[ She'd said something to another little girl once, a long time ago now. It isn't fear in the end that haunts you. It's loneliness.
In a way, Charlotte had been loved as River had, quietly and with so much pain it blinded those who loved her to her reality. In their inability to let her go, they'd condemned her to never-ending childhood. Alone.
Of course River hadn't been insulated by happy memories or fairy tales. She'd been alone in the dark, surrounded by madness. And when they told her stories, she woke crying from nightmares. But she felt no less sympathy for Charlotte, for her daughter. ]
I'm fine, Doctor.
[ It's a reflex, to reassure him, even as her words fall flat between them.
The moment she'd found herself again in the Library, all she could think about was the Doctor. How he was still her husband, would always be her husband, and she would wait as long as it took for him to come back. Now he's here, right in front of her, and what she's missing most is being dead. Someone else should certainly appreciate the irony of that. But River can only let the tears fall. Even as her tears slow, stop completely, she clings to him no less tightly.
He's always loved hugs, this one, but he's rarely held her. His affection is reserved for others. She's an exception to the rule in a completely opposite sense for his future self, and the reminder makes her eyes sting all over again.
As long as they're like this, she knows she's safe, she's alive, breathing in the familiar scent of him. It's funny how he can be so different and still always the same. It doesn't matter if he's wearing celery on his lapel or going around calling himself professor, desperately running from the war or living in the shadow of its end. She's been with him in so many of his lives, loved him through all of them.
Had he been anyone else, she isn't sure she could have pulled herself away, to leave Charlotte again, to leave the family she knew was indisputably hers. ]
I am, you know. It wasn't intentional.
[ But it is something she'd wanted, once upon a time, being a mother. She'd even thought about asking him once. She'd been younger then, still working out what it meant to love him when all she'd ever been taught was how to hate him. ]
We should go, Sweetie. It isn't a good idea to linger.
[ Her mind is clearer now, but it will take much longer for the deep longing in chest to fade. ]
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In a way, Charlotte had been loved as River had, quietly and with so much pain it blinded those who loved her to her reality. In their inability to let her go, they'd condemned her to never-ending childhood. Alone.
Of course River hadn't been insulated by happy memories or fairy tales. She'd been alone in the dark, surrounded by madness. And when they told her stories, she woke crying from nightmares. But she felt no less sympathy for Charlotte, for her daughter. ]
I'm fine, Doctor.
[ It's a reflex, to reassure him, even as her words fall flat between them.
The moment she'd found herself again in the Library, all she could think about was the Doctor. How he was still her husband, would always be her husband, and she would wait as long as it took for him to come back. Now he's here, right in front of her, and what she's missing most is being dead. Someone else should certainly appreciate the irony of that. But River can only let the tears fall. Even as her tears slow, stop completely, she clings to him no less tightly.
He's always loved hugs, this one, but he's rarely held her. His affection is reserved for others. She's an exception to the rule in a completely opposite sense for his future self, and the reminder makes her eyes sting all over again.
As long as they're like this, she knows she's safe, she's alive, breathing in the familiar scent of him. It's funny how he can be so different and still always the same. It doesn't matter if he's wearing celery on his lapel or going around calling himself professor, desperately running from the war or living in the shadow of its end. She's been with him in so many of his lives, loved him through all of them.
Had he been anyone else, she isn't sure she could have pulled herself away, to leave Charlotte again, to leave the family she knew was indisputably hers. ]
I am, you know. It wasn't intentional.
[ But it is something she'd wanted, once upon a time, being a mother. She'd even thought about asking him once. She'd been younger then, still working out what it meant to love him when all she'd ever been taught was how to hate him. ]
We should go, Sweetie. It isn't a good idea to linger.
[ Her mind is clearer now, but it will take much longer for the deep longing in chest to fade. ]