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Ryan had remembered the Portuguese fried pastries she’d mentioned a good while ago, had looked them up, and really wanted one. And who is the Doctor to deny him his sweet tooth? It’s been a while since she’s had them, and at Yaz’s insistence, they make a trip of it. She sets off in her Tardis on the way to Portugal, just a block away from her favorite café. She likes going a few years away from her companions’ time when she can find the best authentic ones.
They land just a day after she was last here, right in the 1990s. The Doctor’s glee at landing somewhere at the intended time doesn’t go unnoticed. Spirits are high despite the rough landing, the Tardis’ cloister bell going off for a single, solitary chime.
“Well, that’s odd. She usually doesn’t do that. It shouldn’t be anything too serious; she’d tell me if it was, wouldn’t you, girl?” She pats the console, and the Tardis rumbles in a low tone. “Snarky today, huh? Never mind that. I’ll be back in twenty minutes at most. Keep an eye out just in case, and ring me if it goes off again.”
No one’s too worried. Things not going exactly right are right on par for a day traveling with the Doctor. There’s no immediate threat, and everyone’s too eager with the promise of pastries. Graham gets the kettle on, Ryan settles on the couch, Yaz next to him. They’re in an especially intense game of Mario Kart, which the Doctor doesn’t know how the Tardis managed to acquire. She also doesn’t question it much because it’s given her some of her favorite memories of her family.
She leaves them to play while she grabs the pastries, takes in the city with her new eyes, and finds she loves it even more now. There’s something about the cobbly ground under her feet and children playing outside that warms her heart. The colorful buildings and cozy architecture. She knows she’s arriving at the café before she even sees it, the scent of baked goods escaping outside even through closed doors. The bell chimes as she pushes them open, and she’s about to greet the owner like they’re friends before she remembers her new body and reins herself in. She’s still undeniably happy, and it’s more than identifiable in her tone.
“Hi! So, I’d like a dozen of those right there! Or, maybe, just fill the biggest box you have?” She’s like an overexcited puppy in this body, she’s come to notice. She wonders if these will taste even better now, with her newest tastebuds that seem so inclined to eat nothing but sweets.
“Ah, save me two, will you, dear? My dear husband will be upset if I don’t bring them back for tea.” That voice. The Doctor recognizes it. Her hearts ache. She doesn’t turn around. She assures the shopkeeper that her box can have two pastries less, that it’s no problem, and her voice sounds foreign to her ears.
There’s a warm hand on her shoulder, settling there for half a second as River’s voice thanks her. She freezes, and River notices – of course, she would, her ever-attentive wife. River pulls away with a muttered apology, and her hearts go with her. Her own voice screams in her head, begging her to keep her hand there, and never pull away again.
She pays after the kind, old woman behind the counter grabs her attention again. She doesn’t remember even taking the money from her pocket or ordering a coffee so she could stay a little longer inside, where River is.
It’s just her luck that every table is full, and River’s alone at a table for two. The doctor doesn’t even have to ask; River motions her over and apologizes again for touching her, but it all sounds fuzzy in her ears, drowned under the sound of twin heartbeats. When she comes back to it, River’s face is pinched in a worried expression, her hand halfway across the table as if she’d meant to comfort her before remembering what had happened the last time she’d tried to touch her.
The Doctor’s the one apologizing after all that.
“I didn’t… It’s alright. Touch is alright. I was just startled, that is all. I apologize. And, uhm. Thank you for letting me sit with you.” Thank you for letting me sit with you, again. The Doctor prays to the universe and blesses whatever placed River Song in her path again.
“If you say so, and it’s no trouble, you can keep me company. My husband, bless him, his perception of time is all out of order. He told me he’d pick me up for tea in ten minutes, but something tells me it’ll be longer.” And she grins, shakes her head, and gives the Doctor a look, as if to say, Husbands, am I right?
The Doctor recognizes that in this body of a woman, somewhere in her thirties in 1990, she’d be expected to be married. She smiles back because it’s impossible not to smile at River; it should be a crime not to, in her opinion.
“I’m much the same, I’ll admit.” She swallows, wonders for a moment if it would be alright to tell her, or if she wouldn’t even need to. If, somewhere in the next minute, River would figure it all out herself and they’d laugh and cry and kiss. She can hear the TARDIS’s cloister bell in her mind. Danger. That is a bad idea — a very bad one — she comes to realize. For some reason, her TARDIS is warning her against it.
“My family is in my, uh, car. I keep telling them I’ll be quick, but...” She laughs, despite all that wants to drag her cheerfulness down. She’ll enjoy this moment with River, however short, and dares the Tardis to complain again. There’s an echo that sounds like just be careful, and the Doctor takes that as permission. “I know I’ll get distracted by all the little shops, and then they’ll have to come looking for me.”
“You and he would get along, I’m sure of it.” Her tone is fond, but she shakes herself out of it and finally introduces herself. “I’m Professor River Song.”
“Uh, Jane.” She’d been seconds away from saying John, and she couldn’t imagine how badly that would have gone. She can tell River doesn’t buy it, but she’s since learned there's a good reason to hide one’s name. She’s glad she doesn’t push it.
“So, Jane, what brings you to Lisbon? I can tell you’re not from here. Your accent certainly is something.” The Doctor wonders what the Tardis is doing to her thick, Yorkshire accent as she twists her words into Portuguese.
“Oh, we’re traveling! Favorite pastime, it is. Getting to new places and revisiting old ones. The fam had never tasted these, so I had to bring them along.” River smiles, comments on how she likes traveling with her husband too, and it makes the Doctor’s heart melt.
The conversation doesn’t flow as easily as before. She’s a rambler in this body, and she knows if she doesn’t rein it in, she’ll say something that will give her away. She doesn’t adapt as well to all the customs and idioms, either. It’s stilted, but she does manage to get a laugh out of River as she explains something related to astrophysics. She’s not sure if she’s laughing at what she’s saying or at her; it’s probably both, but she couldn’t care less. She thought she wouldn’t hear that sound again.
“Oh, dear, I know nothing of that. My husband talks to me about space enough, so I pick some things up, but the math of it all always escapes me. I’m an archeologist, after all.”
She suddenly stands, her coat swishing after her, straightening out her pants with sweaty hands. She’s realizing that with a few more questions, River will figure it out. The similarities are too many, and this body can’t do a decent poker face. If only she still wore a leather jacket, he would know how to fool her. Her wife is a clever woman; after all, the Doctor knows that better than anyone. She needs to leave before she does.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
The Doctor looks outside. There’s a quaint little shop; how she loves little shops, they all have so far. Hanging necklaces and even a purse or two, but what catches her attention is the rings displayed on fake hands, catching in the sunlight. One of them, especially, she recognizes as the one she used to trace on River’s finger — the one she wore through all of those twenty-four years on Darillium.
The Doctor realizes then, she’s never bought it. Back then, it’d just popped up in his suit pocket, and he assumed the time would come when he’d finally buy it, take a trip to his past self, and pass it on. He’d gone before he could. It falls to her now, to leave her wife before the stores close for the day, as the sun starts to dip into the horizon. It’s reminiscent of their last sunset together, and there’s something about watching it in this body that makes her appreciate it more. This regeneration is more in tune with the little things, letting childlike happiness override grief when it all becomes too much. Too eager for an excuse to smile.
There are tears in her eyes, but she does smile anyway as she heads towards the door. River is confused; she hasn’t cottoned on. She wasn’t expecting the last face, much less this one belonging to a woman much younger than her last regeneration. She’s glad, in a way. She said goodbye to River once, sobbing and mourning. She doesn’t want her to know who she is, because then she knows she’d want to spend time with her, and that just isn’t fair to her past selves. It could change plenty in their past, or maybe just something small, but all of River’s memories are precious, no matter how seemingly insignificant. The Tardis was stubborn to land here, and now she knows it’s a warning. Not to meddle, to keep things as they are, no less and no more.
So she turns one last time to her. Takes her in, hair in all its glory, and more tears spring to her eyes because these hands will never get to touch it. To wash it after a long day of saving another planet or galaxy. Her body, too. Newfound appreciation now that it resembles her own more. She wonders how it’d be to kiss her. She’s just a little shorter than she is now, a little frailer. This regeneration is eager to please, and if before he would have done anything to please her, she now knows she’d go above and beyond.
She swallows and turns to look at just her face before she can think of them in bed. She hasn’t had the opportunity to explore yet, aside from the mandatory showers after alien goo, dirt, and sweat. She’d love to give that first to River. Knows she’d treasure it, too.
Her eyes burn. She swallows again and speaks before River’s open mouth can ask any questions.
“I just realized I forgot to buy my wife a ring.” River’s taken aback. There’s a teasing little smile, and she opens her mouth to speak. The Doctor knows it’d be something along the lines of, How did you even wed her before you had a ring to do it with? River doesn’t say it, though, and closes her mouth at the look on the Doctor’s face.
It’s sad. It’s of acceptance and defeat. It’s longing and hurting all at once, and River knows it’s love. A love lived, but certainly a love lost. She takes a step closer, and the Doctor feels like she’s going to combust. She can nearly feel her heat from here, against the cold air rushing in from the door she holds open. It hurts, so much, but she wouldn’t dare push her away.
“Did… Is your wife gone? Did you not get to...” And she speaks with a sadness the Doctor recognizes.
River confessed to his ear, linking their ring hands on top of his hearts, spilling her fears into his ear. I thought we’d never get this, not until we met, after. And her previous regeneration had asked, After? This one wouldn’t have needed to. She’s socially awkward, like she’s usually reminded of, but she does feelings and hugs better this time around. She’s also more tired now, echoing River’s uncertainties like her own. His wife had answered after a pause, one that screamed of spoilers. After we died, sweetie. Sometimes, it felt like the only time we’d be able to take a breather.
She’s glad they had the time to be together. Because now she knows she won’t die as easily. That she is forever, and River is no more. It hurts her more than she can explain. So she doesn’t, not even to herself.
And the Doctor finally lets a tear slip free. More follow the first, and they’re streaming.
“Yes. No.” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own, but it’s more stable than she feels. “In that order. Our wedding was a simple thing, really. I was a different man back then.” She trails off, shakes her head, and gives her another smile. She watches River’s apologetic but curious one spread across her face. Her hearts beat faster. “I really should go get that ring before the shop closes.”
“Maybe, yes.” River’s looking at her like she’s a puzzle, and the Doctor wants to ask about her diary, to know the last place she’s been. Wants to know how full it is. Which Doctor does she call hers? How many times have they been together, and have they lost her parents yet? Have they had their first kiss, or does he still prefer Windsor knots to bowties? Does she still call him by his title, or does she whisper his name in the safety of their bedroom?
“It was nice knowing you, Professor Song.” Not River, she doesn’t want to say the name aloud. She hasn’t in her mouth and lips yet. She wonders how her newest accent would wrap around it, and drops it just as quickly.
“Likewise, Jane. I hope to see you around.” It’s a double shot to the heart. That’s not even her name or the teasing way she’d murmur, Doctor. My Doctor. There’s a sense of finality to their meeting this time, and she wants to cry even more. She knows she won’t see her around.
The Doctor waves, the box of pastries under her arm, and finally makes herself look away. She tries to control her expression as she crosses the road, forcing herself not to look back. She swears the ring is shining brighter than all the others, and she focuses on it instead. She is honked at by a car swerving to avoid her. She only registers seconds later, already on the sidewalk.
She doesn’t remember what she said to the lady at the counter, doesn’t remember her putting it in the box, or even how she paid for it, because she’s sure she doesn’t have enough for something like this on hand.
The wind seems louder, but she realizes it’s just her blood rushing in her ears, and she’s panicking. She stumbles on a raised stone on the pavement, the TARDIS’ doors open out of the way for her, thankfully. Otherwise, she might have gotten a concussion.
The fam doesn’t notice her arrival just yet, and she’s glad for it. She doesn’t want them to see her like this. Graham would get all worried and ruffle her hair, a one-armed hug and a, You okay, doc? that makes her yearn for her childhood. Ryan would get sad, offer a word of advice, and give her the player one controller. Yaz, she’d push and prod until she gave at least a half-truth, then offer to braid her hair over a cup of tea.
The TARDIS is in flight, moments later, and her old girl goes easy. She recognizes the destination. Just a few days before he heads for the Singing Towers with River. He won’t know her face, it’s not hard to find his discarded coat and slip the box in the pocket, but not before she kisses the ring inside. She remembers River’s face as he made her his wife in that body, her insistence on consummating the marriage right there and then. She was insatiable, and the Doctor now yearns to have it directed at her.
She hadn’t missed the way River looked her up and down — a quirked eyebrow and a half smile. River liked how she looked. She could only imagine what she’d think of her if she knew. Would she have dragged her to the bathroom in that café? Or would she have insisted on their bedroom in the TARDIS, the one she hasn’t slept in since he last said goodbye to her? Maybe a kiss in public, despite the decade.
She also doesn’t remember walking back inside or guiding her TARDIS to the time vortex. But there she is, with Graham facing her. She must be quite the sorry sight because he just knows she needs a hug, and Graham’s usually the least touchy-feely of the bunch. His arms come around her shoulders and tug her to his chest. It feels like the way he used to hug his granddaughter. Her hearts feel heavier than ever.
“Doc, I know you just… said goodbye to someone, or something. I know how it feels. And if you need to talk, or just need this hug,” His arms tightened for a moment before ruffling her hair, smoothing it over right after. “I’m here, and so are Ryan and Yaz.”
“So do I.” Her voice breaks. “Know how it feels.” She swallows, but it does nothing to make her sound less devastated. “I’ve said countless goodbyes, and it never hurts less. It just hurts more and more, especially this one. I’m so tired, Graham.”
Her exhaustion sounds like defeat. It’s scary hearing those words out of her mouth. Graham guides her slowly to the kitchen, reasoning that being surrounded by her family would help. It does for him. To the others, too. Ryan’s been having more good days, and Yaz is smiling more than any other police officer he’s ever seen.
“We’ll have a cup of tea over those pastries of yours. What do you say? We can watch them play, and I’m sure it’ll do you good to talk more about it to Yaz.” He’s okay with knowing the Doctor shares more with Yaz, because it’s an upgrade from sharing with no one.
The Doctor can feel it all through his touch. Acceptance, love, and understanding. The motives behind the worried hand rubbing at her back and the list of teas filtering through his mind for the best one to calm her down.
She’s guided to the couch, made to sit down between Yaz and Ryan. Graham shoves them apart, making space for her, and once he’s satisfied, there’s a blanket over the three of them.
Thankfully, it’s a game Ryan can pause, but Yaz’s already lost from the moment she dropped her controller to curl up to the Doctor, her head over her twin heartbeats before deciding it should be the other way around. The Doctor isn’t complaining and goes easily, wrapping her arms around her waist and squeezing a little. Yaz is real, she’s here, very much alive. She’s warm and smells of vanilla fabric softener, leave-in conditioner, and argan oil. There’s a hint of black tea and something undeniably human.
The Doctor licks what she can reach, which turns out to be just under her collarbone. Her analysis is complete; it’s undeniably her Yaz. And she’s not too pleased with the impromptu licking, but she doesn’t do anything for once.
Ryan curls to her other side, head on her shoulder, turns the game’s volume nearly all the way down before resuming in single-player.
“Did the pastries hurt you, Doctor?” It’s Ryan’s attempt at levity, and at getting her to talk behind a metaphor. She appreciates him more than she can put into words.
She hums a positive, “Mhm. I’m short two pastries. And I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Did someone take them?”
“No.” She drags Yaz’s hand to her hair and receives a few scratches before she begins on a braid. Perfect. “I let her have them. They were for her and her husband.”
“Do I need to flash my badge and get them back, Doctor?” Yaz asks, and that gets a little laugh out of her.
“If you could, somehow, I’d give you the world, Yaz.” And they know she isn’t talking about the pastries.
“You already have, Doctor.” It’s not what she’s expecting, but it’s exactly what she needs to make her cry yet again. Yaz’s hands drop from her hair to her cheeks, thumbs wiping away tears.
“You’ve given us all so much, you know that, right? Every sunrise you insist on watching, every nebula you take us to.” Yaz often wanders to the console room and finds the Doctor pacing. She bribes her to the TARDIS’ door with custard creams and puppy eyes, and they spend the next couple of hours pressed thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder, gazing out into space. At some point, the Doctor had offered to change up the scenery, and now Yaz looks forward to new constellations every night.
“And the adventures?” The Doctor asks, and she sounds like a kid, seeking approval from her parents. Yaz’s heart breaks for her.
“Those, too. But it doesn’t really matter where we go, mm?” Yaz looks pointedly at Ryan, who pats her arm a little.
“Yeah. Yaz’s right. We’re family, right, Doctor? As long as we’re here traveling with you, it’s alright with me.”
There’s a murmur of My fam… before the Doctor pulls them both a little closer and tighter.
That’s how Graham finds them, minutes later, Yaz and Ryan using the Doctor as a pillow. He’s gotten a tray to hold all four mugs, and the Doctor smiles at the sight of them. Yaz and the Doctor’s almost look like a matching set. World’s best doctor and World’s best police officer. Graham was the one to get them, citing that they needed proper mugs for their tea. His is some joke that doesn’t quite translate into English even with the Tardis’ meddling. Something about grandparents and sweaters and mangoes. They’d gotten it on a market planet after the Doctor spent two minutes straight laughing at it. Yaz had never seen her laugh that much, so she’d bought it without a second thought, only to see her chuckle again anytime she saw it. Feeling left out, Ryan had bothered Graham about it until he got a tacky I heart my grandson that left both men tearing up despite Ryan’s claim of finding it ugly.
“Comfortable, eh? No space for the old man on the couch.” He complains, but sets the tray down to drag over a chair.
The younger humans disentangle from the Doctor to grab their mugs. The oldest of them all, however, takes a moment longer. She doesn’t know what to think of this. She understands why the TARDIS sent her here, of course she does. Giving her wife a ring was something she’d never gotten around to, and she feels the weight of it in her pocket, even though she knows she actually doesn’t. Pockets big enough to hold more than they should, also make everything weigh less than it should.
But why her? After all these years, after mourning her. It feels like a sick joke. She wants to knock at Eyebrow’s door and tell him to do it, instead. The worst part of this incarnation is that she quickly finds the answers to her questions. None of the other hers, or hims, did feelings well. Neither does she, honestly, but it’s the most open she’s been in a while. None of the others would have let River go. They would have made an adventure out of that cafe, saved the world while they were at it, condensed a few days of travel before returning her just a little late, because the Doctor wouldn’t be the Doctor if they were on time.
She’s the only one that doesn’t know what it feels like to hold River, after Darillium, and the only one that could leave her like that. Not a single line, she reminds herself. Getting River to believe there were more than twelve of them was hard enough, and this is the most different she’s been. She tries to convince herself that it’s better this way, and her ship warbles low, disapproving.
Then what’s the point, sexy? The Doctor glares at the ceiling, like humans do with their Gods. The difference is that the Doctor worships only two women: her ship and her wife. Taunting me with River?
The TARDIS warbles again. For all she understands, sometimes she’s just as clueless as her companions. It’s a sad one, but hopeful.
You know it can’t change, and I have.
She broadcasts that thought as much as she can, because as much as the TARDIS has always taken her where she needs to go, she can also be stubborn. And this is one of those things where the Doctor has to be stubborn right back.
The responding wave is sad, yearning. A type of missing someone that she finds the word for as she bites into one of the pastries. Saudade, a word in Portuguese that can’t quite be translated with its meaning fully intact.
Yeah, the Doctor thinks, reassuring now. She gets it, of course. This meeting was the best the TARDIS could do for now, without ruining everything. I miss her too.
At least, she has her family. She’s got tea, from Graham. Braids in her hair, from Yaz. They watch Ryan demolish someone at the game he’s playing, and it’s a great time. And she’s got the pastries, from River. The Doctor just wishes she were there, too.