Yowzah Oneshot Collection (3)

152(G)

      I Laid My Soul into Your Hands

                       Jhen_1001

I.

It started snowing now. The Doctor, with grey hair, struggled to stand up from the chair, and pushed the tools on the desk away. He carefully put the little half-repaired doll into the wooden box in front of him and took a rest. Snowy days weren’t the worst; the worst days were when the snow started to melt, and the cold weather would hurt his broken leg and make his knees tremble.

River was right though. He thought fondly. River was always right. Eating lots and lots of fish fingers did no good to his health. He was too young to realize it back then. And now look at his face; all wrinkles and lines and he was physically old and the bad eating habit was torturing him.

“You are right, my dear,” he spoke softly to the woman leaning on his front door, smiling.

River Song winked at him playfully; her blue-green eyes with a smug gleam locked on his. Her glorious blonde curls were dancing in the cold wind; her lips quirked in amusement. Cheeks flushed, he was grinning like an idiot now. The old Doctor walked toward her slowly, and she just waited there. It was fine, though. In the past it was her chasing and him running, and now it was his turn chasing and her turn running. Fair enough.

“I admitted you are right, but being smug is very rude, River,” he told to her and touched her nose tenderly.

His finger went through her and one blink, she was nowhere to be found.

The Doctor stood there for a while before closing his big sad eyes, leaning on the place her hallucination was leaning seconds ago. His brain was whispering to him and his mind was retorting.

She is not here.  (Yes she is.)

You’ve said your goodbye, remember?  (She is always here to me.)

“I love you,” reverently his hearts whispered for him. In a place where lying was not allowed, it was so easy to pour those three little words out of his soul. He never told her, though.

He believed she knew it anyway. River always knew.

II.

The children here had been the light of his life now. They loved the stories he told.

Oh, he loved telling stories. Those flying horses and beautiful mermaids and the robot dog he once had and a wardrobe full of long, long scarves. In this incarnation he was particularly brilliant at telling stories; children in town would break through his door and practically beg him for some lovely tales every afternoon. In return, they would draw something amazing for him. He loved this exchange quite a lot, and treasured all the drawings like they were priceless diamonds.

“The old bow tie again!” Little Marie cried and pointed at his good old favourite, laughing. He adored this one maybe too much, because she had those sparkling blonde curls and the end of them were like little circles, like Gallifreyan. She wrinkled her petite nose and said, “It is silly.”

“No, no, my little Marie. Bow ties are cool,” he bumped her nose and adjusted his precious bow tie, smirking.“There is actually a very, very amazing story about this bow tie.”

He told the children a story about a wedding held on the top of a pyramid.

Later that day, he received a drawing. A smug younger him and a smirking lovely her, between their hands was a twisted line. He thought that must be the wedding bow tie from his story. He touched the line tenderly and chuckled.