She's Only Just Beginning

Part IV

[“You’re right,” he agreed when she turned back to him, and followed her inside.]

“You can put those down right through here,” River called, looking back over her shoulder as she disappeared around a corner and down a hallway. The Doctor hurried to catch up with her, still toting two heavy bags of books without complaint. Seeing a light flicker on in a room at the end of the hall, he ducked inside. Ah, he thought meekly. River’s bedroom. The bed looked like had been made in a hurry, appearing invitingly slept in. The Doctor redirected his gaze to a desk in the far corner, where River was currently unloading the books she’d borrowed from the library. He made his way cheerfully over to her, placing a hand gently on her upper back as he came up behind her. She flashed him a brief smile to cover up her confusion, took the books from him, and silently started arranging them on the desk. He could only admire her, everything about her, from her practiced and relaxed motions to the logical organization of numerous texts, from how soft and unusually huggable she looked in that jumper to how perfectly those well-worn jeans embraced the contours of her legs above the knee. It was only with great difficulty that he resisted the urge to wind his arms around her from behind to find out just how huggable she was.

“No wonder you didn’t want to bring my parents along,” River remarked, seemingly out of the blue. The Doctor recognized her dangerously sly tone, but he couldn’t resist asking anyway.

“And why is that, Miss Song?” he inquired, sounding just a little too oblivious and curious to not be aware of what she was doing.

“Because,” River started, revolving to face him with an entertained smile, “you wouldn’t be able to get away with ogling me so openly.” The Doctor’s mouth opened and closed uselessly as he tried to figure out what to say. He briefly contemplated denying it, but they both knew better. “Mind you, you’re not exactly doing a bang-up job of it sans parent Ponds, either,” she added, the sparkle in her sea-green eyes letting him know that he was forgiven.

“River, River, River,” The Doctor sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“You tell me,” she returned coyly, looking up at him challengingly. He laughed with genuine delight, content in the knowledge that in this regard at least, his wife would never change.

“Spoilers,” he grinned impishly, taking great pleasure in finally being able to turn that word back on her after all those years of River’s infuriating smugness. Not that she actually understood the joke now of course -- it was just for him, really.

“Well, for now, would you like a cuppa?” River offered with uncharacteristic hospitality. Her expression remained clear under The Doctor’s scrutiny, and she innocently pulled the scrunchie out of her curls, letting corkscrews of blonde hair frame her face.

“...Yes?” The Doctor replied, so cautiously that is came out sounding more like a question than an answer.

“Then you may go make one while I get cleaned up,” River said with a small smile, pulling her jumper off over her head in one swift motion. Realizing that she was undressing, The Doctor knew he needed to hurry along before she got any further. He was rather doubtful as to how much control he would be able to maintain were River to lose any more layers, and as he firmly reminded himself, This was not his wife. Yet. 

“Would you like one as well?” he asked graciously, hoping to cover up the slightly flush that had creeped into his cheeks. River was admittedly interested, and found the idea of The Doctor doing something as domestic as making her tea rather novel.

“Thank you,” she answered, and The Doctor nodded. It wasn’t until she made a shooing motion that he remembered he was supposed to be doing something elsewhere. The fitted, forest green tank-top she wore was more than a little distracting.

“Right! Tea!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together once and spinning to face the door.

“I’ll come find you when I’m through here,” River called after him. The Doctor gave her an exuberant salute before trotting off down the hallway.

Now, if I were River’s kitchen where would I be? The Doctor followed the hallways back to River’s front door, in order to start at the beginning. He did find her kitchen eventually, after wandering around her home for a bit trying to take in the personal touches of her dwelling without violating her space and snooping. It was sparingly decorated, containing only the necessities. However, there were bookshelves lining nearly every wall, and stacks of books could be found in most of the corners and beside the couch. From the state of her home, The Doctor gathered that she rarely had visitors (everything was a singleton), and that even River herself didn’t spend more time here than she had to. And from the abundance of books and the nightmares he knew she was plagued with, The Doctor also surmised that she spent more time reading than sleeping.

By the time he had found the kitchen, The Doctor’s chest ached with the weight of the guilt he felt at having left River alone for so long. He then thought of how patient she had been with him in his past -- her future -- and fell a little bit more in love with this impossible, mad woman, this archaeologist, the child of the Ponds and his TARDIS. As he set about putting on the kettle, The Doctor found his thoughts absorbed by the woman of the hour, whom he knew was just down the hall changing. He almost dropped the mugs upon hearing the shower come on, something he knew River would certainly not appreciate. But good grief. River. Shower. River in the shower. Showering. With the no clothes and the water and the soap; a wet, soapy River. Brain, shut-up! When he nearly scalded himself by grabbing the body of the kettle, The Doctor knew he desperately needed to get his mind off of his gorgeous, naked wife-not-wife in the shower not twenty feet away. He busied himself by looking for River’s collection of tea, finally discovering it in a covert pantry. Leave it to River to have a clever, tricky, secret pantry, he laughed to himself, with no small amount of pride.

Though the process was not without mishap, The Doctor ended up with two steaming mugs of tea, carefully set out on coasters on the coffee table in the living. By a rare stroke of fortune, The Doctor’s unfamiliarity with River’s kitchen (and his initial difficulty in finding it) had coincided perfectly with River’s quick shower; The Doctor had only just sat down on the couch when River sauntered into the living room. The Doctor’s breath caught in his throat at the vision of absolute beauty that stood before him, his eyes eagerly taking in her appearance. She was wearing a simple, yet elegant dark green nightdress that fell to just above her knees. The nightdress was held up with thin straps, exposing River’s toned shoulders, and though it wasn’t fitted, it was gathered at the waist, and did not leave much to the imagination. She had only towel-dried her fantastic hair, and the tousled, damp look was very nearly more than The Doctor could handle. As she walked over to the sofa, he caught a whiff of her shampoo, as well as the clean smell of bar soap, which brought back the horribly distracting images of a wet, soapy River. Her cheeks were pink with warmth from the hot shower, her face wonderfully natural and so very kissable after having been washed of any make-up. The Doctor was often surprised by how short River truly was, as she so often wore heels, but her presence was no less commanding. She was absolutely breathtaking.