Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)
She loved books more than anything. And he gave her them all.
He gives River the best ending he can – all the knowledge she could ever want in all the books in the universe. She would hate it, he knew. No matter her love of books and learning, she would feel trapped in the Library’s data core, like she has been trapped all her life because of him. But he couldn’t just let her go. Not his River. She is far too precious to him and the Doctor is nothing if not a very selfish man.
And he knew something River didn’t – she wouldn’t always be alone in there. He knew from the moment he uploaded her into the data core that one day – centuries in his future, when he is older than he ever wanted to be and so very tired of running – he would join her there. There had never been any doubt in his mind that River Song was the woman he was supposed to spend eternity with, one way or another.
Together, they can make it work. A linear afterlife in place of the wibbly-wobbly marriage they’d endured while they were living. All of the books in human history at the fingertips of the last Time Lord and his wife – it will be their grandest adventure yet.
-
It’s only natural that at first, they spend a majority of their time in the more erotic books the Library has to offer. They’ve spent centuries apart and there is much reacquainting to do. He remembers perfectly the curve of her spine beneath his fingertips or the quiet gasp of pleasure that she makes when he licks over the pulse point in her neck. Their more intimate moments together have been ingrained in his memory while they were apart, just as much as the running and the laughing and the heartache. But his perfect memory doesn’t mean he hasn’t longed for her touch in the years he waited to join her here.
The first thing he does when he sees her again is take her into his arms and kiss her. And he has barely stopped since. He has forever to become familiarized with the taste and feel of River Song’s lips all over again and he plans to take advantage of every endless moment. He declares a second honeymoon – well, more like a 242nd, but really, who’s counting?
River insists on strolling through Fanny Hill and The Story of O. In one translation of The Arabian Nights, they allow themselves to be temporarily transformed into objects for sexual pleasure. But the Kama Sutra is their favorite – especially the second part – though he suspects it’s only River’s favorite because she likes to laugh at him when he gets tangled in his own limbs and falls off the bed. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy trying out all of the described sixty-four sexual acts contained within the book. With an eternity to make love to his wife, he’s bound to run out of his own ideas eventually.
They bend and taste and touch, moan and sigh and scream between the pages. Their pleasure is as infinite as they are.
-
Leaning against the mantle and deep in thought, pipe wedged between his teeth and shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, Sherlock Holmes looks exactly the way the Doctor had always imagined he would look. And so does his flat – slippers in the corner no doubt stuffed with his stash of tobacco, his correspondence jack-knifed to the mantle, every nook and cranny of the room stuffed with papers. The man himself contemplates the Doctor with a look that suggests he is an entirely new species heretofore unseen and really, the man actually is a genius.
Glancing at River lounging in a chair near the fire, eyeing Watson’s pocket watch with alarming envy, the Doctor hopes she can keep her sticky fingers to herself long enough to help solve this case. Granted, he already knows how it goes, but that doesn’t make living it any less exciting. But as the firelight dances across her skin, her eyes glow with mischief, and he decides that even if it means having to enter the book without her later and finish the adventure alone, he’d let her filch anything she wanted as long as she never loses that look. She is content, even happy, here with him, and it is more than he ever thought they would have.
“My dear fellow,” begins Holmes, startling the Doctor out of his reverie. “May I ask what it is you’re sporting on your head? It’s quite distracting.”
The Doctor beams and says with relish, “It’s called a deerstalker.”
Crossing her legs and leaning forward in her seat, Watson’s pocket watch forgotten for the time being, River whispers, “Sweetie, the real Sherlock Holmes never wore a deerstalker.”
“Don’t care,” he says, clutching tightly to the one perched on his head, as if she might reach over and snatch it before tossing it into the fire – a distinct possibility that he can almost see her entertaining right this very moment. “Deerstalkers are cool, River.”
She fixes him with a look of disbelief. It’s rather impressive that one lift of her eyebrow can convey to him not only her disdain for his headwear but her plot to get him out of it and everything else he has on in the very near future. She’s thinking about shagging in Holmes’ bedroom – he can tell. Maybe he can convince her to take off everything but the hat…
Flushing a bit under her gaze, he adjusts his deerstalker and wonders if understanding the language of eyebrows is an unpleasant side effect of marriage, or death, or if River is just that good.
In front of them, Watson has joined Holmes at the mantle, both of them talking in hushed voices, leaning close together and managing to look like the dearest friends in all the world even as they bicker. Curled up in her armchair like a contented cat, River purses her lips thoughtfully.
Seeing the cogs and wheels turning in that magnificent brain of hers, the Doctor tries to deter her via his eyebrows but it turns out that of the two of them, she’s the only one with that particular superpower.
“Have you two ever thought about -”
“River.”
“What?” She blinks at him innocently but they both know he’s never been fooled with that one. Except the once, but that doesn’t count, what with the TARDIS being shot and meeting Hitler and watching Mels regenerate - he’d been off his game that day.
“Now isn’t the time for matchmaking,” he hisses. “This is my favorite part! They’re about to discover that Spaulding is building a tunnel to the bank.”
A gasp from the mantle startles them both. Snatching his pipe from his mouth, Holmes snaps his fingers and cries out triumphantly. “Of course.”
Watson frowns. “Of course, what, Holmes?”
Turning to his friend, Holmes replies eagerly, “The League is a ploy to get Wilson out of his shop – they’re digging a tunnel, Watson!” He tosses his pipe aside and reaches for his walking stick. “Doctor, you’re a genius!”
The Doctor preens, adjusting the hat on his head.
River gives him a look that says shagging in the Great Detective’s bedroom has suddenly been canceled and he tries not to feel put out about that. “You can’t even let Sherlock Holmes have his moment, can you?”
Tugging the hat over his eyes and slouching in his seat as Holmes and Watson rush off down the stairs, still talking excitedly, he sulks. “Oh…hush.”
-
They take tea with the Mad Hatter and chat with the dormouse.
River saddles the Jabberwocky and tames the beast while the Doctor talks philosophy with the Cheshire cat.
He picks a rose from the garden of the Queen of Hearts to tuck into River’s hair and they run with squeals of laughter at the shriek “Off with their heads!”
-
Rhett Butler is devilishly handsome, suave, charming, rich, and currently waltzing his wife grandly around the lavish ballroom. But the Doctor isn’t jealous of a fictional character. That would be silly.
Watching from the sidelines as River smiles and laughs, thoroughly enjoying herself, the Doctor smiles fondly. No doubt Butler is flirting wildly with her and River is relishing every second of it. She looks like a genuine southern belle, dressed in all the finery of the time period – including the ridiculous hoop skirt that makes it impossible for her to run anywhere. Her elaborate gown is the envy of every woman in the room, and her tightly laced bodice hugs her curves and draws the eye to her ample cleavage – including Rhett Butler’s eyes, it would seem.
The Doctor grits his teeth. Fictional. Character.
A soft, melodic voice and the swish of skirts across the toes of his shoes tears his attention away from the way Rhett Butler is currently molesting his wife with his eyes and the Doctor finds Scarlet O’Hara blinking pretty green eyes at him and smiling in a calculating way that makes him a little uneasy. “Erm. Hello.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before, Mr. -”
“Smith.”
“Mr. Smith,” her smile turns sickly sweet. “How do you do? I’m-”
“Oh, I know who are,” he smiles and bows, kissing the back of her hand.
He can be suave and he certainly doesn’t need a pencil thin mustache and a mysterious aura to do it, thank you very much.
“I believe, Mr. Smith, that this would be an appropriate moment to ask a lady to dance.”
His eyes widen as he takes in Scarlett’s mourning frock and that glittering look in her eyes. Oh. Rhett is supposed to be the one to dance with Scarlett tonight but River currently has him under her thrall and it looks like the last thing on his mind is dancing with the irrepressible Ms. O’Hara. Honestly, River is ruining the book.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how,” he hedges, taking a step back.
Scarlett laughs. “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, everyone knows how to dance. Why, even if you don’t, the only way to learn is to try.”
The Doctor takes another step back. “Aren’t you supposed to be in mourning for your dearly departed husband?”
The first one, anyway.
Scarlett frowns. “I’m tired of mourning. I want to dance.”
When she steps toward him with obvious intent, the Doctor flails a bit and gulps. “But I’m married. Very definitely married.” It doesn’t look like it’s going to be the deterrent he’d hoped for, so he adds, “And poor!”
“Hardly reasons not to dance,” she says, putting on a pout that would make most men fall to their knees. The Doctor merely panics. “And you don’t wear a ring, Mr. Smith.”
“He lost it.”
The Doctor turns to see River standing beside him, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling from her turn about the room with Butler. He beams in relief at the sight of her, and when she slips her arm through his, his attention is drawn briefly to her bare hand curling around his arm. “That’s me,” he says, turning to smile at Scarlett. “Always losing things. Ms. O’Hara, meet the wife.”
The women nod politely to each other, though the disappointment on Scarlett’s face isn’t as well hidden as she’d probably hoped. “You should go back to your booth,” the Doctor gestures to where Melanie Wilkes is waiting, doing her part to help the Confederacy. “I’m sure someone will ask you to dance.”
With a wink, he takes River by the hand and leads her onto the floor, pulling her into his arms. “Having fun?” She asks, fingertips tickling the back of his neck as she smiles widely at him.
“Not as much fun as you seem to be having,” he says, smirking.
River looks delighted. “Jealous?”
“Do you want a ring?”
She blinks at him. “Is that a yes?”
“What? No!” He huffs. “I just realized I never bought you one and it isn’t because I didn’t want you to have one or because I had commitment issues or something equally ridiculous and I know we’re technically dead but really, better late than never, isn’t it?”
River shrugs, her skirts swishing about their feet as he twirls her. “It was never very practical, sweetie. Spoilers.” She smiles. “And anyway, I never needed one to know you loved me.”
“I didn’t ask if you needed it,” he tightens his grip on her waist, watching her eyes widen in surprise. “I asked if you wanted it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”
He thinks for a long moment about the very humany tradition – a ring on his finger and a ring on hers, a reminder every day of their afterlife that they belong to each other – and nods. “Yes. I think.” He grins suddenly. “We could get the Duchess of Cambridge’s ring for you. I’m sure there’s a detailed article about it in the archives somewhere that we could get it from.”
River smiles up at him. “It is a very pretty blue.”
The Doctor moves his hand from her waist just long enough to tap her nose affectionately. “The prettiest.”
-
They run with Van Helsing and chase creatures of the night through graveyards in the dark. It’s exciting and exhilarating and the closest they’ll ever come to life and death again.
And River ends it all by staking Dracula one hundred pages before it’s suppose to happen. “What did you want me to do, let him bite me?”
The Doctor grumbles under his breath. “It’s not like you would have actually died.”
She slaps him.
-
River in the heat of battle is a glorious sight to behold. She glows with this unnatural light, ducking and rolling, thrusting forward with the heavy weight of her sword and slicing through her enemy with astounding swiftness. He wouldn’t find it so bloody sexy if her enemy didn’t happen to be a group of Orcs intent on finding Frodo Baggins and destroying him.
The Doctor does his best to help, though physical combat has never really been his forte – Orcs aren’t exactly open to a healthy, back and forth conversation. He uses the staff River had nicked from Gandalf to jab and trip and generally annoy the beasts until someone with something pointy and deadly can dispatch of the disgusting fellow.
His wife is having the time of her life, back to back with Legolas, both of them terminating the enemy left and right, quick as lightning in their movements. They’re keeping track of their kills, shouting out the number with relish every time they fell another Orc. At the moment, they’re miraculously tied.
The Doctor can’t help but think of how peaceful things had been only two hundred pages ago, his head in River’s lap under a tree in the Shire, River still slightly hungover from drinking with the Hobbits the night before. The afterlife, surprisingly enough, has mellowed him. He’d been just as content then, doing absolutely nothing, as he is now, right in the thick of things, smudged with dirt and grime and something black and sticky that might possibly be Orc blood. He tries not to think about it.
Across the battlefield, he can see River, hair flying and sword flashing, and pauses with his staff pressed to the throat of a particularly nasty looking species to admire her over the clanging of swords and the roar of battle. She is magnificent and he’s in the midst of falling head over heels all over again when he spots the hulking, sneering Orc headed right for her. With her back to the creature while she battles another one, River doesn’t see it.
He shouts a warning to her but she doesn’t hear him and left with no other option, he abandons the Orc lying prostrate at his feet and makes a run for the one heading toward his wife. Clutching his staff, he runs as fast as his gangly legs will carry him – he’s really going to have to have a chat with River about insisting on his Eleventh regeneration because really, he understands the attachment but his thirteenth self had been so much more coordinated – he rushes up behind the Orc and swings his makeshift weapon, knocking it over the head as hard as he can.
Only momentarily stunned, the creature turns on him with a growl and the Doctor gulps in the face of such revolting evil. There is nothing behind its black eyes but the thirst for war.
It reaches for him with monstrous hands and without thinking, the Doctor knocks its hands away and jabs it in the stomach with his staff. When it stumbles backward, he lowers the staff and trips it, sending it tumbling to the ground with a heavy thud.
Enemy dispatched, River turns at last, out of breath, and spears the Orc lying on the ground with her sword, pulling the blade out once again to admire the blood dripping down it and congealing at the handle. She beams at him, beautiful in the wake of her destruction. “Thank you sweetie.” Turning, she shouts over her shoulder, “Seventeen!”
In the distance, Legolas swears in Elvish and River laughs, sword still in hand as she throws her arms around the Doctor, covering him in more blood and grime. When she kisses him, he can practically taste her smugness.
-
They step through the Wardrobe and make snowmen in Narnia.
When it devolves into a snowball fight, River cheats by enlisting the help of Mr. Tumnus and the Doctor is too outraged by her betrayal to pay attention to his flailing limbs or the snowball he still holds in his hand.
Later, River nurses his black eye with a bag of peas and scolds gently, “It’s all fun and games until you throw a snowball in the White Queen’s face.”
-
Crashing parties is something the Doctor did with River frequently when they were alive but neither of them has ever been to anything quite so lavish as a party thrown by Jay Gatsby. The driveway is lined with cars and when that becomes too crowded, people start parking right in the yard – they come from miles away, flocking to see the extravagant wealth that Gatsby is only too happy to show off.
The Doctor is dressed in a tailored suit, his hair slicked back and a top hat perched on his head, his shoes polished and his tie perfectly knotted – he looks the very picture of Roaring Twenties fashion and River is the perfect flapper, her skirt short and swishing around her legs as she dances, her neck draped in beads and a feathered band around her head. She gestures with a cigarette in her gloved hand as she talks to Nick Carraway and Jordan Baker, glancing over to wink at him every so often.
Weaving through the crowd of people dancing – somewhere in the house, someone plays a lively tune on the piano – the Doctor makes his way toward the illegally obtained alcohol, hoping to find some champagne for his wife and steal her away. He smiles when he spots a bottle. Humans – never a race to let a little thing like a prohibition stop them. He and River had contributed, of course, bringing a bottle of Firewhiskey from Harry Potter along with them, but that one seems to have been devoured already.
He nicks two glasses of champagne – he still hates the stuff but holding it makes for some impressive gesturing – and starts back toward his wife only to be waylaid halfway there by a lovely, dainty blonde woman positively dripping diamonds.
“Daisy,” he crows, delighted.
She smiles at him from beneath the brim of her hat. “We know each other?”
“No,” he says, frowning when she takes one of his glasses of champagne and sips half of it in one go. “But I know you. Or, of you. You really should make a decision between Tom and Gatsby before it all ends horribly.”
She gapes at him. “You’re a funny old bird, Mister.”
“Am I?” He rocks back on his heels, chuffed. “That’s good. Isn’t it?”
Daisy giggles.
Standing by the pool with her, the Doctor loses sight of River and somehow ends up downing his entire glass of champagne without gagging. Daisy is continually amused by his “strange talk”, fiddling with her necklace and smiling up at him. She keeps batting her eyelashes, which is a bit distracting, and the Doctor is about to ask if she might have something in her eye when she laughs suddenly, her hand on his arm as she sways toward him.
“Oh, Doctor,” she sighs, leaning in close until he can smell the alcohol on her breath. “You’re just the bee’s knees.”
He giggles at the turn of phrase, determined to add it to his repertoire no matter what River might say, when the band suddenly strikes up a merry tune and everyone claps as the lead singer begins to belt out Ain’t We Got Fun.
“Sweetie?”
The Doctor turns, Daisy still clinging to him, and finds River standing at his elbow, eyebrow raised. “River!” He looks at her gleefully. “Did you hear? I’m the bee’s knees.”
“How charming,” she says archly, eyeing Daisy.
“You know the Doctor?” Daisy asks, still holding onto him.
“Quite well,” River says with a dangerous smile.
“He is lovely, isn’t he?” Daisy glances up at him with a grin that the Doctor returns uneasily, sensing the tension that Daisy is too drunk to notice.
River gives him an amused look and he offers his bafflement in return. “Got a light?” She waves her cigarette in front of Daisy, who lets go of the Doctor to rummage through her excessively tiny handbag. The moment the Doctor is free of her grasp, River subtly sticks out her foot with the cool air of one who looks morality in the eye and laughs.
Daisy Buchanan tumbles into the pool behind her with a shriek.
Gasping a scandalized, “River!” the Doctor gapes at the young woman sputtering in the water, her dress floating around her waist. River shrugs and lights her own cigarette, taking a drag with a satisfied smirk.
“Oops.”
“Oops?!” He flails as everyone around them takes Daisy’s tumble as their cue, laughing and shouting as they jump in after her, still dressed in all their finery. “You did that on purpose!”
River merely looks at him, blowing out smoke above their heads.
“Why would you do that?” He huffs. “She’s just a nice girl. Drunk, a bit affectionate, but -” He pauses, eyes widening. “Oh. You were jealous.”
As he grins at her, tugging at the lapels of his coat, River drops her cigarette and stamps it out with the tip of her high heel. “Oh, don’t look so smug,” she grumbles. “I never liked Daisy. That barely had anything to do with you.”
He continues smirking at her and she rolls her eyes, letting him take her face in his hands and kiss her. “You were jealous.”
“Oh, shut up,” she laughs, tugging him in and snogging him properly.
She tastes like champagne and cigarette smoke and the color green. The Doctor gathers her into his arms and pulls her with him into the pool with a splash.
-
They fly with Peter and Wendy, John and Michael, to the second star to the right and straight on till morning. Tiger Lily braids River’s hair and the Doctor rollicks with the Lost Boys, perfectly at home amongst their nonstop carousing.
They spend days climbing trees, gamboling with fairies and lying in the grass with fireflies glowing on their skin. They could have stayed forever, lost in Neverland where everything is make believe and no one ever has to grow up. But then River starts drawing comparisons between him and Peter Pan, forcing the Doctor to drag her out with him, blustering all the while, “I do not spirit away mothers and daughters, River! You Ponds were a special case!”
River laughs, fairy dust still in her hair, and gives him a thimble.
-
The Doctor stands on the beach and wrings the seawater out of his bowtie. “You just had to take off your hat, didn’t you?”
“Oh please,” River scoffs, gesturing to her figure, and the wet clothing clinging to her curves temporarily distracts the Doctor. “Like he couldn’t tell I was a woman.”
He licks his suddenly dry lips, watching the sun glint in her wet curls. “Erm. Yes. You are definitely… womany.”
She smirks and tosses her sword to the sand.
The Doctor blinks and glances away, flushing. “Well you didn’t have to provoke him. You asked for a pirate adventure since you didn’t get to meet Captain Hook and I was giving you one. The least you could do is play along. Especially after what you did to poor Ishmael – I’m tired of being thrown overboard for your insolence!”
“My insolence?” River settles her hands on her hips and distracts him all over again. “All I’m guilty of is being a woman on a ship!” The Doctor gulps; watching her yank off her boots and toss them to join her sword. “And anyway, Melville always was a pretentious twat. Thought he was so clever.”
“At least Ishmael had the decency to wait until we docked before throwing us over,” he snaps. “Unlike Long John bloody Silver!”
“Sweetie,” she says patiently, throwing herself down on the shore with her belongings. “We were trying to lead a mutiny. Common practice dictates they don’t have to treat us civilly.”
Frowning, he settles on the sand next to her and begins the work of rolling up his trouser legs. “I still think he could have at least given us a rowboat. Walking the plank is just so… barbaric.”
“Pirates.”
“Oh. Right.”
River glances at him, biting her lip. “What now, then? We can wish ourselves out, if you’d like.”
Surveying the stretch of beach they’re marooned on, the Doctor listens to the waves lapping softly against the shore, watches the sun setting in the distance and breathes in the salt air. Alone, with River on a beach…
“Well,” he hesitates, shrugging. “No rush.”
Breaking into a relieved grin that makes his hearts jump in his chest, River curves herself into his side, pressing her lips to his jaw and tasting the salt on his skin. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be marooned with you.”
Turning, he presses her back into the sand and hovers over her, grinning. “Anything for the Mrs.”
-
They make love inside of poems, entangled together on a caesura.
They skip over parameters and kiss between octaves.
Strolling through the words of Walt Whitman, they swing their tangled hands between them, Leaves of Grass under their bare feet.
Sometimes, they perch on River’s favorite lines of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, smelling smoke rising from the chimneys and the scent of peaches, listening to the clatter of coffee spoons and the mermaids singing.
-
River’s eyes speak of mischief.
Granted, they almost always do but tonight, there is something lurking in her fascinating gaze that tells him she’s in the mood to be shocking. And the Doctor finds his hearts racing in accordance. She looks stunning in the light of the hundreds of candles illuminating the ballroom, dressed in the height of Regency fashion in her muslin gown and elbow-length gloves, flowers and a string of pearls laced through her neatly pinned curls.
Tonight, the Doctor decides, his wife is dancing with no one but him. He is tired of sharing her with dashing fictional characters, staring at her from across the room. Mr. Darcy is lurking about somewhere and he can’t help but feel a little nervous. Especially with the way River’s green eyes are alight with wickedness – his wife is seconds from being outrageously naughty. People are already staring at her for the adornments in her hair – a married woman of her age should be wearing a cap or feathers. River has never been one to do what is expected of her.
“Plotting?” He murmurs around the rim of his cup of punch.
As the beginning notes of a waltz ring out around them and a reluctant Elizabeth joins Mr. Darcy on the dance floor, River shrugs. “Perhaps.”
He gives her a dubious look and she winks at him over the delicate fan she holds in front of her face. Smirking, the Doctor tugs at his waistcoat and adjusts his coat and cravat. Satisfied, he holds out his arm for her to take. “Shall we, wife?”
“We shall, husband.”
He leads her out onto the floor and it isn’t long before he realizes River’s plan for the night – to scandalize as many people at the Netherfield ball as she possibly can. She doesn’t follow protocol in the slightest, dancing close to him, her breasts brushing his chest and her hands straying where they definitely shouldn’t in polite company. The shocked gasps have already begun.
Flustered, but not one to be outdone, the Doctor gives as good as he gets, his hand sliding over her bodice and his lips against her cheek. River nearly glows at his participation – she always does love it when he joins in on her little games. His bad girl delights in corrupting him.
The murmuring around them grows louder the bolder they become and when the Doctor slides his palm over his wife’s arse, someone shrieks and out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees Mrs. Bennett faint. River actually laughs, and he thinks she is never more beautiful than when she’s being bad. They’re mere seconds from being tossed out so they throw caution to the wind, their lips meeting in a ferocious duel of tongues and teeth. River moans, sliding her hands into his hair and pressing herself as close to him as she can get as chaos breaks out around them.
When the Doctor feels a strong grip on his elbow, he grins into River’s mouth and wishes them both away, several pages ahead. They find themselves right in front of the stream at Pemberley. River breaks their kiss with a giggle, turning to stare at the immense house in the distance. “Oh, it’s lovely. Can we explore the house after we swim?”
“Swim?”
She pulls her gown over her head, leaving her in nothing but a thin chemise and his mouth grows dry instantly. “One day,” he sighs, unbuttoning his coat. “I will get through an entire ball without you causing some sort of scandal.”
Glancing over her shoulder at him with hooded eyes that make him warm all over, River says, “It’s bound to happen one day, my love.” She smiles. “We have forever, after all.”
-
Centuries pass like days and days pass like seconds but time doesn’t matter here. For once, those hours and minutes and seconds do not define them or their time together. There are moments when the knowledge that he is spending eternity with the love of his life settles over him like a warm blanket and he feels giddy, sweeping River off her feet and kissing her until they can’t breathe. He never thought the universe would let him have this – peace at last.
They live and love between the pages of books.
After centuries, there is still so much to see and do that they bicker about what world to visit next – “I hated reading Crime and Punishment, sweetie, what makes you think I’d want to go live it?” They cavort with the Wild Things and the Doctor just can’t resist the opportunity to actually converse with Fiver from Watership Down. Sometimes the Doctor accompanies River on the archaeological digs found in the pages of the most respected journals and sometimes River comes with him to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory – they almost always get thrown out for swimming in the chocolate.
Other times, they become the characters in the book instead of interacting with them, acting out the stories as they see fit. They are Macbeth and his Lady sharing in the guilt and blood on their hands, they are Merlin and Morgan Le Fey finally together the way they never could be, Fermina and Flortentino without the waiting. They are whoever they want to be, but mostly, they are the Doctor and River Song, finally getting their happy ending that never really ends.