carmen_lj | fic: minor temporal paradoxes (eleven/river)

Title: Minor Temporal Paradoxes
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Characters: Eleven/River
Summary: The Doctor and River have a nice fireside chat and don't destroy the universe, well done them.
Spoilers: For 5.05, Flesh and Stone.

Minor Temporal Paradoxes

There’s dirt caked under her nails and a smudge from a different century on her nose. The Doctor pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes it off. “Good dig?”

“I’ve had better.”

-

They share a pot of coffee in River’s tent and try to talk without causing too many temporal paradoxes. By the time they go outside the stars are bright and there’s a fire in the middle of the little camp. River’s team drift in and out of shadows until finally they’re all asleep while the two of them are still sitting together, staring at dancing flames.

“Can I see them?” he asks.

River gives him a look that’s somewhere between suspicion and an invitation. “Can you see what?”

“The pictures, the ones of me. In your diary.”

She stares at him, lips pursed. “I don’t see why not. It’s not as though you’ve forgotten who you’ve been, is it?” She pauses. “Is it?”

The Doctor almost manages not to glare. “No, of course not.”

She opens her diary and places her fingers carefully over the bottom of the right hand page before she lets him see. “Am I...?” he begins, his eyes trying to stare through her hand.

“They’re pencil drawings, Doctor, even if you could see them, you wouldn’t know.”

“You could just tell me,” he says, only half-joking.

“Is this why you’re travelling with Amy? You think if you get killed and she’s with you you’ll imprint with her hair colour?”

“No! Of course not.” He doesn’t meet her eye, but looks very determinedly at the none-too-shabby drawing of his fourth self. “It’s just a bonus, that’s all. Who drew these?” He leans closer, his nose almost touching the page.

“I did,” she says, smiling. “Do you like them?”

He straightens up, and his finger moves quickly over the pages as he speaks: “Too much nose, too much eyebrow, and my ears were never that big. Otherwise, they’re alright, I suppose. Haven’t quite captured my-”

“Arrogance?”

“Charisma.” He looks back at her hand on the page. “Given the size of these drawings, I’d say you’re hiding no more than two faces under your fingers.”

River rolls her eyes. “Usually when I get to the bottom of a page, I turn over.”

“Ah, so there are more of me.”

“I didn’t say that. Why are you so curious all of a sudden?”

“Time’s got bigger problems than me finding out if I happen to regenerate into someone with a fine head of ginger hair.” He stretches back on the grass, supporting himself on his elbows. “And I’m always curious.”

“You’re feeling petty,” says River. “It’s awfully childish, you know.”

“There’s something really very absurd about a human calling me childish. You do know that I’m nine hundred years old, right? I have mentioned that?”

She snorts. “Once or twice. You’re going to be nine-hundred years old for the next century, apparently.”

“Yes, well, it looks a bit silly, doesn’t it? A humanoid over a thousand years old. All those long-lived non-corporeal species get a bit suspicious. They think I’m lying to sound impressive.”

“You are lying.”

“Yes, but they don’t think I am.” He lets the silence linger for a moment before he asks: “Have you met me then? All of me, I mean?”

“If I had, you’d remember,” she says with a smile.

He frowns. “Now there’s an unsubtle sidestep if ever I heard one. Are we always going to be playing games, River?”

“You like them well enough when you’ve got all the good cards. Or pawns.”

His eyes narrow. “Pawns?”

She shrugs and picks up a stick to poke the fire. The flames bloom briefly. “I’ve seen you play chess,” she says and her smile widens.

“You know, that’s exactly the sort of hint I really don’t like. If you’re not going to indulge me with the hair, I insist on not knowing anything about important matters either.”

“Who said it was important?”

“Chess is always important.” He sighs, tries again. “How many of me have you kissed?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Now that’s a more interesting question.”

“Yes, I thought you’d like it.”

“Less than I’ve slept with,” she says nonchalantly.

The Doctor pretends to find something very interesting about the night sky. “I don’t think I want to know.”

She lies back next to him, turns on her side and props herself up on an elbow. “Of course you do.”

She has warm breath. All humans have warm breath of course but right now hers is very warm. And very close. And he closes his eyes when she leans in to kiss him.

River is the second woman he’s kissed in this body and she’s not like Amy at all; Amy, with all her passion and energy and enthusiasm is adventure and youth. River is different; River’s kiss, he thinks, is sadness.

His hand is on her shoulder and he pushes her away gently, and tries to look as though this isn’t the first time she’s kissed him.

“It isn’t easy for me either,” she says quietly, “not knowing where we are.”

“At least you know where we go.”

She laughs, rich and warm. “Oh, I do, I definitely do.” Her look turns serious. “One day,” she says, “you’ll meet me and I won’t have a clue who you are.”

He reaches out to trace her face with his fingertips. “I look forward to it.”

“You shouldn’t.” He supposes it’s a warning he should listen to. But he won’t and he can’t and it doesn’t matter anyway; it wouldn’t be the first time someone who loves him has killed him (he doesn’t love her yet and he wonders when he will).

It might not be him. There are a lot of good men, after all, and he’s always found symmetry rather dull.

-

In the morning, just before he leaves, River asks: “Do you know how this ends?”

He thinks for a moment, and he tries to smile. “With handcuffs,” he tells her.