Chapter Text
He first met her in the summer in the city of New York. He didn't have much of an official job, but his passion was writing and he spent his days writing odds and ends of novels and poetry. He never tried to get much published, because in the time the only thing that publishers were looking for was horrible steamy romances, like color copies of the others - barely literature at all. He was frustrated with the whole ordeal and barely could scrape up enough money to pay for his exhaustively small apartment. It wasn't living a life of gold, but it was what he wanted. He had lost his closest friends since as long as he could remember - a couple with the name of Amy and Rory. He was blinded with loss, even if it had not been his first. He knew that the pain would pass, just as it had done with Rose and Donna, and as it would do with others
She had the wildest bouncy curls, and she flirted with everyone she could get her eyes on. Her name was River Song, and she found her passion in photography. She worked odd jobs, anything she could find. She also sold her pictures, but it was a fortune to get them developed. She was brash with anyone who dared to criticize her lifestyle. ('She's only a young dreamer, after all.')
His family was dead and long gone, and he had so little memories of them. More of his mother, and so very much less of his father. He was terribly young when he had been orphaned and put in an orphanage. But not a single person wanted to adopt a child like himself. He just didn't fit the "cute and obnoxious" cliche that every parent wanted. He didn't even know his name. So his nickname became "the Doctor," even though it was terribly hard to explain that. ("I'm the Doctor!" "Doctor who?" They'd ask. "What does it mean to you? Just the Doctor, if you please.")
The beeping of the alarm clock snapped his eyes open. He wasn't the type to linger at home. He wanted to be out and see the world, so he was up in an instant, dressing himself in the clothes that made him happy. The bow-tie around his neck represented him more than anything. The alarm clock was a terribly old thing, a buy from a thrift- store that he'd bought ages ago. He was sure to smack it to turn it off extra hard, in hopes that it would break so he would finally have an excuse to replace the damned thing.
He almost forgot the glasses before he ran out the door into the bright sunshine. Old, round things, looking like they belonged in a Harry Potter book. But they, being one of his few possessions, were his favorite. They used to be Amelia's. He'd always teased her endlessly about her reading glasses, but he secretly adored them. She had known him the best since he'd lost Rose. He missed his friends, and he hoped that wherever they were that they were happy.
River Song woke up to cars honking outside the window and the sounds of coffee versus tea being argued over. She shared an impossibly tiny apartment with a friend, Clara, whom she didn't know too well at all. Clara had invited a friend over, a woman with her hair pulled back. River scowled at the hairstyle. It was practically impossible for her to put her hair into a ponytail, much less something like that.
"This is Martha, by the way. Martha, River. River, Martha." Clara said, introducing the two.
"Hello." River said, sitting down at the worn coffee table. "And, I personally, prefer tea." Martha groans. A normal start to a completely unnatural day with the life of a girl named River Song.
The Doctor, on the other hand, walks out in the bright sunshine, with the noises you'd find in any regular city. People chattering, cars honking, lives being made, lives being destroyed. All these people were important and brought a light to the world. He'd never met anyone who wasn't important, and he was sure it would continue that way.
River ate as fast as she could, dressing herself in the quickest things she could find on the floor, and getting out of there. She couldn't stand being there for anytime longer. She loved crowds, and she loved the noise, and she loved the feeling of being surrounded by people whose lives were completely and utterly unconnected with hers, but the one thing that she hated most was a domestic life. The feeling of being stuck in an endless cycle - wake up, go to work, go home: following that being sleep, and repeating it all over again.
Over and over again until the day you croak in a sleep full of dreams of idiotic things. River Song promised to herself every morning that she would never, never, ever fall into that.
Even if it meant being alone for the rest of her life