slight tension in his eyes.

He stands suddenly, retreating back to the console as the engines grind into their final approach.

“Nearly there,” he mutters.

River watches him carefully. “You keep looking at me like I’m glass.”

He doesn’t answer.

"Doctor," she says, softly but firmly. “You’re scaring me.”

That stops him.

He looks at her — really looks at her. And for a moment, there’s such rawness in his expression that it almost breaks her composure.

But before she can speak again, the TARDIS lurches to a stop.

They’ve arrived.

He doesn’t move to open the doors right away.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “There’s so much I want to say. But if I do, I’m afraid I’ll never stop. And we don’t have time for that. Not yet.”

River stands, slowly. “Then say it later. But don’t shut me out.”

He nods once. Barely.

And then he crosses to the doors, resting a hand on them as if preparing himself.

Outside waits the place that changed both their lives.

Demons Run.

Chapter Text

The doors creak open.

A gust of stale, metallic air greets them, thick with the scent of dust and memory. The once-imposing military base now lies broken and gutted — twisted scaffolding, shattered lights, and silent corridors echoing with the ghosts of screams long since swallowed by time.

The Doctor steps out first, his coat billowing behind him in the windless air.

River follows slowly, her eyes narrowing as they scan the crumbling structure. She’s been here before — too many times, in too many ways.

“What are we looking for?” she asks.

The Doctor runs his hand along a nearby wall, watching the dust flake off under his fingers. “Answers. Specifically about how they did it — the cradle, the conditioning, the technology they used to…” He trails off, unwilling to say the word.

“Turn me into a weapon,” River finishes, voice hard.

He glances at her with quiet regret. “I want to make sure they can’t do it again.”

She steps closer, lowering her voice. “You think they’ll try?”

His eyes flicker away. “I think they already are.”

River falls silent, understanding more than she lets on.

They walk slowly through the ruins — metal groaning under their feet. The place is eerily preserved in parts, like a memory paused mid-movement.

They reach a dark corridor, half-collapsed. The Doctor activates his sonic, scanning the panels.

“I traced some residual energy here,” he mutters. “Same kind they used when they encoded the memory chamber. Maybe a control room survived deeper down.”

River looks around warily. “You’d think after everything, I wouldn’t be scared of this place anymore.”

The Doctor’s voice is quiet. “You have every right to be.”

She turns to him then, eyes searching. “You keep saying that — like something happened and you’re waiting for me to remember it.”

He stiffens.

River doesn’t press — not yet — but the silence lingers.

Suddenly, the scanner in the Doctor’s hand beeps sharply.

He holds it up, scanning a bulkhead. “There’s a lift behind this wall. Low power, but enough to run diagnostics.”

River steps beside him, brushing his hand. “Let’s go find some ghosts.”

They push deeper into the base. Down toward the remnants of what was once a war machine wrapped in a nursery.

The lift whines as it descends — old, groaning, almost reluctant. Dim emergency lights flicker overhead. River stands with arms crossed, silent. The Doctor leans against the wall opposite her, eyes distant.

He breaks the silence. “I hate this place.”

River exhales. “Me too.”

The lift jerks to a halt. The doors screech open, revealing a corridor untouched by time — a sterile hallway preserved almost perfectly.

They step into the silence.

The Doctor leads the way, scanning for anything reactive. A locked door lights up under his sonic.

“Bingo.”

With a short pulse, the door hisses open, revealing—

A control room.

Dim lights blink on as they enter. Screens still flicker. One shows an outline of a human form — a small child.

River stares at it, and something deep in her shifts.

The Doctor notices her reaction — he watches her, conflicted, guilty.

River tears her gaze away and starts looking through the equipment.

“I’ll check the backups,” she says. “Try to pull whatever files are left.”

He nods, voice low. “I’ll see if the databanks still hold structural blueprints.”

They work in silence — two soldiers who’ve walked into a grave.

But even in the quiet, there’s tension.

Secrets unsaid.

Truths on the verge of breaking open.

The flickering glow of failing lights casts an eerie pallor over the cracked consoles. The Doctor crouches before a battered terminal, his fingers deftly navigating through corrupted files. Nearby, River inserts a data probe into a backup core, her eyes sharp and determined.

“Some of the logs are corrupted, but not all,” River says grimly. “They made backups of the backups. They were obsessed. Obsessive people always leave breadcrumbs.”

The Doctor’s gaze is fixed on the screen, silent. River notices his sudden stillness and moves closer.

“What is it?” she asks.

He points at a nearly redacted file barely visible on the screen. “Project Echo Genesis. Phase Two: The Child as Conduit.”

River’s brow furrows. She steps back, arms crossing tightly. “I’m guessing I’m ‘the child.’ Again. What do they want now? Another brainwashing? Turn me into their assassin again?”

“No,” the Doctor replies quietly, his voice tense. “Not exactly.”

River narrows her eyes. “Then what, Doctor? Because if they’re trying to use me again—”

“They’re not trying to use you, River,” the Doctor interrupts, avoiding her gaze.

She stops, suspicious. “Then who?”

The Doctor turns back to the terminal and presses a few keys. A detailed diagram appears—energy readings surrounding a small figure within a womb, complex readouts scrolling in Gallifreyan, mapping temporal energy and regenerative potential.

River peers over his shoulder, confused. “These scans… they’re recent. Whose child is this?”

She moves closer, but the Doctor quickly switches the screen, hiding the full data.

“You’re hiding something from me,” River says, her tone sharp.

The Doctor swallows hard, guilt evident in his expression. “The Silence didn’t just want to use someone. They wanted a weapon. A child born with impossible potential. A perfect storm of biology and time.”

He looks down, voice low. “A time-born child, conditioned to be the conduit that opens the rift completely.”

River’s eyes widen. “That’s why they took me. Because I’m the link.”

He nods slowly. “They think you’re the key.”

River’s anger rises. “So they’re going to use me again. Control me, my mind, or—”

“No,” the Doctor says firmly. “They’re not going to use you again.”

River stares at him, unsettled by his tone.

He turns away, masking the turmoil within, and moves to another terminal.

“They’ve moved beyond you, River. They have other plans now,” he says quietly.

River watches him, sensing a deeper truth he refuses to reveal.

River stands stiffly, watching the Doctor work through layers of encrypted data, the weight of unspoken truths thickening the air between them. She wants answers—more than the vague reassurances he offers—but the Doctor remains silent, carefully guarding what he knows.

He taps keys, pulling up surveillance logs and schematics of hidden chambers beneath the ruins. “They were preparing for something big,” he mutters, more to himself than to River. “Something that required precise timing, and… a catalyst.”

River crosses her arms, her voice low. “And that catalyst is supposed to be me, right?”

The Doctor hesitates, then shakes his head. “Not exactly. You’re part of it, but… not the whole story.”

She frowns, frustration flickering in her eyes. “Then why won’t you just tell me what’s going on? I can handle the truth.”

He doesn’t meet her gaze. “I know you can. But this... it’s dangerous. Knowing too much right now could put you in more danger. They’re watching, always watching.”

River steps closer, voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to protect me from this alone, you know.”

He finally looks up, eyes clouded with guilt. “I’m trying to protect you—from them, from what’s coming. And from me.”

She blinks, confusion flickering over her face.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he promises, voice barely above a whisper. “But not yet. Not until I understand it myself.”

River exhales slowly, torn between mistrust and the comfort of his presence. She steps back, the unspoken weight settling between them like a shadow.

“Fine,” she says quietly. “But don’t shut me out. We face this together.”

The Doctor nods, a flicker of relief crossing his face.

He returns his attention to the console, scanning through the cryptic plans once more. The silence stretches between them, filled with unasked questions and guarded truths.

The crumbling, ancient walls of Demons Run loom over them as the Doctor and River pick their way carefully through the debris-strewn corridors. The air is thick with dust and echoes of the past, but River’s steps falter.

She pauses, pressing a hand to her stomach, her face paling. “I don’t feel… quite right.”

The Doctor’s sharp eyes catch her discomfort immediately. He steps closer, steadying her with a gentle arm around her waist. “River, are you all right? You need to tell me.”

She shakes her head, trying to mask the unease. “Just… a bit dizzy. Maybe the dust.”

He frowns, concern deepening. “It’s more than that, isn’t it? You’ve been pushing yourself. Let me help you.”

River resists for a moment, but the Doctor’s protective gaze softens her resolve. She leans on him as they move slowly toward the TARDIS.

They reach the relative sanctuary of the TARDIS. River sinks onto the steps, breathing shallowly, clearly unwell. The Doctor crouches beside her, his eyes scanning her with quiet worry.

“I’m fine, really,” she says, though her voice trembles slightly.

The Doctor doesn’t push. Instead, he retrieves a small vial of restorative and offers it to her. “Just take this. We can’t afford to have you weakened now.”

River accepts reluctantly, sipping the liquid. As she rests, the Doctor moves to the console, pulling up the latest data they downloaded from the Silence’s lair.

The Doctor’s fingers skim through the files—old surveillance, research notes, rift analyses—and then something catches his eye: a profile on the man in the top hat.

“Interesting,” the Doctor murmurs. “He wasn’t always… like this. Just a normal man, pulled out of time, manipulated and reshaped by the Silence’s influence.”

River’s brow furrows. “I remember. When I was locked up, he was on a call. Someone higher up was yelling at him for rushing things. He said the Doctor was getting too close. That they had to take me before it was too late.”

The Doctor’s expression darkens. “They’re worried about me. That makes this more dangerous.”

River’s gaze narrows, suspicion rising. “He’s just a pawn, then. Who’s really pulling the strings?”

The Doctor clenches his jaw. “That’s what we need to find out.”

Chapter Text

The hum of the engines provided a soft, familiar rhythm, but the air inside the TARDIS was heavy with tension.

River had gone to lie down again—she claimed it was just to rest, but the Doctor had seen the way she’d gripped her side earlier, the way her hand lingered over her abdomen with something between confusion and fear. He’d kissed her forehead, promised he’d be back soon, and shut the door behind her before he could betray the storm brewing behind his eyes.

Now, standing alone at the console, his jaw tight and brow furrowed, the Doctor fed the last of the salvaged Silence tech into the TARDIS's systems. A flicker of static lit the air as old code meshed with Time Lord circuitry, lines of alien script unfolding like rot in a digital blossom.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, fingers dancing across the controls. “You weren’t just working alone, were you?”

A hiss of distorted data poured onto the screen. The TARDIS groaned.

Lines of records appeared—time-stamped reports, rift fluctuations, surveillance logs. The man in the top hat appeared over and over, his actions observed, catalogued, and—most disturbingly—directed.

The Doctor expanded one of the files. “Command stream: external source,” he read aloud, voice growing colder. “Instructions received through encrypted transmissions… delivered at fixed intervals… origins masked.”

His fingers flew. “Not for long.”

He layered Gallifreyan decryption algorithms over the Silence’s tech, guiding the TARDIS to isolate transmission echoes, seeking traces of the original source. After a few agonising moments, the screen flashed, stuttered, then stabilised.

There—hidden between layers of quantum interference—was a symbol he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Not the Silence.

Something older. Something that used the Silence.

He leaned closer, voice barely a whisper. “No. It can’t be…”

The files didn’t give a name. But they referenced a shadow network—a group that operated outside of time, shaping events across galaxies, always unseen. 

There were mentions of a facility: The Eye, a control nexus just beyond the temporal boundary, a place used to monitor and influence time itself. 

And it wasn’t the top hat man pulling strings. He was a marionette, fraying at the edges. There was someone else—something else—watching from beyond.

The Doctor stared at the screen. All this time, he thought he was racing against one man. But he was playing chess against a shadow with too many pieces on the board.

He leaned heavily on the console. A Time Lord child. The Rift. The manipulation of history.

And River… caught in the centre of it all.

His hands trembled as he pushed the screen away, but he forced calm into his bones. He had no choice now. They needed to find this place. The Eye. Find the real mastermind.

But River couldn’t know. Not yet.

He turned, just as the door to the corridor opened and River leaned in, bleary-eyed, one hand steadying herself against the frame.

“You’re still at it,” she said, offering a tired smile. “Any progress?”

The Doctor’s lips twitched into something that was almost a smile. He stepped toward her and gently took her hand.

“Not much. Just a few dusty threads,” he lied softly. “Come on. You should be resting.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing. Just let him lead her away, trusting him—for now.

But the Doctor knew. The clock was ticking. The child wasn’t just a miracle. It was a threat in the wrong hands.

And someone, somewhere, was preparing to claim it.

The TARDIS kitchen hummed with soft, ambient light. It was a room few imagined existed in a time machine, yet it bore the quiet charm of a quaint tea room nestled in some forgotten countryside. Brass fixtures glowed gently against soft blue walls, and steam curled in lazy spirals from the kettle on the stove.

The Doctor stood in front of a shelf full of strange-looking herbs, some glowing faintly, others twitching occasionally in their jars. He selected a sprig of silver-leafed Mythellan balm—a plant only found in the meadows of Serren VI, prized for its calming effects on temporal nausea—and dropped it gently into a porcelain teapot.

Behind him, River sat curled into a bench seat, one leg tucked beneath her. She rested her cheek on her hand, watching him with a narrowed gaze that didn’t quite match her smile.

“You always cook when you’re hiding something,” she said softly.

The Doctor glanced back, raising his eyebrows in mock offence. “This isn’t cooking. It’s brewing. A noble science.”

“And what, exactly, are you brewing away?”

He turned back to the teapot, pouring the boiling water slowly, letting the scent of the herbs fill the air.

“Something to help the nausea. You said you were still feeling off, and I remembered this plant from Serren VI. A bit obscure. Thought it might help.”

River’s eyes didn’t leave him. “You remembered, or the TARDIS remembered for you?”

He shrugged. “She’s smarter than I am. Don’t tell her I said that.”

River chuckled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She accepted the tea when he brought it over, fingers brushing his for a second too long. The moment lingered.

“You’re jumpy,” she said, after a sip.

“Am I?”

“Mmm.” She held his gaze. 

The Doctor sat opposite her, folding his hands carefully in front of him. His face was calm, unreadable.

“There’s still a lot we don’t know,” he said. “A lot of dangerous unknowns. I don’t want you worrying.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” she said, softly.

Silence stretched between them. The Doctor glanced down at the table, then reached out, brushing a curl from her cheek with a tenderness that made her breath hitch.

“River,” he said. “You were taken. They hurt you. I just want you safe.”

“I know,” she whispered.

But still, there was a shadow in her gaze. She sipped the tea again, then leaned back.

“It helps,” she said, about the drink. “Still tastes like moss, but in a soothing way.”

“That’s the spirit,” the Doctor said.

River looked at him for a long moment more, then stood. “I think I’ll lie down again.”

He rose too quickly, steadying her with his hands as she swayed faintly.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Just tired,” she said, smiling faintly. “You wear me out, Doctor.”

He chuckled as she walked off, but the smile dropped from his face the moment she turned the corner. His eyes lingered on the doorway long after she was gone.

Then he turned back to the console.

The Doctor worked quickly, slipping the fragments of Silence tech and Division encryption into the TARDIS matrix. He glanced down the corridor to make sure River was out of sight, then pulled up the data they’d retrieved at Demons Run.

The top hat man. He flickered onto the monitor.

The files confirmed it: he had once been a historian from Earth’s 22nd century, specialising in temporal mythology. Plucked from time. Broken down. Rewritten.

The voice River had heard on the call—his superior—had never been named. But the audio files contained encrypted traces of the signal.

The Doctor triangulated the source. Not a place in time, not a fixed point in space.

A void.

“The Eye,” the Doctor muttered.

A shadow between seconds. Beyond the causal structure.

If he could reach it, he might find the real orchestrator behind the Rift, behind the Silence, behind the attempt to weaponise a child that hadn't even been born yet.

He hesitated, glancing down the hallway again.

Then, with a deep breath, he entered the coordinates.

The TARDIS shuddered.

“Quiet now,” he whispered. “We’re sneaking in.”

The TARDIS materialised in silence, cloaked in shadow and energy dampeners. No noise, no ripple in the vortex. Just a soft flash, and then stillness.

Outside the doors was nothing but a blank expanse—not black, not white, but the colour of unformed thought.

The Doctor stared at the scanner. The landscape beyond was unreadable. But a structure glowed faintly at the edge of the sensors. A construct of impossible angles and gravity-defying towers: The Eye.

He grabbed his coat and sonic screwdriver, then paused, glancing toward River’s sleeping quarters.

“Stay safe,” he whispered.

Then he stepped outside.

Inside, the Doctor moved through endless corridors of whispering light. The architecture shifted when he wasn’t looking. Voices echoed around corners that weren’t there a moment ago. The walls weren’t walls at all, but layers of suspended time, memories flashing just out of reach.

He reached the central chamber.

A terminal stood on a pedestal of living metal. He pressed the sonic to it. It responded like it had been waiting for him.

Streams of data unfurled—records of Rift activity, notes on temporal manipulation, plans for the child. They wanted the child for control. To anchor the Rift. A Time Lord hybrid. Raised in the void. Bound to its energies.

A living key.

The Doctor staggered back.

They wanted to use his child to open time itself.

Chapter Text

The Doctor stood rooted in front of the living terminal, the pulsing light bathing his face in cold illumination. He could feel the hum of chronon particles beneath his feet—a thrum that resonated with the very marrow of his bones. This place wasn’t just outside time; it was antithetical to it, an eddy in the stream of creation.

He brushed a hand across the terminal’s surface, and the structure responded like a heartbeat. Streams of glyphs danced before him—Gallifreyan and something older, something more primal.

A series of fragmented video logs began to play.

The first: a man in a top hat, but younger, unbroken. Sitting at a desk, babbling excitedly about “new opportunities,” his research into temporal anomalies. He was idealistic. Human.

The second: the same man, strapped into a chair. A voice off-screen: low, melodic, and utterly inhuman. "He will serve."

The third: the man transformed, glassy-eyed, repeating phrases about the Rift, about "the vessel" and "the key."

The Doctor clenched his jaw. "They rewrote him."

The next set of files showed blueprints—not of machines, but of rituals, alignments, sacrifices. The Rift wasn’t just science. It was belief harnessed through physics. The child was meant to be born near the Rift. Meant to bond with it. Meant to be shaped by it.

"A weapon forged from paradox," the Doctor whispered.

And then, one last file.

A grainy scan of River. The same scan he’d seen before—but overlaid with energy readings from the void. Her pregnancy had already begun to resonate with the Rift.

“Of course,” he said aloud. “Of course they knew.”

He turned, horrified. They hadn’t just wanted her child to use as a pawn.

They’d planned this.

They’d taken her to accelerate it. Exposure. Manipulation. Chrono-induction. Everything River had gone through—her sickness, her instability—was part of their design. They hadn’t harmed her directly, no. But they’d touched her timeline.

And now that resonance was active.

They would come for her again.

The Doctor sprinted back through the shifting corridors, his coat flaring like a banner behind him. The Eye seemed to resist him now, doors shifting, walls stretching, trying to keep him there.

He wasn’t afraid. He was furious.

He burst back into the TARDIS and slammed the doors shut.

The Doctor stepped into the quiet. Everything was too still. The lights were low, casting long shadows across the room. The console sat idle, humming softly in the background.

Then he saw her.

River stood before the medical scanner, unmoving. The display was still lit. The pale blue light bathed her in an eerie glow.

The image on the screen was unmistakable.

Her profile. Her heartbeat. And below it, faint and small, the echo of a second.

A child.

The Doctor stopped dead in his tracks. His hearts stuttered. He hadn’t expected—hadn’t prepared—for this moment.

River didn’t turn to face him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, hands gripping tightly to the fabric of her sleeves. A single tear slid down her cheek, unnoticed.

The Doctor took a cautious step forward.

“River?”

No answer.

The silence lingered like a third presence in the room, heavy and unrelenting. River stood rigid, her arms wrapped around her middle, her entire posture coiled like a spring. The Doctor remained where he was, not daring to move too quickly, as though she were some fragile construct that might shatter if approached too fast.

River’s gaze was locked on the scan, her jaw clenched tight.

“No,” she whispered. “No, it’s wrong. It has to be wrong.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

River took a shaky step back from the console, her hand reaching out to steady herself on the edge of the panel.

“It’s a glitch,” she said, louder now. “Just a glitch. Or—or maybe it’s a trick. The Silence—this is exactly the sort of manipulation they would use, isn’t it? Plant something like this. Make us think—make me think…”

She trailed off, her voice cracking.

The Doctor still didn’t move. Her denial was painful to watch, but necessary.

River turned sharply, pointing to the screen. “This? This is how they get into our heads. How they break us. It’s not real. It can’t be real.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she steamrolled over him.

“They wanted to use me, right? Weaponise me. Maybe this is the next phase. Psychological warfare. Show me something like that, and watch me spiral. That’s what this is.”

She laughed—sharp, brittle, hollow. Then the laugh died just as suddenly as it came. Her arms wrapped around herself again.

“…Except it looked real.”

Her voice had dropped to almost nothing.

She stared at him, wide eyes filled with tears that she would not let fall.

The Doctor took a slow, cautious step forward.

“River—”

“I’m fine,” she said suddenly, her voice clipped and brittle. “It’s… a shock, but I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

River’s fingers flexed against her arms, then relaxed. She finally looked away from the scan, pulling her gaze down to the floor like it had betrayed her. Her eyes were too dry now, as if she'd ordered the tears to stop by sheer will.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she muttered, almost to herself. “We keep going. We always keep going.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” the Doctor said gently.

“I’m not pretending,” she snapped. Too quickly.

He took another cautious step forward. “River—”

She turned sharply to face him, a practiced smirk tugging at her lips. It was all wrong.

“I mean, let’s be honest,” she said, waving a hand toward the screen. “Why wouldn’t this happen? It’s poetic, really. Melody Pond, born from time, now carrying the universe’s most inconvenient miracle. What did you expect?”

Her laugh was hollow, bitter. The Doctor’s hearts ached.

She kept talking. “I mean, it’s not like we haven’t bent every rule already. Why not one more? A baby. Sure. Why not?”

The words came faster now, as if she could outrun the truth by talking over it.

“Let me guess, you found out back when they took me? Pulled it from their files. Of course you did. That’s what you do, isn’t it? You see everything. You always know. And you think you’re protecting me by not telling me, but really, you’re just—”

Her voice cracked.

The Doctor stepped forward again, slower this time, but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” she said. “Please don’t touch me right now.”

He stopped. His arms dropped to his sides.

River exhaled shakily and turned her back on him. Her shoulders trembled.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “Not alone.”

She shook her head violently. “No. You don’t get to say that. You’re the one who left me in the dark. You knew. You knew and you stood there and smiled and acted like nothing was wrong.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

River turned back around, her face pale and drawn. “You should have told me anyway.”

He nodded. “You’re right.”

Silence again. This time, it was River who couldn’t stand it. She paced to the console, hands running across the controls without purpose. Then she turned and paced back. She looked like she might start laughing again—or screaming.

“I don’t even know what to feel,” she said. “Part of me wants to be furious. Another part of me wants to run, just vanish into the vortex and pretend I never saw that screen. And a tiny, ridiculous part of me…”

She trailed off.

The Doctor waited.

“A tiny part of me wants to be happy.”

He said nothing. Let her have the space.

“But I can’t. I can’t be happy. Not with them out there, not with what they’ve done. They made this happen, didn’t they? They manipulated it. Me. You. Us. They’re always there, shaping things.”

Her voice rose again. “I don’t even know what’s real anymore. What’s mine.”

The Doctor’s throat tightened.

River’s hands were shaking now, her composure slipping. “So I’m just another one of their weapons? Another piece on the board? And this child is just another pawn for them to twist and shape and ruin?”

Her voice cracked. “What if I’m not enough to stop it?”

And then, finally, she folded in on herself.

The Doctor moved quickly but gently. He reached her just as her knees gave way, catching her in his arms. She resisted for half a second—then clung to him.

He wrapped his arms around her, his coat enveloping her like a shield. She buried her face into his chest, and the sob that escaped her was broken and raw and full of terror.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, over and over. “I’ve got you.”

River clung to him as though he were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

And maybe, in that moment, he was.

He said nothing else. There were no more words to offer—not yet. Just the silent promise in his arms, the promise that whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Eventually, River’s sobs quieted. Her breathing slowed. Her grip on his coat loosened, just a little.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“I know,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, eyes red and hollow. “We have to stop them.”

“We will.”

She nodded slowly, pressing her forehead against his chest. The Doctor held her tighter, his own fear nestled deep inside him—but for now, he would hold hers too.

Whatever it took.

Chapter Text

The console lights flickered sporadically, casting strange shadows across the room. River sat on the edge of the jump seat, her posture composed but unnaturally stiff. Her hands were folded in her lap with surgical precision, not a tremble in sight. The scanner still glowed faintly with the results that had shattered the air between them.

The Doctor stood at the console, not looking at her but watching her all the same. She hadn't cried again. Hadn’t even flinched. She hadn’t spoken more than two words.

Now, she just… sat.

He checked the readings. Everything was calm. But it was a deceptive calm—the kind that came just before a star went nova.

The TARDIS shuddered.

He frowned. “That’s new.”

The floor beneath them trembled again, like something massive had stirred beneath the ship’s hull.

“River?” he called gently.

She didn’t respond.

The lights dimmed, and a strange high-pitched frequency cut through the silence, not quite sound—more like pressure in the mind. The Doctor’s hand flew over the controls.

The monitor blinked, distorted static briefly taking over before an eerie, flickering image appeared. Not a face. Not entirely. Shards of broken features floated in the haze—eyes that didn’t blink, a mouth that moved without sound. Then came the voice.

Disembodied. Echoing through time itself.

"The child born of the rift will open what is closed. The Eye will see. The Eye will take. The vessel is ripening."

The Doctor’s blood turned to ice.

He glanced to River. She still hadn’t moved. But her head was tilted now, her gaze fixed on the screen. Her expression unreadable.

"Do not run. We are already inside. You are shaped by us, Song. You are the song of our making."

The voice stopped.

Silence. Then static. Then darkness.

The screen went black.

The Doctor stepped away from the console slowly, swallowing thickly. “It was them. Or something tied to them. A psychic frequency carried through the rift. A message—maybe even a threat.”

River still said nothing.

“River?”

“I heard it,” she said, finally. Her voice was cold.

The Doctor studied her carefully. “They called you a vessel.”

“I’ve been called worse,” she replied.

He flinched. “River, they know. They’ve known. This… they’ve been planning something. Not just watching. This isn’t just surveillance anymore. It’s… cultivation.”

River stood. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical.

“They’ve planted this child in me,” she said, evenly. “Manipulated everything that led to it. I should have seen it.”

“You couldn’t have known—”

“I should have,” she snapped, then caught herself. “I should have. Because that’s who I am. I see patterns. I read signals. And I missed it. Again.”

She walked to the other side of the console, running her fingers along the edge.

“I’m not angry, Doctor,” she said, voice calm and chilling. “I’m not even surprised. This is what they do. They steal your agency. They steal you.”

He moved toward her slowly. “You are not them.”

“But I’m what they made.”

“No,” he said fiercely. “You are more than what they made.”

She looked up at him then, and for a moment he thought he saw something crack behind her eyes—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“I need time to think,” she said. “I need to figure out what part of this is mine and what part is theirs.”

“You don’t have to shut me out—”

“I’m not shutting you out,” she said too quickly. “I’m protecting you. From me.”

He reached for her hand. She let him take it, but she didn’t grip back.

The TARDIS jolted.

Lights flickered, then surged.

The Doctor turned back to the console. “Something’s happening.”

More shudders. A groaning sound deeper than metal and older than language. The TARDIS’ time rotor spun on its own.

“Why is she moving?” he muttered.

He ran around the console, adjusting settings—but it was no use.

“She’s locking coordinates,” he said. “I’m not even touching her.”

River looked up. “Where is she taking us?”

The answer came on the screen.

A single phrase appeared in glowing Gallifreyan:

"Protect the child."

The Doctor froze.

“The TARDIS… she’s protecting. She’s taken control. She must have detected something—some surge or signal from the rift. She’s reacting instinctively.”

He turned to River.

“I think she thinks we’re in danger.”

River’s face went blank again.

“We are,” she said quietly. 

The words hung in the air, heavy and wrong.

The Doctor stepped closer again. “River, you’re pulling away. You’re shutting this down. Please.”

She didn’t look at him. “I don't want to talk about this.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? All of it—my birth, my body, this… child. It’s all been shaped by forces I can’t control. And now it’s shaping you. Shaping this child.”

Her hands moved protectively toward her abdomen before she caught herself and let them fall.

“This child” she repeated quietly. Then shook her head. “I don’t want to feel anything yet. I can’t. Because if I feel it, if I start to want it—”

Her voice cracked.

“Then I won’t survive losing it.”

Silence. The Doctor stepped toward her again, gently.

“You don’t have to go through this like it’s a trap, River. We don’t know what’s going to happen. But I promise you, whatever they planned, we will rewrite it. Together.”

She turned away.

“I’m not ready to believe in ‘together’ right now.”

He nodded, slowly. “Then believe in me.”

She didn’t reply. But she didn’t walk away.

The TARDIS jolted again. This time, the walls seemed to thrum.

“She’s scared,” the Doctor murmured, almost to himself. “The TARDIS. She’s protecting more than us."

River breathed in sharply.

“She’s protecting our child.”

River stiffened.

The Doctor watched her. “You don’t have to feel it. Not yet. But I do. And I’ll carry it for both of us until you’re ready.”

She sat back down slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on her. She rubbed her arms like she was trying to feel her own skin.

Then, almost in a whisper: “I hate them.”

“I know.”

She looked up at him—haunted, distant.

“Do you think there’s a version of this where I get to love our child?”

He walked over, knelt beside her.

“I think there’s a version of this where you already do.”

She didn’t cry again. But this time, she didn’t flinch when he reached for her hand.

They sat like that, hand in hand, as the TARDIS carried them forward—toward whatever came next.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS whirred and groaned with a sound the Doctor hadn’t heard in centuries. Not just the sound of flight, but of resistance—of pushing against something that didn’t want to be moved through. Like the ship itself was carving a new groove in the universe.

Then, suddenly, it stopped.

The Doctor lurched forward, catching himself on the edge of the console. River barely flinched, still distant, standing with arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing.

The Doctor frowned. “We didn’t land anywhere. There’s no planetary reading, no gravity pull, no—”

He glanced at the monitor. His voice trailed off.

River finally looked at him. “Where are we?”

The Doctor hesitated, pressing keys, adjusting dials.

“We’re... not in time.”

River blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Not in space either. We’re outside it. A pocket dimension, maybe. The TARDIS found a fold. Something ancient. Hidden. It shouldn’t exist.”

River walked to the screen and stared. Outside the TARDIS doors was a vast panorama—rolling green hills, sapphire skies. Buildings curved like shells in impossible directions, spirals of glass and stone and light. It looked like a world within a snow globe. Tranquil. Beautiful.

“Wherever we are,” she murmured, “it’s not real.”

“No,” the Doctor replied. “It’s safe.”

She turned to him. “Safe from what?”

He looked up. “From everything.”

The TARDIS doors opened with a soft creak.

The Doctor stepped out cautiously. The gravity was soft, a gentle tug on his boots. The air smelled of salt and cut grass. In the distance, he could hear birdsong—though no birds flew overhead.

River stepped out behind him, slower. She looked around, scanning.

The Doctor held out his sonic. “Frequencies are flat. No Rift, no Silence, no signals. Just… nothing.”

They walked forward, eyes wide. The world was not small—it seemed infinite in size, as if the bubble it sat within flexed and expanded with every step.

Buildings clustered like coral reefs, but made of polished glass and white stone. Light streamed from no visible sun. Holographic signs in every language danced overhead. Shops with hand-painted signs, tiny cafés, flowering trees. Not a soul in sight.

“This place looks like a utopia,” River said warily.

“It’s a refuge,” the Doctor murmured. “For those running from something. A safe haven.”

They came to a gentle stream running through a quiet square. A bench stood by the water. The Doctor sat down heavily, staring into the stream. River remained standing.

“We’re not leaving, are we?” she asked.

The Doctor didn’t answer immediately.

“The TARDIS locked the controls,” he finally said. “I could override it—if I really tried. But she won’t let me.”

River looked up at the blue box. “She’s never stopped you before.”

“She has now.”

River sat beside him slowly, folding her hands in her lap.

The Doctor didn’t look at her. “I can fight armies. I can fight monsters. I can fight entire timelines if I have to. But this…” He shook his head. “This is bigger. Older. The Rift, the Silence, the Eye. They’re not villains. They’re inevitabilities. Fixed points tearing at their own borders. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

River was quiet.

“I can’t protect you from time,” he whispered.

She turned to him. “You’ve always said that time can be rewritten.”

The Doctor’s face broke. “That was a lie.”

She stared at him. “You lied to me?”

“I lied to myself.”

He looked up at the sky, the fake clouds drifting serenely. “I thought I could fight anything. Be clever enough, fast enough, strong enough to keep everyone safe. But the Rift doesn’t want something. It doesn’t plan. It pulls. It devours.”

He looked at her then, pain in every line of his face. “And now… there’s more than just you to protect.”

River blinked. “You’re not scared for me.”

He shook his head. “I am. But not just for you.”

They were silent again.

“I saw it,” River said quietly. “Back in the TARDIS. A world where we fought. Where we lost. Where they took everything.”

The Doctor turned sharply. “You saw it?”

River nodded. “In my mind. Like a dream but more. They showed me what’s waiting.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “They’re reaching across timelines. They’re trying to push you.”

“I know.”

She stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “That’s why I have to shut it out. That’s why I have to feel nothing. Because if I let myself feel, I’ll lose my grip.”

The Doctor stood with her. “River—”

“No. Don’t.”

But he stepped closer. “You’re not alone in this.”

She shook her head. “Don’t say that. Because if I believe it, and we lose, it’ll break me.”

The Doctor’s hearts broke a little more.

River turned away from him, gazing at the impossible sky.

“I don’t know how to be a mother,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to know yet.”

“I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

River covered her mouth with her hand. Her voice was small. “What if they find us?”

The Doctor stepped forward, placing a hand gently on her back.

“They won’t. Not here. Not for a while.”

She turned to him then. “And when they do?”

He smiled sadly. “Then we run again. And again. And again.”

River looked at him, studying his face. “You’re really going to do it, aren’t you? Run. Hide.”

The Doctor nodded. “For the first time in my lives, I’m choosing to not be clever. To not fight. Because this time, if I fight, I might lose you. Both of you.”

River exhaled shakily. “I thought you’d never stop running toward danger.”

He laughed softly. “Maybe I’ve just finally found something worth running away with.”

She stepped into his arms, and this time, he held her without hesitation. Her head on his chest. His hand cradling the back of her hair.

Around them, Haven Station shimmered.

The world, for once, was quiet.

And for the first time in a long, long time—the Doctor and River stopped.

Chapter Text

They sat together on the smooth wooden bench beneath the shade of a sprawling tree, its leaves glowing faintly with bioluminescent light even though the artificial sun hung low in the sky. The air smelled faintly of earth and rain, though the sky was a swirl of stars and nebulae — a suspended world beyond time.

River absently traced circles on the bench’s worn surface, her eyes distant, as if caught between thoughts she dared not follow. The Doctor watched her quietly, his fingers tapping nervously against his knees. Around them, Haven Station hummed with gentle life — families strolled past, children’s laughter echoed in the distance, vendors called softly from their stalls, and the scent of exotic spices drifted on the breeze.

“It’s like a little world inside a cage,” River said finally, voice low and a little raw. “Beautiful, but still a cage.”

The Doctor nodded, his gaze scanning the horizon where rolling hills dipped into valleys lush with glowing flowers. “It is. But a cage with soft walls — and for now, it’s the safest place we have.”

She looked up at him, eyes sharp and clear despite the exhaustion beneath. “Do you want this? Being stuck here?”

He smiled, a little sadly. “No. I hate being stuck anywhere. You know that.”

River’s lip twitched, half a smile threatening. “I do. You’re the man who runs through time like it’s nothing, impossible to pin down. This is the opposite of you.”

He leaned back, eyes closing briefly, as if tasting the memory of endless stars and endless roads. “And yet... I’ll stay. For you.”

Her eyes softened, but she shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m trapping you.”

The words hit him harder than she could know.

“River,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not trapped. Not if I’m with you. Protecting you — that’s my priority now. I don’t care about being stuck or running anymore. Not if it means keeping you safe.”

Her smile faded, replaced by a shadow of doubt. “But this place, this life... it’s not what you want. And I don’t want to hold you back.”

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I want you. And right now, that means being here, being safe.”

She looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation, but found none. The doctor she loved was here, fiercely protective and utterly determined.

They rose from the bench and began to wander through the market area of Haven Station, the place alive with soft murmurs and muted colors. Stalls lined the streets, selling strange foods and peculiar trinkets — a small boy chased after a glowing mechanical butterfly, laughing wildly.

River let herself relax a little, watching him with a quiet fondness.

At a vendor’s stall, the Doctor stopped to examine a delicate glass orb that shimmered with a faint inner light. He held it up to the sun, turning it slowly in his hand.

“You always did love shiny things,” River teased softly.

The Doctor glanced at her, eyes twinkling. “And you always pretended not to notice.”

River laughed, a clear sound that seemed to surprise them both. For a moment, the weight between them lifted, and they simply existed in the gentle hum of Haven Station.

But the moment passed too quickly. River’s expression turned serious again as she pulled the Doctor to the side, away from the bustling crowd.

“What do you think the Silence planned for me?” she asked quietly.

The Doctor’s face darkened. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. They wanted control — of you, of the child, of the rift.”

River nodded, swallowing hard. “But we’re not fighting them.”

“No,” the Doctor agreed. “Not in the way we thought we would. Running isn’t giving up. It’s survival. And right now, this is the fight.”

River glanced around, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But they’ll never stop.”

“No,” the Doctor said firmly. “But every day we keep them away, every moment we protect you and the baby, we deny them what they want. We win by not letting them win.”

She looked up at him, a flicker of hope mixed with the fear.

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

“So am I,” he said honestly. “But I’m not leaving you. Not ever.”

They moved on, wandering through lush green parks dotted with quiet homes and shops, small gardens bursting with impossible flowers that shifted colors as they passed. The air shimmered softly with the hum of life.

As they walked, River’s hand found the Doctor’s, fingers intertwining almost instinctively. The simple touch was a lifeline, a promise that no matter what came, they were together.

The Doctor squeezed her hand gently. “We may be running, but we’re not hiding in the dark. We’re building something new — even if it’s just here, just for now.”

River smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Maybe... maybe this place can be home. At least for a while.”

He smiled back, heart aching and full.

And for the first time in a long while, they allowed themselves to believe it.

The soft hum of Haven Station faded behind them as River and the Doctor made their way back toward the TARDIS. The artificial sunlight dipped lower in the sky, bathing the vast expanse of the station’s landscape in a warm amber glow. They walked side by side, the occasional sound of distant voices and the gentle rustling of bioluminescent leaves filling the air.

The Doctor reached the TARDIS first and placed his hand on the familiar, worn console. His eyes flickered with hope and a spark of his old, restless energy. With a flourish, he tapped a few controls, the usual reassuring whirl of lights and sounds surrounding them.

But the TARDIS didn’t respond the way it always had.

It remained silent.

He frowned and fiddled with the console again, twisting knobs and flipping switches, his brow furrowing deeper with every unsuccessful attempt.

“It won’t move,” he said quietly, voice tinged with frustration.

River stepped beside him, her expression unreadable. “It’s anchored,” she said. “We’re not going anywhere for now.”

The Doctor sighed, pushing back his curls from his forehead. “Looks like it.”

For a moment, the two of them simply stood there, the realization settling like a heavy weight. The TARDIS, their vessel through time and space, was fixed — stranded here, on this fragile haven beyond the reach of the rift.

“Well,” the Doctor said, forcing a small grin, “I suppose we make the best of it.”

River watched him closely as he took a step back and disappeared inside the TARDIS, the doors closing with their familiar whoosh behind him. She followed more slowly, curiosity mingled with an undercurrent of caution.

Moments later, the doors opened again, and the Doctor emerged, dragging something behind him.

It was an old, crooked bench, worn smooth by time and use — the kind of bench you’d find in a neglected park or a forgotten courtyard.

He set it down just outside the TARDIS doors with a proud smile, stepping back to admire his prize.

River’s lips twitched into a genuine smile as she studied him, amusement flickering in her eyes. “What on earth…?”

“Comfort,” the Doctor said simply, sinking down onto the bench. “We’re going to need a place to sit, watch sunsets, plot ridiculous escapes, and sometimes just be.”

River eased down beside him, feeling the rough wood beneath her fingertips. The two of them sat quietly, watching the enormous artificial sun dip toward the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with hues of deep orange, fiery red, and violet.

The Doctor glanced sideways at her, eyes sparkling with that mischievous gleam she knew so well. “How do you feel about camping?”

River raised an eyebrow, her expression blank but amused.

Before she could answer, the Doctor had already jumped to his feet and bounded back inside the TARDIS, his footsteps echoing down the corridors. Faint sounds of crashing and rummaging followed — the unmistakable noise of him searching through countless rooms and storage compartments.

River smiled softly, folding her arms and watching the sky deepen into twilight.

A moment later, the Doctor reappeared, carrying a small, tightly folded bundle.

He dropped it to the ground beside the bench, grinning like a child with a secret.

With a quick flick of his sonic screwdriver, the bundle began to grow — expanding outward with a smooth, almost magical inflation. Within seconds, a small, bright blue tent stood before them, its fabric shimmering faintly in the fading light.

“Ta-da!” The Doctor beamed proudly. “Home sweet home.”

River studied the tent skeptically. “Cosy,” she said dryly. 

He smirked. “Come on — go on inside.”

With a mixture of curiosity and hesitation, River stepped through the tent’s low entrance.

Inside, she found herself in a space far larger than the outside suggested. The interior was warm and inviting, a charming blend of rustic and whimsical.

Soft, golden lights hung overhead like gentle stars, casting a mellow glow over the room. Against one wall stood a large, comfortable bed draped in deep blue sheets that looked as if they could swallow her whole and lull her into perfect rest.

Shelves lined the walls, brimming with curious objects collected from countless places and times: small mechanical trinkets that whirred quietly, stacks of yellowed books bound in cracked leather, delicate glass jars filled with shimmering dust, and strange artifacts that whispered stories River didn’t dare guess.

In the center of the room was a sturdy oak table, dark and polished to a mirror sheen, with chairs tucked neatly around it. The table’s surface bore scratches and marks—evidence of many years of use, of plans made and tales told.

A fireplace flickered gently in one corner, its warm light reflecting off brass candlesticks and a scattering of wildflowers in a simple vase.

River’s eyes widened as she took it all in, then she rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Camping, huh?”

The Doctor threw his hands up in triumph. “Camping!”

They settled inside the tent as night deepened over Haven Station, the artificial sun replaced by countless distant stars. Outside, the station’s gentle hum persisted, a reminder that life carried on, even in the quietest places beyond time.

River sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of their situation pressing on her, yet softened by this small bubble of peace the Doctor had created.

“I never thought I’d see you settle down,” she said, voice soft but teasing.

He shrugged, grinning. “Neither did I. But sometimes, you have to change the rules.”

She glanced up at him, curiosity and something warmer stirring behind her eyes.

“What if this place changes you?” she asked.

The Doctor’s smile faltered just a bit, and he shrugged again, a little more uncertain this time.

“Maybe I’ll finally learn to stay put,” he said quietly. “For you.”

River reached out, taking his hand gently. “I’m not used to being the one who stops you.”

He squeezed her hand, a silent promise.

They talked late into the night — about everything and nothing — the past and uncertain future weaving through their words. They spoke of the Silence, and what terrible plans they had for River and the child, and then they stopped themselves.

“We’re still fighting them,” River said firmly.

The Doctor nodded, resting his head against her shoulder. 

“This is still fighting,” she continued. “It’s just a different kind of fight.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “By keeping you safe, by staying hidden, we’re denying them. We’re protecting what matters most. We’re still winning.”

River smiled against him, feeling the slow bloom of hope amid the fear.

“We’ll make this place home,” she whispered.

The Doctor lifted her chin gently. “Together.”

And in the quiet sanctuary of the tent, with stars shining above and a future uncertain but shared, they let themselves believe it might be enough — at least, for now.

Chapter Text

The next morning came not with the natural progression of time, but with the gentle dimming of stars and the warm rising of Haven’s artificial sun. The dome sky overhead glowed gold and peach, painting the green stretches of land and paths with soft, buttery light. Birds — or something that sounded like birds — chirped in the high trees, their calls synthetic yet soothing.

River woke first, curled beneath the deep blue bedsheets that smelled faintly of ozone and rosemary. She lay still for a moment, letting the silence wash over her — the real kind of silence, not the terrifying kind tied to her past. No looming threat. No ticking clock. Just the gentle hum of safety and a man snoring softly beside her.

She turned her head. The Doctor lay sprawled on his front, arm dangling off the side of the bed, mouth open in a loose, undignified way that made her smile.

River stared at him for a long moment, her expression softening. She wondered if he truly grasped what he’d given up for her — not in a romantic, whimsical way, but in real, tangible sacrifice. He was a man who’d once carried the stars in his coat pockets, who never stayed anywhere longer than it took for the adventure to end. And now he was… here.

With her.

Settled.

Stuck.

She sat up, wrapping one of the oversized throws around her shoulders and padded barefoot across the tent. The oak table sat quietly in the middle of the room, a few forgotten trinkets left scattered across its surface. A curved, old teapot sat on one corner, mismatched cups arranged beside it.

River turned the handle on a kettle she’d found the night before and placed it on the stove. She stood still while it hissed to life, the warmth rising around her.

Behind her, she heard a groan, and the unmistakable shuffling of limbs trying to remember how to be vertical.

“Mmmrgh… what time is it?” came the Doctor’s groggy voice.

River poured two cups of tea and smirked. “Time to wake up.”

He shuffled to the table, rubbing his eyes. His hair looked more like a bird’s nest than usual. “I feel like I slept on a satellite dish,” he muttered, slumping into a chair.

River placed the cup in front of him. “We can get a new mattress if you want. We are domestic now.”

He blinked at her, then narrowed his eyes playfully. “You say that like it’s a curse.”

She sipped her tea. “You tell me.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked around the tent, the mismatched furniture, the warm lights strung like stars above them, the odd hum of the Station outside.

“I suppose if we have to be stuck,” he said, “this isn’t the worst place.”

River tilted her head, studying him. “You really mean that?”

He didn’t meet her eyes right away. He was quiet for a moment, then reached across the table and rested his hand on hers.

“I don’t like running,” he said finally. “But I hate losing you more.”

Her fingers curled around his.

River didn’t speak — not right away. She could feel it — that fear he still hadn’t voiced. The fear that even here, even in this impossible sanctuary outside of time, something might still reach through the cracks and take everything away.

Later that day, they wandered deeper into Haven Station.

The outer edge of the area the TARDIS had landed in was all grassy hills and winding paths, but past that, Haven opened up into something closer to a city — or at least a village. There were other people here — not many, but enough. All of them carried the same look: quiet, careful hopefulness. People who had been running, and finally stopped.

River and the Doctor walked hand-in-hand, moving past shopfronts with flickering neon signs and cafés spilling warm smells into the air. There were homes, all varied and strange — some shaped like flowers, some hovering just above the ground, some half-sunken into artificial hillsides.

They passed a bookshop with shelves that stretched far beyond its small exterior. A man inside was laughing as he argued with a floating cat.

The Doctor grinned. “That cat’s from Proxima Nine.”

River raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”

“I once had to negotiate peace between its species and a group of very angry librarians. It’s a long story.”

She gave him a sideways glance, amused. “You’re going to go mad here, aren’t you?”

His smile faltered. “I’ll try not to.”

They stopped at a garden — the centrepiece of the area, a huge open space filled with silver-barked trees and long stone benches. Children played nearby, tossing small glowing cubes back and forth in a game they didn’t recognise.

River sat on the edge of a fountain and looked up at the strange, serene sky.

The Doctor stood beside her, staring ahead — eyes distant.

“You’re struggling,” River said gently.

He didn’t deny it. “I’ve never stopped,” he murmured. “Not really. I move because if I don’t, I have to… think. And when I think, I remember.”

River’s voice softened. “Do you regret staying?”

He turned to her then, eyes wide, the answer immediate and fierce.

“Never. Not for one second.”

She hesitated, then whispered, “Sometimes I worry I’ve trapped you.”

The pain that crossed his face was immediate, sharp and honest.

“You haven’t trapped me, River. You’ve saved me. This—” he gestured around them, “—this is strange and small and terrifying in ways I don’t even have words for. But I’m here. Because you’re here. And I want to be.”

River reached for his hand again. “Even if we never leave?”

“Especially then.”

They sat there for a long moment, the quiet of Haven wrapping around them like a blanket.

Then River spoke again, more softly this time. “The Silence… they wanted something from me. From the child. What were they were planning?”

The Doctor’s face darkened. “Control,” he said flatly. “The child of the TARDIS. Born from the time vortex, touched by paradox, raised in war. They could mould them into a weapon.”

River’s hand tightened in his.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

And just like that, the conversation died — not with fear, but with resolve.

They weren’t going to fight.

They were going to live.

And that was the best resistance they could offer.

That evening, they returned to the tent.

The Doctor vanished into the TARDIS again and re-emerged with more odd objects — blankets with constellations stitched into them, a curious music box that played a lullaby from a forgotten world, and a tray of something that looked suspiciously like fish fingers and custard.

River raised a hand. “Absolutely not.”

“Tradition!” the Doctor declared, already eating one.

She laughed — a real laugh, the kind that came from the chest, startled and free.

Later, they curled up on the bench outside, watching the artificial sun dip once more behind the curved horizon of Haven Station.

The Doctor tilted his head, studying her profile, illuminated in gold.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he said.

River turned to him. “What’s ‘this’?”

“A home. A pause. A reason to stay.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Then let’s make it ours.”

And there, beneath the domed sky of a place outside time, surrounded by nothing but peace and the quiet promise of safety, the Doctor — the man who had run longer than anyone should — stopped.

And stayed.

Morning on Haven came slowly, always with the hush of soft light filtering through the artificial sky. There was no wind here, not really — just a hush, like breath held in glass. But somehow, it felt alive.

River emerged from the tent barefoot, hair tousled, dressing gown trailing behind her as she walked toward the small bench by the TARDIS. She rubbed a hand over her forehead. Her stomach churned unpleasantly, and for the third morning in a row, her body protested its own stillness.

She sat carefully on the bench, one hand pressing to her stomach, trying to steady herself. It wasn’t the rift anymore, she was sure of that. 

The nausea came in waves, teasing her equilibrium like a cruel joke.

She’d always had excellent control over her body — trained, focused, impossible to throw off. But this? This was different. Persistent. Quiet. Like her body was whispering something she hadn’t yet put into words.

The tent flap opened behind her.

The Doctor emerged, hair sticking up wildly, wearing a too-large brown jumper he’d once claimed belonged to the King of Arcturan Mice. He held two steaming mugs and stopped short when he saw her hunched forward.

“River?” His voice was instantly sharper, full of concern. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

He set the mugs down and knelt in front of her.

“Talk to me.”

River gave him a tight smile. “Just feeling a bit… off.”

“Off how?” He was already scanning her with the sonic screwdriver before she could stop him. “Is it the air pressure? The artificial humidity? Did you touch that glowing fruit in the garden yesterday, because I told you it looked suspicious—”

She reached forward and snatched the sonic from his hand. “It’s not the fruit.”

He frowned, settling onto the bench beside her. “You’ve been like this for days.”

“I’m aware,” she muttered.

He studied her, eyes darting across her features like he could read her thoughts through the curve of her brow.

“Have you eaten anything?”

She sighed. “Not yet.”

Without another word, he stood and vanished back into the tent.

River rolled her eyes. “Oh, brilliant,” she muttered. “Here comes the nurse.”

Sure enough, five minutes later, he returned with a small plate of plain toast and a mug of mint tea. He placed them in her lap as though handling a sacred offering.

“Try this.”

River looked down at it, bemused. “Toast, really?”

“You need something plain.” He folded his arms. “Something soothing. I ran scans — no radiation, no pathogens, no alien parasites. And before you ask, yes, I triple-checked for dormant temporal anomalies.”

She glanced at him. “You ran scans while I was sleeping?”

He didn’t meet her gaze.

“…Maybe.”

River smirked despite herself. “You’re fussing.”

He flopped down beside her again. “You’re pregnant. Fussing is a biological reflex.”

She nibbled the toast, sipping the tea, and slowly, the nausea began to fade. Just slightly. Enough that her vision stopped tilting.

The Doctor watched her the entire time, trying not to look like he was watching her.

River tilted her head, eyes narrowing fondly. “You’re awful at being subtle, you know.”

He shrugged. “Not when I care.”

There was something about the way he said it — flat, unembellished — that made her pause.

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“You’re scared,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer.

“I am too,” she added.

The artificial breeze picked up slightly, rustling the trees in the distance. From somewhere down the hill, music played — light and strange, like a lullaby from a long-forgotten corner of the universe.

“I’m afraid,” he said finally, “that we made the right choice and it still won’t be enough.”

River closed her eyes. “It has to be.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”

They spent the afternoon making the space around the TARDIS feel more like home.

The Doctor produced a small crate from the TARDIS labeled ‘In Case of Emergency (Picnic Edition)’. Inside was a folded quilt, a battered old radio, and a set of porcelain teacups with flamingoes painted on them.

“Did you steal these from Buckingham Palace?” River asked, inspecting one.

“Technically, they were a gift.”

“From whom?”

“The Queen.”

“What century?”

“…Two at once.”

River rolled her eyes.

They set up a little corner beside the crooked bench — a shaded area beneath a leaning tree with long, translucent leaves. He strung up a few fairy lights he insisted were salvaged from a crashed party ship. River found a stack of books the TARDIS had kept shelved away — some fiction, some histories, a few with indecipherable glyphs on the covers.

She laid out the books on the quilt, reclined in the warmth of the afternoon sun, and tried — just tried — to forget the life they’d left behind.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked eventually.

The Doctor looked up from where he was tinkering with the radio.

“Miss what?”

“Running. Fighting. Saving everyone.”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Yes,” he said honestly. “But not more than I love being here with you.”

Her eyes flicked up, startled. The Doctor rarely said things that direct.

“I thought you hated staying still.”

“I do. Or I did. But this is different.”

He paused, then shifted toward her, arms resting on his knees.

“River, you once told me there’s only one way I’d ever stop running — if I found something worth stopping for.”

She watched him, her expression unreadable.

“And I have,” he added.

She looked away.

“I just don’t want you to resent it,” she said. “Resent me.”

The Doctor’s voice went quiet. “I could never.”

River didn’t answer. She looked out across the wide hills of Haven Station — a place that wasn’t supposed to exist, tucked between time and nothing, a pause in the universe.

“I think,” she said at last, “I’m just not used to being looked after.”

The Doctor shifted closer and took her hand.

“Well,” he murmured, “get used to it.”

That night, the artificial moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across the sleeping station.

They sat on the bench again, wrapped in a blanket. River leaned against his chest. The TARDIS stood silently behind them, her doors half-ajar, glowing faintly blue like a nightlight.

River closed her eyes. “Do you think they’re still looking?”

He didn’t need to ask who she meant.

“Yes,” he whispered. “But they’ll never find us.”

She shifted slightly, fingers curling around his coat.

“They’ll never get to you,” he added, more fiercely. “Not you, not our child.”

She nodded.

For a long time, neither spoke.

And then he said, so softly she almost missed it: “This — hiding — it’s not weakness. It’s the best weapon we’ve got. They want control. They want you twisted into their weapon. And we’re denying them that. We’re denying them you.”

River’s breath caught.

“They don’t get to win,” he finished.

Her fingers squeezed his.

And for the first time in days, she believed him.

Chapter Text

The days began to fall into a rhythm, each one as soft and warm as the last. Morning sunrises by the TARDIS, cups of steaming tea, strolls through the winding walks of Haven Station’s greenbelt, laughter echoing off glass-paneled domes and market streets that seemed to bend with the curve of the world.

The Doctor, as always, couldn’t stay still for long — even in a place where time itself didn’t exist. But instead of racing off into danger, he paced between market stalls, fingers brushing odd trinkets, picking up strange alien fruits and poking glowing fabrics with childlike curiosity. River followed at a more leisurely pace, letting him lead, letting herself feel—tentatively—like maybe they were safe.

On the fourth day after their arrival, they took a new path through the market, branching away from the usual stalls of food and textiles. The path curved beneath an arched, vine-covered canopy where people bustled in and out of wider shopfronts built into the polished walls of the station.

River’s hand had wandered to her stomach again — unconsciously, like it did now when she wasn’t thinking. The Doctor noticed. He always noticed.

“Let’s take a left,” he said suddenly, voice too casual.

River narrowed her eyes. “What’s to the left?”

“Nothing! Well, not nothing. Something. Something interesting.”

She followed him anyway. The Doctor’s definition of “interesting” was always cause for alarm, but his eyes were wide, intent, and that usually meant he was trying to help.

They stopped outside a curved glass structure with pale blue lights pulsing along its edges. A small sign in clean, blocky text read: Haven Station Medical Services – Discreet & Compassionate Care.

River stiffened. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes,” he said quickly, looping his arm around her waist. “Just a quick scan.”

“I don’t need—”

“You’re pregnant,” he said gently. “You’ve been nauseous. You’re exhausted. And we’ve been… busy. Just—humour me?”

River folded her arms. “You know I was raised by a cult to be a weapon, right? I don’t ‘do’ checkups.”

“River…”

He took her hands in his.

“You don’t have to be brave right now. You just have to be okay. Please.”

She hesitated. And then nodded.

Inside, the clinic was oddly peaceful — all rounded corners and soft lighting, with chairs that reclined automatically and diffusers pumping out subtle hints of lavender and something minty. A few other patients sat waiting, no one staring, no questions asked.

A cheerful-looking alien man with vaguely amphibian skin and deep green eyes stepped forward from behind a partition.

“Well, hello there!” he said with genuine warmth. “Couple of newcomers, I see? I’m Aven. Medical officer here.”

The Doctor offered a nod, but River held back, standing slightly behind him.

Aven’s eyes softened.

“No identification needed,” he said gently. “No names, if you prefer. Just here to help. We get a lot of people like you.”

River raised an eyebrow. “People like us?”

“People who ran.” Aven gave her a knowing smile. “Some from governments. Some from galaxies. Some from men with cruel hands. A lot of single mothers. This place… it’s a sanctuary. You don’t owe anyone anything here.”

Something loosened in River’s shoulders.

The Doctor squeezed her hand.

Aven gestured to one of the rooms. “Come on in. Off the record. Always.”

They followed him into a softly lit examination room with equipment that looked somewhere between Victorian steampunk and high-end Gallifreyan. River perched on the edge of the reclining chair and the Doctor stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

“It’s a standard bio-sonic scan,” Aven said. “Like your Earth ultrasounds, but more detailed. No pain. No danger. Just a look.”

River hesitated, but then lay back.

The machine powered on with a gentle hum, and a screen on the wall flickered into life. Blue pulses of light scanned over her abdomen as Aven adjusted the settings. River reached out for the Doctor’s hand. He took it instantly.

The screen lit up.

And there it was.

A small figure, curled like a comma, floating peacefully in soft shadows of light. A pulse — rhythmic, steady. Life.

River gasped.

“Oh…”

The Doctor’s breath hitched. His hearts pounded.

Aven smiled gently. “Looks healthy. Strong heartbeats. No abnormalities detected. Developing well.”

River stared, wide-eyed, at the screen. For a long moment, neither she nor the Doctor said anything.

Then Aven turned away slightly, giving them privacy.

The Doctor leaned close to River, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s… that’s our child.”

River’s eyes were wet. She nodded once, swallowing.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see something like this,” she said, her voice trembling.

He pressed his forehead gently to hers. “Neither did I.”

When the scan was done, Aven quietly saved it to a private file, then turned the monitor to show them. “I keep no names,” he said. “But I will recommend you come back in about a month. Just to be sure everything’s progressing.”

River nodded, still half-dazed.

Aven paused. “Would you like to watch me delete the records?”

The Doctor blinked. “You’d do that?”

“Many here need to vanish,” Aven said simply. “I don’t ask why. But I honor it.”

He pressed a sequence of commands, and the screen displayed a short confirmation in three alien dialects — one of them Time Lord script. Then the file was gone.

“No backups,” Aven said. “You are ghosts, if you wish it.”

The Doctor exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

River stood shakily. Aven handed her a cool glass of water, and she took it with a grateful smile.

“You’re safe here,” the alien said. “Whatever you’re running from, it can’t reach you.”

As they stepped back out into the market’s sunlight, River paused. The Doctor stood close behind her, one arm resting protectively across her shoulders.

“I didn’t expect it to be so…” She hesitated. “Real.”

He looked down at her. “It’s real now. That’s what matters.”

They walked in silence for a while, weaving between stalls selling spices, woven rugs, and mechanical toys shaped like birds. The crowd was friendly but distant, content in their own orbits. River slipped her hand into his, and he didn’t let go.

They reached a quiet fountain near the end of the marketplace, and sat beneath a tall silver-leafed tree. River leaned back against the warm stone, closing her eyes briefly.

“So many women here,” she murmured. “Single mothers. Escaping.”

The Doctor nodded. “It makes sense. A place beyond time. The perfect hiding spot.”

She glanced sideways. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we had stayed to fight them?”

“We are fighting, River,” he said quietly. “Don’t mistake this for surrender. This is the best we can do. The strongest resistance I’ve ever made — taking you away, hiding you where they’ll never touch you. Never lay eyes on you or our child. We’re depriving them of what they want.”

River looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“And what if they do find us?”

“Then I’ll fight,” he said simply. “But for now — this is the battle. And I will win it.”

She smiled faintly and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go home.”

They turned back toward the path. The sun was beginning to dip in Haven’s artificial sky, glowing in golds and soft purples.

Home.

The tent beside the TARDIS.

And the fragile peace they were learning to protect.

Chapter Text

The days in Haven Station were calm, slow, and filled with a quiet rhythm that, for most, would be a balm. For River Song, it was beginning to fray at the edges of her nerves.

The artificial daylight washed gently over the cobblestone streets as River and the Doctor strolled through the upper tier of the main district. Her coat fluttered in the soft breeze generated by the station’s climate regulation systems. They passed through the outskirts of the market, where hydroponic stalls bustled with vendors selling fruit from scattered planets—some purple, some spined, others humming quietly in bowls.

River sipped from a warm mug of something spiced and vaguely citrus, but her fingers kept tightening around it as her gaze darted between corners and shadows. It wasn’t like her. Her instincts, honed over a lifetime of peril, wouldn’t quiet.

The Doctor noticed. He always noticed.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, walking beside her. “That look—like the shadows are whispering.”

River forced a smile. “Maybe they are.”

He frowned, and she reached out, brushing his hand lightly.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

They made it halfway across the plaza before she stopped abruptly. Her hand went to her stomach, not in pain, but instinctively protective. The Doctor stepped close, concern flashing across his face.

“Is it—?”

“No,” she said softly. “It’s nothing. Just… movement, I think.”

His face softened into awe, but River stepped away before he could get sentimental.

“I think I want to go back,” she said quietly. “I need to sit down.”

He didn’t protest. They headed back toward their little camp beside the TARDIS.

“Come sit,” he said, flopping down onto the bench beside the TARDIS and patting the empty space beside him.

River sat carefully. The bench groaned.

They watched the artificial sun lower in the sky, casting long golden streaks over the silver glass structures of Haven’s dome. For a time, it was peaceful.

Then River spoke, softly: “I can’t do nothing, Doctor.”

“You’re not. You’re healing. You’re protecting our child.”

“I feel like I’m hiding.”

He turned to look at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“You know I’ve never been good at stillness,” she continued. “And now I’m afraid. Not of them. Of this. Of you. Of what I’ve taken from you.”

His brow furrowed. “You’ve taken nothing from me.”

“You’re not meant to be here,” she said. “Settled. Trapped. Grounded. You were born in motion.”

“And you think I’d rather be anywhere else?” he asked gently.

She still wouldn’t look at him.

“I think you resent it. Even if you don’t realise it yet.”

He fell quiet, then stood up suddenly. “Come with me.”

River frowned. “What?”

“Come on.” He reached for her hand. “You’re getting restless. I can feel it in my bones. Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

Inside, the walls were lined with machinery and makeshift scaffolding. In the centre stood what looked like a half-finished observatory dome. The ceiling had been removed, and a vast round window now looked up at the stars beyond Haven’s protective shield.

“I’ve been building it for weeks,” he said. “For you. For us. A place to look out. Because I know how much you miss the stars.”

River blinked. “You built me a stargazing dome?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I didn’t build it. More like cobbled together with gravity welders and broken fencing. But yes.”

She stared at him. Then smiled. “You sentimental idiot.”

“You love it,” he grinned.

“I do.”

They stepped inside together. River wandered toward the curved window and sat on the ledge. The view was magnificent—planets spinning, distant galaxies swirling like brushstrokes across black canvas.

But then, she stiffened.

The Doctor noticed. “What is it?”

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

He paused. “Hear what?”

“Static.”

They both stood still. The station hummed around them, power generators and coolant systems singing their mechanical lullaby.

But then it came. Just faintly. A flicker of white noise, like the beginning of a broadcast that never completed.

It was gone in seconds.

The Doctor’s face darkened. “Where did it come from?”

“I don’t know,” River whispered. “But it sounded… wrong.”

She stepped back from the window. Her breath had quickened.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for her. “It’s nothing. Probably interference from the solar rings. Or…”

“Or them?” she snapped.

He didn’t answer.

River ran a hand through her hair. “We should go. We should leave.”

“The TARDIS won’t fly, remember?”

“Then we should get off the station. Find a transport. Anything.”

The Doctor put his hands on her shoulders, firm but gentle.

“River. Listen to me. There’s no real threat. You’re just… you’re scared. We both are. But fear doesn’t mean we have to run again.”

“You’re always the one who wants to run toward the danger.”

“I’m not running toward anything anymore,” he said quietly. “I’m staying. With you.”

Her lower lip trembled. She wanted to argue, to lash out—but she was too tired.

He guided her back to the observatory’s ledge and sat her down.

“We’ll keep the place sealed. I’ll reinforce the walls. I’ll tune the TARDIS sensors to scan for any actual threats.”

“I heard it, Doctor. I felt it.”

“I know,” he said. “But this time, you have to trust me. It wasn’t them. Not yet.”

She shivered.

“You’re not going to lose this,” he whispered, hand resting over her stomach. “Not you. Not the baby. Not us.”

“I don’t feel like myself anymore,” she admitted.

“You’re not,” he said gently. “You’re more than yourself. You’re carrying a future.”

River closed her eyes.

They sat in silence for a long time, under the quiet gaze of the stars.

Eventually, the Doctor stood. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

The path back to the TARDIS wound through the quieter lanes of Haven Station, away from the bustling market districts. River’s steps were slower now, her hand resting protectively on her stomach as she walked beside the Doctor. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased, despite the day’s calm, and the echo of the strange static still whispered in the corners of her mind.

The Doctor noticed her growing weariness, but said nothing. Instead, he gently guided her arm through his, an unspoken promise of support.

When they reached their makeshift camp, the Doctor set down a small thermos of steaming tea and motioned toward the bench they’d salvaged from an old library archive. “Sit for a while,” he said softly.

River obliged, sinking onto the worn wood, her fingers tracing the grain absently.

The Doctor moved around the TARDIS perimeter, inspecting the small devices he’d installed — improvised sensors, signal boosters, and passive alarms designed to catch any unwelcome visitors before they could approach.

She watched him work, a familiar mix of admiration and worry swelling in her chest. The man who had once roamed stars and centuries was now meticulously fortifying their little sanctuary.

That evening, they shared a simple meal of spiced bread and synthetic fruit from the market. River managed only a few bites before a familiar wave of nausea rolled through her. She pressed a hand to her stomach, swallowing hard.

The Doctor was instantly at her side, coaxing her outside into the cool, filtered air beneath Haven’s dome.

He retrieved a damp cloth, pressing it gently to her neck. She closed her eyes, savoring the cool relief.

“You’re not yourself today,” he murmured, voice tight with concern.

“It’s the pregnancy,” River said quietly, voice almost resigned. “It’s normal… the nausea, the exhaustion.”

He nodded, but the crease between his brows deepened. “If it helps, I’m here. All of me.”

A weak smile tugged at River’s lips. “You’re an insufferable hoverer.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Hovering is part of the package.”

She reached for his hand, their fingers intertwining easily. “I’m scared, you know.”

He squeezed gently. “I know.”

“Not of the Silence or the rift. Just… this new life inside me. The unknown.”

He studied her, eyes soft but steady. “You’ll be incredible. You already are.”

The next morning brought a fragile sense of hope. River insisted she felt stronger, and the Doctor welcomed her determination.

Together, they ventured into a less-frequented quarter of Haven. This section, bathed in soft bioluminescent light, felt almost like a secret garden, with curved walkways flanked by glowing flora and small pods housing artisans and healers.

Children’s laughter floated through the air from a nearby playground simulation. River paused, watching the carefree joy with an expression tangled between nostalgia and melancholy.

The Doctor said nothing, content to stand silently by her side.

Eventually, his gaze landed on a small building nestled between two towers—a silver, rounded structure marked by a faintly flickering sign: Haven Station Medical Services – Discreet & Compassionate Care.

"Come on,” he suggested gently.

River hesitated. “We just did this. I don’t want to be poked and prodded again.”

“It’s just a scan,” he said softly. “For peace of mind.”

His hand found hers, warm and reassuring. “For me.”

With a slow breath, she nodded.

Inside the Medibase, the atmosphere was calm and sterile but inviting. Soft lights glowed overhead, casting a gentle illumination on the pale walls. Familiar hums of medical equipment and quiet footsteps filled the space.

Behind the counter stood Aven.

The same man who had welcomed them before. His skin shimmered faintly in the light, sharp eyes crinkling in a warm smile as he caught sight of them.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite time travelers,” Aven greeted them cheerfully. “Back so soon, I see. How are you both holding up?”

The Doctor smiled, relieved to see a friendly face. “We’re managing. Thanks to you.”

River offered a small smile, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction.

Aven motioned toward a private examination room. “Shall we? Just a quick check, like last time.”

River exchanged a glance with the Doctor, then followed him inside, her pulse quickening.

The scanning device looked unchanged — a sleek crescent-shaped emitter suspended above a padded examination table. River lay back cautiously, hands clutching the edges.

“Ready when you are,” she said softly.

Aven’s voice was gentle, patient. “I know this can be daunting. But you’re doing wonderfully.”

The scanner hummed to life, a soft blue glow washing over River’s abdomen.

Images flickered on the adjacent monitor — soft, shadowed forms shifting as the device traced the contours within.

The baby’s heartbeats pulsed steadily, a rapid rhythm echoing like a distant drumbeat through the quiet room.

River’s breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening involuntarily.

Aven studied the images, nodding thoughtfully. “Strong heartbeats, excellent growth. No anomalies detected. You’re both in good shape.”

River exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The Doctor’s gaze was fixed on the monitor, a mixture of awe and relief clear in his eyes.

After the scan, the Doctor asked quietly, “Is it still possible to keep this off the records?”

Aven smiled knowingly. “Of course. Many who come here prefer privacy, especially those who need to remain hidden.”

He tapped a few keys on the console, the screen flickering briefly before confirming deletion.

“Your scans are erased, just like last time. Confidentiality is sacred here.”

“Thank you, Aven,” River said softly.

He nodded with a gentle bow. “Come back in a month. We’ll keep an eye on things.”

Outside, beneath Haven’s gentle dome, River exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the moment settle into her.

The Doctor glanced at her. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” she admitted. “But also more aware. The reality of it all.”

He squeezed her hand. “Whatever comes, we face it together.”

River smiled, the first genuine one in days.

“Together.”

The air outside the medibase was cool and still beneath the protective dome. The faint hum of Haven’s systems blended with distant chatter from the market district, a soothing white noise that almost lulled River into calm. Yet, beneath the surface, a quiet unease flickered—like shadows just beyond the light’s reach.

She walked beside the Doctor, feeling the steady pressure of his hand in hers, grounding her even as her thoughts spun restless spirals.

“Do you think they’re watching?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Doctor glanced sideways, his expression unreadable. “Watching? You mean the Silence? Or someone else?”

River bit her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe both. Maybe no one. Maybe it’s just me.”

He stopped and turned to face her fully. The soft artificial sunlight caught the flecks of concern in his eyes.

“You’re not alone,” he said firmly. “And you’re not imagining everything. But sometimes fear twists the truth, makes shadows out of thin air.”

She nodded, but her gaze drifted away, focusing on a patch of glowing vines curling around a lamp post.

“It’s just hard,” she admitted. “Carrying this secret, carrying this life. Knowing there are eyes out there—always watching.”

He stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We’ll keep you safe. No one touches you or the baby. Not while I’m around.”

A flicker of warmth bloomed in her chest, a fragile flower fighting against cold winds.

“I want to believe that,” she said. “I want to.”

The Doctor led her toward a small bench nestled under an artificial cherry blossom tree, its delicate petals glowing softly in hues of pink and white. The blossoms were a gift from a friend of his, he said—a reminder that even in artificial worlds, beauty could thrive.

They sat side by side, the Doctor’s presence a steady anchor against her rising tide of anxiety.

River rested her hand lightly on her belly, feeling the faint, irregular flutters of their child—sometimes gentle, sometimes urgent.

“Have you thought about names?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence.

She smiled faintly, the question both simple and impossibly complex.

“Not yet,” she admitted. “It feels too soon. Like naming the unknown before it’s ready.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But whatever we choose, it’ll be ours. A symbol of hope.”

River’s eyes met his, shimmering with unspoken gratitude.

As the day faded into the soft blue twilight that marked Haven’s artificial night, River found herself restless once more.

She rose abruptly. “I want to explore a little more.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure? You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

She took a steadying breath. “I need to move. To see more. To remind myself that this is real—that we’re here.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But I’m coming with you.”

They walked slowly through the winding streets, the glow of lanterns casting long shadows on the cobblestones.

The market was quieter now, most vendors having packed away for the night. Small groups of travelers lingered at tables, sharing stories and laughter in hushed tones.

River felt a pang of longing—for the normalcy of these simple human moments, for the life she once imagined.

They passed a cluster of children playing near a fountain that bubbled with softly shimmering water. One little girl looked up and smiled shyly at River, her wide eyes full of innocent curiosity.

River smiled back, the warmth of the moment easing some of the gnawing fear inside her.

Eventually, they found themselves at the edge of the station’s older quarter—an area less polished, with narrow alleys and faded murals depicting scenes of distant planets and long-lost heroes.

The Doctor stopped suddenly, his gaze sharpening as he noticed a faint flicker of movement ahead.

“Did you see that?” he whispered.

River squinted into the dim light. “No.”

He shook his head. “Must be my eyes playing tricks.”

River nodded, though a whisper of doubt lingered.

They pressed on until they reached a small plaza where an old holo-projector flickered, casting fragmented images into the air.

The Doctor knelt to adjust the device, fingers deft and practiced.

River watched him, her thoughts spinning once again. The paranoia, the fear—it never fully left her. But here, with the Doctor by her side, it felt… manageable.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered softly through the translucent dome, casting gentle patterns over the worn wooden floorboards of their camp. River sat cross-legged on the floor, a leather-bound journal resting open in her lap. Beside her lay a small box of charcoal pencils and scattered sheets of paper filled with delicate sketches—an intricate dance of swirling galaxies, alien flora, and abstract symbols.

Her fingers traced the edge of a half-finished drawing, a star system from a place the Doctor had once described but they had never visited. The lines were careful, measured, yet vibrant, alive with the quiet energy River poured into each stroke. Drawing had always been her way of making sense of the chaos—the unknown turned tangible under her hands.

“Do you really think anyone will ever see these?” she murmured to herself, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

A soft shuffle behind her made her turn. The Doctor was carrying a tangle of wires and odd mechanical parts, his eyes bright with the familiar spark of curiosity and purpose.

“Morning, River,” he said, settling onto the bench with a contented sigh. “I was just thinking—if we’re going to be here a while, we need a proper workshop. Somewhere I can build without turning the TARDIS into a bomb site.”

River’s smile grew. “You mean somewhere you can make a bigger mess than usual?”

He laughed, pulling a tiny screwdriver from his pocket. “Exactly.”

Over the next hours, the Doctor set about clearing a corner near the TARDIS doors. He assembled a makeshift workbench from scavenged panels and old crates, arranging tools with meticulous care. River watched, occasionally offering suggestions or handing him parts, her curiosity mixing with admiration.

“Look at this,” he said triumphantly, holding up a small, sleek device. “A portable environmental scanner. Should help us map the microclimates around the station.”

River nodded, intrigued. “Useful for finding the best spots to grow food. Or hide from unwanted visitors.”

He grinned. “Precisely my thinking.”

Meanwhile, River returned to her journal, inspired by the rhythm of creation surrounding her. She sketched the Doctor at work, capturing his intensity, the way his eyes lit up with every small discovery. She added notes in the margins—snippets of conversation, the hum of the station, the feel of the air shifting with the artificial breeze.

As the day wore on, the camp slowly transformed. The workbench took shape, tools hung from hooks carved into the walls, and shelves appeared, filled with curious objects the Doctor had collected—crystals from distant moons, bits of ancient machinery, and trinkets from forgotten worlds.

River leaned back, satisfied. “It’s beginning to feel like home.”

The Doctor looked up from his tinkering, eyes shining. “Home,” he echoed. “A curious word, isn’t it? For a man who’s seen a thousand of them.”

She reached out, squeezing his hand. “Maybe it’s time to see what it truly means.”

The day drifted slowly toward evening, golden light stretching long shadows across the polished glass and stone of Haven Station’s lower district. The Doctor and River had ventured out for supplies—mostly for things they didn’t strictly need. But it gave them an excuse to move, to walk hand in hand, to feel normal.

They meandered through the calmer streets near the residential quarter, River with a satchel slung over one shoulder, the Doctor carrying an awkward stack of mismatched parts he insisted were going to revolutionise the observatory’s power interface.

They turned a corner and nearly collided with a young woman bent under the weight of several bulky canvas bags. She was tall, with silvery-green skin that shimmered faintly in the light, and wore a soft wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her face was flushed with effort, and a small child—perhaps four or five, with enormous violet eyes—clung to her side.

“Oh—!” the woman gasped. One of the bags slipped from her arm, scattering its contents across the walkway.

River stepped forward instantly. “Let us help you with that.”

The Doctor was already crouched, gathering stray fruits and small toys. “You’ve got quite the haul here.”

“I didn’t expect my daughter to pick four different flavours of root cookies,” the woman said with a sheepish smile. “We only needed one.”

The little girl grinned mischievously from behind her mother’s leg.

The Doctor chuckled, ruffling the child’s soft, curly hair. “Excellent taste. I used to get in trouble for buying too many jelly planets.”

River lifted the largest bag and slung it over her shoulder with a wince. “Where do you live?”

“Just a few blocks over. The lifts are down again, so I’ve been walking.” She rubbed her lower back with a grimace. “It’s not easy. Not at seven months.”

“Seven months?” River echoed, her tone softening.

The woman nodded. “My second. I’m Melura, by the way. This is Ilia.”

“I’m River. This is the Doctor.”

They began walking together, the Doctor gently coaxing Ilia into conversation. The little girl was shy at first, but it didn’t take long. Soon she was telling him a wild story about a dragon she’d seen on the top level of the station, which she had named ‘Fizzlepuff.’

“Fizzlepuff?” the Doctor exclaimed in mock horror. “I knew there were dragons sneaking aboard. That explains all the missing soap.”

Melura laughed under her breath. “You’re good with children.”

The Doctor gave a modest shrug. “They don’t expect too much sense. Just honesty and dragons.”

As they reached Melura’s residential building—a modest, vine-covered unit near the eastern dome—she turned to them with a grateful look.

“Would you… come in? Just for a cup of tea? I can’t offer much, but I owe you.”

River glanced at the Doctor, who nodded without hesitation.

Inside, the home was small but cozy, filled with mismatched cushions, light-filtering plants, and glowing art made from recycled metal. River took a seat by the window while the Doctor crouched again beside Ilia, now attempting to build a tiny tower from toy blocks.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re an architect.”

Ilia beamed. “I’m making a rocket!”

“Even better.”

Melura returned from the kitchenette with steaming cups of herbal tea and a tray of the infamous root cookies. She lowered herself slowly into the chair across from River, letting out a small sigh as she cradled her belly.

“Everything alright?” River asked gently.

“Just tired. And I’m still… adjusting. We left our home planet six weeks ago.”

River tilted her head. “Running?”

Melura hesitated, then gave a small nod. Ilia was too busy playing with the Doctor to hear.

“My partner disappeared. No warning, no word. The authorities didn’t care. I was told to move on. There were rumours of off-world traffickers… they said it was probably them. But I’ll never know. I couldn’t stay.”

River reached over, gently touching Melura’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Melura’s eyes shimmered. “It’s just been me and Ilia. Coming here felt like a chance. A new page. A place that’s… neutral.”

River nodded. “We’ve been looking for the same.”

They sat quietly for a moment, sipping their tea as Ilia squealed with delight. The Doctor had somehow magicked a tiny light from a coil of wire and a cube of metal and attached it to the top of her block tower. It flashed pink and gold.

“You’re very kind,” Melura said, looking between them. “The two of you… are you—?”

River hesitated. “It’s complicated.”

The Doctor didn’t look up. “It usually is.”

Melura smiled. “Well. Complicated or not… you make a good team.”

The walk back to the TARDIS was quiet. The light had dimmed to a soft twilight blue, and the walkways gleamed under the station’s ambient glow. River’s arm brushed the Doctor’s as they walked.

She was smiling.

The Doctor noticed, of course. “You’re quiet.”

River tilted her head, still half-lost in thought. “I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Mm. You know, for all the madness… for all the fear... there’s something about this place.”

He watched her, carefully. “You’re happy?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then: “I saw you with her. Ilia. The way you knelt down and let her explain everything about her rocket. You didn’t talk over her. You didn’t correct her. You gave her magic. I…” She trailed off, then looked at him. “It made me think that maybe this isn’t a disaster. Maybe this thing growing inside me… maybe it’s hope.”

The Doctor blinked, visibly caught off guard.

“You’re surprised?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “No. Just… honored. That I get to see that hope through your eyes.”

River leaned against his side as they walked. “I think I needed today. I think I needed to see that you’re going to be… brilliant.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I know I’m going to be brilliant.”

She laughed softly.

Back at the observatory, the stars were beginning to pierce through the dome again. The Doctor sat fiddling with a tiny stardust compass, and River returned to her journal. She sketched the tiny tower Ilia had built and the Doctor kneeling beside it, his hands outstretched like he was supporting the foundations of a universe.

She wrote a single line beneath the image.

Hope wears a bowtie and builds spaceships out of blocks.

She smiled, closed the book, and rested her hand gently over her belly.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

And, for now at least, she believed it.

Chapter Text

The nights on Haven Station were longer than most. The artificial atmosphere dimmed slowly, and the dome overhead turned a near-perfect replica of deep space — stars twinkling in fractal constellations, moons drifting slowly, an occasional glint of passing ships on the outer rim.

River and the Doctor sat side by side on a blanket spread over the flat roof of their observatory quarters. A small thermos of cocoa steamed between them, untouched.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. Words didn’t feel necessary.

River leaned back on her elbows, her curls spilling across the blanket. She tilted her head to the stars, her gaze tracing familiar shapes. But as the quiet settled around her like velvet, her hand moved — gently, naturally — to rest over the curve of her stomach.

She didn’t even seem to notice she’d done it.

But the Doctor did.

He glanced sideways, lips curling into a soft, private smile. It wasn’t a smug smile, or a silly one — not this time. It was full of something ancient and gentle and human. He reached out, tentatively, letting his hand brush hers.

She looked down, then across at him.

“Caught me,” she murmured, half a smile.

“Didn’t think you even realised you were doing it.”

River looked away again, almost embarrassed. “I suppose I don’t. It’s still… sinking in.”

He didn’t rush her. Just sat there, hand now lightly covering hers.

“I used to imagine what this would be like,” she said eventually. “But I never really believed it would happen. Especially not… not like this. Not between us.”

“And how is it?” he asked quietly. “Now that it is?”

River was silent for a beat.

“Terrifying,” she whispered. “And… beautiful.”

The Doctor let out a long breath, leaning back beside her. “I don’t have all the answers, River. Not for this.”

“I know.”

“But I want you to know…” He turned his head to look at her, his voice steady. “Whatever happens. I want this. I want you. And them. And… all of it. Even the scary parts.”

River looked over at him. Her eyes shimmered in the starlight. “That’s the first time you’ve said that.”

“I know.”

She curled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. The Doctor wrapped an arm around her carefully — protectively — as if the entire universe might try to break in and take this from them.

And for the first time in what felt like centuries, they both let the silence linger… because it was no longer filled with fear.

It was filled with possibility.

The quiet of the observatory was a rare and treasured thing. Its vast windows framed the glittering sea of stars, their soft light casting long shadows over scattered blueprints, broken bits of circuitry, and half-built machines.

The Doctor was beneath the main control panel, spanner between his teeth, muttering to himself about misaligned relays. River was curled up on the lounge nearby, sketching in one of her journals — intricate designs, a rift signature pattern, the impression of a handprint too small to be hers.

She paused for a moment, eyes flicking up toward the stars, one hand unconsciously brushing across her stomach again.

A tiny clink echoed through the room.

River sat up straight.

The Doctor didn’t notice.

Another clink. A soft shuffle.

She rose quietly and peered toward the edge of the observatory, behind a set of stacked crates.

There — a small figure. Crouched low. Curly hair and wide eyes.

“Ilia?” River said gently.

The child squeaked and bolted — right into the Doctor’s legs as he emerged from beneath the panel. Tools clattered.

“Wha—?!” he yelped, blinking down at the tangle of limbs.

Ilia stared up at him, frozen, half terrified, half thrilled.

“…Hi,” she said sheepishly.

The Doctor blinked again. “Well. That’s not a wire I was expecting to trip over.”

River folded her arms, trying not to smile. “Ilia. How did you get in?”

“I followed you earlier,” she mumbled. “I wanted to see the stars again.”

The Doctor looked over at River, who gave a tiny shrug. She didn’t look annoyed. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Well,” he said, straightening. “We do have some of the best stars on the station. But you can’t just sneak into restricted areas. That’s how you end up accidentally launched into a black hole.”

Ilia looked up at him seriously. “Would you have come to get me?”

He blinked.

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “Though I’d rather not try the black hole part. Very messy. Difficult hair days for weeks.”

Ilia giggled. “Can I stay for a bit? Please?”

The Doctor glanced at River again, who just raised an eyebrow. “Your decision, Professor.”

He knelt beside Ilia. “Just for a little while, then. But you stay where I can see you, got it?”

Ilia nodded, solemn as a space admiral.

An hour passed — and turned into two.

The Doctor showed Ilia how to realign the starlens, letting her peer through and gasp at the beauty of a nebula blooming in ultraviolet hues. He gave her a spare screwdriver and had her “assist” in tuning the gravimetric stabilisers. River watched them from the couch, her journal forgotten in her lap, the ache in her chest a quiet mix of fear and wonder.

Ilia fit with him too easily.

She laughed when he made faces behind her mother’s back, gasped when he told her stories of planets made entirely of glass, and clutched his coat when a thunderstorm passed briefly across the upper dome.

He never looked impatient. Never scolded or condescended.

And River couldn’t help the way her hand rested on her stomach again — her body already reacting to something her mind was still catching up with.

She was still watching them when Ilia yawned and leaned against the Doctor’s side, rubbing her eyes.

“I think we’d better get you back to your mum,” he said softly.

Ilia nodded sleepily.

River and the Doctor walked either side of Ilia, who held the Doctor’s hand without hesitation.

“Did you two have an adventure?” Melura asked as she opened the door, her expression more amused than angry.

The Doctor scratched the back of his neck. “A minor one. Some light star-gazing and temporal theory.”

“She taught me a new word,” Ilia said proudly. “Chronosynclastic infundibulum.”

River arched an eyebrow. “She what?”

The Doctor looked smug. “She’s a quick study.”

Melura shook her head. “Honestly. Thank you for bringing her back.” Then her gaze softened as she looked at them both. “She’s a clever one, but lonely. Her father… wasn’t in the picture long.”

River’s smile faltered.

The Doctor’s grip on Ilia’s hand loosened gently.

“Well,” he said, kneeling to meet the girl’s eye level. “You’re always welcome to come see the stars. With permission this time.”

Ilia hugged him. Fiercely. Then, with a sleepy wave, she vanished into the warm light of her home.

Melura paused. “She likes you both. A lot.”

River swallowed. “She’s a remarkable child.”

Melura studied her for a moment. “Are you expecting?”

River froze.

The Doctor turned slowly toward her, eyes wide — and somehow knowing.

“…Yes,” River said softly.

Melura only nodded. “Then you’ve already started doing something right. I saw it in the way you looked at her.”

She stepped back inside and let the door close.

They walked in silence.

The Doctor didn’t speak — he knew her well enough to let her shape her thoughts before offering them.

River slowed as they reached the open platform outside their quarters. The stars above were breathtaking.

She stopped, arms crossed gently, looking out over the curve of the station.

The Doctor watched her for a moment. “You’ve been quiet since we left.”

River turned slowly. Her eyes were softer now. Brighter. Full of something she didn’t yet have words for.

“I’m happy,” she said.

The Doctor blinked. “Oh.”

“Is that surprising?”

“A little. I wasn’t sure we were there yet.”

River stepped closer. “Watching you with her. Seeing how kind you were. Patient. How easily she trusted you…” She hesitated. “It makes all this feel… possible. Like maybe this child won’t grow up in chaos. Or alone. Or afraid.”

The Doctor took her hands. “They won’t. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

River gave a faint, wry smile. “You’re not exactly the domestic type.”

“I’m learning.”

She kissed him. Gently. Briefly. Then looked up at the sky again.

“There’s something about stars,” she whispered. “They’re always burning. Even when we can’t see them.”

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her from behind.

River rested her hands over his — and her belly.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS hummed softly, low and steady, like a lullaby woven into the walls.

River had fallen asleep on the couch in their tent, a blanket draped loosely around her shoulders, the soft scribble of notes abandoned mid-thought in her lap. The star-like lights almost twinkling above her, painting her in a warm orange glow.

Somewhere deep in the ship, a different rhythm stirred.

The Doctor moved silently through the lower corridors, barefoot, coat slung over one arm, sonic held low and discreet. He navigated by touch and memory, flicking open a discreet panel in the wall — one that even River hadn’t noticed before. Inside: a narrow terminal, its screen flickering faintly with blue light and scrolling code.

He worked quickly, fingers dancing over glowing controls. A series of waveforms bloomed on screen — faint, fractured, but there.

Rift signals. Still distant. But real.

A part of him exhaled in relief. They weren’t close. The TARDIS wasn’t compromised. River was still safe. But the signals were increasing in complexity. More structured. Like someone was tuning them.

He began isolating patterns. Echoes.

Then — behind him — a soft voice.

“You know I can feel when she’s nervous.”

He froze.

River.

She stood in the hallway, arms folded across the blanket still wrapped around her, curls mussed by sleep, but her eyes clear and sharp. The TARDIS walls hummed a little louder, like she too was embarrassed to be caught.

The Doctor turned slowly. “River—”

“You’re scanning for the rift,” she said, quiet but not cold. “Why?”

He hesitated. “It’s nothing urgent. I promise.”

“Then why sneak around?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Because I didn’t want to wake you. Or worry you. You’ve had so much on your mind lately, I didn’t want to add more.”

River walked closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the console. “You found something.”

“Faint signals,” he admitted. “Just background noise. Temporal residue — like the afterglow of a sun that set light-years ago. Nothing’s nearby. Nothing dangerous.”

She watched him, trying to read what he wasn’t saying. “You’re sure.”

He gave her a softer look. “Yes. It’s not close, River. It’s… like a recording. Someone’s whispering into a cave miles away, and we’re catching the echo.”

River stepped beside him, eyes scanning the same waveforms.

“I don’t like when you keep things from me,” she murmured.

“I’m not keeping anything. I’m filtering.”

She raised an eyebrow.

The Doctor smiled sheepishly. “Okay, fine, selective transparency.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned against him, tucking her head against his shoulder. The two of them stood in silence, the signal scrolling across the screen in unreadable pulses.

“I’m not afraid of the truth,” she whispered.

“I know. But I’m afraid of what it might do to you. To us.”

She rested a hand over her belly again.

He looked down at it, then turned and kissed her temple.

“I’m not hiding because there’s something wrong,” he murmured. “I’m hiding because I want to make sure we’re ready. That’s all.”

“…Okay,” she said quietly.

Then after a beat, teasing: “You’re still a terrible liar.”

“I’m working on it.”

The woods surrounding the sanctuary were quiet, dappled in the warm glow of a pale afternoon sun. Soft leaves fluttered in the breeze, casting shifting patterns across the mossy ground. A faint mist lingered, curling low to the earth like it hadn’t quite made up its mind whether to lift.

River tucked her arm through the Doctor’s as they strolled, slow and aimless, wrapped in the kind of companionable silence that needed no words. The TARDIS was safe for now. The signals weren’t near. Her body had begun to settle. And despite everything, there was a strange peace in the air.

She found herself breathing a little deeper. Smiling without quite meaning to.

The Doctor noticed. “You're relaxed,” he said lightly.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” River murmured.

“I’m not. Just... glad.” He bumped her shoulder with his. “You deserve some quiet.”

They wandered further into the trees, listening to the rustle of branches and the occasional distant birdsong. River paused to touch the bark of a tree with twisting spiral ridges — it looked half-grown, half-sculpted, like something from a dream. The forest had a rhythm, old and gentle.

Then — ahead — movement.

A figure stepping out from behind a crooked birch, hands held casually in front of him.

River straightened. “Aven?”

He smiled, eyes warm and familiar beneath the hood of his weathered coat. “River. Doctor. Out for a walk?”

“Stretching the legs,” the Doctor replied. “And the curiosity. You know how it is.”

Aven chuckled, stepping closer into the light. “Well, you picked the right forest. It’s older than it looks — most of it grew up around the settlement. Some of these trees were saplings when the first hostels were built.”

“You’ve been here that long?” River asked, tilting her head.

Aven gave a small nod. “More or less. I came when the place was just beginning. A few aid workers, some medical stations. No permanent homes. It wasn’t even called Sanctuary then. Just coordinates on a map.”

The Doctor raised a brow. “And you stayed?”

“There was work to do. People who needed safety, quiet. A place to heal. It made sense to help build it. I’m a doctor,” he added with a wry glance toward them, “but I know how to fix roofs. Carry bags. Listen.”

River smiled softly. “You’ve helped a lot of people, haven’t you?”

“I’ve tried,” Aven said. “We all have. That’s the point of this place. There’s no central authority, no surveillance, no hidden strings. Just space. And time. Enough of it for people to begin again.”

The Doctor looked around, eyes scanning the treetops. “It feels… untouched. Like the rest of the universe forgot about it.”

“That’s not far from the truth,” Aven replied. “There’s a cloaking shield embedded in the atmosphere — something old and buried deep. No one finds this place unless they’re meant to.”

River’s brow lifted. “Meant to?”

Aven shrugged. “Call it luck. Or fate. Or good instincts.”

The Doctor narrowed his eyes just slightly, but said nothing.

River glanced at Aven, thoughtful. “You don’t miss the rest of the galaxy? All that noise and danger?”

He smiled faintly. “I’ve seen my share of danger. These days, I like silence. Trees. Children playing without fear. That’s a better sound than any starship engine.”

There was a pause — heavy and kind.

Aven looked between them. “You’re safe here. Both of you. That’s not something I say lightly.”

River's hand drifted instinctively to her stomach again. Aven’s gaze flickered to the motion, and for a split second, his face changed — just a hair — some unreadable flicker in the corner of his eyes.

But then he smiled again. Gentle. Familiar.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll let you enjoy your walk. I’m headed to the greenhouse. The tomatoes need someone to talk to.”

The Doctor chuckled. “Give them our best.”

Aven nodded, turned, and melted back into the trees, his silhouette vanishing like a ghost through the mist.

River stood still for a long moment.

The Doctor glanced at her. “You're quiet.”

She didn’t answer right away. Then: “It’s strange. I believe him.”

“I do too,” he said. “But I still don’t trust him.”

She looked at him.

He shrugged. “Habit.”

River’s lips curved faintly. “Maybe that’s why I do.”

He reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s get back before the tomatoes start gossiping about us.”