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River’s house, the Doctor had to admit, was interesting. It sprawled and rambled and sometimes there were staircases that went nowhere, or that went up only to go back down. It made no sense, and the Doctor knew, without River ever having told him, that she’d bought it because it’d reminded her of the TARDIS. She’d even painted the front door TARDIS blue.
As houses went, it wasn’t terrible. He might even go so far as to say he liked it, and he certainly had many fond memories there. But all of those memories had been made when he’d had the choice of leaving if he’d wanted to. Now, with a storm raging outside and white-out conditions that made it impossible to reach the TARDIS, his fondness for the house was fading quickly. And River’s fondness for him seemed to be fading along with it.
“Doctor, will you just sit?” she said, after he’d spent fifteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds pacing the front hallway. The TARDIS was in the far right corner of the garden, he was sure of it. If only he could see the garden. His screwdriver could have shown him the way, but it had mysteriously vanished from his pocket (and he thought he knew who to blame for that). “You can’t go out there. You’d freeze to death in three minutes and we wouldn’t find your body until spring.”
“How can you possibly live here?” the Doctor demanded, flinging himself onto her sofa. “This weather is ridiculous.”
“It’s not usually like this,” River said, barely glancing up from her pile of marking. “This weather pattern only manifests every twenty years or so. Besides, I don’t mind the occasional snow-day. It’s nice.”
“Nice,” the Doctor repeated in incredulity. Really, he’d thought of all his companions, River would understand. “It’s nice to be trapped with no way out?”
“No, Doctor,” she said, in her I’m-being-patient-with-you voice. “It’s nice to have a day in which to stay in and catch up, because I have no choice but to stay home. It’s a little bubble of time out of time.”
The Doctor scowled at her. Time out of time. “What a ridiculous thing to say.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t mean it literally, of course. I suppose it wouldn’t make sense to you. You don’t have to worry about deadlines or deal with the constraints of a twenty-five hour day. But I do. And it’s nice for me to have the time to deal with this pile of marking and perhaps watch a movie later on, because it’s impossible for me to go up to the university and fulfill my usual duties.”
“Hmph,” the Doctor said, glaring out the window.
“And it’s nice,” River went on, in the same mild, even voice, “to have you here, with me, with no chance of you haring off.”
The Doctor glanced at her. She still hadn’t looked up. “Hmm,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was something you wanted.”
“Not all the time,” she said, and now she did look up, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to be snowed in everyday, either. But every once in a while, it is . . . nice.”
The Doctor glanced outside. Nothing was visible - not even the porch railing. It would be truly foolish to go looking for the TARDIS when inside River’s house it was warm and dry, and there was, well, River.
Adventure would still be there tomorrow, after all. But he wasn’t sure how many days with River he might have. She’d been pardoned five years ago, and now she was a professor, just like she’d been the first time they’d met. He might only ever have one opportunity like this. He wondered if perhaps she thought that, too, and that was why she’d stolen his screwdriver.
“Doctor?” River said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, quickly.
“You think it’s silly,” she said, with a smile that said she didn’t care whether he thought that or not.
“No, no,” he said. “Not silly. Just . . .”
“What?”
He hesitated. But he’d always been truthful with River, or at least as truthful as he could be. “Mortal,” he said at last.
“Ah.” She put the stack of grading aside and stood. She came and joined him by the windows, wrapping her arms around him. “Well, I am that. And I rather like my mortal life with my mortal worries. But I like having a break from them sometimes, too.” She pulled away and took his hand. “Come on. Let me make you some hot chocolate.”
River made hot chocolate for both of them, spiking it with some sort of cinnamon-flavored liqueur from an unmarked bottle. It made the Doctor feel pleasantly warm and a bit sleepy, and when she suggested that they bring the blankets and pillows from her bed out to the lounge, he went along with it, even if it didn’t make much sense. Her bed would be warmer, after all, and more comfortable. But he was starting to understand what she’d meant by “time out of time.” Outside the storm raged and time went on, but inside River’s house, it was just the two of them. For all they knew, the world could have ended.
He fell asleep for a while in their nest on the floor, lulled by the alcohol and the quiet. When he woke, River was curled up next to him, continuing with her marking. He nuzzled her shoulder and her neck, breathing in the sweet human scent of her, and she pushed her marking away, turning onto her back and twining her arms around his neck. He buried his face in the wild tangle of her hair before kissing her.
He was used to making love to River surrounded by the song of the TARDIS and the ripples of the Time Vortex. Making love to her in a house that was almost utterly silent, in a world softened and muffled by snow, was something else altogether. It was, if possible, even more intimate, more private. Afterward, they curled up together, and even the Doctor’s ears couldn’t pick up anything but the sound of their breathing and the very quiet hum of River’s house. He missed the TARDIS a little, but he also thought he wouldn’t have traded these few minutes for anything - not even an adventure.
“Will you come with me when I go?” he asked.
“It’s the middle of the semester, sweetie,” River said, fingers playing across the features of his face. She traced his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, tweaked his chin.
“Time machine,” the Doctor reminded her. “I can have you back before you left. Well, not really, that would cause a paradox. But so close there’s no difference.”
She smiled at him. “There’d be a difference to me. Jump ahead to the end of the semester, all right? I’d love to come then.” The Doctor opened his mouth to argue, and River laid a finger across his lips, silencing him. “I know you don’t understand. But remember what I said about liking my mortal worries? I like my mortal responsibilities, too, and I prefer to do them all in a row so I don’t forget where I left off.”
The Doctor didn’t reply. He dropped his head to rest on her shoulder, and found himself longing, selfishly, for the days when he’d really been all she had. Every night he’d come for her in the Storm Cage and every night she’d come away with him, and she never said she didn’t have time or didn’t want to.
But even then, he knew, she’d wanted this - a life lived in order, with responsibilities and ambition and a career, all the things he’d spurned when he’d left Gallifrey. And he had to let her have them, because the chance would never come around again. She’d burned up all her other lives for him. He owed her this. He owed her so much more, really, but this was the least he could do.
“All right,” he said. “The end of the semester. And you won’t bring your marking?”
She laughed. “Come for me a couple days later, sweetie, and I won’t. And meanwhile,” she added, pulling him closer, “the snow’s still falling, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t, actually, the Doctor knew. It’d stopped while they’d been making love. But River didn’t know that, and the Doctor decided that this one small lie couldn’t hurt. “Yes, it is,” he said, and kissed her.
Fin.