Yowzah Oneshot Collection (2)

92(G)

     I was singing this song to you

                          leiascully

The Doctor was sulking over a glass of tonic, or whatever passed for the local equivalent. He wasn't big on gin, but he liked a bit of fizz. He'd had to send back two drinks for being too drink-y already. And that was just from the bartender - he had a few more at his elbow that he was studiously ignoring. He was ignoring everyone and everything in the bar except his fizzy water. There was a band striking up, something soft and jazzy and deliciously melancholy, which suited his mood perfectly, but he was ignoring them too. There wasn't much point to jazz when he had no one to share it with, and he was exceptionally alone tonight. He barely registered it when someone stepped up to the microphone, until she began to sing.

"I've been so many places in my life and times," she sang, the lyrics pouring out as rough and sweet as whiskey fumes. The Doctor sat transfixed. He knew that voice. The words swirled around him, hardly registering. "There is no one more important to me. Can't you see through me? We were alone, and I was singing this song to you."

She looked directly at him. "River," he said, the word torn out of him. But he said it quietly in a noisy bar, and she dropped her eyes and kept singing. He lost track of the songs; the tunes were familiar, but the pain in them was even more so. He sipped his way through three glasses of fizz before her set was over. She accepted her applause graciously, a queen among her subjects, and made her way to the bar as if they'd planned to meet there. He turned on his stool to face her as she sat down.

"Hello, sweetie," she said in a low voice full of promise.

"River," he said. "You weren't waiting for me, I hope."

"Ah, now that would be an exercise in futility," she said, sipping at one of his extra drinks.

"Where are we, you and I?" he asked. "Have we done the Byzantium?"

"Sounds fascinating," she said. "But I'm afraid not."

"The Pandorica?" he guessed. "Demon's Run?"

"Those old fairy tales?" She took a longer drink this time.

"That's a no," he said. "Then I haven't the faintest idea why you're vexed with me."

"That first night in the TARDIS," she said. "It's been the last night so far."

"Ah," he said, wincing. "Well. That would explain it. But look at you. I told you that River Song could walk in and out of the Storm Cage any time she liked, and here you are."

"Yes, you were right about that," she said. "But there isn't all that much to do when most of your former colleagues are convinced you're an unabashed villain. So I come here, and they're desperate enough for a taste of Earth to let me sing."

"You were brilliant," he assured her.

She smirked. "You're too kind, Doctor. This isn't anything like the Sands."

He looked around. "It's a nice enough place," he hazarded.

"Look again, Doctor," she said. "It's an absolute den of sin." She smirked. "I feel right at home."

He gazed at her. "It was a lovely song, River. They were all nice, but I particularly liked that first song."

"The stars were lovely that night," she said. "That very first night two years ago. But the tricky thing about stars is that so many of them are dead and gone before you ever see their light. I think I know how they feel sometimes."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've made a mess of things again. But I'm always...consuming people's lives. I didn't want to swallow yours whole."

"It's a long time since Berlin," she said. "I've been to university. I've made a life for myself. I've stopped time for the man I love. And he can't spare a few minutes for me."