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It’s kind of a boring ride with not much of a destination, really. There may or may not have been some Party of the Century – any century, does it matter? – and the Doctor may or may not have been there, but now that’s done and he’s not going anywhere.
So he’s, kind of lost, really, in the Console room, on his own. If he were Jack, he’d be inebriated. If he were a normal human, he’d be hammered drunk. But he’s the Doctor and he’s just a tiny bit tipsy.
Just enough for his cheek to have flushed, and for him not to care that his bowtie is tilted a bit to the side, and that the two buttons of his shirt in the area of his stomach have been unbuttoned at some point.
Why, who and all that’s irrelevant ‘cause, well. He’s in the TARDIS, on his own, so it’s all fine. The last thing he needs is a mindless half-drunk shag, really.
It appears, though, that jealousy really doesn’t know time. Or space. It’s either that, or to top it all off, River Song has become psychic as well.
The Doctor’s been aimlessly floating in space for a while now when one of the screens above the main console flashes and then screeches, and flashes again, in a way he didn’t even know was possible.
And then it turns all-blue, covered in white cursive that looks too much like professor Song’s handwriting.
A location.
A date.
Ctch me.
She’s rarely that direct; she rarely misses a vowel, and suddenly, he’s worried and almost completely sober. He springs to his feet and runs a few laps around the console, pressing buttons and steering wheels because time is suddenly very existent, and he has somewhere to be.
The TARDIS gives a moan and then a screech, and then roars its way into the time vortex, all pleasant whirring as she moves towards wherever River needs her to be.
The Doctor steps back as they move and just enjoys it, because the rush of chasing River Song is incomparable and he is loving every minute of it, right now, right down to the sounds that his TARDIS makes as she moves to save his wife, again.
When he feels like they’ve come to a halt, he rushes to the door but it swings open before he’s even touched it, right on time for a breathless River Song to run in.
She’s not falling this time, at least. She runs and slams the door and takes a split second to drag in a breath before looking up at him.
He’s been partying in the wrong century. River Song’s party, it seems, has required false eyelashes, dark red lipstick and high heels. So, she’s gorgeous, gorgeous, and then he falls for her all over again as she catches his eyes, smirks, and purrs the usual,
“Hello, sweetie.”
The Doctor takes a second to make sure she’s alive and well, and then says a low,
“River. I thought you might be—“
“Dying? Yes. I was. Not anymore.”
She laughs and shrugs, and he doesn’t even want to ask. There’s so much he’d rather be doing. And he’s just about to tell her, when she gives a loud sigh and rushes to the console.
“Doctor—I’ve told you, so many times—“ she sighs at him and then starts pressing buttons until the TARDIS quiets down.
He gives her a confused look, reaches up to fix his bowtie and observes lowly,
“We’ve stopped moving.”
River lets out a melodic laugh and shakes her head at him.
“Oh, my love,” and her voice drops shamelessly, “you wish.”
The Doctor has to try his hardest not to look disappointed because yes, he does wish to be floating in timeless space with the gorgeous River Song, doing all kinds of things that require the solitude of space and can go on for a little eternity.
But she’s smirking at him, laughing lowly, and he knows she sees right through him.
“We haven’t stopped,” River reiterates, her hand resting calmly on the console. “She’s just—calmed down. You keep driving with the handbrake on, and she doesn’t like it. Are you ever going to learn--”
“I don’t know,” The Doctor shrugs, managing to smirk at her. “You tell me.”
“Spoilers,” River deadpans and then keeps walking around the console, pressing random buttons and humming lowly, to herself and to the ship until even the tiniest vibration dies down.
Her perfume’s filled the air and the Doctor vaguely thinks to himself that if the TARDIS could breathe, she’d be breathing in the scent and memorising it, storing it in the deepest sections of her memory, right with his midnight confessions and the things she’s seen in all of her bedrooms.
For all he knows, that’s all he’s doing. But he knows it’s really, honestly not about him right now, because River’s murmuring and he can’t hear her, and the TARDIS is all smooth movement and quiet engines, and he knows the two of them have a connection he can’t understand, and he shouldn’t even bother trying.
So he kind of switches off, while River tends to his ship and makes sure she’s fine, that she’s been handling her madman of a husband well enough on her own.
The Doctor doesn’t even notice when River walks over. Then she pokes her finger at his stomach, where his buttons have come undone, and scratches his pale skin with a sharp burgundy fingernail.
“Professor Song,” the Doctor whispers and manages to look all smug and sweet when really, he just wants to ask her to stay, for a while, and—stay. Instead, he teases. “You done—talking to my TARDIS?”
“I’ll have you know, Doctor, your TARDIS likes me much better than you,” River teases back, and her smile is so distracting he doesn’t even notice when she twists one more button open between her slim, swift fingers.
“You can’t talk to her,” the Doctor insists and he chooses not to address the what if, what if his River and his TARDIS do gossip about him, sometimes. Instead, he chooses to keep going with that game they’ve been playing, and lowly asks, “So—where are you taking me now?”
River lets out a laugh and catches his eyes. He’s sure there could be seventeen suns exploding around them and he wouldn’t notice, not right now.
“Oh no, my love,” she murmurs, and one more button pops open under her touch. “Now we’ve stopped moving.”