Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A thing must be loved before it is lovable.

- G. Chesterton

Once upon a time, there lived an angry, bitter wizard in a little blue house that was bigger on the inside. He saw no one, spoke to no one, and grew more bitter and angry with every passing day. Even his best friends had abandoned him to his solitude, for he had failed them long ago. He had lost something of theirs. Something precious. And so the wizard grew old and lonely but it was no less than he felt he deserved – for who could ever love a beast?

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl who grew in the shadow of the evil sorceress Kovarian. The girl slept with the comfort of a knife in her hand and hatred sewn into her heart – hatred for the man who had failed her long before she ever learned his name. And so the girl grew into a woman, the concepts of compassion and kindness as foreign to her as a strange land for she had been taught long ago that none could ever love a beast such as she.

Once upon a time, there lived a lonely old wizard and an unloved little girl. They would not always be alone or unloved – but they did not know it yet.

-

She walks through the snow for miles – Kovarian had refused to give her a horse or a sled, smiling that glimmering, deadly grin as she told River you need to gain his trust. Apparently, looking like a bedraggled, sickly mess and dripping snow all over his doorstep is the only way to go about it. From the stories she has heard about the Doctor since she was a little girl, he’s a hard and ruthless man. He knows nothing of love or kindness. He’s a killer – heartless and cold. River doubts a shivering woman on a miserable night will do much to change that, but it isn’t her job to question Kovarian, only to do what she’s told.

The wind howls in her ears and River shudders as her whole body convulses in the cold, a tremor she feels right down to her bones. She draws her cloak tighter around her and huddles in on herself, forcing herself to pick up her feet and keep stomping through the snow. It’s nearly to her knees and still falling rapidly, flakes of it catching in her curls and the folds of her cloak. She wants for nothing but a warm fire and dry feet, perhaps a cup of tea between her frozen hands.

The sun is beginning its slow descent and though the temperature drops right along with it, her skin feels hot to the touch and she knows if she doesn’t find the Doctor’s hiding place soon, Kovarian is going to have to find someone else to carry out her wishes. River will be too dead to kill anyone.

Comfort, however, has never belonged to River Song. She is a creature of misery, bred in darkness and fear. She wouldn’t know what to do with sunlight, with a soft bed and a restful night’s sleep. A little snow and a bit of a fever isn’t going to stop her. So she turns her face away from the biting wind and keeps walking.

It’s with relief that she finally spots the battered blue house just as the last rays of sunlight cling to the horizon. It sits by itself in the middle of a snow-covered field, surrounded by dead trees on all sides. River breathes a sigh of relief as she approaches it, stopping briefly on the edge of the property to catch her breath and admire her prize.

It’s a lonesome little thing, she muses. But there is something about the house, something that makes her smile. Perhaps it’s the smoke rising from the chimney, the promise of warmth that will soon be hers. Perhaps it’s the way the house seems to carry secrets in its crooked windows and in the chipping paint of its weary front door. In any case, as she steps forward and begins her trek across the field toward the house, she finds herself hoping that the Doctor won’t turn her away – and not only because it will ruin her plan if he does.

The knocker on the door is broken so she raps her knuckles against the aging wood instead, pounding at it until she’s too weak to lift her arm a moment longer. And then she kicks it.

The door finally swings open and a tall, thin man with a scowling mouth appears. He stares at her from beneath bushy eyebrows, gray curls slipping into his piercing blue eyes as they gaze at each other. Her breath catches.

It’s him. The man who had ruined her life. All this time, she’s only heard stories but here he stands – the man of her nightmares. She’d expected someone a little more frightening. Granted, the eyebrows are a bit scary but he’s nothing at all like the monster she’d pictured. He frowns at her. River snaps her mouth shut and forces herself to stop staring at the lines of age around his mouth and eyes, signs of laughter, signs of a life well lived. Perhaps gaining his trust will be easier than she thought.

He slams the door in her face.

River gapes at it in stunned silence.

“Piss off! I don’t want whatever it is you’re selling – I make my own potions and I have every book on spells I could possibly need and then some. And if one more person tries to get me to buy a cat, I’ll cook them both in a nice broth!”

River blinks, frowns at the door, and slaps her hand against it. “I’m not selling anything! I need a place to stay – just for the night.” Kovarian had said it would take longer to gain his trust but River sees no reason to linger if she doesn’t need to. Slitting his throat while he sleeps should be simple enough. “It’s freezing out here!”

“Go home then!”

“I can’t – it’s too far away!”

“And what sort of ninny travels so far from home in this weather? You must be a lunatic and I am totally against lunatics!”

River sighs and leans against the door, shivering as she pushes her cloak away from her shoulders. It’s cold, she knows it’s cold, but her skin feels overheated. Her head is fuzzy and every time she blinks, she has to struggle to open her eyes again. Even her limbs feel tired. She slaps her hand weakly against the door one last time. “And an old man living by himself in the middle of nowhere is the picture of sanity, is it?”

He barks something back at her but she doesn’t hear him, sinking into the snow on his doorstep. Everything suddenly feels very far away and the sound of his voice seems muffled by the seas of silently falling snow. As her eyes begin to drift shut against her will, she hears the cautious creak of the door as it opens once more. The last thing she sees before sleep claims her is his boots as he moves quickly toward her.

-

Her room – if one might call a squat attic space with nothing but a cot and a chamber pot a room – overlooks the grounds of Kovarian’s base and the dark forest that lies beyond, surrounding them on all sides. She stands on her tiptoes and peers between the bars, staring into the mysterious darkness beyond. Kovarian keeps a tight watch and there is always someone to make sure her little charge never wanders. Escaping to explore the forest has never occurred to her.

She only stares and contemplates what might lie within, her little fingers wrapped tight around the bars. She likes to imagine the impenetrable trees around the fortress keep terrible things out. She pretends the trees work night and day to keep her safe from the outside world and the evil Doctor that her mentor speaks of in angry whispers.

When she lies awake at night, bruised from another round of training with Kovarian’s magi and the black magic humming under her skin promising nightmares the moment she closes her eyes, the thought of a whole forest existing to protect her gives River Song a measure of comfort. She huddles beneath her thin, scratchy blanket and shivers. When the bad dreams do come, the trees are always there to chase them away.

It takes only a few years for Kovarian to rip away any need or desire for comfort. She breeds a creature who fears nothing and needs no soothing touch, a soldier without one fanciful notion left. By the time she’s ten years old, River Song stares through the bars of her window and knows in her heart that the dense forest beyond Kovarian’s lair had never existed to protect her.

It was always meant to contain.

-

“You can’t leave.”

She’s barely awake when the words register but River ignores them for the moment, and the gruff Scottish voice who had spoken them. She catalogues her surroundings the way the sorceress had taught her long ago – there are windows to climb out of and an unlocked door to make her escape, a poker stored near the fireplace she could use to dispatch of her companion. And she’s still wearing the underthings she’d arrived in, which means her knife is still where she’d strapped it to her thigh. She’s safe for the time being.

And with that, she allows herself to relax and sink into the soft bed beneath her. She’s warmer than she can ever remember being, but comfortably so. She’s covered in heavy blankets and reclining against plush pillows that smell of musty book pages and burnt potions. There’s a fire roaring in the grate and outside the windows of her room, snow continues to fall in sheets. She must be in the wizard’s home. It’s midday and she has no way of knowing how much time has passed.

Finally allowing herself to address the words that had dragged her back into consciousness, she stretches her limbs and yawns, curling up beneath her blankets. She lifts her gaze to the man standing at her bedside with a scowl and a tray of tea and food, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Am I your prisoner now? How naughty.”

He snorts, turning abruptly away from her, but not before she sees the way his eyes lighten in amusement. “Hardly. Once the snow melts in the spring, I want you out.” He settles the tray onto her bedside table with a clatter. “But you can’t leave until then. I haven’t wasted the last few days of my life making sure you didn’t die for you to ruin it by wandering out in the snow again and freezing to death.”

Few days?

She’s been unconscious and under the roof of her greatest enemy for days. Kovarian was going to be furious. She’d been adamant about River sending daily status updates and she’s gone and missed several in a row already. Covering her panic with a smile, she says, “How noble of you. To what do I owe such charity?”

He stares at her like he can’t begin to understand why he would need a reason to take in a complete stranger and River struggles not to glance away at the reproach in his eyes. “What would you have had me do? Leave you out there?”

“Some people might.” The evil sorcerer she has heard about her whole life would have.

“Some people are rubbish.”

The Doctor turns away, busying himself with the kettle over the fire. He lifts it away from the flames and pours the steaming water into the basin resting atop the dressing table. A flutter out of the corner of her eye draws River’s attention away from him and she stares at the raven settling onto the bare tree branch outside her window. Kovarian’s raven. She swallows.

“Got a name then?”

River turns from the window, blinking. “Hmm?”

“You’re going to be here for a while,” he explains impatiently. “I can keep calling you lunatic but -”

“River,” she says. “River Song.”

“Quaint,” he says dryly, setting aside the kettle.

She frowns at his back. “And what’s your name? Mad old man who lives in the woods?”

“That’s my official title. But you can call me the Doctor.” He offers her a blithe, arrogant grin over his shoulder and River clenches her hands beneath the blankets. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Saving your life, obviously.”

She stares at the back of his head and wonders if Kovarian would be satisfied if she just dunked him into the scalding water in the basin and drowned him. He may have saved her life but he’d ruined it first. She owes him nothing. She bristles. “I wasn’t dying.”

“No? Just taking a wee nap on my doorstep, then? My mistake.”

River scowls, ignoring him. “I presume that water is for my use?”

He nods. “Unless you’d like to continue smelling homeless.”

With his back still turned to her, River discreetly sniffs her thin slip and grimaces. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind washing up a bit.”

“Fine.” He waves a hand toward the tray on her bedside table. “There’s food if you’re hungry. I’ll be downstairs. Try not to faint again while I’m gone. Oh, sorry, nap.”

River glowers after his retreating back until he’s gone, shutting the door behind him. Of course she would find herself under the care of the grumpiest nursemaid ever. She listens intently, waiting for the sound of his booted footsteps on the stairs before she attempts to venture out of bed. With much reluctance, she slips from the warm nest of blankets and pads barefoot across the cold floor. Her legs feel weak and shaky but she manages to cross to the window without falling over.

The latch is stubborn and she curses under her breath, damning the thing to hell until it finally gives with a mournful creak. River pushes open the window and the immediate slap of biting air outside takes her breath away. She shivers violently, watching Kovarian’s bird spread its black wings and flutter from the tree. It rests at her windowsill and she rushes to unravel the message tied to its leg. It doesn’t leave, apparently instructed to wait for a reply.

She scans the message but it’s exactly what she’d expected – a very irate Kovarian. River sighs, penning a quick reply explaining her delay in communication and relaying her progress in gaining the Doctor’s trust. She ends the letter by asking her mentor if she should carry out her mission that night as the Doctor sleeps. She ties the message to the raven and sends it on its way, latching the window shut again.

Hobbling over to the washbasin filled with still-steaming water, River washes herself quickly and hurries to crawl back under the blankets to warm herself again. Her stomach growls and she reaches for the food on her bedside table. She has no reason to think he’d spent the last several days keeping her alive only to poison her now. She drains the entire bowl of stew, mopping up the last traces with the soft bread on the side of her plate.

She’s warm and full and she’s never been both things at once in her life – can honestly never really remember being either. Unsettled that such comfort has come from such an unlikely source, River is quite ready to curl up and sleep again when the raven returns. It carries a message of only one word: Wait.

-

It’s two more days before her childhood bogeyman and reluctant rescuer deems her well enough to wander the house and gives her a tour. The house is bigger than it had looked when she’d been standing outside of it and as the Doctor leads her through winding corridors, pointing out bedrooms and parlours and studies, River silently takes note of all the secret nooks and crannies that might be to her advantage when the time comes. According to Kovarian, the Doctor is the most powerful sorcerer the age has ever known – River would be disappointed if he didn’t try to fight back. Not that it’ll do him any good.

He leads her out of yet another pointless room in his too-big house when she notices the heavy double doors across the hall. Whatever is on the other side has been shut away with a sturdy padlock. She pauses, feeling her instincts kick into high gear. “What’s in there?”

“Torture chamber.” She turns to blink at him, unsurprised by the answer but rather shocked he would truly admit it. At her calm acceptance, the Doctor frowns at her and says, “Used to be a library but there’s nothing in there. Leaky roof, mold – it’s condemned. Stay out.”

He says it all with a perfunctory air but something in his unwavering blue gaze tells River he’s lying. According to Kovarian, it’s all the Doctor ever does. She only nods and murmurs fine but as he stalks impatiently away, she trails behind him with a vow to get inside that room the moment an opportunity presents itself.

He shows her the kitchen next. It’s small and cozy and smells of fresh spices. River wanders into the room while the Doctor lingers in the doorway, warming her hands by the fire as she glances around. “Small kitchen for such a big house.”

One of the cupboards creaks.

“It’s exactly the right size.”

“Just like a man,” she murmurs, smirking when she hears him grumble. “I’m just saying it’s a little odd.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a cupboard door open and shut noisily by itself. She whirls, staring, and if not for her extensive training and a lifetime of having every fanciful notion ripped violently away, she might have thought she was seeing things.

The Doctor sighs. “See? Now you’ve upset her.”

“Her?” River turns to him. “You’re not trying to convince me you’ve got a ghost, are you?”

He looks at her like she’s even slower than he’d previously suspected and says, “Of course not. It’s the house. She’s sentient.”

River blinks. “Pardon?”

The Doctor waves a careless hand and leans against the doorframe, his temple pressed almost fondly into the aging wood. “Bit of an experiment gone wrong,” he admits. “I never tried to fix it. Liked the company, I suppose.”

Studying the innocuous cupboard, River suddenly understands the strange feeling that has overwhelmed her since the moment she spotted this house in the distance – that someone is watching her. Now she knows why. It should unsettle her but the house doesn’t feel angry. Perhaps a bit cross that she’d besmirched its kitchen but not angry. In fact, if she closes her eyes she can sense fond amusement, a trace of wary protectiveness, and just a dash of sass.

River smiles and opens her eyes. When she does, she finds the Doctor watching her intently. That blue gaze seems to burn and she looks away, forcing aside the pity that wells in her chest for a lonely man with only a tetchy house for company. The Doctor had made his bed. It’s only fair he should lie in it.

Chapter Text

She’s thirteen – her hair already unmanageable, her mind sharper than most and filled with every spell and hex known to witch-kind, her body absolutely lethal. Landing in a crouch, one hand glowing with the after-effects of a counter-spell and the other gripping her knife, River huffs a curl out of her eyes and stares down the magi sprawled at her feet.

He grins breathlessly up at her, his chest heaving with the exertion of keeping her at bay for so long. “Not bad. What do you think, Madame?”

Eyes glittering, Kovarian admits, “Well done, River.”

It’s practically a glowing commendation from her mentor so River relaxes her fighting stance and nods in careful deference, murmuring her thanks quietly. She tips her chin up and meets Kovarian’s thoughtful gaze. “Would you like to see something else, ma’am?”

“That will do for now. Your training continues to come along nicely.” Kovarian looks down her sharp nose at River and demands, “Have you been attending to your studies?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you prepared to prove that?”

Knowing very well that she’ll be punished accordingly should she prove less than a dedicated scholar, River still does not flinch. She spends hours of every day locked in her attic room with nothing but her studies to occupy her. She’s confident she is prepared for anything Kovarian wishes to know.

“Tell me the Doctor’s war crimes during the dark ages.”

River draws in a breath, resisting the urge to wilt with relief. She knows every single crime the Doctor has ever committed by heart. They were her bedtime stories when Kovarian had deemed her young enough to benefit from them. She recites the atrocities the Doctor committed dutifully, mentally ticking off her fingers.

“During the dark ages, the Doctor fought selfishly, with no qualms about killing innocents to accomplish his end goal. He destroyed an entire race because his people disagreed with their politics. He created the savage curse known as Malignant. He led notoriously bloody battles and fought many of them on his own, fighting off invading armies with only his magic to defend himself. He killed his whole family -”

“That will do, River.” Kovarian waves a hand, looking pleased. “What is the Doctor’s current status?”

“Alive, ma’am,” she answers instantly. “Still a threat but a dormant one – shunned by his friends and all who knew him.”

“I hear no pity in your voice, River.”

She frowns. “Why should I feel pity for a monster like him?”

“Do you think you’re better?”

River says nothing, puzzled.

“You’re not, you know.” Kovarian tilts her head, smiling without warmth. “One must defeat a monster with a monster, mustn’t one?”

River nods hesitantly.

“That’s what you are, my dear. My monster. My perfect creation built for only one purpose.” Kovarian laughs softly, delighted with her own genius as River drops her gaze and clenches her jaw. “Just as you feel no pity for the Doctor, you’ll certainly garner no pity from him or anyone else. Who could ever love a beast, hmm?”

“No one, ma’am.”

“Exactly, my little beastie.”

-

The Doctor hadn’t exactly invited her into his workspace but she won’t attempt to break into that locked door until she’s certain he isn’t secretly keeping an eye on her and there isn’t much else to do in the drafty house. It’s either this or sit in her room and wait for Kovarian’s raven to deliver another missive and after a week of doing exactly that, she’s restless to the point of insanity. So she wanders the room inspecting bottles and notes and potion ingredients while the Doctor does his best to pretend she isn’t there. She doesn’t make it easy for him.

“Did you know if you added licorice root instead of the tail of a salamander, it wouldn’t need to simmer until you’re ready to use it?” She peers into one of the boiling pots and frowns. “The effect of the potion would be the same but you could bottle it right away and the root would keep it fresh.”

“That’s bollocks,” the Doctor mutters without glancing up from his notebook. He scribbles something in it and when River wanders by and peeks at the page, she sees the words licorice root in his meticulous scrawl and smirks, glancing away again. “How do you know that?”

“I’m very good.”

She goes back to studying the meticulously labeled ingredients, more puzzled with every bottle she reads. When she’d ventured into the Doctor’s workspace, she’d expected to find various deadly poisons and dangerous potions, all used for his own nefarious purposes. Instead, there are all sorts of books cluttering the shelves and all of the ingredients are completely harmless. Things like dandelion root and feathers and elderberry. If the Doctor is brewing lethal potions in his workspace, he’s hiding the good stuff out of sight.

Disappointed, River leans against a table littered with dried lavender and bottles of raw honey, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s all this for? A man doesn’t need an entire lab to brew potions for his arthritis.”

The Doctor glances up with an indignant frown. “I do not have arthritis.”

“What then?” She smirks, watching him glare at her and flex his hands like he has something to prove. “You must need this room for something.”

“I bottle cures,” he says, going back to his notebook. “I specialize in rare diseases and curses.”

She blinks. It isn’t quite the purpose she’d expected. According to Kovarian’s stories, the Doctor is a selfish man who cares for nothing and no one but himself. This man who mixes cures in his little lab doesn’t exactly fit that description. She eyes him suspiciously, lips twisted in thought, until she realizes. Of course.

“How much do you charge for these cures?”

He sighs, scribbling out something in his notebook as he mutters absently, “I don’t.”

Again, she pauses. “Sorry?”

The Doctor glances up, making an impatient noise in the back of his throat. “I said I don’t charge anything. Not doing it to make a profit.”

She swallows. “Why then?”

“Because it helps people,” he says, as though he doesn’t even have to think about it. His piercing, earnest gaze rattles her to her core. “Do I need another reason?”

“Some people might.”

“As I’ve said before, some people are rubbish.”

He returns his attention to his notebook and River watches him in silence for a long moment, intrigued but uneasy. The Doctor and his contradictions are a puzzle she can’t seem to fit together properly. She leans against his worktable beside his boiling pots, arms wrapped around herself uncertainly.

The Doctor doesn’t look directly at her again but every so often, she sees his eyes stray from the page. He glimpses her out of the corner of his eye, as though to check and make sure she’s still standing there watching him, and then quickly looks away again. Finally, he sighs out, “Going to stand there all bloody day or do something useful?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He turns from her and faces the wall of glass bottles on the shelves behind him, filled with potion ingredients. He finds whatever he’s looking for quickly, as if he knows where everything is despite the fact that he hadn’t bothered to label any of it. Plucking the bottle from the shelf, he sets it on his worktable and pushes it in her direction.

She picks it up cautiously, lifting it to eye level and studying it. “Licorice root.”

The Doctor nods once. “You think your way is better?” At her decisive nod, his eyes crinkle. “Prove it then.”

River has had a lifetime of proving herself – proving her strength, her cunning, her creativity in finding deceptively innocent looking household objects and implementing them as weapons, her ability to summon dark magic in the blink of an eye and kill on command without hesitation. Under the sorceress Kovarian’s tutelage she has proven herself over and over again as someone not to be trifled with. This is the first time anyone has ever asked her to prove her skill for a good cause and with such light-heartedness.

For a moment, she stands frozen with uncertainty, the potion bottle in her hand and the Doctor’s curious gaze on her. Finally, she tightens her grip on the bottle and clears her throat. “Alright then.” She forces a smirk, tossing her hair as she slips past him and approaches his boiling potion. “Prepare to be humbled, old man.”

The Doctor snorts, following on her heels. It should concern her, how easily she’d turned her back on her greatest enemy – the greatest living threat to the magical community, according to Kovarian. But as the Doctor steps up behind her and peers over her shoulder while she adds the licorice root to his potion, the only thing that worries her is how quickly she’s come to believe he isn’t going to harm her.

“Should you be adding that much? It’s a preservative, not a sodding dessert.”

“Hush,” she warns, mouth twitching in amusement. “I know what I’m doing.”

He huffs and his breath is warm against the back of her neck. She fights back a shiver, ever conscious of his elegant fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the table. Before their eyes, his potion settles to a slow simmer instead of an angry bubbling and his tapping ceases as he stares. River dips a wooden ladle into the concoction and sticks out her tongue to test it cautiously. As the slightly sweetened, smoky taste blossoms on her tongue, she tosses the Doctor a triumphant smile and finds him watching her with darkened eyes.

She breathes in, eyes widening in response, and he looks away with a scowl. Setting the ladle aside, she dusts off her hands and says in a slightly rattled voice, “There. That should do it.” When he hums noncommittally and still refuses to meet her gaze, she asks tartly, “Feeling humbled, Doctor?”

He lifts his eyes to hers but only briefly – just enough time for River to catch something warm and begrudgingly admiring in his gaze before he looks away again. “Something like that,” he mutters dryly, and stalks off back to his workspace.

“You’re welcome,” she grumbles after him, rolling her eyes.

The afternoon passes in the same manner of easy bickering. The Doctor works on developing a new potion with no success and makes several batches of some tried and true potions for his patients. River follows him about as he works, occasionally adding ingredients to improve his formula when he isn’t looking. She suspects he knows anyway but he never says.

Instead, toward the end of the day, he finally relinquishes that notebook of his and stands by with an air of contrived impatience as she flips through his scribblings and declares well that’s surprisingly clever of you and that’s wrong and whatever made you think that would work?! until he huffs and snatches it away again, tucking it protectively into his coat pocket.

River stares after it longingly – it truly is the perfect little book, compact and slim, worn and filled with his notes. The prettiest deep blue that reminds her of the house itself. It’s only been out of her hands a moment but her fingers itch for it like a missing limb. “Where did you get it? Your book?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I made it.”

“Of course you did.” She sighs. “You know, for a shut-in, you’re terribly pretentious.”

The Doctor scowls and flicks a spoonful of poppy seeds at her. River ducks easily, laughing brightly when they land in one of his boiling potions instead and ruins the whole batch, forcing him to start from scratch. It isn’t quite so funny when she realizes the bubbling concoction had splattered the front of her only dress. Kovarian hadn’t exactly allowed her to pack a bag and even if she did, River had nothing to put in it.

Frowning at the stain, River gripes, “You know, if I’m going to be stuck here all winter I’m going to need more clothes.” She casts him a sly glance, watching the Doctor stir his new potion with a cinnamon stick. “Unless you’d prefer I go without.”

He recoils so violently he drops the entire stick into the potion. Scowling, he snaps, “Bloody fantastic. Are you planning to ruin every potion?”

River scoffs. “You threw the poppy seeds and dropped the cinnamon, not me.” Grumbling under his breath as he throws the potion out and starts gathering ingredients all over again, the Doctor seems to have forgotten all about the whole point of this conversation until she reminds him with a sigh, “My clothes, Doctor. You can’t expect me to spend months in the same dress.”

He waves an absent hand at her, still far too preoccupied to give her his full attention. “Yes, yes. I’ll see what I can do to replace your shoddy dress. Now shut it.”

River plucks at the threadbare dress Kovarian had provided her with and glowers.

-

It’s another week before she feels certain the Doctor isn’t watching her every move any longer and she feels comfortable enough to explore on her own. The Doctor has retired to bed and she’s pleasantly sleepy, her room cozy and warm as the snow keeps piling up outside the rattling windows. She has gotten far too used to the comfort of a warm bed and she wants nothing more than to crawl beneath her blankets and sleep but the library calls to her.

At half past midnight, she slips from her chambers with a candle in hand, slinking down darkened corridors until she reaches her destination. The house is quiet around her but somehow River can sense its disapproval all the same. She frowns outside the library’s barred doors and says to thin air, “Busybody.”

The house creaks before retreating into reproachful silence.

River gives the ceiling one last glower and returns her attention to the locked double doors keeping her from the library. The lock is child’s play – something she imagines the Doctor uses more as a deterrent for himself than to keep anyone else out. After all, he doesn’t seem the type to get visitors often and even the stupidest criminals would rather cliff dive than attempt burgling the most dangerous wizard of the age.

She snorts to herself as she carefully works at the lock, trying not to make any noise. The more time she spends in the cranky old man’s company, the more difficult it is to imagine him as the man Kovarian speaks of in hissed, angry whispers. The padlock comes off into her palm and River smiles in triumph, slipping it into the pocket of her dressing gown and pushing at the doors.

In return, she gets a sharp shock to her fingers and the unmistakable scent of magic fills the air. Not magic she’s familiar with – not the magic of Kovarian and her ilk, always with the scent of blood and decay and rotting wood. It filled her dreams as a child. No, this is the Doctor’s magic. It smells like firewood and petrichor and for some reason it reminds her of the color blue. It isn’t dark like Kovarian’s but it isn’t light magic either. It’s some odd combination that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

River frowns, flexing her smarting fingers as she glowers at the doorknob. “Hmm,” she mutters. “Not as daft as he looks.”

Closing her eyes, she concentrates on his magical signature and mentally damns Kovarian for never bothering to teach her light magic. She has no idea what to do with it or better yet, how to get rid of it. It will take time to become familiar with the Doctor’s unusual wards before she can start dismantling them. For now, the library will have to remain a mystery.

River scowls and fishes the lock from her pocket, putting it back. Turning on her heel, she stalks off down the corridor. Of course the old man would intertwine light and dark magic just to be as deliberately confusing as possible. What is a man like him doing practicing light magic anyway? With all the atrocities he’s committed, she’s surprised he can wield it without bursting into flames. She needs to understand it, she needs –

Pausing at her bedroom door, River bites her lip and recalls the books she had seen in the Doctor’s workshop. Mostly books on potions but there might have been a few magical theory volumes hidden in there. It wouldn’t hurt to have a look.

Gripping her candle, River abandons any notion of retiring to bed and slips silently back down the hall toward the staircase. Thankfully the Doctor doesn’t lock up his workshop but as she peruses the shelves for something useful, she silently berates him for being such a trusting idiot. He has a virtual stranger staying in his home unsupervised and he hadn’t even thought to protect his potions?

River scans the spines of the books on his shelves and mutters, “How can a mass murderer be so bloody naïve?”

The shelves are stuffed with heavy tomes on potion-making, magical diseases, poisons and their cures… “A Child’s History of Fantastic Fungi, The Scrolls and Prophecies of Romanadvoratrelundar… Come on, there must be something.” She huffs, going over the books again with a keener eye. “A Practical Guide for Curse-breaking, The Complete History of Mystical Trees…” She reaches the end of the last shelf and pauses, fingers hovering over the cracked spine of a book titled Lightkeeper’s Grimoire. She could have sworn it wasn’t there the last time she’d looked…

Shrugging and deciding to blame it on the late hour and the lack of proper lighting, River slides the surprisingly slim book from its place and slips it under her dressing gown. Hoping the Doctor won’t notice a missing book on his shelves, she slips from his workshop and makes her way back up the stairs to her room with her prize.

She’s nearly there, entertaining thoughts of her warm bed and huddling beneath her blankets with this book and a candle when she hears it. A faint but unmistakable whimper. Freezing in the middle of the corridor, River tilts her head and waits, listening.

Another noise of distress, this one followed by the sound of rustling bedsheets.

She knows enough of nightmares to recognize the signs. Swallowing, she moves silently across the floorboards and makes her way to the Doctor’s bedroom. His door isn’t locked and she thinks idiot again as she peers into his dark room and spies him sprawled across his bed – gray hair rumpled and face creased into such distress even River feels odd stirrings of empathy.

He tosses and turns, hands clenched white-knuckled in the sheets as he mutters. “Sorry, so sorry Pond.” River hears her own breath catch and she staggers forward a step, struggling to make out more of what he’s saying. The Doctor clutches his blankets and cries out another name softly.

Startled, River stares growing horror at the man writhing in such clear distress. She stops moving. She might even stop breathing. And then the Doctor says the name again, louder this time.

“Melody.”

Heart in her throat, River turns and stumbles blindly from the room. She nearly runs back down the hall, shutting her bedroom door behind her and diving for the safety of her bed. She tucks her head under her pillow, struggling to drown out the Doctor’s merciless nightmares.

-

She sleeps as fitfully as the Doctor that night, tossing and turning as she tries to reconcile the bloodthirsty warrior Kovarian had told her about with the man who apparently has nightmares about one lost little girl. When she finally stumbles downstairs for breakfast in her wrinkled and worn dress, it’s somewhat of a relief that the Doctor is nowhere in sight.

The creaky kitchen cupboard keeps her company as she helps herself to a bit of toast and eggs with her morning tea, chiding her that she uses too much butter and really, wouldn’t jam be a healthier choice? River ignores its helpful suggestions, spreading more butter on her toast just to be contrary.

The cupboard snaps shut in annoyance.

River hides a smirk in a bite of eggs.

By the time she finishes, there is still no sign of the Doctor. Deciding he must have slept in since he clearly didn’t get much rest the night before, she wanders back upstairs to her room to wait for Kovarian’s afternoon missive. It’s somewhat of a shock to find her door ajar and the Doctor standing in front of her wardrobe.

Halting in the doorway, River curls her fingers tight around the frame. Finding the enemy in one’s safe space never bodes well. Wondering if he’s been snooping and found the knife and recently pilfered magical text under her mattress, she asks through clenched teeth, “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

“You complained about your lack of clothes.” Oblivious to her ire, the Doctor whirls to look at her and she falters at the spark of joy in his eyes. He looks years younger as he gestures to her wardrobe and says excitedly, “Go on then.”

River approaches cautiously, wishing for her knife and trying to remember every defensive spell Kovarian ever taught her in order to fight off whatever the Doctor has hidden in her wardrobe. She needn’t have bothered. When she throws open the doors, she finds nothing more threatening than a row of dresses.

She stares, letting the tension slip from her body as she takes in the colorful array of gowns – simple muslin dresses in plain but soft fabrics, elegant gowns of silk in a variety of rich colors the likes of which she’d never known in Kovarian’s care. They’re all very clearly expensive and the tatty dress she wears now pales in comparison. Her wardrobe is positively stuffed with more clothes than River has ever owned in her life.

Hesitantly, she lifts a hand to touch her fingertips to a particularly vibrant green gown, certain it’s all a cruel mirage that will disappear the moment she tries to reach for it. Kovarian had used such a trick often enough. She prepares for the illusion to fall away but instead her fingers brush silken, luxurious fabric and her breath catches.

She steps closer, rubbing her thumb over a soft sleeve, inspecting a bejeweled collar, fiddling with heavy skirts and nuzzling her cheek against thick fur stoles. It’s real. It’s all real and it’s – “This is for me?”

The Doctor eyes her strangely. “Well it certainly isn’t for me.”

River swallows, turning back to stare at her clothes. “How did you – you couldn’t have sent for all this. It would take months to tailor and you don’t even have my measurements. Besides, no one could possibly deliver it in this weather.” She gestures outside to the still falling snow and the Doctor actually grins, looking rather smug.

“I enchanted your wardrobe.” He waves a careless hand at it but she can tell he’s feeling quite proud of his own genius. “You’ll never run out of things to wear.”

Fascinated, River peers further inside the wardrobe, pushing aside clothes and realizing she really can’t find the end of it. It goes on forever and she wonders if she would ever be able to find her way out if she climbed inside. Her throat tightens. “Why would you do this?”

The Doctor frowns. “It wasn’t difficult. Just needed to tweak the spell I used on the house – less sentience, more trans-dimensional space.”

“No.” River shakes her head, fingers clutched in the sheer sleeve of a gorgeous red and black gown. “Why bother?”

If anything, the clarification only seems to confuse him further. The furrow between his brows deepens and his thin mouth nearly disappears as he purses his lips. “Because you needed clothes. Do I need another reason?”

“Some people might,” she murmurs, turning back to the lavish wardrobe and thinking of the rags she’s been given to wear her entire life.

The Doctor shifts uneasily behind her and reiterates, “Rubbish.”

Before River can reply or even begin to formulate some sort of thank you, a resounding knock echoes throughout the house. They have a visitor. The Doctor moves to the window, peering out and huffing at whatever or whoever he sees.

“Stubborn sodding -” He starts for the door and turns at the last moment, eyes flickering between her and the wardrobe. “Stay here. Play dress-up. Climb inside and see if you can find the end of it. Just… stay.”

He disappears out the door and down the stairs before she can protest. River scowls after him, knowing that whatever he’s trying to hide is likely something she already knows. She’s been studying him all her life. The Doctor has no secrets from her. Except, apparently, the potions he makes and gives away for nothing and his ability to create wardrobes and houses that are bigger on the inside.

Frowning, River whirls back to the wardrobe and pulls out one of the dresses that had caught her eye earlier – the green one with the gold threading that shimmers when it catches the light. She changes quickly, pulling out a pair of the softest satin slippers to put on her feet and tucking her wild hair up into something almost presentable.

She moves to the door, intent on creeping down the stairs and spying on the Doctor and his guest but she catches sight of her reflection in the mirror out of the corner of her eye and pauses. She isn’t in the habit of looking in mirrors and she can’t remember the last time she’d actually seen herself in one. The minute she turns to look she remembers why she always avoids her reflection.

The dress fits her well enough and she suspects the Doctor had enchanted the clothes to adjust to whatever her measurements but she’s far too thin for such a lovely garment. The woman in the mirror clearly isn’t accustomed to regular meals and uninterrupted sleep. She’s pale and gaunt, dark circles under her eyes and a certain weariness in the set of her shoulders that she doubts will ever fade. Frowning in disgust at her reflection, River plucks at her heavy skirts. Well, at least the dress is pretty.

“But why can’t you just try?”

She snaps her head away from the mirror, recalling with a rush of irritation that she’s supposed to be listening in on the Doctor’s conversation, not pouting over her reflection. Grumbling to herself, she gathers the skirts of her dress in hand and marches out the door and toward the staircase, following the sound of arguing.

“He’s sick because of me, why would she even want my help?”

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, River presses her back flat against the wall and listens.

“You did not make him sick, Doctor -”

“I unleashed the virus -”

“Kovarian unleashed the Malignant,” his visitor retorts, and River freezes. “You tried to stop it.”

She barely breathes as she listens, stunned. They can’t be talking about the Malignant. Kovarian had made her write whole essays on the devastation of that curse and how the Doctor had reveled in the sickness it caused. It was hundreds of years ago but no one has ever managed to truly get rid of it. To this day, it lays waste to families and villages, even entire townships. There is still no known cure.

“But I didn’t,” the Doctor snaps. “I failed and it’s still killing people.”

“Then why don’t you try and stop it?”

“Because I can’t,” he shouts, and only River’s frequent exposure to Kovarian’s fits of temper keep her from jumping in fright. “You think I haven’t bloody well tried? It’s incurable!”

The Doctor’s visitor sighs quietly, the sound laden with pity. “I’m not going to give up, you know.”

The Doctor snorts. “Course not.”

“Sarah Jane won’t give up either – her son needs you.”

“I can’t help them.”

River peers around the corner just in time to see a petite girl with dark hair and wide eyes lean in and press a kiss to the Doctor’s cheek. “I’ll tell her you’ll think about it. And I’ll be back.”

“Looking forward to it,” the Doctor grumbles, and ushers her toward the door.

River steps out from her hiding place as he slams the door shut behind the girl, locking it with a terse wave of his hand. He spots her when he turns around, stopping in his tracks to stare. She expects a reprimand about not staying upstairs like he’d asked or some quip about eavesdropping but when the Doctor finally finds his voice, he surprises her.

“You look…” He swallows, averting his eyes to his boots. “Different.”

River snorts, relaxing somewhat. “Nice try.”

Scowling, the Doctor lifts his head and gestures at her. “Well, you’ve moved your hair about and the dress is -”

“Different?” River asks dryly, lifting an eyebrow.

The Doctor frowns and finishes, “Lovely.”

Mortified to feel her cheeks begin to heat with a blush – for possibly the first time in her life – River looks away and fidgets with her skirts. A stranger to kindness and compliments other than excellent counter spell, River and wow you’re not even bleeding, she has no idea what to do when faced with them. She’s never had to before. And she hates that it’s him that’s rendered her some blushing weakling. Imagine, melting because of a few compliments and pretty dresses. Kovarian would be appalled, all of her hard work so easily dismantled.

“Well, your eyes are going then.” Squaring her shoulders, River stops fiddling with her skirts and looks up, changing the subject. “She’s a little young, isn’t she?”

Still watching her intently, the Doctor asks absently, “Who?”

“Your visitor,” she clarifies. “Pretty, of course, but rather young for you. But then I suppose most people are.”

Finally catching onto her meaning, the Doctor recoils from her like she’d slapped him. “Don’t be crass. She’s Clara, for god’s sake.”

River stares. “What does her name have to do with anything?”

“Because she’s just Clara.” The Doctor waves a hand, looking comically horrified. “She’s not -”

“Not what?”

“She’s just a friend,” he explains, clearly mortified that he has to explain himself. “Big eyes. Bossy. It’s different with her than with…” He trails off, snapping his mouth shut and only succeeding in intriguing River further by clamming up.

“Different than what?” She asks, puzzled.

The Doctor huffs and mutters something under his breath about how pudding brains wandering about in the snow can’t be expected to get a clue, closing the distance between them. River stands her ground as he approaches, eyeing him warily. He stands right in front of her and she tenses when he lifts a hand, barely breathing as he touches his fingertips to her cheek.

His eyes drift to her mouth and it’s only when he leans in that she realizes what he’s doing, gasping aloud as she smacks his hand away and stumbles back. “What are you doing?” She asks, and loathes the way her voice wobbles.

Weak, Kovarian whispers in her mind.

The Doctor looks pained, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. Eyes full of regret and cheeks a little pink with the embarrassment of rejection, he tries, “River-”

“Don’t,” she hisses, horrified when her eyes water. “Don’t touch me.”

She turns on her heel and flees back up the stairs to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. Heart pounding, she yanks the pins out of her hair and struggles out of the dress. The skirts are too heavy, the bodice too constricting and she suddenly can’t breathe in it. She needs it off.

Growling in frustration, River yanks at the fastenings without a thought for the rich fabric. Finally free of it, her chest heaves as she gasps for air. She kicks the dress away and leaves it an expensive puddle on the floor, crawling into bed in her underthings. Staring at the ceiling, she furiously blinks tears from her eyes.

Of course he wasn’t just being kind all this time. Of course he wanted something from her, just like Kovarian. At least her mentor is allowing River to avenge herself and her parents. The Doctor is just a lonely man who wants someone warm in his bed. And River, despite Kovarian’s best attempts, is still that little girl who hopes someone out there might actually care about her.

Cursing her own weakness, River curls up on her side and tries to sleep.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, she thinks she might like a friend. She doesn’t know much about them but when she can sneak contraband books into her attic room, she reads about them. It’s how she learns the ache in her little chest is loneliness.

It takes her weeks before she can work up the courage to ask and Kovarian seems to be in a more indulgent mood after River had done well in her lessons and training for the day. She’d even been permitted to come out of her room for dinner and sit at the table in the vast dining hall with her mentor.

She doesn’t have much of an appetite despite knowing she shouldn’t waste the opportunity of getting a full course meal so she pokes at her dinner and kicks her legs under the table, trying to touch the floor with her toes. Sneaking a glimpse at Kovarian through the tall floating candlesticks lighting the table, River watches her mentor cut precisely into her meat with a sharp knife.

Waiting until Kovarian is chewing and therefore unlikely to interrupt, she ventures, “Are there any more like me?”

Kovarian frowns, reaching for her wine.

River continues hurriedly, “I mean little girls who can do what I do?”

“Of course not.” Kovarian takes a long sip of wine and eyes her proudly. “You’re one of a kind, River.”

“Oh.” River pokes at her dinner again, curls slipping into her eyes.

Putting aside her wine glass, Kovarian folds her hands in front of her on the table. “Why ask such a question, child?”

River shrugs before remembering that Kovarian disapproves of shrugging and calls it plebeian. “I wanted… a friend.”

Kovarian barks out a laugh that makes her flinch. “A friend?” She laughs again, chuckling into her wine. “My little beastie, you weren’t designed for friends. You were designed for war.”

Nodding, River picks up her cup of water, wrapping both little hands around it and frowning. “Yes, ma’am.” She sips at the cool water greedily, knowing once she’s back in the attic room, it will be tepid water that tastes of rust until Kovarian deems her pleasing enough to deserve dinner at the table again.

As she drinks, she sees Kovarian watching her intently, an unreadable look in her glittering black eyes, and fear tightens her stomach into knots. The rest of dinner passes without incident, however, and when Kovarian dismisses her before dessert, River climbs the narrow staircase back to her room.

The next morning, she wakes to a kitten purring on her chest and Kovarian watching her giggle in delight from the doorway. “Enjoy your new friend, child.”

She names it Renfrew and for three weeks, the kitten is her dearest friend. Renfrew follows her everywhere, sleeps on her pillow every night, and curls around her feet to distract her when River tries to study. She loves Renfrew fiercely and Renfrew is the first and only creature to ever love her back.

At the end of those three weeks, when River is properly attached, Kovarian returns with new orders to practice the torture spells she’s been learning – on Renfrew. River cries and clutches her kitten to her chest. When Kovarian insists, she does not let the kitten suffer. She kills it quickly and pretends it was an accident, quietly accepting the punishment Kovarian bestows on her in retaliation.

Her mentor’s lesson had been well learned – River hadn’t been built for love or kindness, for comfort and friendship. She is a weapon and she never complains of loneliness again.

-

“River?”

She starts awake and finds the Doctor hovering over her in the dark, peering at her like she’s some potion in danger of bubbling over. She used to have nightmares about him looming over her like that and she barely stifles a shriek, scrambling to sit up and nearly knocking her forehead against his in the process.

Clutching her blankets to her chin, River fumbles beneath her pillow until her fingers close around her dagger. “What are you doing in here?”

“You were…” The Doctor waves a hand at her and for a moment, River doesn’t understand why he isn’t meeting her eyes. It takes a few sleepy seconds to remember he hasn’t looked directly at her since he’d tried to kiss her a few days ago. Her hand tightens around the hilt of her blade. “You sounded as if you were having a nightmare. Something about Renfrew.”

Flushing for the second time in her life – damn him – River slowly releases her hold on the dagger and clears her throat. “Oh. Sorry to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” The Doctor frowns. “Who is he? Old boyfriend?”

River blinks, scrubbing a tired hand over her sleep-warm cheek. “Cat,” she admits unthinkingly. Her eyes widen when she realizes she’d actually told him the truth and her fingers itch for the knife again so she can use it on herself. She doesn’t move, waiting for him to laugh at her. To roll his eyes and go back to bed.

“What happened to him?”

Lifting her head, River stares at him. The Doctor gazes back placidly, his candle settled on her bedside table as he peers at her in the dark. He doesn’t look even a little amused that she’d been having a bad dream about a cat. There isn’t a trace of annoyance about being dragged out of bed in his eyes, no resentment that she’d spurned his kiss. The only hint of emotion she can detect in those strangely intense blue eyes of his is concern.

Shoving aside her bewilderment, River swallows and looks away, studying the threading pattern in her duvet. “He died,” she says simply. “Did you want something?”

The Doctor looks faintly embarrassed. “I… no. Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were…” He trails off, clearing his throat grumpily. “You sounded as though you were being murdered in your bed and I’m rubbish at cleaning blood out of the laundry.”

He averts his eyes and River feels that strange ache in her chest she hasn’t felt since she was a little girl. He’d heard her having a nightmare and came to check if she was all right. No one has ever cared before. Under Kovarian’s watch, she could have screamed to shake the heavens – she did, occasionally – but no one ever came. It’s unsettling to be the focus of anyone’s concern, especially this man’s.

“I’m fine,” she says tightly. “You can go.”

The Doctor nods but hesitates, looking as uncomfortable as River feels. “Are you sure you don’t need -”

“What could I possibly need from you, Doctor?” She snaps, more to get him out of her room and take his confusing contradictions with him than any real anger. Still, the Doctor flinches. “It was a bad dream but I’m fine. Now unless you’d like to sit and discuss your nightmares, please leave.”

“Of course,” he says, voice gruff and strained. “Goodnight, River.”

He picks up his candle on her bedside table and waves a hand at the empty space. She can sense his magic, smell the damp, earthy scent of it in the air, but she doesn’t turn to look until he shuts the door behind him.

On her bedside table, he’d conjured a steaming cup of tea.

-

To her relief, the Doctor never mentions either her nightmare or the near-kiss again but they spend the next several days awkwardly anyway, dancing around the two forbidden subjects. By mutual but silent agreement, they’ve apparently decided to pretend none of it had ever happened. They live in halting pauses and surreptitious glances.

It’s exhausting and by the time the Doctor retires to bed for the night at the end of their fifth day spent pointedly not looking at each other, River is more glad than usual to see him go. She curls up in the parlour with the Lightkeeper’s Grimoire, studying it one last time before she makes another attempt tonight. With the Doctor in bed early and avoiding her at all cost, she’ll never get a better opportunity to have another go at his wards around the library.

The Grimoire states that light magic, as the embodiment of good, is therefore composed of good. One must contain goodness in order to wield it. Which is ridiculous because the Doctor is using it. Still, it isn’t exactly encouraging, considering River has never even touched good with a ten foot pole. She certainly has no idea how to create it.

She closes the book and gets up anyway, making her way to the library and resigning herself to smarting fingers again when she fails. Climbing the stairs, she creeps past the Doctor’s bedroom and slips silently through the corridor until she comes to the heavy wooden doors keeping her from the library.

With the Grimoire tucked under her arm, River mutters, “All right then, good thoughts. Can’t be too difficult if the Doctor can manage it.”

She waves a hand over the door, summoning the Doctor’s magic to the surface and trying to grow more familiar with it. If she can learn to recreate his magic closely enough, she might be able to get in with a bit of cheating. Kovarian had always said the Doctor was a dark sorcerer who masqueraded as a user of light magic but as River gets a greater sense of his wards and therefore his magic, she knows that Kovarian had been wrong.

The Doctor is not light or dark. One cannot fake a magical signature, no matter how powerful one might be. River isn’t sure what the Doctor is but she’s starting to understand how to take down his wards. She summons her magic and closes her eyes. Good thoughts. Good thoughts…

She doesn’t have a well of resource to call upon. The first thing that comes to her mind is Renfrew but her magic fizzles and she knows the memory of her beloved cat has been too tainted by the guilt and horror she still associates with him. Thoughts of him won’t do her any favors now. Good thoughts…

Her mind jumps to that first morning she woke here, warm beneath a nest of heavy blankets with the Doctor fussing grumpily over her and thrusting a tray of food at her. Her magic sparks and River frowns, struggling to pull her mind away from the Doctor. If she’s going to rely on him, she’ll never get past his damned wards.

Good thoughts…

She tries to remember feeling happy whenever Kovarian allowed her to dine with her or the days when she was pleased enough with River’s progress to actually smile but none of it offers that spark of warm, glowing magic that thoughts of the Doctor had. The Doctor, who wouldn’t let her freeze to death at his front door, who had given her a whole wardrobe of fine clothes and felt the need to check on her when she had a nightmare. The Doctor, who had seen her in a new dress and looked at her with soft eyes and touched her with foreign tenderness –

Without even trying and without a single incantation, River feels her magic – hers but not hers, too warm and bright and full of light to belong to her – reach out and meet the Doctor’s. She steels herself for the moment their magical signatures collide and resist one another, prepares an incantation to force her way in and weaken the wards around the library. Instead, her magic slips silkily around the Doctor’s. It wraps around his and they meld together.

The Doctor’s magic welcomes her own like a long lost mate and the moment they mesh, River can no longer tell which belongs to him and which belongs to her. They are one.

Her breath catches when she feels it, certain it must mean something, but then the wards fall and the door unlocks, creaking open at her touch. She’d done it. She had used light magic – with good thoughts about the Doctor, of all people. Swallowing, River pushes aside her unease and her questions, stepping into the library and shutting the door behind her.

Her footsteps echo as she tentatively makes her way into the room and she knows even in the dark that the library must be positively cavernous. She can’t see a bloody thing with only her candle to light the way so she waves a hand and lights the whole room with the glow of her magic.

The moment she does, she knows the Doctor had been lying. The room is clearly neglected – old and dusty and smells a bit like mildew – but it isn’t condemned. River frowns, blowing out her candle and stashing it on a nearby table as she glances around. The shelves are packed with magical texts, some of them probably older than the Doctor himself. Kovarian would love to get her hands on them but River isn’t here to do a bit of petty pilfering. Kovarian is free to raid the whole damn place once the Doctor is dead.

Her stomach lurches.

River clenches her teeth, shaking her head. Spending a couple of weeks with the old man is starting to make her soft and she cannot afford weakness. No matter how low the Doctor has been brought, no matter how much he tries to appear harmless and peaceful and just a tetchy old man, she knows differently. She is what she is because of him. Kovarian would never have felt the need to take her and train her if the Doctor hadn’t posed such a threat. She can’t forget that – not ever.

As River ventures further into the library, the gleam of a candle catches her eye. There – hovering like a beacon above a podium holding one lone, sturdy book in the back of the library. She glances around her with a muttered, “Yes all right, hint taken.”

Around her, the house creaks.

“Cooperating now, are you?”

She doesn’t get a reply as she approaches the dais holding the book but she doesn’t mind, far too intent on studying the thick volume. It’s heavy with dust but when she reaches out and wipes away at the cover with her fingers, she can read the title plainly – The History of the Time War. It’s what the age old feud between the Doctor and Kovarian has always been called but that isn’t what makes her heart slam against her rib cage. It’s the author – Amelia Pond.

Her mother.

Breath caught in her throat, River flips open the book with a trembling hand and – with one last glance over her shoulder – begins to read. Some of it she’d already been aware of. The centuries long war between the dark sorceress Kovarian and the old wizard called the Doctor. The countless casualties of those caught in the middle. The Doctor had wiped out Kovarian’s entire order of magi in his quest to kill her but he’d never succeeded, just as she had never been able to kill him. They were both far too powerful.

All of that, River knew. What she hadn’t known was the Doctor had been involved with the Malignant curse – but he hadn’t been unleashing it. He’d been trying to stop it. What she hadn’t known was the man the Doctor used to be before Kovarian had destroyed his village and killed his people, slaughtering his whole family. The man who trained young sorcerers and sorceresses in light and black magic alike, the man who had raised an army of loyal followers – he’d fondly called them companions – to fight against Kovarian and save village after village. Numerous first-hand accounts throughout the book of the Doctor’s companions prove it to be true.

There were two companions, she reads, that he’d favored above all the others. Two he had loved like family and who never left his side. River’s parents had suffered more than most in the bitter war between Kovarian and the Doctor.

Kovarian had finally gotten the best of her oldest enemy, not by making him suffer, but by making those he loved suffer. She took Amy Pond’s child, spirited her away in the middle of the night and hid her, raised her to be the greatest weapon against the Doctor the magical world would ever know. And it broke him.

He abandoned his army of companions and his best friends. He shut himself away in grief and bitterness, in hope that if he stayed far away no one would ever be harmed because of him ever again. According to the book, he’s been trying to atone ever since.

No one knows what became of the child but in her absence, a prophecy emerged. She would return one day, Amelia Pond’s precious girl and Kovarian’s greatest triumph. She would come back changed and not quite whole and when she did, the Doctor would die.

Swallowing, River flips to the last page. In elegant, hand-written script, it reads:

Raggedy Man,

I know you believe hiding away will keep us safe and I know right now there’s no changing your idiot mind about that. I also know you blame yourself for what happened to our Melody. I wish you wouldn’t. That evil witch took my baby away, Doctor, not you. I hope this book convinces you that I truly believe that and so does Rory. We love you and we miss you. We haven’t just lost our daughter in all this – we’ve lost you too.

We’re waiting whenever you’re ready. In the meantime, keep the prayer leaf. Maybe it’ll be a reminder that Melody isn’t lost forever. One day, she’ll come home. No matter what some ridiculous prophecy says, we expect you there too. We’ll set you a place for dinner.

Love,

your Ponds

River touches her fingertips to her mother’s flowery script and swallows heavily, tearing her eyes away from the note to glance at the prayer leaf nestled alongside it. It had been tucked inside the book with a careful reverence that makes her throat tighten and she stares at Melody Pond sewn into the glistening fabric, her mind a convoluted mess.

The man in this book, the man her mother had written to, the man who had kept this prayer leaf promising her safe return – this man is not the one Kovarian had taught her to hate all of her life. This man is kind and brave and so riddled with guilt he can’t even face his friends. She’d thought he wouldn’t care. She’d thought he had let Kovarian take her, that he and her parents had never even tried to get her back.

Kovarian had never mentioned any of this – not that she’d been wanted by these people, not that the Doctor had been provoked into killing the magi, not that Kovarian herself had started it all when she slaughtered the Doctor’s family centuries ago. River had been so sure she was on the right side of history. She’d been sure the Doctor was a senseless killer, a madman who had to be stopped.

But Kovarian had lied to her.

And now she can’t help but wonder – who is the real monster? All along, she’d thought it was the Doctor. He’d always been the bogeyman in the shadows, the evil lurking under her bed, the reason she shivered alone in the dark. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem quite so simple anymore.

River traces her fingers over the prayer leaf, frozen with indecision and regret until she hears a quietly furious voice behind her that makes her blood run cold. “I thought I told you to stay out of the library.”

She turns slowly to face the Doctor, cursing herself for letting him sneak right up behind her. She should have placed new wards around the room to keep him out, should have been listening for footsteps instead of having a bloody existential crisis. Careless, River. Kovarian would punish her for it if she knew.

Caught and without a good explanation, River clutches the prayer leaf in her hand and says, “I wanted to see what was in here.”

The Doctor watches her with a coldness she has never seen from him before, not even when she first met him and he glared at her on his doorstep. For a moment, he looks exactly like the man she had feared as a little girl. With a wave of his hand, the prayer leaf flies from her grip and into his own and River flexes her empty fingers, finally gathering her indignation as he shoves the leaf into his pocket and out of sight.

“You lied to me,” she says. “You said the library was condemned.”

“And yet you still broke in,” he snarls. “Got a death wish, have you? How did you even get past the wards?”

She tosses her hair, defiant. “Child’s play. You should really work on your locking spells.”

“It should have knocked you unconscious,” he growls out, looking incensed.

River stares at him, thinking of the strange sensation she’d felt when her magic had melded with his – as if it had been welcoming her rather than trying to keep her out. Swallowing uneasily, she lifts her chin and shrugs. “Perhaps you’re a bit rusty.”

“And perhaps you’re getting a bit too comfortable here. You’re a sodding guest and you’ve got no right to go wandering through my home, poking through my personal things -”

“Why didn’t you want me to see this room?”

His mouth tightens into a thin line and his nostrils flare, seemingly infuriated by her interruption. “Because it doesn’t concern you,” he snaps, avoiding her gaze. “It’s none of your damned business.”

“What isn’t?” She asks, feigning ignorance. “A bunch of dusty literature? Or that raggedy bookmark you’re so protective of?” His hand flies to his pocket instantly, where he’d tucked the prayer leaf safely away. “I see nothing in here that needs such heavy protection spells unless I’m missing something. Is this where you stash your dirty books?”

“Stop.” He bites out the word so harshly River might have jumped if she were anyone else. She wonders if it’s the guilt or the terror of her finding out what he’d done that makes him so vicious, if he’s so desperate that no one else ever know he’d been responsible for the loss of an innocent child that he would actually push her away just to prevent her knowing.

She affects a light shrug. “I would hardly judge you. A man living alone has needs, even one as old as you -”

“Shut. Up.”

She does – not because he tells her to but because she finally really looks at him. His eyes are narrowed into angry slits and his gray hair is wild and unkempt. Magic sparks at his fingertips and radiates from his eyes and she can finally see the man Kovarian had told her about – the man who stalked through battlefields littered with corpses, his cloak inches deep in blood he’d spilt.

Clasping her trembling fingers in front of her, she watches him warily and asks the question that’s been on her tongue her entire life. “Did you really try to save her? The little girl?”

He stares at her, all the fight leaving his eyes when he realizes she already knows. The magic sparking at his fingertips sputters and dies but his chest still heaves with fury. He meets her gaze unwaveringly and for a moment she thinks he might actually answer her. Then his jaw clenches and he says, “Get out.”

She blinks. “What?”

“I want you out of my library,” he snaps, stalking toward her. “The only reason I’m not throwing you out of the whole damned house is because you’d freeze to death within minutes but I’m having trouble even caring about that right now so get-”

He throws out a hand and River recoils from him on instinct, waiting for the smack of his palm against her face. When it doesn’t come, she hesitantly drops the shield she’d made with her arms and blinks at him. The Doctor doesn’t look angry any longer. He’s pale and gaping at her with something suspiciously like pity in his eyes.

It makes River bristle. She needs nothing from him and certainly not pity. Looking away, she gathers her skirts in hand and announces rather needlessly, “I’m going to my room.”

As she sweeps past him, stomping her way to the door, he calls out, “River?”

She whirls, scowling at him.

The Doctor eyes her steadily, his mouth settled into an angry line again and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I’ll be resetting the wards in here. If you try getting into this room again, it’ll kill you.”

He says it without remorse, a lingering coldness in his gaze that sends a chill up her spine. There he is – the bogeyman of her childhood, in all his glory. She knows with sudden clarity that Amelia Pond had been a deluded follower, brainwashed into believing the best in a killer. There is nothing redeemable in the ancient creature before her.

She slams the library doors behind her as she stalks out, leaving the Doctor alone in his dusty prison and retreating to her room. She slams that door too, turning the lock swiftly and throwing up several of her own wards just to be safe. If the bastard tries getting into her room tonight, he’ll lose a finger.

It takes over an hour for her to stop angrily pacing the length of her room and retire to bed, still cursing the old man under her breath. She sleeps fitfully that night, dreaming of the slaughter Kovarian had wrought on the Doctor’s village and the prayer leaf the Doctor had clutched so tenderly in his hand. When she wakes in the morning, Kovarian’s bird waits for her on the windowsill.

River slips from her blankets and forces open the old window, hastily untying the parcel from the animal’s foot. It’s a small, slender tube containing a clear substance. She uncaps it and sniffs. Odorless.

Curious, she uncurls the bit of parchment attached: Poison of the Judas Tree. Do not use until ordered.

She smiles.

Chapter Text

In the morning, she’s still in no mood to see the Doctor so she keeps to her room and doesn’t come out for breakfast. Outside, the rattling wind has died down and the snow has stopped for the moment but gray clouds attempt to crowd out the sun, threatening more unfavorable weather. There’s a chill in the air and the fire in the grate has burned down to embers but she doesn’t get up to stoke it. Instead, she curls up beneath her heavy blankets and stares at the bottle of poison resting on her windowsill.

The morning hours pass without a word from the Doctor, not even the sound of his footsteps in the house. Afternoon comes and goes in much the same way, with River contemplating the poison and making lists in her head of creative ways to use it. Skipping meals is no hardship as it had been a form of punishment Kovarian had used often when she thought River wasn’t behaving or trying her best during lessons.

By the time the sun sinks below the horizon, the snow has begun to pile up outside again and the wind has resumed its howling. River leaves her bed to start another fire and warm her chilly room but she never stops thinking of the Judas Tree poison. Kovarian hadn’t provided much information on its characteristics and though River is well versed in most poisons, she knows nothing of this one. She longs for some way to research it and understand why her mentor had chosen such a subtle method. She wants to learn everything there is to know about this poison that’s finally going to rid the world of the Doctor.

Crouched in front of her fireplace, River tosses another log onto the fire and wonders if she should risk slipping into the library again. Despite the Doctor’s warnings, she has every confidence she could dismantle whatever wards he put in place around the room. What worries her is that he might discover her there again and try to kill her himself. Not that he could. But if she’s forced to dispose of him early and ruin Kovarian’s plans, her mentor won’t thank her for it.

Shuddering, River jabs at the fire with a poker and decides that she’ll put off another visit to the library and wait for Kovarian to explain herself instead. As she stares into the fire and wills her stomach not to growl, she hears footsteps in the corridor. After a day of mostly silence, even that soft sound is deafening. She tenses instantly, crouching on her heels and staring unblinkingly at her door. There’s a tentative knock but she doesn’t move. After a moment, she hears the footsteps retreat and slowly allows her muscles to relax. She drops her shoulders and unclenches her fists, breathing out through her nose.

When she hears nothing else after several more long minutes, she rises to her feet and moves silently across the floor. Pulling open the door to her chambers, she peeks out into the corridor and finds nothing but a tray of food – a steaming bowl of soup, warm bread, and several chocolate biscuits all heaped together on a plate beside a cup of tea.

She eyes the display warily, wondering if the Doctor had decided to poison her and have done with it. It takes only a wave of her hand over the tray and a muttered incantation to confirm the food carries no harmful toxins but her only frown deepens as she stoops to pick it up.

Kicking the door shut with her foot, she stares down at the delightful-smelling food and hears her stomach rumble once more. Surely he isn’t feeding her out of the kindness of his heart. He doesn’t have one. And he’d been ready to eviscerate her with a spell yesterday. She can still remember the burning fury in his eyes when he’d looked at her. And now she’s supposed to believe that he doesn’t want her to starve?

“What are you up to, old man?” She muses, glaring suspiciously at the neatly stacked chocolate biscuits. Her stomach growls again and she doesn’t have the willpower to ignore it any longer.

She eats every last bite.

-

She doesn’t know how long it’s been but she spends every waking moment locked inside her prison cursing herself for the reason darkness and starvation have become as familiar to her as her own mind. “But how do I know the Doctor did all those bad things? I only have your word for it.”

Never before has Kovarian been quite so furious. She’d raged at River like the unhinged sorceress she was, her magic sparking at her fingertips and rumbling through the whole house until the very walls shook, trembling with the force of it. For the first time since Renfrew had died – since she had killed him, she reminds herself viciously – River had felt real fear.

Kovarian had dragged her by the hair into a room no bigger than a broom cupboard and locked her inside. There’s no telling how much time has passed since then but she knows it’s been a few days at least. She can hear the comings and goings of the rest of the house but by the lack of reaction to her shouts and pleas, no one can hear her.

Her new room is absolutely bare, with nothing to occupy her mind as the days pass. She sleeps on the floor, shivers through the night and swelters in the heat in the mid-afternoons. At first, she had been hungry and thirsty but as time passes, her stomach grows used to neglect. It stops rumbling for attention, apparently as resigned as River to starving.

She spends her days imagining what it might be like to have a bite of bread or to press a cool cup of water to her lips. She daydreams about feeling the sun on her face, of curling her fingers around the bars of her attic room and peering out at the dark forest beyond. When the door to her tiny prison finally opens and Kovarian looms over her, River has no reaction. She only stares, certain it must be a dream.

“Would you like to come out now?” Kovarian asks sweetly.

River snaps out of her trance and nods, scrambling onto her hands and knees.

“Then apologize.”

Kovarian presses a heeled boot into River’s hand until she cries out and babbles, “I’m sorry” over and over until the pressure on her fingers lifts.

Satisfied, Kovarian steps back and crosses her arms over her chest. “Thirsty?”

Again, River nods, licking her dry, cracked lips.

“Tell me about your last lesson.”

Throat parched and aching, River struggles through her answer. “You taught me about loopholes. A necessity for creating any curse. The caster must include a way out. But not an easy one or the curse will be broken.”

“Good.” Kovarian eyes her coldly. “And what do we use to create our loopholes, River?”

“A lie, ma’am. Something that doesn’t exist.”

“Yes?”

“Love.”

Apparently satisfied, Kovarian nods but still does not offer her water. River stares at the cup in her hands covetously. “Tell me every single crime the Doctor has ever committed. In order of violence.”

It goes on like that for over an hour, Kovarian standing between River and freedom from her dark broom cupboard, dangling food and water as a reward until she’s convinced River truly believes what she’s saying. The Doctor is an evil this world needs rid of and Kovarian’s little beastie is the one for the job.

When it’s over, River basks in sunlight and devours her food with shaking fingers, silently vowing to never question her mentor again.

At least not out loud.

-

The Doctor keeps delivering meals to her door and letting River keep to herself for another two days before a knock one afternoon startles her out of bed – literally. Wide awake instantly, River rolls over beneath her blankets and lands in a crouch on the floor, her heart pounding and her knife already in hand. She doesn’t move and barely even breathes, wondering if he’ll give up and go away again if she only stays still long enough.

Another tentative knock follows on the heels of the first and then his gruff, Scottish voice calls through the wood, “River? Haven’t escaped out a window, have you?”

She snorts under her breath and rises slowly from her crouch, tucking the knife back beneath her pillow. “Not until I’ve put an end to you, idiot,” she grumbles.

She pads across the room and snatches up her dressing gown, slipping it on over her nightdress. Throwing open the door, she stands tall and unmoved before the surprisingly contrite looking Doctor. Faltering slightly at his shame-faced expression and unusual fidgeting, River struggles to maintain her annoyance.

Looking down her nose at him, she asks shortly, “What do you want?”

“I want to…” He huffs and ruffles his gray curls, asking the floor, “What is it called when one has been a bit of a tosspot and wants to make amends?”

Feeling her lips begin to curl up at his ineptitude, River quickly stifles it and asks, “You mean apologize?”

“Yes, that.” He glances up, looking oddly hesitant for the most powerful wizard of the age. “I want to do that.”

River raises an eyebrow. “You want to apologize to me?”

He scowls. “You shouldn’t have been in my library and you damn well knew it.”

“That is a rubbish apology.”

“I’m not finished,” he snaps, sighing when River crosses her arms over her chest expectantly. “Despite how incredibly in the wrong you were for trespassing on a magically locked room – I still have no idea how the bloody hell you managed to get past those wards -” He looks like he might question her about it again before he remembers he’s supposed to be apologizing. Deflating, he finishes, “I may have overreacted a bit.”

River glares. “You threatened to set up killer wards.”

The Doctor winces. “Yes, well…” She hadn’t realized he was holding something in his hand until he thrust it under her nose. “Here.”

Taking it from him if only to keep from going cross-eyed trying to look at it, River drops her gaze to stare at the bright blue book in her hand. It looks just like his except it’s clearly brand new and perhaps a bit heftier. River thumbs through the crisp, blank pages and feels her breath catch.

At her silence, the Doctor shifts on his feet and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Careful with the binding. Glue’s still drying.”

She glances up sharply. “You made this? For me?”

If anything, the accusation makes him more uncomfortable. He shifts his gaze away from her and nods curtly. “You said you liked mine.”

She frowns. “Did not.”

“Well, no but I could tell.” He lifts his head and meets her gaze, his eyes crinkling around the edges and his lips lifting into a smug grin. “Was I wrong then? I could always take it back.”

Without thought, River clutches the book to her chest protectively, shielding it from him. No one has ever given her anything before. She has never, in all her life, had anything to call her own except her clothes and her weapons. And even those could be taken away at a moment’s notice.

She strokes her thumb reverently over the binding. “No, I believe I’ll keep it.” She swallows and forces out, “Thank you.”

The Doctor watches her hug the book to her chest and he no longer looks so unbearably smug. Instead, his smile is soft and his eyes are kind as he asks, “Am I forgiven then?”

She nods wordlessly, gazing at the brilliant blue cover as if in a trance.

The Doctor clears his throat, catching her attention. She looks up and finds him studying his shoes. “I’m headed to my workshop for the afternoon if you’d like to join me.” His eyes lift just long enough to linger on her dressing gown before darting away again. “After you’re dressed, of course.”

River bites her lip. “Give me five minutes.”

-

The Doctor’s workshop has become something of a comfort to River, or at least as close as she’s ever come to it. It smells sharp like potions but with a hint of the herbs he keeps in glass jars around the room. It’s always a little cluttered and the fire in the hearth always burns bright and warm. And the Doctor is always standing at his workbench and muttering to himself.

He’s keeping a close eye on her this morning for some reason, making certain she’s visible out of the corner of his eye no matter where he is in the room. It takes her ages to feel comfortable enough to slip the Lightkeeper’s Grimoire from the folds of her dress and tuck it back onto the bookshelf where it belongs.

She turns back to face the Doctor innocently but his attention is caught between the pages of a book he turns with a spark of magic and the potion he’s stirring, his eyes shadowed and far away. Before, she might not have wasted a moment wondering about it but she can still recall his fidgeting as he stood before her and apologized, can still feel the buttery smoothness of new leather beneath her fingertips.

Stepping toward him, River rests her elbows on his workspace and asks, “What are you working on?”

He looks up, his eyes focusing on her but never losing that faintly troubled light. It unnerves her but she doesn’t press him, watching him drop his gaze back to his task. “It’s for a friend. Her son has taken ill and I promised I would try to find a cure.”

“What kind of illness?” She asks, though she knows already.

“A strain of the Malignant virus,” he answers, his frown deepening. He refuses to look at her but River is too preoccupied to mind. She remembers all too well her extensive studies on dark curses. The creator must always include a way out. Kovarian, always wanting to be certain no one ever broke her curses, had always relied on love – the one thing she’d never believed in.

Her mind turns to the book in the Doctor’s library, recalling the brittle pages and dusty, passionate words penned by her mother. Amy Pond had spoken of the Doctor’s struggle to stop the curse with such conviction, how she’d fought by his side and his despair when he’d failed. She’s never even trusted Kovarian has much as her mother seemed to trust in the Doctor and his goodness.

Maybe the Doctor truly hadn’t created the Malignant. If he had, why would he bother pretending to find a cure with no audience but River? He would already know exactly how to stop the disease and she doesn’t know much about him but she’s fairly certain the Doctor wouldn’t let a child die if there was something he could do to stop it. At least not anymore. The weight of the guilt on his shoulders is damn near visible. She can’t imagine he’s eager to add to it.

The Doctor lifts his head suddenly, startling River out of her thoughts as he huffs through his nose, nostrils flaring, and studies her intently. “Who was it?” He finally demands.

She blinks at him. “What?”

“The other night,” he explains impatiently. His eyes narrow and his brows pinch together and River thinks he looks ready to crawl out of his own skin. He’s very nearly vibrating with irritation. “In the library, when I – you flinched. So who hurt you? Who taught you it was fucking acceptable to raise a hand like that? Because all I’ve been able to think of since then is hunting them down and teaching them a damned lesson.”

River stares, her breath caught in her throat, and can’t think of anything to say. He’s angry because she’d flinched away from him the other night and he’d – rightly – assumed someone had abused her? It’s unfathomable that anyone would care enough to be angry. No one has ever been angry on her behalf before.

“An aunt,” she finally lies, just so he’ll stop looking at her like that. “She raised me. She’s dead now.”

“Pity,” the Doctor grumbles, and she almost smiles.

“She was just trying to do what was best for me.” River swallows, thinking of Kovarian’s many and varied punishments. “She was… a strong woman. She wanted to make me stronger. Like her. That’s not wrong, is it?”

For a moment, the Doctor looks angry all over again. When she looks down, his knuckles are white around the edge of the table. Then his grip loosens and he sighs. She looks up again and his whole face has softened, except for his eyes which are just as intense and focused as always. “It doesn’t take strength to hurt someone, River. It takes weakness. Cowardice.” He licks his lips. “And clearly she failed. You’re nothing like her.”

River breathes in, her heart skipping a beat. It takes her a moment to understand the rush of relief for what it is and she shakes her head, breathing out, “I never realized.”

The Doctor frowns. “What?”

“How much I wanted to hear that.”

She can tell he wants to but the Doctor doesn’t try to touch her. He’s been very careful not to ever since she rebuffed him. But his eyes are soft and when he looks at her, it’s almost like a caress anyway. “You’re strong and brave, River. You’re nothing like her.”

She looks down at her hands, the poison sitting on her windowsill heavy on her mind, and wishes she could believe him. Kovarian had made her too closely in her image. She’ll never escape that. Who could ever love a beast?

The moment the thought enters her head, she feels the soft brush of the Doctor’s magic against her cheek. She stiffens on instinct, her own magic roaring in warning inside her, ready to strike. But the gentle tendrils of his magic do nothing but tuck a wayward curl behind her ear before it fades away. She feels as dizzy and breathless as if the Doctor had reached out and touched her himself but he’d never even lifted a finger.

“And just so we’re clear, I wasn’t going to hit you,” he says quietly, firmly. “I would never hurt you, do you understand?”

Pulse beating a rapid tattoo against her throat, River swallows and nods shakily.

Apparently satisfied, the Doctor returns to his potion and she struggles to breathe properly again. “What kind of arsehole lays a hand on a child,” he grumbles to himself, scowling as he stirs.

Thinking briefly of Kovarian’s cold smile and the feel of blood red nails digging into her little girl wrists, River murmurs, “Some people are rubbish, remember?”

The Doctor snorts and looks up, his eyes light once more and his smile utterly pleased. “I remember.”

She smiles back, tentative and unpracticed as it is, and watches the Doctor go back to working on his cure. He looks utterly intent on his task, brow furrowed in concentration, and her mind once again turns to her own doubts. There’s only one way to tell if the Doctor had created the curse or if it had been Kovarian all along. “It must have a loophole. The curse, I mean.”

“Of course it does,” he mutters. “All curses have loopholes but they’re not all the same. Depends on the caster.”

“What do you use?”

“Hope.” At her puzzled glance, he sighs. “I’ve never created a curse I didn’t secretly want broken, even during the war. So I used a loophole that wouldn’t be easily squashed. There is surprisingly, always hope.” He won’t meet River’s awed stare, looking away with a frown. “But I have no idea what someone as wicked as Kovarian would use.”

Shaking herself, River stops staring at him and begins fiddling with the empty potion vials on his cluttered workbench. “I’m sure someone like her would want to use something she didn’t believe would ever work. Something she’d never believe strong enough to break any curse.”

“Love?” The Doctor asks, snorting. “I don’t think that woman has ever loved anything…” He trails off, eyes widening. When he looks at River and finds her watching him encouragingly, he breathes in sharply. “Love. She would use love.”

“Seems reasonable,” River mutters, wondering if she’ll regret this even as she watches the Doctor grin with sudden insight. If Kovarian’s loophole works on the Malignant then she’ll know her entire life has been a lie. Kidnapped and abused and indoctrinated for a lie. A part of her would rather never know but not at the expense of a child. Not another one.

“You,” the Doctor says, already scrambling for his notebook and a quill pen, “are a sodding genius.” He looks up, grin widening, and the corresponding glow that emanates in her chest feels remarkably close to light magic.

Chapter Text

Weeks pass and River grows more comfortable in the Doctor’s presence and in his house every day. When it had all started, she’d been determined to play a part and get the Doctor to trust her, waiting for the right moment to strike. She had been so eager to end his life and get out but everything feels different now. She doesn’t spend her days contemplating her mission or constantly watching for one of Kovarian’s messenger birds. Some days, she barely thinks of Kovarian at all.

The poison continues to rest on the windowsill beside her bed but she gives it little thought. She’s far too preoccupied helping the Doctor research a cure for the Malignant curse and exploring the rest of his little blue house that never seems to run out of rooms. It also never runs out of things to say.

Squeak.

River glances up at the kitchen cupboard as she butters her toast. “Excuse me but I don’t believe I asked your opinion on my dietary habits, thank you.”

Creak.

She huffs. “But I don’t want jam – I want butter.”

Creeakk.

“Make me.”

Squeak. Creak.

Grumbling under her breath, River reaches for the jar of jam on the kitchen table and uses her butter knife to scoop some out onto her toast. She slathers it over the bread with exaggerated, annoyed motions and then drops the toast back onto her plate. “There, happy?”

The cupboard offers a cheerful squeak.

River glares, biting viciously into her toast and mumbling around a mouthful, “Honestly, what are you, my mother?”

The cupboard bangs shut.

“Dictating your breakfast again?”

She whirls and finds the Doctor lounging in the doorway, dressed for the day in a wrinkled suit, his gray hair rumpled from sleep. He hasn’t had his morning cup of tea yet but he looks as if he’s in a good mood regardless, his eyes sleepy and content as he watches her exchange an annoyed glance with his cupboard.

“She’s terribly opinionated for such a small house,” River says, turning back to her breakfast.

The sight of him so content, without a trace of that usual furrow between his brows, combined with the easy camaraderie between them unsettles her. Sometimes she thinks she might be starting to genuinely enjoy his company and it’s a terrifying thought. There’s no denying the Doctor can be strangely charming but she’s supposed to be above falling prey to him.

Clearing her throat, she says, “There’s still some hot water in the kettle if you want some tea.”

Making a pleased noise, the Doctor ventures into the kitchen and pulls a mug from the cupboard, offering it an affectionate pat. Out of the corner of her eye, River watches him prepare his tea, perplexed by his good humor. She’s almost grown used to the Doctor’s strange moods and his dry humor but never is he quite this bearable so early in the morning.

Squinting at him, she munches on her toast and asks, “What’s the matter with you?”

In the middle of stirring an obscene amount of sugar into his tea, he looks up and frowns. His hands fall away from his cup but his spoon keeps on stirring without him and sugar cubes lift from the pile and drop into his cup without any help at all. “What?”

River looks away from the ridiculous spectacle. “You’re…cheerful. For you, anyway.”

Instead of looking insulted, he says smugly, “It’s finished.”

“What is? Your sanity?”

He huffs. “The cure. For Luke’s strain of the curse.”

River sets down her last piece of toast and stares at him. “It works?”

He nods, eyes crinkling. “After you retired for the night, I couldn’t sleep so I tinkered with it a bit.” Well, that explains the state of his suit. He’d likely fallen asleep at his workbench wearing it. “I’ve been trying for weeks to figure out what sort of love could break a centuries old curse but I’m thick and I finally realized last night I don’t need to break the whole curse to help Luke. I just need to break his.”

“All right,” she says, barely breathing. “So you narrowed it down to what, exactly?”

“His mother, obviously.” The Doctor waves a hand at her. “I used a tear. Her tear. A happy one.”

River blinks at him. “What were you doing with his mother’s tear?”

“I used to take samples from all of my companions – hair, tears, blood. Never know what sort of ingredients you’re going to need.” He scowls at her incredulous look. “Piss off with the judging face. Clearly, I was right.”

Snorting, River turns and picks up her tea. Her hand shakes so she sets it back down again and swallows. “So you used the tear…?”

“Ah, right. Dropped it in a typical curse-breaking potion, and with a wee bit of fiddling, voila -” He wrinkles his nose. “That was rubbish. Scots should never speak French. Remind me if I forget. Anyway, it worked.”

“So love was the loophole then,” she says faintly. “In Luke’s case, a mother’s love.”

She closes her eyes when the Doctor nods. Kovarian had been the one behind the Malignant after all. Using love as the loophole had always been her signature. After years of pounding it into River’s head – sometimes literally – that the Doctor had created that awful curse, and the whole time she had been the one to unleash it on innocent people. And if she had lied about that, what else had she lied about? Everything?

Gripping the edge of the counter, River struggles to keep her voice even as she opens her eyes and says, “Congratulations, Doctor. You did it.”

“We did.” The Doctor smiles too then, that rare grin so wide it startles her every time. It makes him look years younger and she can’t help but compare the man in front of her with the scowling old wizard who had opened his door to her that first night.

Every time he smiles at her like that, she thinks inexplicably of the poison awaiting him on her windowsill and guilt makes her stomach pitch. What if he doesn’t even deserve it? What if he isn’t the enemy at all? She glances away, swallowing. “Mind if I take a look at the finished product?”

He shrugs, adding one more sugar to his tea for good measure and ignoring her eyeroll. “Of course, that doesn’t mean the curse as a whole has been destroyed. I’d have to go to the source for that and who knows where the hell that witch is. But I can cure individuals with the right ingredients and that’s a start. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Teacup in hand, he turns and starts for his workshop without a backwards glance, leaving River to shake off her newfound revelation and follow after him. His workshop is in such a state of disorganization that if she hadn’t been able to tell by his suit that he’d never been to bed, the mess she walks into would have been telling enough. She stops in the doorway and glances around at the bubbling potions, upended bottles, and heaps of dusty books lying open on every spare surface.

She raises an eyebrow and the Doctor scowls. “You can’t expect me to clean up when I’m being clever.”

“Oh, of course not,” she says dryly. “I wouldn’t dare impose cleanliness on genius at work. I imagine your little house has something to say about the mess though.” She tips her head back and regards the ceiling fondly. “Isn’t that right?”

Beneath their feet, the floor creaks ominously.

The Doctor pales.

River stifles a bout of laughter and translates, “I think that means you’d better pick up your toys, Doctor.”

Grumbling about having two nagging women when he never asked for any at all, the Doctor starts clearing bottles from his worktable. “Needed to tidy up anyway,” he says, as though no one is making him do anything he hadn’t wanted to do. “I sent the boy’s mother a message. They should be here by afternoon.”

Humming, River pushes up the sleeves of her dress and starts picking up the books scattered over the room. If she leaves him to it on his own, he’ll never finish. Or he’ll make a proper mess of it and she’ll have to go after him fixing everything. Might as well get it right the first time.

She carries a stack of heavy tomes across the room to the Doctor’s cluttered shelves and starts slipping them in where the belong, ignoring the clatter of empty potions bottles as the Doctor tidies his workspace. Every Gallifreyan Child’s ABC Guide To Infectious Diseases goes right alongside Flesh Eating Trees Anthology Volume II, then Basic Spells and Hexes next to 15th Century Poisons for the Modern Wizard. She pauses at that one, staring at the title until she feels nauseated.

Shoving the rest of the books back on the shelf and not bothering about their proper order, she whirls away from it and makes her way toward the worktable where the Doctor stands peering into a bubbling potion. He seems to have abandoned any notion of cleaning up, distracted by whatever has caught his attention in that pot.

“Doctor?”

“Hmm?” He answers absently.

She swallows, lacing her trembling hands together. “What do you know about poison taken from the Judas Tree?”

This catches his attention and he looks up from his current distraction, blue eyes widened in surprise. River does her best to summon a faintly curious expression rather than wretchedly guilty and considering Kovarian had taught her most every method of deception, she does a fairly decent job. After a moment of scrutinizing her, the Doctor asks, “Where did you hear about that?”

“It was in one of your books,” she lies, knowing the Doctor has a book on just about everything. “It sounded interesting.”

“Interesting doesn’t begin to cover it,” he says, finally directing his intense gaze elsewhere. “Nasty bugger. It paralyzes the magic in a person, makes them vulnerable to anyone and anything that might mean them harm. And that isn’t even the end of it – the poison doesn’t just paralyze the magic, it attacks it. Destroys it.”

River feels her mouth grow dry. “Destroys it?”

The Doctor nods, only half paying attention to their conversation as he pokes at the potion brewing on the table. “For people without inherent magic, people who learned it but weren’t born with it, it just means they’ll never be able to use magic again. Devastating, of course, but they’ll live.”

River stares at her hands and barely hears her own question over the thundering of her heart in her ears. “And the others? The people born with it?”

“Well, they can’t live without it, obviously.” The Doctor tosses a sprinkling of licorice root into the potion and waves a hand at the flame burning under the pot until it’s only simmering. “It’s a part of them. Taking magic from them is like sawing them in half. When the magic dies, so do they.”

“And…” She licks her lips, avoiding his gaze. “Which type are you?”

“I’m from the house of Gallifrey. Magic is in my blood.”

She’d expected it, of course. Kovarian would know that there was no defeating the Doctor as long as he had his magic. The only way to eradicate him is to strip him of what makes him so powerful. River will have to dose him with the poison and if he’s very lucky, she’ll kill him before the poison finishes its job.

Still, she can’t help hoping… “Is there a cure?”

The Doctor smiles faintly. “They say nothing can stop the poison of the Judas Tree but True Love’s Kiss.”

River looks away, her heart sinking into her stomach. “There’s no such thing.”

Eyes dark, the Doctor only says, “Careful, you’re starting to sound like Kovarian.” He says nothing when she visibly recoils, just taps his fingers against the top of his workbench and watches her in silence for a moment. “I’ve answered your question, now you answer something for me.”

“Is that a demand?”

He shrugs. “A polite request.”

“You’re never polite.”

“Alright, an impolite one then.” He sighs. “Are you ever going to tell me what the hell you were doing wandering about in a snowstorm in the middle of night?”

Her breath catches and she lowers her eyes to stare at her hands. Before Kovarian had unleashed her on the snow-covered forest and forced her to make her way to the Doctor’s house in the storm, she had drilled a cover story into River’s head until she could recite it from memory and under torture. That story waits on the tip of her tongue now but she struggles to muster the will to lie to the Doctor. His heavy gaze is on her and she has a feeling he would see right through whatever she told him anyway.

She opens her mouth, not quite sure what’s going to come out –

“Doctor?”

They both start at the small voice, turning toward the doorway to find a boy standing there with a grin, clinging to the hand of his mother. The Doctor straightens and waves at them, smiling gently. “Luke, hello.”

The boy waves enthusiastically but his mother grips his hand, looking faintly embarrassed. “Terribly sorry to barge in. He was just so excited -”

“Course he is.” The Doctor frowns. “But how did the two of you get in?”

Still pink-cheeked, the woman shrugs. “The door was unlocked.”

Casting a glance at the ceiling, the Doctor mutters, “Wench.”

The house gives a merry creak.

Sighing, the Doctor slips his hands into his pockets and crouches in front of the little boy to look him in the eye. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” Luke admits. “You live too far away, Doctor.”

His mother pats him on the head. “Even short distances on the sled tire him out now. I tried to get him to stay home while I made the trip but he wanted to see you.”

The Doctor ruffles Luke’s hair. “Well, soon enough you’ll be running circles around your mother. You’ll follow the instructions like a good lad, won’t you?”

The boy nods solemnly and River stares. She’s never seen the Doctor quite so gentle before, as though he’s doing his best to soften that Scottish growl and those gruff mannerisms to put the boy at ease.

“Suppose you’ll want entertained while my lovely assistant fetches that potion for you.” He glances back at River but it’s the mother who catches her attention. She stares at River with her mouth open, gazing quickly between her and the Doctor with hope shining in her eyes. When he catches her gaping, the Doctor shakes his head. “Don’t read anything into it.”

Luke’s mother latches onto his arm. “But -”

“I don’t do that anymore,” the Doctor interrupts, glaring. When the woman drops her hand and nods, looking defeated, he turns his attention back to the little boy. “Now, what would you like today?”

Luke positively lights up, his thin and weary face suddenly animated in a way that melts even River’s heart, though she has no particular fondness for children. At least she doesn’t think she has. She’s never been around them before. But even she finds herself smiling as Luke requests politely, “Dragons please, Doctor.”

As she turns to the worktable and picks up an empty potion bottle to ladle the cure into, she keeps an eye on the Doctor and Luke. They crouch beside the fireplace, though the Doctor makes sure the boy stays far enough away not to burn himself. She watches, puzzled, as the Doctor waves a hand toward the fire and suddenly the flames twist and morph, coming to life before her eyes.

Dragons.

Red-hot dragons made of fire dance in the flames, soaring in the hearth, flapping their flaming wings. Luke giggles, clapping in delight. His whole face is lit up in the warm glow of the fireplace and even his tired, worried mother standing beside them smiles. River stares too, watching the Doctor continue to coax his magic into making shapes in the fire. She’d never been allowed to play with her magic like that, not even as a child. Her magic had one purpose and only one – fun was not it.

Turning away from the happy scene, she pours the last of the potion into the glass vial and rummages through the Doctor’s chaotic workspace until she finds a stopper, corking it tightly. She seals the Doctor’s meticulous instructions around the bottle and turns again just in time to watch the last dragon fly dangerously close to Luke’s gleeful face before shimmering out of existence entirely.

The boy claps and requests, “Again!”

His mother laughs and helps him to his feet. “Not today, dear. I believe the Doctor’s assistant has your medicine.”

River nods, offering Luke the elixir. “You’ll be all better in no time.”

He beams at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Doctor’s assistant.”

The Doctor snorts.

Refusing to look at him, she smiles weakly and says, “You can call me River.”

“Thank you. Both of you.” Luke’s mother squeezes the Doctor’s arm and asks softly, “What do I owe you?”

River watches as the Doctor huffs and brushes her away. “Nothing. Get out.”

“Doctor -”

“I don’t take money and you know it. Don’t insult me, Sarah Jane.” He waves a hand and ushers her away when she tries to hug him. “Now go, give your boy his medicine and use that money to get him into a good school so one day he can make his own damn dragons.”

She sighs, her eyes filled with tears and gratitude as she turns to her son. “Tell the Doctor thank you, Luke.”

Instantly, the boy lurches forward and throws himself at the Doctor’s legs, wrapping his arms around his knees. His voice is muffled as he says, “Thank you for making my cure, Doctor.”

River breathes in and suddenly it’s impossible to think of anything but they say nothing can stop the poison of the Judas Tree but True Love’s Kiss. In front of her, the Doctor hesitantly pats Luke atop the head and glances at River with a helpless sort of desperation in his eyes. She hides a smile but doesn’t rescue him from the boy’s tight embrace.

In her head, Kovarian hisses who could ever love a beast?

-

It only takes a week for word to spread that the Doctor had found a cure for a little boy with a strain of the malignant curse. River wanders downstairs one morning in her dressing gown and there are strangers in the parlour, foraging for food in the kitchen, and waiting in huddles outside the Doctor’s workshop. They spare her only a passing glance as she pushes past them all and into the Doctor’s lab, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and gray hair rumpled, the Doctor stands amidst scattered books and potion ingredients, bubbling concoctions stirring themselves, the scent of them mixing in the air and creating a strange but not unpleasant smell. When he looks up and sees her, the Doctor nearly sags in relief. “Good, you’re up.” He shakes a few drops of some sort of oil into a potion and coughs when it starts to emit purple smoke. “I need your help.”

“Clearly,” she says, raising a brow as she takes in his disheveled clothes and the dark circles under his eyes, the harried expression on his cantankerous face. “Did you even go to bed last night?”

“Couldn’t,” he says, distracted as he peers into the still smoking potion. “People started arriving in droves, like sodding cattle. Now, I need you to go talk to them. Figure out what their cure is.”

She blinks. “Cure?”

“For the curse,” he explains tersely. “It’ll work faster if you find out the cure and I make it.”

“They’re all here for that?” She turns to stare at the door behind her in disbelief. “Doctor, we’ll never be able to help them all.”

“And what would you have me do?” The Doctor huffs, impatient. “Turn them away?”

Some people might, she almost says. But she already knows what he’d say to that. Rubbish.

With a sigh, she leaves the Doctor to his work and slips her blue notebook from the folds of her dress. Everyone looks up when she opens the door again but seeing that it isn’t the Doctor with more cures, most people lose interest quickly. River slips open her book and summons a quill from the Doctor’s pocket, smirking to herself at the thought of his grumbling later when he finds it missing.

“All right,” she says, flipping open her book. “Who hasn’t the Doctor seen to yet?”

Within hearing distance, twenty people stand up.

The process for just one person and one cure takes hours – studying the strain of the virus, determining what sort of love would be best to break the curse, and then the trial and error of finding just the right ingredient. People and relationships are so complicated and sometimes the answer is easy – like a drop of a child’s blood in the potion of her ailing elderly mother – but often, it isn’t at all what they think it’s going to be.

Sometimes love comes in strange forms, like the man whose only companion is a mangy dog with floppy ears and a wagging tail. The Doctor takes one look at the animal curled up protectively on his owner’s lap and asks for a sample of his hair. He keeps finding cures, even for people who don’t believe they have anyone who loves them.

It rings all too true for River and as she watches him cure every last person, she can’t help but wonder what would happen to her if she caught the curse. How long would it be before the Doctor exhausted all possibilities and realized there was one person he couldn’t save?

The crowd starts to dwindle to a more manageable size by nightfall and River opens the door to usher out another successfully cured villager only to find a priest waiting in the corridor, wringing his hands. As he follows her into the Doctor’s workshop, he says, “My work calls for me to live quite an isolated life. I have no family, no wife or children.” He fiddles with his rosary. “I have my parishioners of course but I’m afraid the only one who truly loves me is God.”

Leaning against his workbench and listening, the Doctor looks tired but a little less harried than he had this morning. He looks at River, his eyes bleary and his shirt stained with various potions. “What do you think?” He asks, a weary smile tugging at his mouth. “Can his God save him, River?”

She glares, wondering if he’s testing her or just too damn tired to come up with an answer. Without looking at the fidgeting priest beside her, she says, “Give me your Bible, Father.”

He doesn’t make a fuss, handing it over with only one admonition. “Do be careful with it. It’s my dearest possession.”

Looking pleased, the Doctor watches her open the book and only says, “Use the last page. Hate an ending.”

Carefully, River tears the thin, delicate page from the binding, ignoring the priest’s coughing fit. Handing it to the Doctor, she says, “That should do it.”

“Clever clogs,” the Doctor mutters, and drops the page into the potion.

They work well into the morning hours to make each person an individual cure and River watches the Doctor as he labors over each one, tireless in his efforts. She watches him question every person with only a bit of grumbling and sarcasm, watches him work without a break and without sleep to make sure no one leaves his home without a cure for the curse she’d thought he created in the first place.

By the time the last person walks away cured and River has to guide an exhausted but triumphant Scottish wizard upstairs and into bed, there is no longer any doubt in her mind about his goodness.

Chapter Text

When the Doctor first took her in, River spent most of her evenings in her room waiting for one of Kovarian’s messenger birds to deliver instructions. More recently, she’s taken to spending her evenings in the parlour with the Doctor, especially since the last several weeks have been spent concocting individual cures for every person who comes to them sick with the malignant curse. It’s relaxing to unwind in front of the fire, practicing making shapes in the flames while the Doctor lounges on the settee and scorns her attempts over the pages of whatever book he’s pretending to read.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

She doesn’t bother looking up from the fire, squinting into the flames and trying to make a dragon just as impressive as the Doctor’s had been. She doesn’t know why but she always finds it maddening when he’s better at something than she is. “Of course I am. That’s why I’m practicing.”

“Well learn faster,” he mutters. “It’s painful to watch.”

She huffs, dropping her hands and letting the misshapen dragon fall away back into the flames. “I can make them move about perfectly but the shapes aren’t right. They’re muddled.”

“Anyone can create shapes and make them move. It’s called shadow puppets.” The Doctor scoffs. “It’s the detail that counts, River.”

Turning to scowl at him over her shoulder, River says, “If you’re so brilliant, why don’t you advise me?”

“I would if I thought you would listen.” He smirks. “I can’t believe you never learned how to play with fire. I thought all tots learned that before they could toddle.”

She frowns. “Luke didn’t know how.”

“Luke wasn’t born with magic.”

“And what makes you think I was?”

The Doctor eyes her for a long moment before he admits grudgingly, “You’re too clever.”

Technically, he isn’t wrong. She wasn’t born with magic but when Kovarian had stolen her away in her infancy, she’d done something to her. River still isn’t sure what the dark ritual consisted of but the witch had weaved magic into River’s blood. She had to in order to ensure River would be powerful enough to one day kill the Doctor. She’d bound the dark so tightly into her soul that River will never be rid of it. It’s a part of her now just as surely as the Doctor’s magic is a part of him.

She looks away back into the fire and asks, “Cleverer than you?”

Though she doesn’t turn to look, she can hear the smile in the Doctor’s voice as he says, “Almost.”

“And when I learn to make these bloody fire shapes?”

“You’ll be my unparalleled equal,” he says dryly.

River laughs softly and conjures another dragon.

They spend a few minutes in silence, the only sounds between them the rustle of pages in the Doctor’s book and the crackling of the fire as River continues to make shapes out of the flames. With every figure she conjures, the dragon grows more detailed and she’s starting to suspect it only takes a bit of practice and not any actual talent, no matter what the Doctor says.

When she’s very nearly satisfied with her progress, she drops her hands and lets the magic fade from her fingertips but she doesn’t turn around. She stares into the flames and licks her lips, conscious of the Doctor’s gaze lingering on her back. She can feel his eyes on her, like a pinprick of light piercing darkness. “Why did she look at me like that?”

“Who?”

“That woman – Sarah Jane. She gave me the strangest look when she was here…”

“Maybe she’s never seen hair that big before.”

River glowers at him over her shoulder. “I will enchant this dragon blob to chase you around the room, old man.”

He blanches, eyebrows drawing together and the corners of his mouth tugging into an affronted frown. After taking a moment to assess that she is indeed serious, he finally grumbles, “She thought I had taken on another companion.”

She’d read of his companions in that book in the library but she raises an eyebrow and smirks like she has no idea what he’s talking of. “Companion? Sounds naughty.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s what I called my students. They were apprentices of a sort.” His gaze drifts back to his book and he explains to the pages rather than her. “I used to take them on, teach them. Sarah Jane was one.”

“Used to?” River rises slowly to her feet and approaches the settee, heart in her throat. The Doctor is in a strangely indulgent mood tonight and she can’t help but feel this might be her only opportunity to hear what happened all those years ago from the man himself. “Why don’t you anymore?”

The Doctor grits his teeth, his eyes narrowing as though he’s trying to burn a hole through his book with the power of his gaze. River waits patiently and finally he answers with a gruff, “Because I let my guard down and it cost two of my companions dearly.”

River swallows, sitting gingerly on the settee beside him. “Tell me.”

He lifts his eyes from the page then, wounded and glaring as he snarls, “Why should I?”

Slowly, she tugs the book from his grip and closes it, setting it aside. “Because I’m asking you to,” she whispers. “And I think you want to tell me.” Meeting his gaze calmly, she watches as the fury fades from his expression and leaves nothing but a weary old man with a very heavy weight on his shoulders.

He bends over, elbows on his knees, and stares into the fire. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the dark sorceress Kovarian.”

She bites back a hysterical giggle. “I have but I don’t know much about her.”

Not untrue. It becomes clearer to her every day that she knows nothing about the woman who raised her, except the lies she was fed from birth.

“She thought I was dangerous, too powerful. She feared me and what I was capable of – the things I’d done during the war. I… wasn’t a good man then. I couldn’t afford to be. And it was very easy to convince myself I was doing the wrong things for the right reasons.” The Doctor studies his hands and River tries to pretend she doesn’t understand exactly how he feels. “I tried to do good after the war to make up for the things I’d done in the name of justice. But there were still those that feared me.”

“Like Kovarian,” River supplies softly, watching the Doctor nod.

“Aye, like Kovarian.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “She wasn’t quite powerful enough to defeat me, though she certainly tried. Slaughtered my entire village, my family…” He stops abruptly, swallowing. “I encouraged her by retaliating in my grief. I murdered every single one of her magi in cold blood. Didn’t even use magic to do it – that’s how angry I was.”

She can picture him, the dark wizard she’d heard about all her life, wading through blood and broken bodies. It’s somewhat of a comfort to know Kovarian hadn’t lied about everything.

“Things were quiet for a while after that. I thought Kovarian had finally given up and I picked up the pieces and moved on. Tried to be better.” He stares sightlessly into the fire and River knows he isn’t seeing the flames at all. He looks far away, like he’s living the memories all over again in vivid detail. “I took on two companions – a husband and wife.”

Her parents.

“They had a little girl.”

River draws in a breath and holds it.

“Just a wee thing but I could tell she was going to be feisty like her mother.” The Doctor smiles distantly, a faint grin full of such pain that there is suddenly no doubt in River’s mind he had searched far and wide for the Pond’s lost little girl. “She liked pulling my hair.”

Chest aching, she whispers, “What happened to her?”

The Doctor clenches his jaw. “Didn’t you already read about this when you broke into my library?”

“I want to hear it from you,” she says, watching him intently. “Tell me what happened to her.”

“Kovarian took her to punish me.” The Doctor cuts his eyes to her, vicious and glaring. “I tore entire villages apart looking for her but she was gone like she’d never even existed. My best friends lost their only child because I was a murderer who needed to be punished. And that’s the sort of man you’ve been living with so if you’ve any notions of me being a kind old wizard who lives in the woods and gives out free cures to children then you’d do well to remember that.”

River stares into his eyes, her heart in her throat. It’s one thing to read about all of this in a book in the library and quite another to see the guilt in the Doctor’s eyes and hear the pain in his voice. He isn’t a bogeyman in a storybook come to life any longer. He’s a living, breathing man who had made mistakes and done his best to make things right. He had lost her and failed her parents and he’s been living in anguish and regret ever since.

Refusing to meet her stare, the Doctor snaps almost victoriously, like he’d known this was coming all along. “Scared you away now, haven’t I?”

River shakes her head and blinks the tears from her eyes, startling the Doctor into silence by moving closer. “Quite the opposite, sweetie.” He doesn’t move, frozen in place as she hesitantly takes his face into her hands. He blinks at her in surprise and her throat tightens when she sees the hope in his gaze, like there might truly be someone who could bear the weight of his sins without collapsing under it.

She wishes she could tell him that he hadn’t lost her, not really. She’s right in front of him and she doesn’t blame him for any of it. She wants to tell him Kovarian was wrong about him. She wants to tell him there’s nothing to forgive and he can stop seeking penance in her name but everything she wants to say stays lodged in her throat and she knows now is not the time.

So she does the only other thing she can think of – she kisses him.

She expects him to recoil, to pay her back for when she had rebuffed him by shoving her away now. He’ll snarl something cutting before storming off to lick his wounds in private. Ever contradictory, the Doctor does the opposite of what she expects. He kisses her back. Melting into her, the Doctor wraps his arms around her and clutches her to him, leaning back into the settee cushions and pulling her with him. He kisses her like he’s been waiting to do just that and maybe he has. Maybe if she had let him, he would have stolen her breath weeks ago just like he’s doing now, his mouth open eagerly and his teeth sinking into her lip.

River threads her fingers through his hair and straddles his waist, refusing to stop and think about what she’s doing and how very much this changes absolutely everything. For now, she can taste the hot spark of magic and kindling on the Doctor’s tongue and he’s clinging to her like she can save him from his demons. She cradles him to her, her mouth slanting hotly against his again and again and she’s never been gentle before but she thinks her hands can learn for him.

The Doctor gasps against her cheek, his breath and body trembling as he douses the light around the room with a wave of his hand. Only the fire remains but it’s more than enough to see the reverence in his eyes as he gazes up at her. No one has ever looked at her with such warmth and faith, like she’s some kind of savior instead of their worst nightmare.

Who could ever love a beast?

River strokes her fingertips over the Doctor’s cheek and thinks maybe me.

-

It’s snowing again when she wakes but as River stares out the window at it from the safety of a warm bed, she doesn’t feel the chill in the air. She’s bare beneath the sheets, her skin still sticky with sweat and her body sore but it’s impossible to be uncomfortable with the Doctor’s arms wrapped around her and his quiet, even breaths in her ear.

He’s surprisingly peaceful when he sleeps. After she’d caught him having a nightmare in the early days of her time here, she’d assumed a man with a past like the Doctor’s would never rest easy. She wonders briefly if her presence might have something to do with his unfurrowed brow and that small smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. The thought makes her bite back a grin of her own and she shifts onto her side to stare down at him as he slumbers.

She never thought she’d be the type to want to watch her lover sleep but she finds she can’t look away. She wants to reach out a hand and trace her fingertips over his features until she knows every line of his face by heart. If only Kovarian could see her now, she thinks wryly. Her smile turns hollow as she thinks of the old witch hellbent on destroying the man beside her.

The man she suddenly feels fiercely protective of.

There is no going back now. She is lost forever to the Doctor’s odd brand of charm, the kindness he offers so awkwardly to others, and his compelling mix of light and dark. The way he looks at her like he’s drowning and she’s the only one capable of saving him. Even if she wanted to turn back, Kovarian would consider her a traitor once she discovered what River had done. And she always finds out.

There will be no stopping the old witch. She’d been desperate enough to kidnap a child and play a long game, waiting in the shadows for just the right moment to put an end to the Doctor. She won’t stop now just because River has defected. She has one disadvantage now though. She’d created a monster who knows all of her secrets and all of her strategies. River knows how Kovarian operates and she’ll use that knowledge to protect the Doctor with her last breath.

As long as she breathes, Kovarian will never lay a hand on him.

Strangely calm now that she’s chosen a side, River gazes down at the Doctor and presses a kiss to his forehead. He flings out an arm in his sleep when she slips from his bed, as if he knows instinctively that he’s alone now and he’s searching for her. His brow furrows and as River picks up his shirt from the floor and slips it on, she watches as the content expression gradually fades and a troubled frown replaces it. She reaches out and lightly caresses his cheek until he settles again and there’s so much warmth and fondness in her chest she wonders how she can bear it.

“Back soon, sweetie,” she whispers.

She sneaks through the darkened corridor with all the stealth of a woman trained since childhood to go unnoticed, not making a sound as she slinks to her room and pushes open the door. Moonlight spills in through the window and illuminates the bottle still waiting on her windowsill.

Staring at it with a lump in her throat, River clenches her jaw. Just the sight of it makes her sick with guilt and she wants the damned thing gone. Moving quickly across the room, she snatches it up and opens her window. Usually, it won’t budge without a struggle but tonight the house seems to be on her side. The window slides open easily and without a sound.

Cold, biting wind slaps her in the face instantly, stealing the breath from her lungs. Gasping, River pulls the stopper and leans out the window, tipping the bottle and watching as the Judas Tree poison spills out onto the ground below. It eats through several feet of powdery snow like acid, exposing the barren ground beneath. Even the dead grass turns to ash the moment the poison touches it. Nothing will ever grow there again.

Shoving aside vivid mental images of what the vile stuff could have done to the Doctor if she’d actually gone through with it, River tosses out the empty bottle for good measure and shuts the window again. Shivering violently, she wraps the Doctor’s shirt tighter around her frame and pads slowly back down the corridor.

He’s still sleeping when she slips into his room and sheds his shirt. Shuddering from the cold, she eagerly climbs beneath the blankets again and presses her freezing skin against the Doctor’s warm body. He groans in his sleep, mutters something rude, and reaches for her. He wraps his arms around her and sleeps on and it’s ironic, River thinks as she rests her head on his shoulder – the bed of her greatest enemy is the place where she finally feels safe.

-

When she wakes again, the sun has finally risen and she’s alone in the Doctor’s bed. The space beside her is cool when she strokes her fingers over his pillow. She listens for a moment and hears him downstairs, talking to the kitchen cupboard.

Smiling to herself, River slips out of bed and begins foraging for her clothes on the floor. It takes her longer than it should and she scurries about collecting her clothing with good-natured grumbling about the over-enthusiastic idiot she’d spent the night with. She throws on her underthings and slips her gown back over her head, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles as she moves toward the door.

She catches sight of herself in the mirror hanging over the Doctor’s dressing table and pauses. She hardly recognizes herself. She looks nothing like the assassin she knows she is. She has no dark circles under her eyes from sleep deprivation. She gets plenty of sleep now, in a warm, soft bed every night. Her eyes are bright and she’s very nearly smiling, her cheeks flushed with good health. The dress doesn’t hang awkwardly on her frame from infrequent meals but instead clings to her new curves. In this dress, she doesn’t feel like Kovarian’s weapon. She feels like a woman.

“River doesn’t want jam, you glorified rubbish bin. Now stop it before I nail you shut.”

Faintly, she hears the cupboard’s cheeky reply in a high-pitched squeak.

Smothering a laugh, River turns from the mirror and leaves the room, heading downstairs for breakfast humming to herself. The Doctor looks up from a tray filled with food and a little cup holding a flower, obviously caught in the middle of making her breakfast. River stops in the doorway, fingers curling tight around the frame, and stares at him.

In his dressing gown and slippers, flour in his hair and egg yolk staining his robe the Doctor looks well rested and disturbingly domestic. He’s been up who knows how long preparing to surprise her and he’s looking at her now with a mix of embarrassment and adoration that makes her breath catch. She stares back at him, a lump in her throat, and thinks of poison she’d only just thrown out and you were made for war and you think you’re any better?

“You woke her.” The Doctor tosses a glare at the cupboard over his shoulder. He turns back to River, avoiding her gaze and poking at a flower petal. “I was going to bring you breakfast. Apparently it’s supposed to be romantic but -”

“What do I need romance for?” She blinks, moving to the stove to pick up the kettle and slipping right past him, refusing to look at him or touch him. “It was just a shag, Doctor. No need to get clingy.”

Behind her, the Doctor is quiet and River bites her lip, pouring hot water into a cup she retrieves from the reproachfully silent cupboard. It’s for the best – she’s been molded all of her life into an unlovable creature with only one purpose and she could never make the Doctor happy. He could never truly care for someone like her.

“Is that what it was to you?” He finally asks, voice somehow soft and gruff at once. “Just a shag? Because last night -”

“Last night was lovely,” she interrupts, refusing to think of how he’d held her, how she’d kissed him with passion and tenderness she’d never thought herself capable of. “But it was just a bit of fun. A new way to pass the time until spring, if you like.”

“Right,” he relents, halting and brusque. He believes her. She breathes out quietly in relief. “My mistake.”

“No, I clearly gave you the wrong impression.” She shrugs and when she thinks of Kovarian and Renfrew and defeat a monster with a monster, it’s easy to say, “I’m not the commitment sort of girl.”

There’s a new ache in her chest but she ignores it for now, preparing her tea with deceptively steady hands as she listens to the Doctor push aside the sweet-smelling breakfast tray and stalk from the room. He’ll lock himself in his workshop for the day and lick his wounds in private but he’ll get over it and everything will be fine.

It’ll all be fine, she tells herself. Just as long as he doesn’t ever get too close.

Chapter Text

The awkwardness between them is far worse now than it had ever been after the Doctor’s failed attempt to kiss her or when he caught her in his library. She hardly ever sees him anymore and when she does, she has a feeling it’s entirely by accident. He always looks surprised to see her and he can never quite bring himself to look directly at her. The Doctor is doing his best to avoid her and she’d known it would be difficult for a few days but she’d been so sure they would find their way back to a comfortable relationship again. He likes having someone to grumble at far too much to keep his distance for long.

But it’s been nearly two weeks and so far she sees no sign that the Doctor plans on looking her in the eye again any time soon. He spends his days in his workshop and apparently eats in there too and in the evenings, he retires to bed early instead of sitting with her in the parlour. River is a creature accustomed to being alone but in the months she’s spent in the Doctor’s home, she has learned what it’s like to have someone to talk to and sit beside, what it’s like to look up in the middle of reading a book and see someone looking back.

And of course, if it was just company she wanted it would be easy enough to acquire just about anywhere. But she misses in particular cranky morning grumbles and those intent blue eyes following her when she walked across a room. She misses Scottish sarcasm and the scent of strange, earthen magic. She misses a gentle touch and warm lips against her cheek.

She misses the Doctor.

They’re still getting visitors, people from all over using sleds and teams of dogs to get through the snow. All of them with some variation of the Malignant curse eating away at them. The Doctor still isn’t turning anyone away and while the sun had gone down on another day hours ago, River knows he’s toiling away in his workshop even now. It’s where she goes when she finally gets tired of sitting by herself in the parlour. Apparently, reading a book by firelight now is only enjoyable if there’s a grumpy old man to interrupt her every five minutes.

Instead of finding the Doctor bent over a potions book and a bubbling pot, River walks into his lab and sees him slumped over his workbench, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. She pauses in the doorway, a little less heartsick just at the sight of him, and takes a moment to simply gaze at him – this man who she’d been taught to blindly hate, this man who is the only one to look at her like she’s more than she is.

“I thought you’d be working on cures.”

He stiffens at the sound of her voice, dropping his hand from his eyes and lifting his head. She notices that he looks at the place above her shoulder instead of directly at her and it makes her stomach knot. “I was,” he mutters, looking away again. “Made the last one and sent him on his merry way an hour ago.”

She nods, wiping her damp palms on her skirts. “You didn’t want my help?”

The Doctor shrugs, moving around his workbench and gathering ingredients, carrying them to the shelves across the room and placing them haphazardly where they belong. “Going to have to get used to working alone again eventually.”

River swallows, refusing to flinch. “Are you planning to avoid me forever then?”

He pauses, hand clenched around a bottle of raw elderflower before he lets the vial fall into place and drops his hand to his side. “You’re imagining things,” he says. “I’ve been busy.”

She watches him wave a hand at the scattered books across the table – watches all the book snap shut and levitate onto the shelf, slipping neatly into place without the Doctor giving them even a glance. She wants to shout at him, wants to stomp her foot and release a blast of magic so powerful it shatters every damn potion bottle in the room. Maybe then he’d finally look at her. Instead, all that comes out is a whispered, “You can’t do this.”

The Doctor turns, his eyes landing on the hem of her skirts. “What?”

“Take me in,” she snaps. “Get me to trust you and turn my entire bloody world upside down only for you to opt out when it suits you.”

He still doesn’t look at her, scoffing, and it feels suddenly like she’s lost him. Some might argue that she’d never really had him but River remembers that night all too well. The Doctor trusting and warm, his eyes soft and dark with need. He’d been hers then, without question. He might have continued being hers if only she hadn’t come to her senses. In the lonely days since then, there have been many times she wishes she hadn’t.

“It isn’t fair,” she finishes softly, and she doesn’t really know which part she’s referring to even as the words leave her mouth.

The Doctor actually looks up then, his piercing gaze meeting hers for the first time in far too long. The moment he’s looking at her, River wishes desperately that he’d look away again. There are centuries worth of loss in those eyes and it’s suddenly all too clear that she has added to it.

“And you think I’ve gotten the fair end of this bargain?” He asks incredulously. “You showing up on my doorstep and forcing me to take care of you and let you stay? Being you and making me – You’re the first person in so long that I’ve -” He stops, growling under his breath. “I can’t just go back to how it was. That’s gone.”

“But why can’t -”

“Because I let you in,” he snaps, and River quiets instantly. Breath caught in her throat and fingers clutched in her skirts, she doesn’t even move in the delicate silence that follows. The Doctor scrubs a hand through his mussed gray hair and sighs. “I thought you understood… everything. Me.”

“I do,” she says, and her throat aches.

“If you did, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” The Doctor shakes his head, thin lips pursed tightly together. “Spring will be here soon. Snow’ll melt. You can go then.”

She shakes her head, stepping forward in panic at the thought of leaving this place, of going back to Kovarian and whatever awaits her, of being alone again – and worse, being alone without the Doctor. Her chest feels too tight to breathe and her steps falter. “What if I don’t want to?”

The Doctor frowns. “What reason do you have to stay?”

She’d promised herself she would keep away, convinced that the best place for her might very well be beside the Doctor but he could only ever get hurt if she stayed. In her entire life, no one has ever loved her. She hasn’t been worthy of it, a starving little orphan with black magic crawling under her skin. And River has never loved anyone or anything but a cat she murdered to keep from harm. It’s hardly a promising track record and she won’t add the Doctor to her list of sins.

But none of that seems to matter because he isn’t looking at her like she’s his savior anymore. He’s looking at her like she’s already hurt him just by trying to keep him safe and she never wanted that. Funny, how her mission in life has always been to destroy him and now that she’s doing it all she wants is to put him back together again.

She’s across the room and in his arms so quickly she can’t help but wonder if she’d used her magic and summoned him to her. It hardly matters as the Doctor dips his head toward her, his eyes hopeful and soft. River clutches his velvet coat and meets him halfway, their eager mouths colliding violently.

It’s everything she’s been missing, everything she’d let herself believe for that one night she could actually have. The Doctor kisses her like he wants to eat her alive and his hands grip her dress so tightly she wonders if he’ll tear it. She hopes he does. She hopes he rips it to shreds trying to strip her out of it and have her right here on his workbench.

Chest heaving as the Doctor ducks his head and presses his hot mouth to her throat, nipping a fiery trail down and across her collarbone, River rakes her fingers through his hair and whispers his name. His teeth sink into her skin in reply and she whimpers, holding him closer. They can have this. It isn’t enough, isn’t nearly enough, but it’s something and she’ll take any piece of him she can get. She’s hoping the same is true of the Doctor because she can’t give him everything but she can give him this.

The Doctor pulls away slowly, his lingering hands dropping from her hips and his beautifully swollen mouth tugged into a disappointed frown. He steps back, putting some space between them and taking his warmth and the heady scent of his magic with him. She doesn’t realize she’d been speaking out loud until he says, “I don’t want pieces of you, River.”

Arms empty and heart equally so, River smiles and turns to leave. “Pieces are all I have.”

-

She gets up as soon as it’s over, picking up her clothes from the floor. Her partner lounges against the pillows with a content sigh, still splayed in a boneless sprawl. He seems satisfied, which she supposes is a good thing but she can’t say she feels the same. He’d been adequate but no matter the talent of her bedmate, it never seems like quite enough. As though she’s searching for something that doesn’t exist.

There’s an emptiness in her chest and the pit of her stomach that yawns wide. She does her best to put some distance between them in hopes that it will quell the ache. Shrugging into her jumper, she pads barefoot across the cold floor of her attic room and stares out the window at the forest beyond the grounds of the fortress. “You’ll want to be going before the guard change.”

Behind her, the man on her bed sighs and begins to forage for his trousers. She doesn’t even know his name. He’s nothing to her – just another servant of Kovarian who had caught her eye. Pretty and broad-shouldered, with the posture of a soldier. He’d relieved her of her boredom and the itch beneath her skin for all of twenty minutes.

“You’re a tough one, River Song,” he mutters. “Not a sentimental bone in your body. Anyone ever tell you that?”

She listens to him tug on his boots and bites her tongue against a snarling response. Yes, she knows. Of course she knows. His mistress had made damn sure of it. “Many times.”

He snorts. “So I’m not the first poor bastard to be fucked and tossed aside?”

The humor in his voice makes her flinch and clench her jaw. He isn’t hurt by her dismissal – had clearly expected such coldness. He doesn’t even seem disappointed to be ushered out so quickly after the deed has been done. She means as little to him as he does to her. Her entire upper body feels hollow now, like a cavern gaping wide and pitch black. She wants this nameless reminder of the poison in her heart gone.

With a sharp-toothed smile she’d learned from Kovarian, River glances over her shoulder and promises, “Nor the last.”

-

River and the Doctor go back to avoiding each other after their brief encounter in his workshop and it’s only another visitor that forces them together again. It happens right in the middle of an awkward dinner – River has been staring at her plate and the Doctor has been trying to pretend he isn’t staring at her – and they both look up in relief at the knock on the door.

“Another one?” The Doctor grumbles, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. “Haven’t I cured the entire sodding population yet?”

River doesn’t answer – she’s been trying to hold her tongue around him since that embarrassing lapse in his workshop – but she rises from her chair and follows after him. The Doctor’s legs are longer and she has heavy skirts to contend with so by the time she catches up to him, he’s already swung open the door to reveal their visitor. She’s shivering and pale, her eyes filled with tears – miles from the pushy young woman who had been here last time but River still recognizes her.

“Clara.”

Huddled on the stoop, arms wrapped tight around herself, Clara blinks. “Do I know you?”

“No but I know you.” River elbows the Doctor out of the way and sticks out a hand. “You came to see the Doctor about Sarah Jane’s son Luke.”

Clara shakes her hand, still looking dazed. “I don’t remember seeing you here.”

“Yes, well, a certain someone didn’t seem to want to introduce us properly.” Behind her, the Doctor mumbles something under his breath but both women ignore him. “I’m River. What’s the matter?”

Clara manages a weak smile. “Am I that obvious?”

Squinting at her, the Doctor observes, “She’s right. Your eyes have swelled to twice their normal size.”

Instead of smacking him as he deserves, Clara sniffles. “It’s Danny. He’s caught it.”

The Doctor sobers instantly and it takes River only a moment to catch on. The Malignant. The Doctor turns on his heel, stalking off down the corridor. “With me.”

Uncertain if he means for her to follow or only Clara, River stays right on his heels anyway. Behind her, she hears Clara hurrying after them. As they walk, she asks aloud, “Who’s Danny?”

“The pudding brain who keeps asking for her hand,” the Doctor answers, leading them into his workshop. He waves a hand and the room fills with light.

River turns as Clara steps into the room behind her. “Your fiancé?”

Clara grimaces. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

The Doctor snorts, sorting through the potion ingredients scattered across his workbench. “You’ve refused him three times. Just tell him you don’t love him and let the lad move on, for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not that,” Clara snaps, and the Doctor pauses to eye her dubiously. “It isn’t. I just… I’m not…” She sighs, shaking her head. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

The girl hasn’t really said anything at all but River watches her closely and there’s something in the way she curls inward the way River never dares let herself, something in the way she tips her chin up in defiance even as her eyes water. It’s all too familiar. Without thinking, River ushers the Doctor out of the way and ignores his feeble protests, going through the motions of gathering the right ingredients for a malignant cure.

Clara watches her, eyes rimmed red and shaking hands folded on the table.

Gently, River asks, “Tell me about him?”

Looking grateful for the distraction, Clara smiles and River wonders if she realizes she does that when she’s thinking of her young man. “He’s a schoolteacher.”

“A soldier,” the Doctor interrupts, grumbling.

“Yes, he used to be a soldier.” Clara glares. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. You used to be one.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

“Shut up, Doctor,” River snaps. It’s the first thing she’s said directly to him in days and as such, it startles him enough that he actually obeys. For the moment at least. Satisfied, she turns back to Clara. “Go on.”

Clara shrugs, that besotted smile still lighting up her face as she ducks her head. “He’s…Danny. Good and kind and…” She trails off for a moment and her eyes cloud over. The smile on her face slips and River sees everything she needs to in that one second. “He’s everything I try to be. Everything I’ve never quite been.”

River nods slowly, turning up the heat on the potion with a wave of her hand and a spark of gentle magic. “You think he could never be happy with someone like you.”

Glancing up, eyes wide, Clara looks startled by the observation but she makes no move to deny it. She only watches River, as if hoping a woman she just met might be able to prove her wrong. From the other side of the table, the Doctor clears his throat. “That’s rubbish. Besides, that’s his decision to make, isn’t it?”

River shakes her head. “She’s trying to save him.”

He scoffs. “From what?”

Turning, River meets his intent gaze for the first time since their last kiss and what she finds there nearly takes her breath away. A trace of resentment, as she’d expected. Curiosity. And the very same adoration that had been there before. She’d thought it would have faded by now. She swallows. “She’s saving him from getting his heart broken.”

The Doctor stares at her, lips parted. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for her and River almost wishes he would before Clara breaks the spell with her soft agreement. “Exactly.”

Her heart feels lodged in her throat and she looks away, desperately focusing her attention on Clara. “You’re worried the potion won’t work if we use an ingredient from you because what if your love isn’t enough to save him? What if you don’t know how to love enough for anybody?”

The Doctor hasn’t once taken his eyes off River and she struggles to concentrate with the heat of his gaze lingering on her. It’s Clara latching onto her sleeve that saves her from burning up. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Why did you come if you thought it wouldn’t?”

The girl swallows, shrugging. “I had to try. For him.”

River smiles and pats her hand. “It’ll work.”

When Clara leaves with a cure in hand, the Doctor casts her one last glance before disappearing back into his workshop. River builds the fire in her room that night until even the windows sweat with the heat of it. Still, she huddles in the center of her bed and shivers, wishing for wiry arms around her and a smirking Scottish mouth against her ear. The night passes slowly and River barely sleeps at all, tumbling out of bed in the morning more exhausted than when she’d crawled beneath the blankets.

There’s no sign of the Doctor when she makes her way downstairs for breakfast but she imagines she won’t see him again for several days. Through Clara, she’d been trying to make him understand why it had to be this way but when she remembers how he’d looked at her, she fears she’d only succeeded in making things worse.

She makes herself some porridge in the solemn, early morning quiet and doesn’t engage the kitchen cupboard in conversation even when it ventures a greeting squeak. In the middle of stirring in a teaspoon of sugar, the Doctor’s voice behind her startles her so badly she jumps and drops her spoon into her porridge.

“I’ve decided that you pushing me away is utter rubbish,” he announces. “And I’m not going to allow it any longer.”

She laughs shakily but doesn’t turn to look at him, imagining him lounging insolently in the doorway, watching her with that practiced scowl. “If only that were your decision to make, Doctor. I’ve already told you – I’m not the commitment sort.”

“And I’ve already made it clear I don’t do flings.”

River hums, fishing her spoon out of her porridge. “It appears we’re at an impasse.”

“Apparently,” he mutters, and she hesitates when she hears the determination in his voice. Her unease only grows as she listens to him walk closer. She can sense him hovering behind her, his warmth and his dark bright magic so close she can only close her eyes and bask in it. “Just turn around and look at me when you say no and I’ll drop it.”

Eyes flying open, River sets her spoon down with a rattle. She licks her lips, struggling to breathe. “I understand you’re still upset and you feel like I tricked you into bed somehow but I’m not going to indulge your childish -”

“Look at me, River.” She flinches when he snaps but when he reaches out to grasp her elbow, she turns – lashing out on instinct. The flat of her palm lands against his cheek with a ringing smack that startles them both.

The Doctor stumbles back clutching his face and River brings a hand to her mouth, staring at him in horror. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and it only cements what she’d known the morning she’d walked in here and found him making her breakfast. He’s much safer away from her. “I didn’t mean to -”

Dropping his hand from his reddened cheek, the Doctor shakes his head and sighs. “No. My fault. I shouldn’t have touched you.”

She drops her gaze to her bare feet peeking out from her skirts.

“Can I -” He sways toward her but stops himself, hesitant. “I’m going to move closer, if that’s all right with you.”

Resolve wavering – no one has ever asked permission before – River bites her lip and nods, watching warily as the Doctor steps toward her. He moves slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle her, but before she knows it he’s close enough to touch her. He doesn’t. He backs her into the counter behind her and pins her in with his hands on either side of her.

“You didn’t trick me then. You wanted what I wanted and I know it.” The soft silk of his voice makes her shudder. “But you’re certainly trying your damnedest to trick me now. I’m not the daft old man you think I am. And I know self-destruction when I see it. Well…” He tilts his head, squinting. “With a bit of a nudge last night. It wasn’t just Clara and Danny you were talking about, was it?”

He still doesn’t touch her but she can feel his breath against her cheek and smell the scent of his magic lingering on his skin. Against her will, it makes her think of that night, the warmth and safety of his bed and his arms. Everything had been so much simpler then. Silently, she shakes her head.

His eyes flare with warmth. “You care about me.”

She nods, without even thinking about it, and chokes out, “Yes.”

That clear blue gaze bores into hers and River can’t quite manage to draw a proper breath, everything in her and around her slowing to a stop as they stare at each other. “After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve told you and whatever you read in that book you weren’t supposed to see.”

Again, she nods. “Yes.”

His gaze softens and he sighs. “If you can manage to care about someone like me, how in the bloody hell have you managed to convince yourself that I wouldn’t want you?”

“It’s different,” she whispers, wondering faintly if he’s managed to put a spell on her with just that solemn gaze of his. She can’t seem to stop telling him the truth and the longer she looks into his eyes, the more honest she wants to be. “You don’t know what I’ve done. I’m -”

“Clever and funny and obviously a damn saint for not running away from me screaming before now,” the Doctor interrupts, scoffing. “I don’t give a toss what your horrible fucking aunt spent your life telling you – you’re brave and lovely and-” He stops when her eyes well up, looking adorably panicked. “What? I’m trying to be reassuring. Am I doing it wrong?”

She laughs, a choked, watery noise that only makes his eyes widen. “You’re doing fine, sweetie.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “Well, the point is that I’m not going anywhere and I’m not letting you go anywhere – unless you really want to, I suppose, but you don’t, do you? And sodding hell, River, I am rubbish at this sort of thing so any time you want to put me out of my misery -”

Still laughing, River blinks away tears and leans up on her toes, kissing him quiet. He sags against her in relief and when his arms wrap around her, his grip is tight enough to chase away the damage Kovarian had wrought. For now.

Chapter Text

In another fortnight, the snow finally starts to melt and River convinces the Doctor to venture into town with her. They’re in the middle of perfecting a new potion together but they’re running low on ingredients and she’d rather stock up now than have to trek out in a blizzard if the snow decides to return, especially since the Doctor seems to be the only man alive without a sled. Instead, he takes great delight in using his magic to melt the snow to create a path in front of him as he goes, and she simply can’t tolerate his smugness or the muddy mess it makes of her skirts.

He grumbles as he follow her lead through the streets toward the outdoor market but his hand remains firmly in hers. “Stop scowling,” she mutters out of the corner of her mouth. “We’ll never get a good deal on herbs if people are scared of you.”

“I think you’ll find that inspiring terror is the best way to get just about anything.” When River sighs, he relents, “I can’t help it – it’s just my face.”

Slowing to a stop beside a stall of scarves, she tugs her grumpy companion out of the way of passersby, smiling when he follows without protest. She straightens his collar and smoothes down his coat, rubbing circles on his chest as she murmurs, “I happen to know for a fact that you’re capable of making a great many more pleasant faces.”

He huffs, his eyes growing warm as he looks down at her. “Hardly appropriate for public venue, dear.”

Chuckling softly, she reaches up and taps at the faint smile tugging at the corners of his thin mouth. “That one,” she says, letting him capture her wrist. “Keep that one.”

He eyes her skeptically. “I can’t keep one expression on my face all bloody day.”

“Sure you can, darling.” She winks, pulling him along again. “Just think of me.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply but when she glances at him again moments later, he’s still smiling. In the weeks since that morning in the kitchen, when she’d finally accepted that maybe the Doctor might bring himself to care for someone like her after all, they’ve fallen into a comfortable, strange sort of domesticity. They have breakfast together, work and bicker in the Doctor’s lab during the afternoons, flirt over dinner together, and take turns reading and snogging by the fire in the evenings. They retire to bed together and she falls asleep in his arms.

Some days, Kovarian’s voice in her head is too loud to drown out and River can only retreat into herself, avoiding the Doctor with the conviction that no one could ever love her and certainly not him. He always seems to know when the bad days come. He never pushes her but he stays close, makes certain she knows he isn’t going anywhere. He never mentions her “aunt” again but he must know it’s why River sometimes shies from his touch, like she doesn’t deserve it.

He’s remarkably patient for one otherwise so tetchy, holding her hand and stroking her hair, winking smugly when he catches her staring at him. He makes her blush and she makes him laugh and for the most part, it’s a quiet sort of life she’d never thought herself capable of before. She treasures it all the same. Other than her own lingering self-doubt, there is one other thing that keeps River from full contentedness.

The Doctor still has no idea who she is.

She lies awake most nights contemplating what it might be like to tell him the truth but the scenarios she imagines as most likely – his fury at being deceived, his horror at what the child of his dearest friends has become – are so terrible she always talks herself out of it again. River steals a glance at the Doctor walking alongside her, studying the vendors and their wares with those narrowed blue eyes, and swallows. He deserves to know. She just doesn’t know how to begin to tell him.

“What’s first on the list?”

She starts, blinking, and sees the Doctor staring pointedly at the scrap of parchment clutched in her hand. River smoothes it out and clears her throat, reading off the top. “Wormwood.”

The sound of a cawing bird overhead makes her blood run cold. She looks up on instinct and the sight of a circling raven steals her breath. She glares at the other reason she hasn’t been able to fully relax, watching it follow her as she moves through the crowded marketplace. Though she has cut off all communication with Kovarian, refusing every bird-delivered missive, the witch has yet to give up. Before long, she’ll stop bothering with messengers and come herself.

“River?”

She blinks. “Hmm?”

The Doctor presses a cool palm against her cheek. “All right? You’ve gone a bit pale.”

“I’m fine, darling. Just a bit tired.” She offers him a heated glance. “You did keep me up awfully late.”

The Doctor refuses to blush, dropping his hand from her cheek with a glare. “It takes two, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

His only response to her quiet purr is a dark, interested look and a muttered, “Tease.”

“Always.” River turns her eyes back to the list in her hand. “Now, why don’t you fetch the wormwood and I’ll hunt for eye of newt. It’ll save time.” Truthfully, she just wants him away before he notices the damned bird following them. “I’ll find you after.”

He frowns. “Don’t get lost.”

“I never get lost.”

“Funny coming from the woman I saved from freezing to death in a blizzard.”

River forces a smile and leans in, her chest brushing his. “I wasn’t lost, honey. I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

He takes it for the romantic overture she’d meant for him to, smirking as he takes a step back and turns, disappearing into the crowd. River exhales in relief, finally giving her full attention to Kovarian’s raven. It still circles, waiting to deliver its message.

Weaving through the crowd, River makes her way towards the end of the cobbled street, where the open-air market comes to an end. She turns a corner and finds herself in an empty alleyway, standing in a dirty puddle that dampens the hem of her skirts. The raven lands on her shoulder, flapping its dark wings irritably.

River untangles the message from its foot and waves it away with a muttered, “There, message delivered. Now bugger off.”

Taking off again, it soars into the sky with a screech and disappears within moments, flying back to its mistress. River waits until she can’t see the malevolent creature any more before she glances around to make sure she’s alone and opens the message.

Kill him and return. Now.

Terse, blunt. Very Kovarian.

River rips up the message and drops the pieces into the puddle at her feet. She steps over them on her way out of the alley and back toward the marketplace, damp skirts trailing the ground as she goes. Kovarian had taught her a long time ago how to compartmentalize her worries and fears, separating them and isolating them in her head so they don’t affect her. She uses that lesson now, tucking Kovarian and her threats into some dusty corner of her mind.

Tonight after the Doctor falls asleep, she’ll have plenty of time to fret and concoct some sort of defensive plan but for now she has an herb and a wayward wizard to locate. The herb is found and bought easily enough but the Doctor takes a bit more hunting.

Eventually, she follows the sound of his voice amid the throng, jovial and Scottish and effused with that gentle warmth he uses when he talks to children. When she finds him, he’s standing at a market stall and talking to Sarah Jane and her son Luke, who appear to be selling the wormwood she’d instructed the Doctor to fetch. Luke looks much better now, as healthy as any other little boy – bright-eyed and flushed, looking up at the Doctor like the man is his hero.

At her approach, the Doctor turns from his former companion and smiles at her. Even River can see the way his eyes light up and some days that fills her with giddy warmth. Bad days, like today, she feels only guilt. He shouldn’t look at her that way. She’s going to get him killed.

He reaches for her hand, tugging her closer. “Find the eye of newt?”

She nods. “And the wormwood?”

“Here.”

He hands it over and she tucks both bottles into a pocket of his coat, frowning when her hand encounters something else inside the silk lining. She pulls out a red rose blossom and glances at him, brow furrowed. “What potion is this for?”

The Doctor looks faintly embarrassed for once, risking a hesitant glance at Sarah Jane and her son, both of whom watch them with interest. “It’s not for a potion,” he grumbles, avoiding her gaze. “I just thought you might like it.”

Breaking into a wide grin, River forgets momentarily about Kovarian and the secrets she keeps from the Doctor. For one brief moment, she isn’t an assassin on the run or a little girl certain no one could ever love her and the Doctor isn’t the stuff of her childhood nightmares or the most powerful wizard of the age. She’s only a woman in love with an emotionally inept, wonderful idiot.

Cupping her fingers gently around the delicate blossom, River presses her grinning lips to his cheek and says, “Thank you, sweetie.”

Hiding a smile behind her hand, Sarah Jane watches them fondly and asks, “Still not a companion?”

“Oh no.” The Doctor glances at River with a wink. “Much more than that, I should think.”

This peace will not last. Kovarian is out there, angry and waiting. She won’t give up on her mission and let River lead an unassuming life with the Doctor, making potions and bickering into their old age. She’ll come for them and soon but River will be ready for her. She’ll fight to protect this life, to protect the Doctor, whatever it takes.

-

The first time she kills someone, she’s twelve years old.

She’d done something wrong, the way she always seems to do lately. Kovarian is never satisfied – with her studies, with her training, sometimes even the way River breathes irritates her. Locking her in the broom cupboard has become a favorite form of punishment. The way River screams and cries and begs when they drag her down the corridor seems to please Kovarian. The closet becomes as familiar to River as the attic room where she sleeps.

Kovarian spells it to be as black as pitch and as silent as the grave. River can see nothing, feel nothing, hear nothing when she’s locked away in the cupboard. It has been enchanted to deprive her every sense. She comes to fear it the way she fears the Doctor, waking up in a cold sweat at night after dreams of being locked away inside it.

Her heart pounds in her chest as a guard drags her down the corridor and the moment River realizes where they’re headed, she starts to struggle. She shrieks and pleads but Kovarian only stands at the other end of the corridor, face impassive as she watches her guard manhandle River toward the cupboard.

“No, please- I’ll do anything.” Tears well in her eyes and she forces them back, gritting her teeth. Tears are weakness. Tears will only mean more punishment. “I’ll be better!”

Kovarian says nothing, watching with black eyes and a grim smile.

The guard’s hand is a heavy weight on her bony shoulder and as they draw ever nearer to the cupboard, River feels her throat tighten. She can’t breathe. The only thought clear in the panic of her mind is that she doesn’t want to go back in there. She’ll do anything to stop it. And indeed she does.

Her body responds before her mind can make a decision, years and years of training kicking in on instinct. She doesn’t even have to think about it. Limbs moving quickly, efficiently, like parts of a machine, she breaks from his hold and attacks. It only takes a moment. The sickening crack of bone echoes in her ears. Her little chest heaves as she stands over the crumpled guard, blood pooling around him and staining her bare toes. She stares, transfixed and horrified to discover what she’s truly capable of.

Behind her, she hears applause and chilling, delighted laughter. She tenses, her whole body trembling as she listens to Kovarian approach. She waits to be punished for disobeying. For murdering a soldier of Kovarian’s in cold blood. For daring to use her training on one of their kind instead of the man it’s meant for - the Doctor.

“Good girl, Melody.” Kovarian strokes her hair, her nails scraping almost painfully against River’s scalp. “Very good girl.”

It’s the first time River Song learns that violence is the best way to get what she wants.

-

“You’ve wandered off again. I hate wandering off.”

River blinks, tearing her gaze away from the fire and glancing down at the Doctor. He’s stretched out along the settee, his head in her lap and a book lying open on his chest that he’s ignoring in favor of frowning up at her. She clenches her jaw, realizing she’d been miles away and her annoyingly perceptive wizard had noticed.

“I haven’t wandered,” she says, deciding denial is the best course of action. “I’m right here. Your own personal bloody pillow.”

“Don’t forget scalp massager,” he rumbles, nudging his head into her palm.

River sighs indulgently and gives in, scratching her nails through his thick gray curls. He very nearly purrs and she bites back a smile. It’s still so new, having someone. After a lifetime of being alone, having someone in her bed or sprawled across her lap or reaching for her hand at the breakfast table is another experience entirely.

Usually, she relishes the physical contact. Some days, looking up from whatever she’s doing and finding the Doctor looking back is enough to keep her warm and glowing for hours. And then there are days when it’s too much and she has to step away, go off on her own and break something. And put it back together again with her magic. Today isn’t one of those days. Today, she doesn’t want to be anywhere but right here. If only her thoughts could be in accord with her body and stop wandering off without her.

“You haven’t distracted me,” the Doctor says after a few minutes of pampering. He squints open one eye to look at her.

“Oh?”

He captures her wrist in his hand and presses his mouth to her palm. It’s such a simple gesture but it’s more than she’s ever had before and there’s no denying the way her breath catches or the way her heart swells. He’s utterly ruined her and he doesn’t even know it. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s bothering you? You’ve been off since the market yesterday.”

“It’s nothing.” She could tell him, she thinks. Right now, her hand in his hair and his mouth against her skin. She could tell him everything. He deserves that much from her. Better she tells him herself rather than finding out whenever Kovarian appears. “I was just thinking…”

The Doctor doesn’t push, watching her patiently. His eyes are languid and sleepy and his calloused fingertips trace over her knuckles with a reverence that makes a lump form in her throat. For such an old, tired man she has never seen someone look more at peace. It makes what she’s about to do infinitely more difficult.

“Doctor, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

He’s kissing her fingertips now, paying special attention to each one as though he doesn’t want her hand to think he has favorites. It’s endearing and frustrating all at once. She’s struggling to tell him her darkest secrets, the one thing still standing between them, and the Doctor lounges against her and kisses her skin like he hasn’t a care in the world.

As if sensing her hesitance, he pauses with his lips puckered against her pinky to offer her a patient look. “Tell me.”

“I’m trying,” she snaps but her voice shakes and gives her away.

The Doctor sobers, letting go of her hand and lifting his head from her lap to sit up and look at her properly. He runs a hand through his rumpled curls and makes a passable attempt at an attentive expression. His gaze is soft and there are those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes that she’s so terribly fond of as he says, “I’m listening, dear.”

She breathes in. “Doctor, I’m -” I’m the little girl you’ve been searching for, all grown up. “I’m -” Melody Pond, the child of your best friends. “The thing is…”

How can she possibly tell him? How can she tell him that she’s worried an evil sorceress is on her way to them right this minute with murderous plans? How can she tell him that she’s worried she might not be able to keep him safe? How can she tell him she doesn’t know what frightens her more – Kovarian or him finding out who she really is? She’s the little girl who made him a recluse and a failure. She’s a prophecy come to life, destined to be the end of him.

When he’s warm and trusting, looking at her with worry in his eyes, how can she possibly tell him anything? After a lifetime of only having herself to worry about, River is selfish to a fault. She wants more of this – more of him – before their inevitable ruin. And she won’t give it up before she has to.

She drops her head and squares her shoulders, exhaling quietly.

“River?”

She looks up and the Doctor brushes her curls out of her eyes, looking at her with concern. She smiles weakly. “Do you remember when I went into your library?”

He huffs, a smile tugging at his mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a tension in his face now, a terror that she might bring up that book he never wanted her to see. His greatest sins laid bare. It’s River’s turn to soothe now and she takes his hand, squeezing lightly. He relaxes somewhat, grumbling, “When you broke into it, you mean? Yes, I remember it well.”

She rolls her eyes. “Before I could go in, I had to undo your wards.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Are you finally going to tell me how you did it?”

It certainly isn’t what she’d planned to tell him but she can’t say it hasn’t been on her mind. “It was the strangest thing. I tried to combat your magic with mine but your magic didn’t fight me. It…welcomed me.”

The Doctor frowned, brow furrowing. “How do you mean?”

“Your magic sort of wrapped around mine and they joined, like they were one. There was this bright light and the door opened. It was as if I didn’t need to dismantle your wards. I got the feeling your magic didn’t want to keep me out.” She shrugs, feeling silly now that she’s mentioned it. At the time, it had felt so significant but now that she’s saying it all out loud, she’s feels like a sentimental idiot for thinking it could possibly be important. At least until the Doctor squeezes her hand and she looks up.

He’s staring at her, lips parted and eyes glossy. She watches his throat flex as he swallows and tries to speak. “You’re… sure?”

She nods, leaning toward him. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat, looking away and attempting a smile. “It’s nothing.”

River stiffens, pulling her hand from his grasp. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Doctor.”

“I’m not -” He sighs through his nose, eyeing her sternly. “You’re skittish enough as it is, trust me when I tell you there is no way you’ll want to know about this.”

She narrows her eyes, glaring at him. “Trust me when I tell you I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

The Doctor pinches the bridge of his nose, shoulders slouching. “Fine. Stubborn sodding -”

“Doctor,” she interrupts, nudging him impatiently.

He lifts his head and blurts, “It was a…union, of a sort.”

River studies his twitching fingers and the way his gaze never quite lands on her as he looks around the parlour. “What sort of union?”

“Can’t we just go to bed? There’s this new spell I’ve been meaning to try and I really think you’ll -”

“I can think of a spell I’d like to try too,” she says, glowering. “And I can promise you won’t enjoy it.”

The Doctor sighs heavily and explains with reluctance, “Everyone is born with their own magical signature but sometimes, very rarely – as in almost never – two people can be born with the same signature.”

She frowns. “Like twins?”

“Like soulmates.”

Her heart skips a beat.

The Doctor avoids her gaze. “When you tried to break into my library, your magic met mine and apparently they…recognized each other.”

River swallows thickly, feeling her pulse thudding in her ears. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” The Doctor still won’t look at her, studying his boney knees like he’s never seen them before and he can’t think of anything more important than getting to know them. “We’ll forget it ever happened and go on as usual.”

Something in the strain of his voice and the tension in his lean body tells her it isn’t what he wants but he’s trying his best not to scare her away. He’s not wrong – she’s been terribly skittish in this relationship of theirs and some days she still feels like running away but not today. Today, she doesn’t want to run off and break things. She wants to sit here and make him smile. Today, she wants to be brave.

Trying to sound nonchalant instead of terrified, she hums. “Sounds dull. What’s our other option?”

The Doctor lifts his head and stares at her, slack-jawed. River smirks. The sudden spark of light in those intent blue eyes is enough to make putting her heart on the line for this Scottish idiot entirely worth it. He leans forward and takes her face in his hands, kissing her hungrily. His teeth sink into her lip and his fingertips bite into her skin and it isn’t quite an answer but there’s been enough talk tonight and she isn’t sure she’s ready to hear his reply anyway.

Climbing onto the Doctor’s lap and pushing him back into the settee cushions, River smiles into his mouth and decides there’ll be plenty of time to hear about that other option another day.

Chapter Text

Kovarian’s eyes glow with a fanaticism that River has only seen when her mentor is at her most unhinged. She has always had shades of instability about her but as a child, River hadn’t been able to see it for what it was. It was only as she grew that she understood enough to stay away from Kovarian when her eyes lit up like they are now.

“Today is the day.”

River straightens, her spine stiffening and her hands clenching into fists. “It’s time?”

At Kovarian’s nod, she feels a smile begin to curl her mouth and when her mentor sees it, she laughs with delight. She clasps her hands together and watches River with something akin to pride. “The Doctor deserves his just punishment for everything he’s done to me.” Her eyes flicker. “To everyone. And you’re going to deliver justice, aren’t you?”

“Of course, Madame,” River mutters dutifully.

“The people are counting on you, River.” She reaches out a hand and strokes River’s cheek, her blood red nails scratching lightly at her skin. River grits her teeth and doesn’t so much as blink, waiting for her to drop her hand and step back. “Remember every child he has ever killed, every village he has destroyed. Don’t let him sway you. He will certainly try. But you’ll remember, won’t you? You’ll remember everything I’ve shown you. Every vile act he has ever committed.”

River bows her head in deference, biting her tongue and struggling to still her twitching fingers. Today, she’s going to be out from under Kovarian’s watch. Today, she’s finally going to meet the Doctor and spill his blood in the names of her parents and every other poor soul whose life the man had ruined.

After today, her entire life’s purpose will have been fulfilled.

Kovarian’s nails dig into her skin and River doesn’t let herself wonder what will happen to her next.

-

Her eyes snap open and she stares at the ceiling above the bed she shares with the Doctor. It’s still dark outside but she’s wide-awake and not quite sure what had woken her in the first place until the house creaks around her again. It isn’t the sound of an old building settling, nor the kind of creaking a house does in a strong wind. It’s much more deliberate and River realizes the Doctor’s sentient home had been trying to wake her.

But why?

She waits a beat, silently cataloguing her surroundings until it becomes clearer with every passing moment that something is not right. If anyone asked, she couldn’t explain it but the air feels charged somehow. It prickles at her skin and makes the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end. She breathes in through her mouth and tastes the change on her tongue – acrid and dark, like rotting blood.

She bolts upright, her heart pounding.

She turns to wake the Doctor and bites her lip to muffle her surprise. He’s already sitting up, wide awake and staring through the dark at nothing. He’s eerily still and River reaches out to grasp his arm. “Doctor, something is wrong.”

“Shh.” He covers her hand on his arm with his own, thumb stroking over her knuckles, but he still doesn’t look at her. He peers into the dark like he’s trying to spot something. Or someone. “I know. Hush.”

“Doctor.” She grips his arm, nails digging into his skin. “It’s Kovarian. She’s here.”

The Doctor whirls and stares at her, his eyes wide and his gray hair rumpled. “How do you know -”

“There isn’t time to explain,” she snaps. “She’s here. I can sense her magic. We have to -”

“Well isn’t this cozy?”

River stiffens, turning slowly to stare at the doorway. Kovarian steps out of the shadows, her black eyes glimmering in the dark and her red lips dripping malice. If possible, she looks even more deranged than she had the last time River had seen her months ago.

The Doctor doesn’t take his eyes off her as she moves about the room. Jaw clenched, he tries to move in front of River, like he’s going to protect her. She wishes she could tell him he’s a few decades too late. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doing here before I finish what you started centuries ago.”

“Still angry after all this time?” She tuts, clicking her tongue. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. It feels like old times, doesn’t it?”

He bares his teeth at her. “Where is she? Where is Amy’s daughter?”

River holds her breath but Kovarian only laughs and replies, “Dead.”

The Doctor flinches.

“Dead and made anew. She’s magnificent now.” Kovarian’s glittering eyes find River again. “The Doctor and his murderess taking a tumble under the sheets. How deliciously scandalous of you, my dear.”

She laughs softly, a cold, harsh sound that makes even River want to flinch away from her. The Doctor places an arm in front of River and his eyes are murderous. There’s so much desperation in his eyes that River aches with it. “Stay away from her.”

Kovarian laughs again, high and cruel. “You’re a little late for that, Doctor.” She ignores the Doctor’s confusion and meets River’s glare steadily. She sobers at once, amusement falling away and leaving nothing but those dead eyes River has spent her life under. “You’ve had your fun, River. Time to complete your mission.”

Still huddled under the sheets and feeling oddly vulnerable, River stares at her old mentor. The Doctor is a warm, steady presence beside her and despite his clear bewilderment, she feels him reach for her hand. She takes it, lacing their shaking fingers tightly together. “No.”

Kovarian blinks at her, dark lashes fluttering in surprise. “No?”

Offering her a cool smile, River lifts her chin. “I won’t willingly do a damn thing for you ever again.”

Her whole face transforms into a snarl, lips curled back like a rabid animal. “Why, you ungrateful little-”

The Doctor acts on instinct, throwing up a hand already shimmering with magic, the protective idiot. Kovarian is just quick enough to deflect the blast and for a moment, the dark bedroom is lit up in the glow of warring magic. River slips her hand from the Doctor’s to help him and his magic flickers, a fleeting blunder that costs him dearly. Kovarian’s spell pierces his weakened defenses and hits him squarely in the chest.

River cries out, reaching for him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He just stares at her and for a moment River worries he’d died with his eyes open. She lays a hand against his chest and feels him breathe in. She shuts her stinging eyes in relief. “What did you do to him?”

“What do you care?” Kovarian had moved closer while River was preoccupied, speaking right over her shoulder now. She doesn’t turn to look, gazing into the Doctor’s unblinking eyes and trying to silently convey how sorry she is for this mess. “He ruined your life, remember?”

River grits her teeth. “No, you did that.”

Kovarian laughs, high and piercing. “Dear god, he’s brainwashed you, hasn’t he? And I thought you were strong enough to resist a bit of charm.” Her hand curls over River’s shoulder, gripping like a claw. “He doesn’t really love you, little one. Surely you know no one could?”

River falters, tearing her eyes from the Doctor.

He snarls in protest but whatever Kovarian had done had obviously robbed him of speech as well. He falls quiet when he realizes, glaring at River’s mentor and stewing in furious silence.

Kovarian tosses him a bored glance. “Now, he can still work his magic but it’ll take him a few minutes to undo the spell. You’ll have to kill him quickly.”

“I believe I already told you I’ll do no such thing.” River finally turns to look at her, lips curling into a sneer. “Or is your memory starting to go the same way as the rest of you?”

“Has he put you under some kind of spell, you insolent brat?” Kovarian grips her face in one clawed hand, her nails digging into River’s skin. “This is the man who has destroyed villages, murdered innocent men, destroyed countless lives -”

“And you’re a saint?” River glowers at her, unmoving in Kovarian’s painful grip. “You kidnaped a child in vengeance and that is the least of your sins. I wouldn’t exactly call you blameless either, you festering old crone.”

Kovarian’s eyes narrow into slits and River watches as the swirling black of her magic seeps from her fingertips like a toxin. “How dare you. After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve taught you. I took you under my wing and raised you as my own -”

“As your weapon,” River interrupts, something that only a few months ago would never have crossed her mind. Kovarian was to be obeyed, never questioned, and never ever interrupted. How things have changed during her time with the Doctor. “I was never more than a means to an end with you.”

Kovarian stares at her, nostrils flaring, and River prepares herself for a fight. She tears the tangled bedsheets from her legs and calls upon the magic under her skin. Every spell she has ever learned flashes through her mind but she sifts through them all until she finds the right one – the one that will cause the most damage to the woman before her.

And then Kovarian smiles. Her magic dissipates, leaving only the rotting stench of it behind. “So be it,” she says, calm and unruffled. River tenses, waiting. “If you want the Doctor so badly you will die beside him like the filthy traitor you are.” Her smile widens and River feels her magic spark at her fingertips in response. “But first you’ll do as you’re told.”

The spell hits her before she has time to deflect it and River shudders, gasping as Kovarian’s black magic washes over her. She feels the moment it takes hold. It’s like being plunged into ice water, like needles prickling and stinging her skin. She gasps out loud with the shock of it, every muscle in her body seizing and her heart rate slowing. There’s the oddest sensation all through her – like something unholy is crawling under her skin.

And then comes the order. “Stop breathing.”

To her utter horror, she does. Her lungs simply stop drawing in air and no matter how she tears at the sheets and tries to gasp, she cannot. She starts to suffocate within moments, clawing at her throat, eyes bulging as she writhes. Beside her, the Doctor snarls and snaps and makes guttural noises of helplessness until Kovarian sighs in boredom and waves her hand.

“Oh all right, breathe again for heaven’s sake.”

River collapses against the mattress, drawing in ragged, greedy breaths of cool air until her chest stops burning. “Wh-” She coughs and her throat aches. “What the hell did you do?”

“Simple curse.” Kovarian smiles. “Stand up.”

Gritting her teeth, River slips from the Doctor’s side and stands as he watches her powerlessly. Sweat has formed along his brow and she knows inside his paralyzed body, his clever mind is working hard to undo the intricate knots of Kovarian’s spell but she fears he won’t free himself until it’s far too late.

Reaching inside the folds of her cloak, Kovarian pulls out a dagger, the polished silver blade gleaming in the moonlight. “I’m sure you know what to do with this but I would be careful if I were you. The blade is coated in poison from the Judas Tree.” She smiles when River blanches. “Come and take it.”

No matter how she tries to resist, the magic pushes her forward one step at a time until she’s standing in front of Kovarian and taking the dagger from her. The order is on the tip of Kovarian’s tongue and she knows it so she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind in an effort to stall her. “What did you do to me?”

“I told you. It’s a curse, you dull-witted child. Makes you slave to my beck and call.” She tilts her head, eyeing River appreciatively. “Clever, isn’t it? I believe I’m most proud of the loophole -”

River latches onto the only part of her explanation that matters. “Loophole?”

Kovarian shrugs carelessly. “All curses have a loophole, as I taught you.” Her ghastly smile grows. “This curse cannot be broken unless you love and are loved in return. Isn’t it delicious? The one thing I never taught you to do.”

She laughs, her dark eyes lighting up at her own cleverness as River trembles with fury before her. Kovarian steps closer, lifting a cold hand to her cheek, and River can’t help but compare the corpse-like chill of her touch to the Doctor’s tender warmth.

“And of course no one will ever love you.” Kovarian strokes her fingertips down the side of River’s face. “You’re unlovable, my dear. I spent your entire life making sure of it. Molding you into my monster.” She drops her hand and grasps River’s wrist hard enough to bruise. Leaning in until River can smell the stench of death clinging to her cloak, she hisses, “Now be a good little beastie and kill the Doctor.”

She feels the tug of the magic but River doesn’t move, swaying in place as she struggles against the pull of Kovarian’s order. She grits her teeth, head aching. She is so tired of being told what to do by this woman. Kovarian has dictated her entire life and she’d finally broken free for a few blissful months. In this little blue house with the Doctor, she’d learned what it was like to do things because she wanted to. To make the right choices or the wrong ones of her own free will.

She doesn’t want to lose that. She won’t. And no damned curse is going to make her.

“You’re wrong, Kovarian.” River smiles. “There’s one more loophole you forgot – a curse can’t live if the caster is dead.”

With a grunt of effort, she surges forward with the knife in her fist and sinks the blade into her old mentor, slicing right between her ribs. Kovarian staggers backward in shock, gasping aloud as the poison courses through her veins and immediately begins to attack her magic. She collapses to her knees and for one shining moment, River thinks she might actually be free of the curse.

And then she feels the dark pull of Kovarian’s spell, still clinging to her.

Kovarian laughs wetly. “Stupid girl. The poison works slowly – plenty of time to watch the Doctor meet the same fate.”

Furious tears sting her eyes and River whirls from Kovarian in disgust, realizing too late what a mistake it had been. She’s facing the Doctor now and the bloodlust magic inside her leaps at the sight of him. River digs in her heels, refusing to let it pull her toward the Doctor. It’s clear that while her back was turned, he’d managed to weaken the spell. He’s blinking now and his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for her but he still hasn’t gathered enough magic to stop her.

River swallows the bitter disappointment, fresh tears welling in her eyes when she takes an unwilling step forward. The magic clouding her mind is restless and it won’t stop, won’t let her rest, until she does what she’s supposed to do.

The Doctor watches her approach and River could weep at the look on his face. He’s gazing at her like he did that night she kissed him, like she’s still the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. Like she’ll be his savior instead of his undoing. There isn’t a trace of resentment in his eyes.

Her fingers grip the hilt of the dagger when all she wants to do is drop it. She reaches out with her other hand, stroking trembling fingers against the Doctor’s cheek. He turns his head into the touch, his lips brushing her palm. River grits her teeth but the hand holding the dagger moves despite her best efforts. “I’m sorry, my love,” she whispers.

“You’re forgiven,” he rasps, and she wonders how much effort it must have taken him to force the words past his numb lips. “Always and -”

Tears spilling down her cheeks, she sinks the dagger into his stomach.

The Doctor hisses through his teeth, curling in on himself as River wrenches the blade from his body and flings it aside. Behind them, writhing as the poison eats away at the magic in her blood, Kovarian laughs. River pays her no mind, scrambling onto the bed and pulling the Doctor into her arms.

She cradles him to her, carding her fingers through his hair and patting his cheek. His eyes are already unfocused, the poison working its way through his system. He’ll be dead in minutes, along with Kovarian, and River will be alone. She swallows thickly.

“Look at me, sweetie. Please.” He tries – she can see how he struggles – but he can’t keep his eyes open. They flutter and drift shut and River feels her heart lodge in her throat. “Doctor,” she snaps, and slaps his cheek gently. “Look at me.”

His eyes flutter again and River bites back a noise of anguish, taking his face in her hands and bending her head. She just wants to feel him. She wants him to feel her. She wants him to know that she’s here and she’s sorry and maybe Kovarian was right and she doesn’t know how to love but she wants him to know she’s never been as close as when she’s with him –

The moment her lips brush his, the bright white light of magic flares out from their mouths and encompasses the entire room. It feels like it had that night she broke into the library by undoing the Doctor’s wards – like light and dark have met and married, like puzzle pieces sliding into place and making a complete picture. It’s so bright it burns her eyes and she shuts them against the light, curling around the Doctor protectively and letting her hair shield his face from the magic.

Gradually, the light fades and leaves them in darkness once again. At the feel of gentle fingers petting her hair, River lifts her head cautiously and peers down at the Doctor. The color has returned to his cheeks and his eyes are bright. A gleeful smile twitches at his mouth. “Hello sweetie.”

She scrambles off his chest, gaping down at the place where she’d plunged the blade into his stomach. The wound is gone now. There isn’t even any blood. And it’s only then she notices Kovarian’s dark magic isn’t itching under her skin any longer. She’s free.

“I don’t – how -” She whirls, certain that Kovarian must be dead. It’s the only way they could both have been released from their curses. Her heart drops when she finds Kovarian sprawled on the floor where she’d left her, breathing raggedly and gazing at River and the Doctor with horror in her wide, black eyes. “You’re not dead.” She turns back to the Doctor, infuriated to find him still grinning. “And you’re not dead.”

“And you’re not trying to kill me.” The Doctor twitches his fingers against her knee. “Again.”

River shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Course you do,” the Doctor mutters, watching her fondly. “Come on, be clever. Impress me.”

“The loophole,” she whispers, scarcely believing it even as his eyes light up. “The loophole for the curse was true love. And… the cure for the poison was -”

The Doctor reaches up, cupping her cheek in his palm. “True love,” he finishes softly.

“You love me.” It comes out like a question and the Doctor’s eyes soften as he nods. Her voice is surer, more certain, when she adds, “And I love you.”

“Apparently.” The Doctor shrugs, tapping his fingertips against her cheek. “Terrible taste you have.”

She laughs, ignoring Kovarian’s agonized groan as she sprawls herself across his chest and plants her mouth firmly against his. The Doctor wraps his arms around her, palms splayed across her back and drifting into her hair. As his fingers tangle in her curls and he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, River remembers something else. Her last secret.

“Doctor,” she murmurs between kisses. “The prayer leaf.”

He hums, a breathless whisper against her cheek. “You weren’t supposed to look at that.”

“But I did.”

“Course you did,” he rumbles, kissing her again. “My bad girl.”

She sighs into his mouth, sinking into the kiss and relishing the hot slide of his lips against hers for a stolen moment before she pulls away again. The Doctor grumbles and tries to dive back in, eyes shut and mouth searching. River smiles and grants him a brief peck before she pats his cheek and whispers, “It said Melody Pond.”

The Doctor’s eyes fly open, solemn and frowning, and she hates that she’s taken that sparkle from his eyes, however briefly. “Yes. That was her name.”

“The little girl,” River clarifies, curling her trembling hands into her bloodstained nightgown.

He nods. “Why?”

She licks her lips and smiles, reaching for his hand. “The place where they took her – they had no word for Pond.” She glances down at their hands, watching the Doctor lace their fingers together. “The closest word they had in their language was river. They called the girl River Song.”

Hearing the Doctor’s sharp inhale, she risks a peek at him. He stares at her wordlessly. His fingers tremble in her grasp and his eyes are wet but he chokes out a laugh as her words register, a sound so filled with innocent joy that all of her fears float away in an instant. “It’s you,” he rasps, and he only lets go of her hand to thread his fingers through her hair and press his forehead to hers, gazing into her eyes. “You’ve come back.”

River shakes her head. “No, sweetie.” She smiles, soft and tremulous. “I’ve come home.”

Chapter Text

In the hours since Kovarian’s defeat and the prior breaking of two curses, River Song hasn’t slept. She stands outside, ankle deep in the snow as it soaks through her skirts, and waits for the approaching sunrise. Inside the house, the Doctor is currently dealing with the slain sorceress lying in the middle of their bedroom floor. River doesn’t want to know how he plans to dispose of her but she’d given him plenty of ideas before she slipped out of the house.

Shivering, she tips her head back to regard the night sky and watches her breath cloud the air. Her whole life she has been shackled, a slave to Kovarian and the darkness. There is nothing to hold her back now. She is truly free for the first time she can remember. River wraps her arms around her middle and wonders when it will feel real instead of just another cruel trick.

When the door opens behind her, she tenses but does not turn around. She keeps her eyes on the stars and listens to the Doctor’s boots crunch through the snow as he walks up behind her. He doesn’t say a word but she feels the heat of his body at her back and then the heavy weight of a fur cloak draped over her shoulders.

Snuggling into the warmth of it, River offers him a grateful glance as he moves to stand beside her. The Doctor nods awkwardly, hands shoved into the pockets of his velvet coat. River licks her lips. “Is she…?”

“Yes,” he answers grimly.

River nods, satisfied, and does not ask. Instead, she finds herself voicing aloud the question that has been on her mind for the last several hours – since she learned she was capable of True Love’s Kiss and more astonishingly, capable of being saved by it. “What happens now?”

The Doctor sighs and she watches the way his breath leaves his mouth in a cloud and drifts toward the stars. “Why don’t we start with why the hell you didn’t tell me who you really were? I mean, obviously, at first you were a bit preoccupied with plotting my demise.” River flinches but the Doctor sounds nothing but amused. “But after… when you gave all that up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She fists her hands into the fabric of her cloak and feels her heart lodge in her throat. When she tries to swallow, it aches. “I suppose I was being selfish.” She doesn’t dare look at him but she can sense the Doctor’s baffled gaze. She clears her throat and confesses, “I wanted to hold onto you a little longer.”

“I don’t understand.” She knows it must have taken everything for him to admit that and she risks a surprised glance to find the Doctor watching her, his brow furrowed. “What, you thought I wouldn’t want you once I knew?”

She can hear the ridicule in his voice but River shakes her head, frustrated. “Why would you? I’m not just the mysterious woman you rescued from the snow, Doctor. I’m a weapon. I’m your greatest failure -”

“And my greatest triumph,” he interrupts gruffly, frowning at her. When River falls silent, staring at him uncertainly, the Doctor takes a breath and mutters, “Greatest love.”

River inhales sharply and looks away, her heart pounding giddily. She swallows and fiddles with her cloak, staring at the snow beneath her feet. “You know,” she ventures softly, “We never did discuss that other option.”

When she peeks at him, the Doctor is watching her curiously. She eyes him meaningfully through her lashes, drawing a spark of magic to her fingertips to remind him. His eyes lighten in understanding, the apprehension fading from his stern brow. “Ah, our magic. Took a liking to one another, didn’t they?”

She nods, biting her lip. “A union, you called it.”

Lips pursed, the Doctor gazes into the middle distance for a long moment before he finally says, “You were rather skittish, my dear. I called it a union so as not to scare you off.”

River frowns. “What is it then?”

Turning his gaze back to her, the Doctor admits, “A marriage.”

When her eyes widen and her fingers tighten reflexively around her cloak, the Doctor steps forward and takes her hand in his. She shakes her head. “It’s a lie,” she whispers. “I wasn’t born with magic, Doctor. Kovarian gave it to me. In fact, she probably designed my magic to match yours -”

The Doctor tightens his grip on her hand, his eyes burning into hers. “Kovarian didn’t give you magic, River. She gave your body the ability to produce it.”

He cups her cheek and his skin is surprisingly warm despite the cold. River leans hesitantly into his touch, suppressing a shudder. She stares at him hungrily, wanting so badly for it to be true. To have one thing that belongs to her, one thing that Kovarian never touched.

“Your magic is your own,” he promises, and his voice is raw with honesty, like he knows how much it means to her. “Spawned right from your heart and soul. Kovarian could never control that. She could only control how you used it.” His thumb strokes reverently over her cheek. “And even that she couldn’t control for long.”

River smiles, wobbly but radiant. “It’s mine? My magic?”

“Yours,” he whispers, brushing his nose against hers. “Wife.”

Her breath catches.

“You asked me what comes next.” The Doctor sighs, an uncertain smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I want to take on companions again. I want to keep brewing potions. I want to wake up in the morning and hear you bickering with my kitchen cupboard. I want everything I’ve had since the moment you fainted on my doorstep.” He eyes her hesitantly. “If that’s all right with you, of course.”

River shifts in his grip, dropping her gaze to stare at the collar of his coat. Unsure exactly how to let him know how much she wants all of that, how much she’s wanted it for months, before she ever knew she could have it, she only grumbles, “I didn’t faint.”

The Doctor chuckles, a quiet rumble in his chest that warms her chilled bones. “Took a nap then,” he amends. His thumb strokes her cheekbone and her eyes flutter at the tender touch. “And you, River Song. Melody Pond.” She looks up at the name, caught in his gaze instantly. “What do you want?”

No one had ever asked her such a question until the Doctor.

Around them, the wind picks up and River huddles against him. He wraps her cloak tighter around her and his arms follow, holding her to his chest to shield her from the cold. Face pressed into his neck and nose nudging the velvet collar of his coat, River begins, “Kovarian was very strict about what I was allowed to read when I was growing up. Mostly, I was only permitted books about your misdeeds – the lives you had ruined, the battlefields you drowned in blood.” The Doctor’s arms tighten around her and she hears him swallow. “Sometimes I got to read books on magic theory.”

The Doctor clears his throat. “Are you asking me for more books?”

Laughing softly, River shakes her head. “Shut up, I’m not finished.” He presses an apologetic kiss into her hair and the affectionate gesture buoys her. She keeps going. “Every now and then, I managed to get my hands on other things.”

She can hear the Doctor’s smile. “Little Melody Pond and the contraband books.”

“Exactly,” she whispers. “My favorites were the fairy tales.”

“And they lived happily ever after,” he says, and she loves that he understands her so well she doesn’t have to explain. He leans back to look into her eyes. “What’s your happily ever after then, wife of mine?”

River smiles widely, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Not knowing.”

-

When spring comes and the snow melts, there’s no putting it off any longer. River sits beside the Doctor in the carriage as it trundles down a cobbled lane in the middle of tiny Leadworth, her hands fidgeting on her lap and her teeth cutting into her bottom lip.

She stares out the window as they roll steadily past rows of houses, wondering if it’s too late to turn back. Will they recognize her? Will she recognize them? What if they’re disappointed in what she’s become? What if after all this time fantasizing about finally meeting her parents, it’s nothing at all like she imagined? What if –

The Doctor’s warm hand reaches across the seat between them and settles over her anxious ones, stilling her fidgeting. “Shut it.”

She glances at him sharply. “I haven’t said -”

“Maybe not but I can still hear you.” He squeezes her hand. “You’re their daughter, River. Nothing else will matter.”

She lets him comfort her, lacing their fingers together, and studies his face – his jaw tight with tension, the way he flinches every time the carriage jolts. “And you’re their best friend,” she counters softly, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

“I lost you,” he bites out, glancing away.

River frowns. “You found me.”

The Doctor purses his lips against a smile, shaking his head as he reluctantly turns to face her again. “You found me, dear.”

“Call it even?”

He kisses her in agreement.

When the carriage finally rolls to a stop and the Doctor ushers River out, she steps down into the yard clinging to his hand. With trepidation in her heart, she looks up. Standing in the doorway is an elderly couple – a man with a big nose and kind eyes, and a slender woman with graying ginger hair. River was far too young when she was taken to remember them but as they stand there and stare at each other, she knows without question that these people are her family.

Amy Pond stares at her, tears welling in her eyes.

Tightening her grip on the Doctor’s hand, River takes the first step forward, pulling him with her. “Hello.” Her throat tightens but she forces out, “Mum and Dad.”

Eyes bright with tears and wonder, Amy steps forward with broken laughter. Rory is right on her heels. River quickens her steps and they meet in the middle. She finds herself immediately wrapped up in their embrace, unsurprised when Amy grumbles and yanks the Doctor into her arms as well. They laugh and cry and all around them, the flowers of spring bloom bright.

It isn’t an ending. There are many more days to come. There will be people to save, potions to brew, and magic to conjure. There will be declarations of love that get easier to accept with every moment the Doctor looks at her like he means it. Perhaps she’ll even get another cat. The future is uncertain but for the first time, it’s a future River Song is free to decide for herself.

-

In the days that follow, there will be many stories. They’ll say the greatest wizard of the age was killed by the little girl he’d once fought so hard to protect. They’ll say he was resurrected by the same woman. They’ll say Amy Pond never saw her baby again. They’ll say the Doctor led a lost child home to her family. The stories will say he married her and they lived happily ever after.

This is the truth:

Once upon a time, there was a lonely little girl who defeated an evil sorceress and banished her most vile curse from the land, rescued an ailing wizard with a kiss, and found her family. Along the way, she found love and belonging, discovering her rightful place in the world – beside the wizard, between the light and the dark.

And they did live happily ever after.