Chapter Text

The Doctor sat in the oversized chair in his bed chamber, more slumping than sitting actually. His shirt had come untucked from one side, and his bowtie hung loosely under his collar. He had stepped out of his shoes after walking through the door, and his gaze was fixed upon the sole of one of them, rolling his bottom lip in waves between two fingers. His thinking was deep and tunneled.

He couldn't find her.

He stood and shrugged out of his braces, careful not to trip over the shoes as he walked to the armoire. The Doctor unsnapped the braces and hung them over the hook, along with the bowtie. He discarded his clothing into a growing pile and opened a cedar drawer, pushing a sigh through his lips when he realized he had no clean pajamas. So, he did what the Doctor usually did – he compromised. He reached deep into the bottom of the large chest and removed a blanket. The TARDIS had been cooler than usual, and he knew that he would need the extra weight of the blanket if he slept in only his Y-fronts.

The Doctor wearily crossed the room and flipped on the light switch in the adjoining bathroom. He watched the water puddle and swirl down the drain as he waited for it to warm. Letting it collect in his hands, he splashed his face a couple of times before rubbing it dry with a nearby scarlet hand towel. He stared at the monotonous motions of the toothbrush along his teeth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after spitting. Having finished his nightly routine, he left the darkened bathroom and walked over to his dresser.

It wasn't very often that he drank, but his mind needed clearing and perhaps a brandy could put him at ease. The crystal decanter clanked loudly against the glass in the quiet room. He replaced the stopper and took his drink over to the bed, sitting on the edge. The Doctor studied the dark liquid in his hand. He swirled it around and watched the legs of the liquor slide down the inside of the glass. Tipping the glass back up to his mouth, he let the heavy sweet alcohol pool around his tongue before swallowing hard.

The Doctor looked up and saw himself in the mirror over the dresser. His hair was unkempt and a slight shadow was growing along his jawline. Tired and weary eyes stared back at his nearly nude form as he sat despondently on the bed. He looked old. He was old…but now he looked the part. There were lines on his face that hadn't been there before. His hair had grown long enough to fall across his eyes. Failure and loneliness had caused him to frown perpetually over the last several months, and the wear of the burden was evident throughout his body, from the slump of his shoulders to the creases in his forehead. He exhaled a heavy breath and drank down the last of the brandy.

He once again walked into the dark bathroom and turned on the faucet, rinsing out the glass. The tile floor was cold, even under his socked feet, and a shiver ran up his spine. Shaking it off, he walked towards the dresser once again to return the glass next to the decanter.

Tomorrow was the day. He had exhausted his resources and his intuition. He had followed every lead and come up short of the answer every time. The Doctor had let them down, and tomorrow he would have to tell them.

In only hours he had no choice but to admit to his best friends that he had let their daughter slip through the cracks of time, unable to find her. He would have to walk through their door empty handed. And he didn't know if he would have the courage to raise his eyes to hers, knowing how greatly he had failed them. Someone else who had wrapped her arms around his hearts and loved him and then would let go, disappointed and broken. And though they all knew she had survived and had found her way back to them, he couldn't tell them how…or, more importantly, when.

And it was all because of him. While he was strutting and throwing his power around, they had stolen Melody right out from under him. Perhaps if he had been looking at the details instead of waving his arms in boastful triumph and exchanging quips with his enemy, he may have seen it coming. If only…

Within a few feet from the dresser, the anger and frustration exploded within him. He inhaled deeply and made a quick step to the side, flinging out his arm and throwing the glass at the mirror with as much force as he could muster, a loud swear driving it forward. The mirror and the glass both shattered on impact and gleaming shards fell all around the furniture and across the dark wood floor.

The tension holding his shoulders and neck hostage gripped him tighter, and there was a pounding at his temples with every beat of his hearts. He turned away from the broken mess and back to the bed, crawling between the linens and pulling them under his chin.

Yes, the TARDIS was much colder than it was normally, almost as if his despair had seeped into the air and chilled it.

Tomorrow was the day he lost his companions and his friends. Tomorrow was just another day in a long line of days in which he turned and walked away from heartbreak that he hadn't prevented. Another day of running. Away.

His breathing had slowed down and his consciousness began to fade into sleep. But not before a tear spilled from his eye and slid across the bridge of his nose before falling onto the pillow. By the time the TARDIS landed, he was nestled in the only comfort he had – sleep.

"But why must I sleep in here, Mimi?" The child whined, arms in the air as she pulled his pajama top over his head. "It's scary, and I'll be lonely."

"Gus, step into these, please," she asked politely, though she was reaching the end of her patience. The day had been unnecessarily long, and the end was waving to her from just ahead. "The upstairs room smells too heavily of paint, remember? You will wake up with a dreadful headache and feel icky all day tomorrow. You don't really want that, do you?" She gave his behind a gentle pat, motioning him to climb into the small bed.

"I suppose not," the little boy said with a pout. "Can we get the tree tomorrow? You promised!"

"If you get into bed and go to sleep, I will do my best to get the tree tomorrow," she said, trying to cut a deal with the five year-old.

"Just one night, right?"

"Just one night," she answered with a warm smile as she tucked the covers around his little frame. Sweeping the dark hair from his forehead, she kissed him goodnight and turned to leave the room.

"Mimi, can you tell me a story, please?" His voice quivered with fright, and she couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving him alone in the unfamiliar room. "Just until I fall asleep…and I'm real tired, so it don't even have to be very long…please…"

"One story…"

"Yes, ma'am. I promise, just one story…about the magic doctor."

She walked back towards the bed, and Gus inched over to make room. Sitting down and leaning against the headboard, she ran her fingers through his hair as she began her story. "Once upon a time or sometime far in the future, there is a mysterious man in a magical flying box…"

"That's my favorite part, Mimi," he said with a yawn and stretched his little arm over her lap, letting the sound of her voice and the tale she spun pull him into waiting dreams.

After she had checked that all the doors were locked and had cleared the floors from the scattered toys and games, River dragged herself up the stairs to her bedroom. Just as she reached the top, her foot slid out from under her as it came down on a wooden train, sending it flying to the floor below. She stood very still and waited for the sound of little footprints running down the hall.

Nothing. She had been spared…for once.

She flipped on the lamp on the table outside her bedroom, and a soft glow filled the corridor, just in case those little feet decided to pay a visit in the middle of the night. River let out an exhausted sigh as the door latched shut behind her. Pulling off her sweater and jeans, she shivered as the cool winter air hit her bare skin. She rubbed her arms to generate some heat and stumbled into the bathroom.

She tugged on the faucet and waited for the water to warm up, gathering her hair into a high ponytail. After dampening her face and rubbing it clean with cleanser, River rinsed her skin and dried it gently with a crimson hand towel. Her heavy eyelids and pounding headache begged that she skip brushing her teeth, and she gave in easily, flipping off the light and walking across her bedroom slowly. She dropped her bra into a nearby chair and pulled a nightshirt over her head, pleading with her body to work long enough to get her to the bed.

Having been obliged, River sat down and sunk into the mattress, swinging her legs up and under the covers. Releasing her hair from the band, she buried her head into the pillow and inhaled deeply. She had made it through another day. Perhaps, the longest day since she had left.

A random thunderstorm had rolled in just after she had finished painting two of the third floor bedrooms, and she hadn't been able to keep the windows open to thin the paint fumes, so the children had to be shuffled to makeshift bedrooms. A pipe had burst in the bathroom downstairs, soaking the carpet and ruining a load of clean laundry that had fallen onto the floor when she had been taken by surprise at the water seeping from under the door. Janie had tripped over a tree root while playing in the yard and had burst into the kitchen with a rapidly blackening eye and a cut on her chin. These were the before-lunchtime events, and the day just got progressively worse.

And all of this River handled alone. She was always listening for footsteps and arguments. Around every corner was a "Mimi!" or a "he/she started it!" Errands to run, homework to check, meals to cook, bathtime…playtime…chores…a neverending cycle of domestication. All the while, a sonic blaster and a hand-held time manipulator locked safely away in a firebox in the back of her closet.

She was married to the greatest man she had ever known, and she was living her life alone. Sometimes, unbearably alone. Of course, this had been her choice. This is where she had disappeared to and where she waited for what she knew was coming. She had an obligation to herself, and she intended to see it through…even if it weighed heavier on her heart every day that began without him. But she couldn't tell him. This life was her responsibility, not his.

And like most every night before it, River eventually drifted off to sleep on a pillow made damp by tears, not hearing the familiar sound of screeching brakes outside in the dark of night.

The floor was cold underneath her small feet, but she crept quietly towards the window despite her tingling toes. She had been lying in her bed, unable to sleep, when she heard the strange noise outside.

Her warm breath fogged the window, and she peaked over the frosted glass.

There, behind the fence that separated the front yard from the road, sat a large bright blue box.

She hurried back over to her bed and pulled the covers over her head as fear bubbled in her belly. She knew the story, and there was never a happy ending…