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As he and Bill navigated the craggy outcroppings and avoided the cracks, the tents grew larger and the sounds of the festival grew louder. Vendors calling wares, music and baked bread wafting with the breeze, pigs squealing and dogs barking. Men and women shouting for the dog or man or horse they wagered on to win.
The low snow clouds reflected their threats upon the frozen Thames, and up on the riverbank dirty brown piles of street snow could be seen. Grey cloud cover was a welcome sight, as was the biting breeze sweeping down the riverway. Tomorrow, the sun would be out, and they would be scrambling to break down the festival, the ice cracking underfoot.
They entered the outskirts of the festival and Bill looked on in disgust at the horrors posing as entertainment in this era, while the doctor ignored it and moved ahead. “Can’t we stop them, Doctor,” Bill plead after a racehorse slipped on the ice coming out of a turn, probably breaking her leg, thrashing and screaming as she struggled to gain footing.
“We’re observers, Bill. Just take solace in the fact things are better in your time.” His response was distant. There had been an overwhelming presence occupying him, and it yet distracted him again, as his memories drifted to his wife and the end of their time together. He was often hit with the things they never talked about. Never talked about her earliest memories, her childhood, nor Berlin. Nor the mundane rules of time travel; when to intervene and when to observe. Their arguments were, most times, over the method of intervention. They were much the same. But she somehow just knew so many things.
“What do you think about the food here, Doctor?”
“Stay away from meats. Baked goods are fine. No water but beer or wine is fine.” He reached in his pocket and revealed some shillings. “I’ll be in the middle by the bandstand.”
She received the coins in her hand with wide eyed surprise. “You expect me to just wander away and be okay? You do realize I’m obviously not white.”
“Aach you’ll be fine, no one cares, especially with a pocket full of coins. Universal language.”
“Well, I think you’re probably right about that Doctor,” she agreed with a smile.
And upon her departure for the vendors’ tents, the Doctor’s face took on the brooding darkness that had been seeping into his mind. The darkness that motivated him to this place, a part of their history he knew was pure happiness. He made his way down the main drag to the bandstand, vaguely remembering his surroundings, the memories clouded by centuries. He didn’t remember meeting himself, so that’s good. But perhaps he forgot. Happens now and then.
He entered somewhat of an open space, surrounded by tents that acted as makeshift taverns with standing tables, and tents selling food with benches. At the end was a boat that had been hauled across the ice to act as a bandstand, presently hosting a half dozen lute players, a man playing a large flat drum and a woman with a tambourine thing, dancing about. Everything temporary and able to be hauled back to the banks at a moment’s notice, should the ice begin to break apart.
Approaching the bar, he pulled a wooden wine chalice from his coat pocket and had it filled with port. He wasn’t a drinker, but the cold was biting, and the warm liquid helped. He scanned the crowd through his permanently furrowed brows. People dancing, standing in groups, eating, drinking. And suddenly the crowd seemed to part for him, because there they were.
He leaned against a standing table and watched, the memories flooding back. How ridiculous he’d been. They were married but he fluttered around her like a hummingbird, a moth to flame, still afraid to touch her. And for good reason. Once he got a decent head on his shoulders, his grey Scottish head, he’d dive in to take her on rightly, and wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d haunt his dreams for millenniums. And make him do things like… what he was doing right now.
The Doctor watched on as he danced with her. He was terrible and didn’t do her justice. But she adored him. The Doctor wasn’t the only person whose attention they had. That handsome woman beaming with happiness, brought on by a seemingly idiotically flapping stork of a man. He found himself smiling with nostalgia. How much he loved making her happy. How much she loved his effort, even when plans fell flat.
That’s why Darillium didn’t happen on Bowtie’s watch, he mused. She was just so excited about everything they did, it was like leading a sheep to slaughter. And the more he put it off, the more he couldn’t imagine a night without her.
He audibly groaned and not so gently hit his head on the table. Leave it to him to ruin a perfectly happy thought with a perfectly depressive thought. He took a gulp and felt the warmth envelop his mouth, throat and chest.
“Sir, have we met?” A familiar voice startled him from behind, nearly causing him to choke on his wine.
He rolled his eyes at the audacity of fate, the one thing that wasn’t supposed to happen. His eyes had drifted from them maybe a few seconds.
“Sir, can you hear? You’ve been watching my husband and me all afternoon.”
He turned to her and was taken aback for a moment, face to face with the wife he hadn’t seen in half a century. Her red nose and flushed, windburnt cheeks. Curls escaping around her face. He stayed the course and replied under a raised brow. “I don’t think so.” And he turned around and grabbed his glass to escape.
“A Scot!” She laughed. “Don’t see many of you here in this part of the… isles.”
He met her eyes with a chuckle and a half smile, she almost slipped and said ‘century.’
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.” And he chuckled again, taking another sip to avoid further conversation. After a moment, he looked over to see her still standing there, a chill jolting her. “Where’s that husband of yours, leaving you here cold,” he curtly said to the ground, avoiding eye contact.
“He went to go find skates. It’s my… birthday,” she replied, interrupted by another chill,
He rolled his eyes with a groan. “Of course he just leaves you. Here give me your cup.” He extended his hand to receive it.
“I don’t have a cup.”
He scoffed. “What do you mean you don’t have a cup? You should always bring a cup.”
She looked him over curiously. “Why should that matter?”
“Because they use the same ones.” He motioned around the courtyard.
Her eyes narrowed at his strange, impatient manner and looked down to see his cup of wine in front of her, being offered.
“Here, it’ll warn you up.” He was looking at the table.
“And it’s somehow all right to drink from yours,” she responded with a raised eyebrow and a playfully challenging grin.
“Oh just drink it.” He looked her up and down with scrutiny as she took it. “How are your feet, can you feel your toes?”
She chuckled as she took a drink. “Mmm this is good.” She gave him a surprised nod and swallowed another sip. “Are you this protective of strangers.” She did that flirty thing with her voice.
“Are you this flirty with strangers while out with your husband?” He challenged with a smirk.
“No.” She was serious.
He responded with a sideways look and a grin that said he didn’t believe her at all. “So just me.”
She smiled mischievously and took another sip and put the cup down on the table. “You know there’s one good way to keep warm at the Frost Festival.”
The Doctor’s eyes were already rolling in preparation for whatever innuendo she was going to throw at him. But she only nodded to the boat stage, now occupied by a string quartet.
"Oh, you can't be serious." His eyes rolled any way. But after settling on her, the sideways excited grin he saw warmed him better than any Port wine. If she ever knew how that smile could control the universe, she never let on. He feigned annoyance as he offered his hand, mostly annoyed with himself at what was a stupid risk, but what’s the worst that can happen? New memories of good times never hurt anyone. It was just one last dance, after all.
He led her across the ice, seasoned and roughened by the crowd, and they bowed as was the fashion. She gave surprised look when he took her waist and led her in a waltz. She wasn’t used to being led in any form and looked around, and at the ground, hit his knees. He gently squeezed her waist under his hand and whispered, his mouth to her ear, “Let me lead you. Follow, I’ll be sure we don’t hit anything.” And before long she responded to the pressure on her waist as they began to glide over the ice as one. She met his eyes for a split second and he gently pushed her into a spin, bringing her back close to him firmly and fluidly n into the next step. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes in wonder, a flush on her face. With a knowing smile, he led her on in fluid strides, covering the area. He’d been so jealous of whomever taught her to dance properly, that first night on Darillum. He should have known it was him.
Of course, as the crowd gathered to watch, neither he nor River realized that the Waltz hadn’t been invented yet. But had been now and would make it to the royal court in two year’s time. And someone else was watching too, and he was not exactly thrilled.
He’d never seen the man before, and it was completely impossible—but his identity was unmistakable. He couldn’t imagine anyone looking at her like that. Except for him. And if it wasn’t him, he didn’t want to exist anymore if someone else knew her that well, to look at her like that.
As the song ended, the crowd applauded but the couple didn’t notice. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, and gazed at her, his thumb running along her jawline. She just looked at him, doe eyed, blushed and completely swept. He could have asked her out to an evening at the Satan Pit and she would have followed him like a lamb. No doubt in his mind it was him.
That was enough. He approached them and cleared his throat. The older, grey gentleman met the Doctor’s tight lipped smile, and immediately knew he was had. He gave a wink and turned to River, bowed and kissed her hand. “Thank you for the dance. It’s been years,” and turned to the Doctor. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, it’s fine. I can’t really tell her what to do any way.”
He chuckled. “No, you can’t. Well, I must be off. And you shouldn’t leave her freezing like that, alone, someone’s liable to steal her way.” He gave the Doctor a challenging grin and he turned to leave.
“Goodbye,” River called to him. “I didn’t ask your name.” He turned, only to give River a last smile and left.
Meanwhile, the Doctor followed the grey Scot off with a dark glare as he disappeared into the crowd. The words about stealing her settled exactly as they were intended. He looked at River, and in that moment, he had an epiphany. He realized how much his feelings for her would affect him, affect his decisions, even into his next lives. He saw it right in front of him. That’s how much she’d mean to him, and it wasn’t something he could continue to ignore or run from or change. It was, had been, a universal constant.
“I love you.”
“What?” River was confused, since she’d never heard those words from him. And then in such a strange context, out of the blue.
He embarrassingly scratched his head. “Did I just say that?”
She laughed and pulled him close, by the lapels. “Yes, you did.”
He nervously wrapped his arms around her and smiled. “I suppose I did. But I do." He smiled, "You're my wife.”
“I know, I love you too.”
He frowned. “Why is it so hard to say?”
She thought for a moment, then looked back up to him. “Maybe because it’s hard to feel, sometimes.”
He held her tighter, feeling the warmth radiating between them. “This is easy. This is right.”
She looked at him, adoring. “This has always been easy.”
And they swayed to the music as his thoughts drifted to what could have possibly been going though his insane mind to come here, knowing he’d risk paradox. It surely couldn’t have been a trip down memory lane. He abhors memory lane. “River, what did he tell you?”
“Happy birthday,” she replied wistfully, muffled into his coat, heavy in his arms.
He cracked a smile. “That’s it. Nothing else.”
“No, just small talk and a dance. He was strange, like I knew him, but we’ve never met. Do you think he’s a time traveler too?”
“Just a dance.” He smiled to himself. The window of his mind flashed to earlier, the gaze he rested upon River in those stolen moments. No one else existed, needed to exist. “All of time and space for a dance,” he laughed out loud and looked at river, her glance questioning. “Did you enjoy it?”
She smirked thoughtfully. “A bit. He was a very good dancer.”
In that moment a plan began formulating, and it involved one-upping himself and his overrated dance skills. “Sit tight dear, I’ll be right back. I promise. And if that man comes back, whatever you do, DO NOT go anywhere with him!”
And as he ran back to his TARDIS to figure out how to bring Stevie Wonder and a piano back to the Winter Festival without being arrested for witchcraft, he realized something very important. Sometimes one dance is worth a little timey-wimey cheating.