Yowzah Oneshot Collection (2)

24(G)

then grudge me not my fond endeavor;

            areyoumarriedriver

It was hardly his fault really.  He hadn’t invited her along – hadn’t even known she’d been on board after he left his last stop until he was wandering down the corridor toward the library, contemplating how very much he hated travelling alone, when he literally walked straight into her. Not to say that he minded exactly, there were far worse things to walk into. Less soft, less pretty, less pleasantly shaped. He’d been so happy to see her – it was the first time they’d been truly on their own, and he enjoyed her quick wit, her bright mind and well, he enjoyed just seeing her everywhere.

He wished for nothing more than to get mental snapshots of her in every room in his TARDIS, though that would take longer than forever, maybe.

Perhaps that was the point of the wish.

But he was getting off-track. The point being that this wasn’t his fault. She left that damn diary laying about everywhere: on the jump seat, tucked into an armchair in the library, on a lounge chair by the recently re-appeared swimming pool. Even left it on a side table in the wardrobe room once – and he felt like she was honestly doing it on purpose at that point. She must know how he was gripped by a curiosity so intense he could feel the urge crawl across his skin every time he looked at the infuriating thing.

Surely there were no more secrets that needed to be kept – not like the secret of who and what she was. He understood completely her reasons for keeping that from him now.  And of course, perhaps there were a few things left he shouldn’t see – after all she was still a mystery in so many ways – but the temptation to look seemed to have grown exponentially since discovering who she was.

So when he was making tea in the kitchen and accidentally knocked the diary off the counter – accidentally, he swore - and it fell to the floor, opening naturally to a mid-point in the weathered pages and something skittered across the floor, how was he supposed to not look? He only had so much restraint – and really it would be rude to not pick up whatever had slid under the table. Honestly. And he was not rude – not this version of him, anyway.

He ducked under the table first, picking the small item up – a photograph, thick paper and bent corners. He turned it over without thought, without debate, without the slightest hesitance. It was faded from handling, but he could recognise River instantly. Her hair was... magnificent. Teased and fuller than he’d ever seen it before, she was looking over her shoulder coyly, hands laced behind her back and out of focus in the corner of the frame was a man’s hand, reaching toward her. Several things struck him as odd about the photo – the first being that River was in a blue dress. Not that he’d never seen her in dresses before- he had, several times. But something about this dress caught his eye. The flow of the fabric over her hips, the line of the dress itself, he wasn’t sure. She was holding a single flower in her hands behind her back and when he peered more closely at the photo trying to determine what type of flower it was (some kind of lily and he suspected it was alien in origin, but couldn’t be sure since the photo only showed pale blue petals) he noticed the ring. The wedding ring, a ring she clearly did not wear now.

He remembered the night of Amy’s wedding, standing in the garden with her, giving her this diary and asking if she were married. He’d of course, been fishing. He had wanted to know if she would answer him, and she had, but in the most ambiguous manner possible. He glanced at the man’s hand, but it was the right hand, and no clues could be ascertained. He held up his own right hand, glancing from the photo to his own hand, trying to see if they were the same.  It was too out of focus to tell though, and he huffed in frustration before crawling out from under the table backwards and walking over to pick the diary up from the floor.